The flash of her Polaroid camera illuminated the pub and for a split second, Sybil could see the musician clearly through the peephole.
It amused her because if she closed her eyes, she would've thought that his voice belonged to a middle-aged folk singer with a tangled beard and layers of clothing not the young man on stage. She pulled the film from her camera, shook it and watched as he continued his performance.
With his eyes closed, he strummed the strings of his guitar, his fingers knowing exactly where to be. He played as though the instrument were attached him; that he wouldn't function if the battered guitar left his hands. Even though the pub was near empty, he sang with all his heart, the words like a love letter to those listening.
"Falling slowly, eyes that know me and I can't go back. Moods that take me and erase me and I'm painted black."
She recognised the song. How could she not? It had been one of her favourites and she remembered how much she had begged Jones to take her to the 'Once' musical when it opened on the West End. Jones. She lowered her eyes as she thought about the way he had continuously protested until one morning, she woke to find tickets on her pillow.
Her phone rang, shaking her out of her reverie, and quickly she answered it, shoving her camera into her bag and excusing herself from the pub.
"Gwen, did you find it?" she asked eagerly as she stepped outside, shivering against the cold Dublin wind.
"God, Sybs, people keep looking at me like I broke into your car."
"Well, you did," Sybil replied, "Who knew that you having a criminal as an ex would be a good thing?"
"Hey, he wasn't a crim. He was just strapped for cash."
Sybil rolled her eyes. "So, was it there?"
"Yep, found it in the glove compartment. I can't believe you seriously left your driver's license there."
Sybil groaned, wondering how she could've been so stupid. If there was something that she desperately needed to bring with her, it was that. Now, her plan was ruined.
"Where are you anyway?" Gwen asked. "Where'd you travel to without your car?"
It was the question that Sybil was keen to avoid. Not even her family knew where she was but she knew that it was useless to lie to Gwen. That redhead could see through all her bullshit.
She took a breath and said, "I'm in Dublin."
"You're where?"
"Dublin, Gwen. You know good ole Irish Dublin."
"What the hell are you doing there? Oh God, is this because of Jones' list because Sybs –"
Sybil feel silent as she listened to her friend ramble on and once she had finished, all Sybil could reply with was, "I have to do this."
"Why didn't you tell me? I would've come with you."
She could hear the hurt in her best friend's voice and even though, she wished Gwen were here, she had been adamant to this alone. Especially without someone who shared memories of Jones.
"I'll be fine. I'm only here for the week anyway so I'll be home before anyone notices I was gone."
"Ha! You do realise that you're part of the Crawley family? You know, the family that gets in each other's business like it's their own. Any bet once I hang up, Mary or your mother will call you. Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if Granny Vi sends you a telegram."
"She's knows how to use a phone, Gwen."
"After that time where she sent your dad a text asking for her cock fixed, I very much doubt she's going to be using it."
"Gosh, she meant clock! I'm never telling you anything that happens with my family again," Sybil said but even she couldn't hide the grin that settled on her face."
"Sure, she did. Hey, Sybs, I have to go," Gwen paused, "but you text me or call me or Skype or whatever to let me how you're doing, okay?"
"Yes, mum."
"You better, young lady!"
When Gwen hanged up, Sybil slipped her phone into her pocket, but as she did, her fingers brushed against a piece of paper. She didn't need to pull it out, already knowing what was on it, but she decided to and unfolded it, her face staring back at her from the Polaroid. As she flipped it around, she traced the familiar handwriting on the back, mouthing the words 'Love you Sybil, J' with a sad smile.
Oh god, did she need another drink.
When she sat back inside the Bran pub, she did not expect to have the musician be her bartender as he stood behind the counter, rag over his shoulder and a friendly smirk on his face.
"What can I get you, love?" he said.
She tensed at the last word but quickly shook her head, snapping out of it. "I'll just have a sex on the beach, please."
His smirk grew as he replied, "Well, if you're asking, you should probably tell me your name first."
Sybil's eyes widened but not at the joke. No, it was more at the feeling that he seemed like the sort of bartender who hit on every girl that walked in. That was something she definitely did not need.
"Just the drink," she said civilly. He shrugged his shoulder and left. When he returned with her drink, he leaned forward on the counter and smiled at her.
"Fancy seeing a girl like you in a place like this," he said, watching as she took a sip.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, it's not every night we have English ladies here alone." He raised his eyebrows. "I'm just saying that for you to be here, it means that you're either desperate or you're running away from something."
Sybil nearly choked on her drink. "You know," she said, placing her glass on the table, "I think I liked you better on stage than here."
The bartender rested his head against his knuckles and replied, "I know. I saw you take a photo of me with that ancient camera of yours. Did you get my good side?"
Digging into her bag, Sybil pulled out the Polaroid and handed it to him. "You can have it," she said with a forced smile. "Because I certainly don't want it anymore."
The bartender chuckled, "You missed the best part of me." He showed her the shot. "Forgot my head."
"That was on purpose."
Knowing that he had definitely annoyed her, he raised his hands and stepped away. "I guess I should know when someone doesn't enjoy my blarney."
"You call that blarney?"
The bartender slipped the photo into his shirt's pocket and folded his arms over his chest. "Hey, I should have you know, I kissed the damn stone years ago."
Sybil leaned forwarded, intrigued. The stone of Blarney castle was on her list and this was the first time she had encountered someone who had actually been there. "So, you believe that legend? That anyone who kisses the Blarney Stone gets the ability of sweet talking?"
"Course I do," the bartender said. "I'm Irish. Anyone who doesn't believe it must be, well, English."
"I'll pretend not to be offended," was her reply as she glared at him, much to his amusement.
"My family and I go there every year for Saint Pat's," the bartender explained. "Tradition we have. You ever been?"
Sybil shakes her head. "It's my first time in Ireland but I will see it, or I might. Actually, I'm not quite sure. I've had a change of plans," she stopped talking but the bartended genuinely looked interested and whether it was the amount of alcohol that she had had or her disappointment, she found words spilling out of her mouth.
"I'm supposed to be road tripping around Ireland. Heading to the Bog of Allen, then up North to the Giant's Causeway, then Kylmore Abbey, Cliffs of Moher and finally, Blarney Castle. But I'm a silly idiot and I left my driver's license back in England and so I'm honestly considering illegally driving a car in a foreign country." She raised her glass and took one last sip of it, before she handed it back to him. "Does it sadden you to know that I am not desperate as you so call claimed?"
He reached to take the glass from her, but as he did, he let his fingers linger over hers for a split second longer than he had to before he took it away. He stared at her, making her shift in her seat, and said, "So, I take it you're running away then?"
She scoffed but she felt her chest tighten.
"Hmm, let me think," he said. "Don't think it's your family. Could be your job. No, actually, I'm putting this on boyfriend. Actually, I'll say ex-boyfriend. Am I right?"
Her silence was enough confirmation for him and he nodded proudly.
"Oh, I am good," he said. "And so now you're on a whirlwind trip to Ireland taking in all that's grand about my land. Why don't you just take one of those sightseeing buses? Won't cost you that much."
"It has to be a road trip," Sybil said firmly. "It just – it has to be." With a sigh, she asked, "How much do you think that would cost by taxi?"
He let out a low whistle, smacking his jaw. "You're kidding, aren't you? You might as well buy your own taxi for half the price."
Sybil groaned. "Oh, I knew that was a ridiculous idea. I don't even know why I considered it." Standing up, she grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, reaching into her pocket for money and handing it to him. "That's for the drink."
"Would've thought it was for my delightful conversation," he replied, taking the note. "Good luck."
She gave him a courteous wave as she left the pub. She zipped up her jacket and began heading down the street to her hotel when she a sudden tap at her shoulder had her spin around in shock.
"Christ, what the hell do you want now?" she shrieked as she found herself face to face with the bartender.
He flashed a grin – one she very much did not like – and stretched his arms out before clutching at the back of his neck. "I have an idea," he declared. "A grand idea. How about," he paused and she twitched her head, waiting for his words, "I drive you?"
"Excuse me?"
"Yeah, I'll drive you to those places. Heck, I've been to all of them so at least you know you're getting quality service and I charge far less than whatever a taxi will give you."
He's insane. Absolutely, positive insane, Sybil thought as she gave a shrill laugh. "Are you kidding me? I don't even know you! You could be a murder or perverted, ugh!"
Tom gasped, offended by her accusations. "I'll have you know I'm none of those things. Call my Ma. She'll tell you."
"Christ, I am not calling your mother!" Oh god, she could feel her head throb. This was not how she was expecting her first night in Dublin to be. The drinking, maybe, but definitely not the random stranger in the street offering to drive her around.
"Actually, it's Tom, but hey, call me what you want, I don't mind," he said, rubbing his hands over his arms. "At least I trying to be a good samaritan." He began to walk away, when he stopped at the sound of his name.
"Your name's Tom," she said slowly as he turned around to find her moving towards him. "Tom."
He nodded, confused by her sudden interest in his name. "You got a problem with the name Tom?"
She brought her hand to her head and closed her eyes. "No, it's not-oh, just, never mind," she replied. She looked up at him, "Why would you do that for me? Drive me around Ireland?"
"Well, the pub's not doing that great," he said, shuffling his feet. "Gotta help the family business some way."
"Your family owns the pub?"
"Tom Branson, son of Colm Branson, owner of the Bran Pub," he stated. "Listen, I'm none of those things you said. Yes, I like to the take the piss out of people sometimes but I promise that's the worst of me."
"That and your humour."
"Maybe, probably but the thing is, I'm willing to help you and you know what they say, if you turn your back on an Irishman than you'll never be lucky again."
Sybil snorts. "I've never heard that before."
"Beecause you've never met anyone stupid enough to do it. Listen, I can promise you that you won't be bored at all the entire trip. You won't be able to shut me up."
"That's what I'm afraid of." She grew silent, musing over his idea. It honestly was crazy and her plan had always been to travel in solitude, but now that she was left without a driver's license, it wasn't like she had any other choice. Knowing that she would definitely regret it in the morning, she hung her head and closed her eyes, wincing as the words left her mouth, "Fine, I'll do it."
"Really?" he exclaimed, his blue eyes shining. "Didn't think it'd work."
"Well, it has," she snapped and he shuts up, nodding. "I swear, though, I won't have any funny business or else wherever we are, I'm kicking you out of your car, you hear that?"
"Yes, m'am," he replied with a wink. "We're going to have fun."
Sybil groaned, thankful that she still had some alcohol left in her hotel room.
A/N: Yep, another story! Woo, but I am not giving up on my other ones especially Star-Crossed Lovers so I'll be alternating between that one and this. So, this is loosely inspired by Leap Year (great movie, check it out everyone!) and something else but that might give it away. It'd be great to know what you guys think so far. :) And there's a very very tiny hint to what my next story will be after Star-Crossed Lovers is finished. Curious if anyone can figure it out hehe. Anyhow, night y'all!
