Читать книгу The Perfect Neighbours: A gripping psychological thriller with an ending you won’t see coming - Rachel Sargeant, Rachel Sargeant - Страница 21

I offered to get the first round while Liz and Cheryl hunted down an empty table.

I hovered at the back of the bar scrum, reckoning on a fifteen-minute wait and wishing I had sharper elbows. When someone got served, a gap opened and the crowd regrouped. My arm bumped against the tall man next to me.

He smiled down. “Is it always like this?” he said.

“I’ve only been once before so I don’t know.”

“It’s my first time,” he said, taking a £20 note out of his pocket and waving it at the bar staff. He must have landed in this undergraduate watering hole by mistake. I concluded it would be his last visit too.

“Hello, can you serve me, please?” he called out when a harassed-looking barmaid came within range.

It was worth a try but all the staff were feigning deafness and not catching anyone’s eye. But to my surprise the girl looked up and took the money from his outstretched hand.

He turned to me. “What’s your order?” It was kind of him to save me queuing longer.

When the barmaid passed over the tray of drinks, she giggled and gave him a broad smile. He thanked her and refused to let me pay him back. “Where are you sitting?”

I pointed to where Cheryl and Liz had found the last free booth. When he put the drinks on our table, the girls shuffled along to make room for both of us. They must have thought I’d picked him up. I stayed standing and thanked him for the drinks. A blush grew on my neck and face. What must he think of three little girls assuming he’d be interested in one of them? But it was the second surprise of the evening: he sat down next to Cheryl and asked her name.

When I sat opposite him, he turned to me. “Where do you usually drink, then, if not here?”

“Union bar,” I said quickly. I didn’t want him to know this was a rare outing for me.

“I’m glad you came here tonight,” he said.

I smiled and happily melted into my drink. He liked me, didn’t he? I asked him his name.

He grinned. “You can call me Shep.” But then he leant over to Liz and asked her about her course.

A bubble of disappointment rose and popped inside me but I made a show of flicking my hair behind my ear, telling myself there were plenty more postgraduates in the sea. He had to be a postgraduate; he was definitely older than us.

When Liz told him we were on the same course, he turned to me. “Have you done a sandwich year in France yet?”

I told him about Lyons, but it was like playing ping-pong. His attention moved back and forth between Liz and me. Then he looked at Cheryl, and she launched into a monologue about her set books. His eyes flicked to me. I waited. It was as if he had an invisible thread that could draw me wherever he wanted.

My patience was rewarded. “Do you miss Lyons?” he asked. When had any boy asked Liz or Cheryl an intelligent question like that? Shep was treating me like a grown-up.

I paused, deliberating on how to be intelligent back. “On the one hand, I miss the opportunity to speak French. But, on the other, it’s time to finish my degree and go out into the wider world,” I said, sounding like a GCSE essay.

“You’re wise,” he said, nodding. “You’ve got your head screwed on.” He picked up his glass, and I admired his hands. He was the only drinker with well-manicured nails, and an ironed shirt. I asked him about his course.

His expression grew serious. “I’m not a student.”

Had I blown it? Miskeyed the conversation? What would a grown-up do now? “What’s your job?” I asked.

“Civil servant.”

What now? Could I ask what that meant?

“My dad’s in the civil service,” Liz called down the table. “What branch are you?”

“I’m a shepherd,” he said.

Liz laughed and made a joke about his name. As we listened to her account of her dad’s admin job, Shep whispered to me: “I’ll explain what I do later.”

I blushed; there was going to be a later.

Two engineering students stopped at our table, and Liz and Cheryl went into all-out flirt mode. My eyes strayed to Shep. Every time one of the others spoke, he listened intently and nodded. He had the most beautiful eyes and he trained them on whoever was speaking. I sighed, feeling jealous, and tried to look away. But he caught me staring.

Eventually the girls went to the bar with the engineers. It was just Shep and me at the table.

“Was it hard to find a flat when you came back from France?” he asked.

“I’m in a student hall,” I said and realized that made me sound like a baby who couldn’t live on her own. “But it’s Moser Hall. There are only third years on the first floor. And fourth years, like me.”

“Let me get us another drink,” he said. He found his way through the crowd to his friendly barmaid. Liz, Cheryl, and the boys were still queuing and looked peeved at his success. I gave them a thumbs up and we all laughed.

“Did you miss home when you were in Lyons?” he said when he returned with my wine.

“My father was ill. It was hard not being there.”

His face was full of concern. “But things are fine now?”

I shrugged, blinking back tears. “I think so but you know how it is with cancer.”

“You’re a caring woman, Fiona.” He rested his hand on mine.

I think I smiled. I meant to, but how was I supposed to function after he did that? Although a million watts of power surged through me, I didn’t move my hand away. My blood thundered round my body, but I managed to sit still. Two grown-ups together in companionable silence. A couple.

He fetched out his phone. “I’ve got to read this.”

I watched his face as he looked at the text. When his expression didn’t change, it gave me hope that it wasn’t important. But he put the phone away and said he’d been called into work. He gave a tight smile that showed how annoyed he was. “Will you be here next Friday?”

“I might be,” I said. Grown-ups played it cool.