James was sitting by himself on a stool at the bar, a half-empty glass of scotch and ice in his hand.
He knew this place, but tonight it felt less than welcoming. Come to think of it, nothing did at all at the moment. It was small, with lacquered mahogany wood panelling and mirrors around the semi circular bar. Behind it, the bottles of liquor and spirits were standing on a similarly shaped rack of shelves. James took a sip from his drink. Obliviously, he tapped his foot in time to the melancholic song coming from a small TV. A young woman was singing, her eyes sad and her thick blonde hair rumpled. He wasn't really listening.
"Hey, cut it out will you?" Lost in reverie, James resurfaced. The barman he saw working here most weekends was standing with a glass and a dishcloth in his hand, evidently in the middle of polishing it.
"Sorry," he tried to smile. "Got lost a bit." The barman grinned at him, and went back to polishing the glass.
"Not a big crowd in tonight," the barman announced with considerable dolour.
James lifted his head heavily from his glass and looked round-then nodded his assent. He was right, there really wasn't. Usually, there were a few couples, some business men and the occasional solitary person like himself. Tonight, the only person here apart from him and the couple sitting silently in the corner was a young woman, with bleach blond hair, who was staring into her glass. He couldn't see her face.
"Another one?" He realised the barman was still hanging over him.
"Yeah, might as well." James replied slowly, and slid his glass across the table to him, who went off to refill it. Suddenly, he realised he'd left his wallet out on the counter. He looked round, but it wasn't there.
Oh bugger, he thought with a barely suppressed curse. He quickly strode over to the table where he used to sit, where he used to sit with- her.
Don't think about it, he told himself. He skimmed his eyes across the table, but there was no sign of it. Great, he thought. Wallet gone and the rent's already late.
Stifling his inward urge to kick something, he made to go back to his seat at the bar. As he passed the table, however, the girl looked up, and made to say something.
"Is that-" but she stopped in the middle of her sentence, a look of disappointment crossing her face.
"Sorry?" He asked.
"You just...look like someone I know. Used to know." She corrected herself hurriedly, and shifted back in her seat.
James stopped for a second. He knew what she meant. He'd said the exact same two days beforehand-
"Used to know"
"Do you mind?" he asked, and gestured to sit down.
She shook her head, and picked up a pocket-sized book lying on the table next to her. James sat down, and reached for a newspaper on the table next door. After a few minutes, he found he couldn't face the rapidly falling stock market figures, and laid it on the table with a sigh. She wasn't concentrating, he could tell. Her eyes were skimming over the page, re-reading again and again.
Suddenly, he saw a single-tear drop fall onto her book, and heard a half-sigh, half sob shake from her chest. Wordlessly, he put his arm round her shoulders and handed her a tissue. She leant against him slightly, breath shuddering though her. He looked down and saw tears coursing silently down her cheeks. She didn't attempt to wipe them away.
He didn't know how long he held her, cradled against his chest. A while later, she shifted away from him, and he dropped his arms from round her, and stared at the table. After a while, he took her glass silently, and filled it at the bar, realising as he did so that he'd given the barman his last twenty earlier in case he wanted more drinks. At least that'd cover this one. He put it down on the table in front of her. She picked it up, and took a long draft of the ice-cold liquid. She shivered slightly and put it back down, just missing the coaster. Still looking at the table, she said
"Thank you."
He inclined his head slightly.
He busied himself drinking more of his scotch, a minute part of him noting that he'd drank several glasses already. He drank anyway, defying himself to think about how he'd feel in the morning.
Whilst he was drinking, the young woman got quietly up, with her book in her hand. He caught the title as she held it. He watched as she crossed to the door, hesitated for a moment-and threw the book out into the gutter. She almost made a move to go after it, but then pulled the door closed resolutely and walked back to her seat.
"Prevert?" he questioned.
She nodded her head
"It was...his favourite. But that doesn't matter anymore."
James considered for a second, then pulled a lighter from his inside pocket, along with an envelope with a woman's name hastily scribbled on the front. He flicked the lighter almost absentmindedly, and held the flame carefully to the edge of the parchment. It ignited, and the flames spread greedily over the surface. The name on the front soon curled to ash. When it was destroyed, he stubbed it out in the ash-tray.
She looked at him for a second, and then said quietly-
"The same?"
"The very same," he said heavily.
She looked at him, and there was understanding in her eyes, as well as a deep kind of sorrow.