This chapter is set an hour or so after the end of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
Alex
Alex is bored. She's got four hours left of her shift at the Queen's Head, and the pub isn't showing any signs of quietening down. She's going to be on her feet the whole time, but it's a Wednesday so there's no chance of a fight or something exciting happening. It'll be another four hours of pulling pints, half-hearted flirting for tips, and clearing up empty crisp-packets which customers leave on tables. Can't they see the bins?
Alex started working at the Queen's Head since last Autumn. It's July now and there's loads of new staff just started for the Summer period, so Alex is seen as somewhat of a veteran, especially as most of the new lot are hopeless. She doesn't hate her job, but she thought that at twenty-six she'd be doing something else with her life. It's dispiriting to see all the city boys swagger in from Chancery Lane, barely older than her but probably on twenty times her wage. Alex doesn't flirt with them- the tips aren't worth the embarrassment.
Today though, city boys seem outnumbered by- well, other people. Strange people, dressed in cloaks and billowing scarves and those type of robes that old-fashioned schoolteachers on TV wear. Except that on TV the robes are black, whereas today Alex has seen robes in purples and greens and burgundies. Quite a few of the strange people have been carrying cages and tanks too- Alex is sure that she saw one girl stuffing a frog into her pocket. Alex has a vague recollection of something similar happening around Christmas. It's probably some convention or something, she thinks wearily. King's Cross is around the corner, so they'll have all come down for the day. You get all sorts of nutters round here.
"Alex," chirps Dana, appearing at Alex's elbow, "There's been a spillage on table five, can you clear it up for me?"
Dana has a habit of wording things like that- if you don't mind, will you do that for me, can I ask you to…as if she isn't Alex's boss, as if Alex could turn round and say no. Fat chance.
"Sure," Alex sighs, grabbing a hulk of blue-roll and stomping over to table five. It's the nearest one to the door- none of the regulars sit there because it's right in the draft. Alex yanks a few sheets off the blue-roll roll and starts dabbing it onto the sodden wood. The spilled drink has gone all over the table and onto the floor, although at least table five is on the floorboards, not the carpet. It's a nightmare when beer gets spilt on the carpet.
Alex is finishing up when the door opens and two people walk in. Usually Alex wouldn't blink twice at that, but she's distracted by a flash of long red hair. belonging to one of the newcomers. Red as in literally red, not just ginger. She glances up to see that the owner of the red hair is a girl about her own age, accompanied by a man in a battered overcoat. He's obviously her dad, judging from his looks and the way he's grumbling about her hairstyle:
"...could you please try something more inconspicuous?" he's saying.
"Everybody saw us together on the platform," points out the girl. She's shorter than Alex and she's got one of those piercings that goes through the top part of her ear. Her jeans have patches all over them, and she's wearing a t-shirt with Weird plastered over the front. She looks weird, Alex reckons. Must be part of that convention, and she's had to drag her dad along too for some reason. He looks weary.
Dana beckons Alex back over to the bar then, so she doesn't hear the rest of the conversation between the father and daughter. She notices the two of them sit down at table sixteen, in the back corner, and after a few minutes the redheaded girl goes to the bar to order a WKD for herself and a beer for her dad. Alex is busy fighting with the dodgy wine tap, but she hears the girl's accent- Northern, maybe Manchester- and the cheery manner she addresses Sharika, whose working on the bar, even though it takes Sharika ages to find the WKD in the fridge, and she gives the redhead the wrong change. Alex usually rolls her eyes at convention nutters, but there's something interesting about the redhead and her dad. Once Alex has finished fixing the tap, she finds herself watching them. The girl talks and gesticulates a lot, laughing and fidgeting and gesturing with her hands. It seems as if she's trying to cajole her dad, who isn't having any of it. He looks knackered and a bit sickly, and sometimes his gaze drifts over to the door. The redhead taps his arm to keep him looking at her, until eventually the bloke moves her hand away, folds his arms on the table and turns to face her. Alex is hopeless at lip-reading, but his posture seems to indicate an I-need-to-talk-to-you sincerity. The girl understands immediately, because she shuts up and leans towards him. Alex drifts over to listen, carrying her tray so she can pretend to be clearing glasses at the table nextdoor. Although on the way over, Raymond, one of the newer staff, crashes into her carrying a crate of beers.
"Ray!" growls Alex.
"Sorry. Didn't see you there,"
"You're not even meant to walk across the pub with these, go round the side door,"
"Oops. Forgot," he grins, flashing her the smile Alex knows he likes to think of as charming.
She doesn't much like having a go at people, so she simply gives him an eyeroll and wanders over to tale sixteen. By the time she gets there, the dad has already delivered whatever bad news he needed to, and the girl is left looking baffled and stunned. Alex sidles up beside them.
"I don't understand," says the redhead.
"I think we should end this. I know we should," the bloke replies, studying his coaster. Alex frowns- End this? That makes it sound like they're an item.
"I understood what you said. I meant I don't understand…why? Why now? I don't- you can't- I don't understand,"
"This isn't right. I didn't want to admit that to myself, but it's been wrong all along. I'm making life difficult for you, I'm putting you in danger. It's time I stopped pretending," says the man. He's splitting up with her. Alex hasn't seen that in the pub before. It's strange to break up with someone after going to a convention together, Alex thinks. That's going to be one awkward train journey home. She tries to take a closer look to see if the guy is younger than she first thought.
"Pretending what?" asks the redhead.
He stares at his coaster and doesn't reply, and Alex can't see him well enough now to check if he's younger than he looks. Or perhaps it's the girl whose older than she seems. Or perhaps she's got daddy issues.
"Pretending what, Venus?" demands the girl. She still looks shocked, as if the reality of what's happening hasn't hit her. Alex has been there before- the feeling of what? No, this isn't happening, this is not allowed to happen.
"You know," the guy mumbles.
The redhead flinches for a moment. Silence. Then the realisation seems to strike her- it is happening. Her gaunt-looking older boyfriend is ditching her. He looks torn, so either doesn't actually want to end it, or he's a good actor.
"You don't mean this. You're feeling sad and guilty, and you always want to blame yourself," blurts the girl, anguish flooding her face.
"I do mean it. I'm sorry, I knew you'd be upset, but that's all the more reason why I should put a stop to this foolishness,"
"It isn't foolishness. God, what are you saying? I thought you loved me," her face crumples, "You told me you love me,"
The man hangs his head. If he's acting, Alex notes, he's laying it on pretty thick. And he didn't actually tell her what he was pretending about. Maybe he was pretending he's single when really he's got a wife and kids at home. That'd explain why he looks tired. And the red-headed girl seems a bit full-on. Alex feels sympathy for her, but what did she expect from getting involved with a married man?
Her observation is interrupted by a woman in far-too-high heels tottering out of the toilets and asking Alex if she's seen a man called Steve with blond hair.
"No, I'm afraid," Alex shrugs, keen to get rid of her.
"That's not very helpful," says the woman.
"I'm sorry, we don't take a register here," says Alex, smiling sweetly "Why not check outside in the smoking area?"
"Stevie don't smoke," says the woman. She gives Alex a glare but staggers away again, and Alex leans back towards table sixteen, where the redheaded girl has raised her voice again.
"Would you being doing this if Syria hadn't died?" she demands, "Well, would you?"
"I don't know. I hope so. I'm ashamed it's taken this long for me to realise how selfish I've been,"
"Selfish!?" explodes the redhead, kicking the table so that it judders sideways and her drink tips over. Alex can't help but feel a shudder of annoyance- something else to clear up. On the other hand, it gives Alex a handy excuse for if Dana catches her loitering here- she'll claim that she's waiting for the arguing couple to leave so she can wipe up the spillage.
"I understand that you're angry," the guy is saying. There's a note of deliberate, almost forced patience in his voice, as if he has anticipated having to say these words, "I know this is a shock-"
"You need me more than ever now he's gone, you know you do. We- we can help each other. I thought maybe after a few more weeks you'd be ready to talk about him. Merlin knows I've wanted to talk to you, but you just shut down,"
"I know, and I'm sorry. I've been thinking about things. About this,"
"You've been waiting until I got out of hospital. You took me to a pub in the middle of the afternoon- I thought it was weird that you wanted to come here today, when there's loads of people we know around. You reckoned it'd be easier, didn't you?" the redhead accuses, and Alex can tell that she's close to tears, "You thought that if we're in public I'd keep my mouth shut and go quietly, leave you in peace to go back to your boring, lonely life where everything's rubbish and everything's your fault and nobody loves you,"
The girl is shouting now and it isn't just Alex whose staring at them. The man can clearly tell that they've attracted attention, and he looks as if he wants to melt into the floor.
"I understand you're angry," he repeats, "Perhaps I should leave. I'm planning to go away for a while soon. Dumbledore told me-"
"Yet more advance planning, an O for you in Mission Prep," shrieks the girl, "Anybody else you told about this before you told me? That's typical you, isn't it- nobody's allowed to know when we're together, but you've told everyone and their Kneazle that you're breaking up with me. Do you know how melodramatic that is? Everybody has to know about how unhappy you are,"
"I haven't told anyone," responds the man in a quiet, firm tone. The girl jams her hands over her face and starts to cry. There is a long moment of uncomfortable silence, and then the man gets to his feet.
"I think I should go now," he murmurs. The girl's distracted by sobbing, and the man frowns as if perplexed about what to do next. Eventually he says, "I don't suppose I'll see you for a while, so I think it's best if you try to forget about me,"
The redhead tears her hands away from her eyes. "How? How can I forget you? I love you,"
Alex thought that that hammer-blow was coming. It's a well-timed proclamation from the girl, who clearly has flair for dramatics. The redhead's hand darts out to grab the bloke's arm. He squirms but doesn't pull away.
"Kiss me," the girl pleads, "Just one more time,"
The man stares at the floor.
"I can't," he whispers, hoarse.
She gazes up at him. "Please,"
That's almost the nail in the coffin of the bloke's well-practised Poker face. He looks at the girl (though Alex notes that his eyes refuse to meet hers), then at the door, then back at the girl, then at over at the bar. His shoulders rise, then slump as he sighs heavily. He moves towards the redhead, bends down awkwardly and kisses her on the top of her head. Gentle. Paternal. Alex sees the girl's eyes screw up tight and a tear spill onto her cheek. It wasn't the type of kiss she wanted, and she knows that he knows that. If anything, it's hurt her more.
The man straightens up and walks briskly away towards the door of the Queen's Head. There's a thump as the redhead bangs the tabletop again, but the man doesn't react. He opens the front door and walks outside onto the street. Alex half-expects the girl to run after him like in the movies- but although the redhead twists around in her seat, she doesn't get up. There's another long moment of quiet and bewilderment and pain. Then the girl glances round, as if noticing for the first time that this whole scene has taken place in public (Alex isn't sure how genuine that realisation is- if you're going to walk into a pub wearing bright red hair and with WEIRD spread across your chest, you're asking for attention, even before you start crying and shouting and kicking tables)- although almost everybody who was watching a minute ago has gone back to their drinks and their conversations.
Alex reckons that the nice thing to do might be to go over and ask the girl if she's okay. Sister solidarity and all that, especially as another tear is now dribbling down the girl's face. But Alex has never known what to say in those situations, and she'll probably get in trouble with Dana. Best to let the redhead have a bit of cry, then order herself get a drink and pull herself together. Moreover, Alex muses, shifting the chairs at table sixteen, there was something….off about the whole scene, even for the weirdos from the convention. For a start, what kind of names are Venus, Dumbledore and Syria? Who's the person who died, and what's that got to do with the couple's break-up? (Did they said "died"? Or did they just say "gone"? Gone where?). And what were they doing together in the first place, that older, quiet man in grey and the fiery redhead? He'd said that there was something wrong about their relationship, and she'd mentioned him feeling guilty...what if they're relatives, Alex thinks with alarm. That'd explain the age difference too, and why the girl mentioned that he never usually wanted to be seen out with her. He must be a proper manipulator- all the embarrassment and guilt and mumbling were an act. She said he'd told her he loved her- that must have been an act, too. What a creep.
...Or perhaps Alex is being dramatic. That kind of thing doesn't really happen in real life, or at least not in this grotty little pub on Grey's Inn Road. Perhaps that rules the affair out too. It's likely something much more mundane- the person called Syria probably hasn't literally died, and the man might just look older because he's poorly. Alex feels abruptly sorry for him, and guilty for assuming he was cheat or a perv. He'd looked ashamed and embarrassed, and the girl had given him a hard time. It was obvious that the man ditching her was a complete curveball- she'd seemed really happy before. She didn't seem to care that her fella was older and unhealthy- looking. Quite romantic really, Alex muses. She glances over to see the redhead scrubbing her face with her t-shirt. She seems like she could do with a hug, but Alex isn't going to try. Someone from the girl's convention will likely be along in a minute, and they'll probably be of more use to her than Alex will.
Dana catches her eye from across the room and Alex hurriedly shoves an empty ketchup pouch and a teaspoon onto her tray to look as if she's doing something. She scurries back to the bar to empty the tray, then does another couple of laps of the pub collecting glasses. Pervy Relative is ruled out, and Affair probably is too. So why did the man sound so guilty about the relationship? In fact, didn't he say he was dangerous? Or perhaps that was something else Alex misheard? Maybe he's sick. That'd explain why he looks old and unwell, but not really why he's dangerous. Well, that was possibly an exaggeration, and he might have just meant unreliable or unstable. What if that's what the person called Syria died of? Yes, that's it, Alex thinks- Syria dying has reminded the man that he's ill too. It's probably something chronic like Stuart's dad had, and the man wants to end things with the girl before he gets really sick too. That long name- Daddle-door, was it?- might be a doctor (loads of doctor's these days are foreign, which would explain the strange name), and the man could be going away to a clinic or hospice. Poor bloke. And poor girl, even if she was daft to get involved with someone with a serious illness. She'd looked so happy with him that Alex wonders if she'd forgotten he was sick. That happens when you're in love- at least, Alex reckons it does.
"Hey, Alex, the till's stuck again- can you help me out?" asks a voice. Sharika has popped up beside Alex, looking worried.
Alex sighs. "Yeah. One sec,"
"I kind of need you now," says Sharika, chewing her lip.
"Fine. Let's see," says Alex disinterestedly. She hooks her tray under her arm and follows Sharika to the bar. Back to real life and real work- not stupid conspiracies about strangers splitting up. The fact is, Alex tells herself, she'll never know who those two people were or what their situation was, and she'll never see them again. She needs to put her head down and get on with the rest of the shift (according to her watch, only three hours and forty minutes to go now). And then the next shift, and the next, and the next, until she can stop working at this dump and get on with her life. Better to focus on her own problems than the lives of strangers. Alex ducks behind the bar and flicks the till open with a thump. She should do what the ill man told his girlfriend to do- forget all about them.
