Disclaimer: These characters belong to WB/Joss/Fox etc etc, but certainly not to me. I'm only writing this for fun and therapy. And because there are NEVER, ever, enough flashbacks.
Pairing: Anna + 1
Spoilers: Based loosely on events in Becoming and The Prodigal
Short Summary: Anna's new life - and a letter arrives. Finding herself in London without work, Anna is forced to make the best of things. She misses Liam, but quickly makes a friend. Then, just as she's beginning to feel happier, a longed for letter arrives. Anna's POV.
Comments: Follows on from "Echoes (II) - Still Life". Second in the "Echoes" series. The "Echoes" series is a sequel to Pen Pictures, and the whole lot starts from the premise that Liam was having an affair with Anna (the servant who appears in a flashback in AtS) before he was turned. There will be five in this series: "Caught Red-Handed" from Liam's POV, "Still Life" from Darla's POV, "Chosen" from Anna's POV, "The Wheel's Kick" from Angelus' POV and "Kaleidoscopic" from everyone's POV.
It's always crowded, and the people that drink here are less good-humoured than those you'll find in the taverns back home. At first I hate it; there's always people trying to grab me pull me about, and the smell of ale and snuff is overpowering. But I do my work as best I can, and find that if I cover up and don't look them in the eye, they're more likely to leave me alone. So I keep my hair close, my throat covered and my eyes on the floor. There are plenty of barmaids here who will be friendly with them, so when they learn I am not likely to be compliant, they lose interest and their attention switches to easier prey. For sure, I make less money than the others, but that does not worry me.
Only one man continues to pay me compliments, a young fellow, who looks like he may not be more than fifteen. He has no beard, fine hair the same colour as mine but cropped short, a smooth cheek that sometimes flushes when I walk past and a slight figure and small feet, only partly concealed by his rough, workman's clothing.
The more dowdy I become compared to the other girls, the more plainly dressed, the brighter his eye when he looks at me. Once, when I served him, he tried to draw me into conversation, but beyond telling him where I came from and where I had worked before coming to London, I would not be detained.
The next day, he was back, but this time supporting a sprained wrist, which was strapped to his chest. As a matter of politeness I enquired after his health, and he said he had fallen awkwardly, and that it was a minor injury and nothing to worry about. Later that same night, as I left the bar, I heard a commotion in an alleyway to one side of the bar.
I knew it was probably drunks brawling, and that there was not likely to be anything for me to do; besides, the most sensible course would be for me to get away, as quickly as possible, for it is not unknown for women to be attacked in this part of town. Nevertheless, I did take a peek around the corner just in case and I saw the young man from the bar, fighting with three others. I thought for sure that would be the last I would see of him. They were bigger and he would certainly end up dead or badly injured.
You can imagine my shock at seeing him in the bar the next day. True, he carried a bruise on his forehead, but his arm was no longer bandaged and he seemed to have no difficulty walking. Intrigued, I broke a personal rule and came over to him, to ask after his well-being.
He smiled at me as I arrived, as if we were old friends, and beckoned me to sit by him. I did so, breaking another rule, but my curiosity was engaged, and I cannot explain why, but I felt he was unlikely to harm me. I explained I had seen him in the alleyway and was concerned that he had been badly beaten.
His face clouded over, and he shook his head at me and said, "What were you doing in such a place?"
I reminded him that the alleyway in question was just by, and that I worked here.
"And you leave at what time? And you have no escort to take you home? This is not right; this cannot be left so. You are not safe."
I was touched by his concern, and, stupidly, my eyes misted over. To cover my distress I changed the subject and asked him some irrelevant question about himself. But he was as coy as I, and steered the conversation away; then we talked about many things; we were in a coze together for at least another hour. He never tried to touch me or move the discussion in the direction of the rooms overhead (always at patrons' disposal). He has been to Ireland many times, to Galway once, and he listened to me talk about home with a kind smile. The landlord assumed I was trying to seduce him and never bothered us, but eventually I had to return to my work.
That night when I left he was waiting for me outside. I told him that I didn't need an escort, and that I always went straight to my lodgings, which were nearby, and never loitered. He would not take no for an answer, however. Finally, I explained that it wouldn't be seemly for me to be seen taking him home with me. I appreciated I was only a barmaid, and that this place had a poor reputation, but that was all the more reason to be careful about my own.
"Don't fret," he said, "That is easily remedied. I'll walk behind you, ten paces. No-one will think we're together. When we arrive, I'll watch you go in and then go on my way. There's no need for us to say goodbye."
So that's what happened. Every evening, I would leave my workplace as normal, and at some time become aware of him pacing quietly behind me. Arriving home, I would take the steps to my room two at a time, and see him across the street, staring up at my window. He would blow me a kiss, or touch the corner of his hat (a rough cap worn at an odd angle) and turn to leave.
I must confess, it was nice to feel cared for in this way, but as we never spoke on these journeys and were almost equally silent and distant when he came to the bar, it did not make me feel any the less alone.
I missed Liam, every day, and often thought about returning to Galway to see him. But it was only a thought to indulge myself with of a lonely evening, not one to be acted on. I was not ashamed of what I'd done, I loved him, and could not count it a sin. (Besides, there are women here who would do more out in the street if you paid them well enough, and when the wickedness of this place is before your very eyes, you are apt to be lighter when condemning yourself).
But I could not rely on him, and therefore it was better to be a long way away, where I would not be tempted into anything stupid and ruinous. As for attaching myself elsewhere, although I longed for someone to kiss me like he could, and my skin sometimes thirsted for a touch as sure as his, nearly all the men I saw were drunk and vicious most of the time, so it was not hard to resist the temptation.
Eventually my friend told me his name was Joe, and I told him mine, but for a while that was as far as our friendship went. I became accustomed to having him there, and stopped thinking about the streets as a dangerous place.