“Life isn’t typical, Dani,” he said with a smile. “Now, there’s a local folk band playing in the pub this evening, and I don’t want to go on my own, I get accosted by the old women. Do you fancy coming with me?”
I blinked a couple of times, unsure of how to answer. I didn’t want to go out in public. My pen hovered over the pad; I was thankful the kettle came to a boil and I had the distraction of making tea while I thought on his request.
“Here’s the plan. We sneak in, grab a beer or two, and find a corner to sit in near the band. It will be too loud for the old dears to want to come and chat.” He smiled at me.
So you’re inviting me because you’re frightened of the old dears in the village? I teased, trying to hide the smirk.
“Of course. Although, I can’t say that I don’t enjoy your company. It would be nice to get out, wouldn’t it? Invite your dad, too.”
I thought I might feel a little more comfortable with Dad there but that seemed silly. There wasn’t anyone in the village that wasn’t aware of my situation. Most had been to Trey and Hannah’s funeral. They talked to Dad, asked how I was getting on.
“The whole village attends, it’s like a one-night folk festival. The music is often terrible but it can be so bad, it’s fun. Not that I say that in public, of course.”
Daniel sipped on his tea, wincing as he took too large a mouthful and burnt his lips. He was fun to be around, and although I still felt conflicted, a part of me wasn’t sure I was meant to be having fun, the thought of listening to terrible bands with him sounded appealing.
I nodded. Okay, I’ll come.
“That’s fantastic. I’ll swing by about seven.”
Daniel finished his tea and left. It took as long to wrap himself up, as it had to drink his tea in the first place.
At seven o’clock promptly, Daniel knocked on the door. Dad had decided a night in the local pub with folk music wasn’t his idea of a good time so decided to stay home. It was with shaking hands that I opened the front door. I was greeted with the familiar smile and a hand to help me into my coat.
“Ready to save me?” he asked. I nodded, patting my pocket to reassure I had a pad and pen with me.
Daniel held out the crook of his arm, encouraging me to take it. He patted my hand when I did, laughed, and we started the walk to the village green. The Black Lion was a historic building. Even at five feet and two inches, I had to duck my head to walk under some of the beams. It had been a while since I’d visited the pub, and the last time had been with Trey. A pang of sadness hit me in the centre of the chest and my breath caught in my throat.
“Breathe, Dani,” Daniel whispered, alerted to my discomfort.
He took hold of my hand, and at first, I froze. I hadn’t held anyone’s hand other than my dad, Christian, or Trey’s for a long time. Whether he sensed my hesitation or not, I wasn’t sure, but he let go and placed his hand on my lower back to guide me through the bar to the only vacant table. I took a seat with my back to the wall and scanned the bar. The first band was about to strike up, and I noticed many people smile, or wave over to me. Daniel asked me what I wanted to drink, I opted for a glass of wine and he left me to stand at the bar. I felt sorry for him; he was ‘assaulted by those old dears’ constantly.
I caught sight of Miller at the other end of the bar, he looked over to me, and although I smiled at him, it wasn’t instantly returned. I frowned at him, hoping he’d understand that I was concerned. He hadn’t been himself for a couple of weeks. I saw his shoulders rise and fall, as if he’d taken a deep breath; he pushed himself away from the bar and weaved his way through the throng queuing to get to my table.
I had just taken off my coat and fished around in the pocket for my pad and pen. Miller took the only available seat next to me.
“Hey, it’s nice to see you out,” he said, giving me a genuine smile then, or so I thought.
It’s been a while! Daniel invited me and I thought, why not? I wrote.
“Sorry, that took forever. Miller, can I get you another?” Daniel asked as he joined us.
I noticed that awkwardness between them and wondered, again, what their deal was.
“No, thanks. Just having the one and then I’m leaving,” Miller replied. Although he’d smiled at Daniel, it didn’t appear to be genuine.
A short silence followed. Daniel placed my wine on the table and I smiled my thanks. He stood to one side, not having a spare chair, and Miller didn’t offer him the one he was sitting on.
“So, how are things?” Miller asked me.
Okay, I showed my brother the plans for the barn. He was very impressed with your vision, I wrote.
Talking about his work seemed to perk Miller up a little. “I’m glad he approved,” he said.
“Miller is an amazing architect,” Daniel said, smiling at his brother. The smile wasn’t returned.
“Yeah, well, I better get going. It was nice to see you out and about, Dani,” Miller said. He stood, downed the rest of his pint, and simply nodded to his brother before he left.
Daniel sighed, and then took the vacated seat.
You two don’t seem to get on, or is that too personal for me to say?
I kept the pad close to me for a little while, wondering if I should show Daniel what I’d written. It made no difference, he’d obviously seen.
“We did, for a long time. We were very close as children, but then something happened, and I think Miller didn’t feel that I supported him enough. He’s a very stubborn man; he alienated himself from the family for a while. There are things we disagree on. But let’s not worry about that now, we’re here to laugh at the terrible music and pretend it’s the best thing we’ve heard in ages.”
Before I could consider a response, a wailing drowned out any noise inside the bar. I looked towards the ‘stage,’ which was nothing more than a small raised platform made out of pallets, to see a man on a violin. Although it wasn’t like any violin I’d ever seen before, it looked homemade.
The wailing was short-lived, thankfully, only to be replaced by the not so dulcet tones of a man who looked, and sounded, more drunk than sober. It was hard to actually hear what he was singing about, and when I looked over to Daniel, I could see a man desperately trying to hold back the laughter.
His cheeks had reddened and his eyes watered. I could see the tension in his jaw as he ground his teeth together to keep his mouth closed. The addition of a tambourine was the tipping point for him. Daniel bent over double and laughed so hard he had tears streaming down his cheeks. It was hard not to join in. Although I didn’t make the sound, I covered my mouth with my hand and my body visibly laughed along with him.
A chuckle started on the table beside us, and like a tsunami, that chuckle built and flowed from table to table, until most of the people sitting in the bar were laughing. The man kept singing, the tambourine kept tinkling, and at the end people stood and gave a round of applause. I wasn’t sure it was in appreciation, though.
“I’m sorry, but that was about the funniest thing I’ve seen, or heard,” Daniel said, wiping his eyes on a napkin.
We sat through another band, one that, thankfully, was quite good. I’d been sipping on my wine and Daniel chatted, as much as he could with the noise of the busy pub obliterating his words.
After a little while I grew hot and uncomfortable. I think my limit on being in public for the first time in ages was slowly approaching. Perhaps Daniel saw, or felt, my discomfort.
“Shall we get out of here? It’s getting rather stuffy,” he said.
I nodded and pulled my coat from the back of my chair. It was too warm to put it on, so I waited until we walked through and out the front door. The chill that hit me had me shiver. Daniel took my coat from me and held it open. I shrugged into it. We took a slow walk back to my house.
“Any more thoughts on Lincoln?” Daniel asked.
It wasn’t always the easiest to write while I walked so I just shrugged my shoulders.