The day after her encounter with Nessryna was a rough one. Which was an annoying one, because the day after was Christmas Day. A day that should have been spent surrounded by family and loved ones, but instead found herself waking up alone in room fourteen. She was used to this by now, of course. Her life was a series of lonely days, punctuated by moments of loneliness. So far, she'd managed to get through most of those moments without resorting to suicide. So why was Christmas morning so difficult for her?
"Merry Christmas, dearie!"
"Yeah."
Try as she might, the brief glimpse of serenity she was able to achieve yesterday just didn't want to seek her out again. She put the blame of Nessryna, but really, it was more than that. There was a deeper problem here; something she couldn't quite pin down. Something nagging at the back of her mind. She didn't know if she could trust this strange creature to keep her secret, and the constant worry would kept her armpits spicy and her throat lumpy.
A few times, Mrs Abbott gently moved her aside when she didn't realise she was glowering menacingly at a customer. But inevitably, time dulled the edge of her anxiety, reducing it to the occasional startle at an imagined sound.
"What do you do on draft?
"Draft?" she repeated.
"Yeah, draft?"
"There's…a breeze in the beer?"
"... what?"
"Order or I'll punch you in the throat."
"Cara!"
She turned to see Mrs Abbott glaring at her over the counter, her face paling slightly. She was holding a wooden spoon threateningly in one hand.
By dinner time, she had to seriously consider if she wanted to try working the evening shift, but according to Mrs Abbott, it'd be just as busy as last night. She didn't think she could handle that much intensity with so much distraction in her veins. She felt like her brain was being squeezed, leaving behind a hollow, empty shell. She needed to focus on what mattered right now.
"Do you need me tonight?"
She was asking, but was already well aware of the answer.
Mrs Abbott nodded her head, a frown creasing her forehead. ""Oh, definitely! How come?"
She sighed slowly, rubbing her temples.
"Can Hannah not fill in? She's been wanting to be a bartender for a while?"
She looked up sharply at her.
"Carly? What's wrong?"
Mrs Abbott placed, what she probably intended as, a reassuring hand on her shoulder, which made her flinch. She moved away.
"I just..." she struggled quietly. "I don't want to do last night again. I don't feel great."
She gestured vaguely towards her stomach. Mrs Abbott raised an eyebrow, sceptically.
"Oh honey... I didn't know you got anxious with crowds."
"I don't!" she retorted.
Her tone sounded defensive and maybe even a little childish. She hadn't meant to say that. Not that loud anyway. But the words came out before she could stop them.
She knew exactly how she felt. It was a combination of fear, nervousness, anger, and embarrassment all rolled into one giant ball of emotion that she tried hard to ignore.
Mrs Abbott frowned, placing a hand against her chest.
"Well, whatever it is… I won't make you work on anything you're uncomfortable with… Tell you what, why don't we have Hannah out on the front with me just for tonight and you can stay in the back with Ol'Tom doing wishes?"
The idea sounded exactly like the treatment she needed. Away from the crowd and given a chore she could throw herself into It was demeaning, true, but she was Cara Harkness now. And Cara Harkness cleaned glasses.
Unfortunately, Mrs Abbott's tone wreaked sympathy.
"No. I'll be fine on front. I'll manage."
Mrs Abbott waved her hands in exasperation.
"Nope! Nope! Too late now, the rotas have already changed! Sorry, Carly, once it changes it can never go back!"
She glared at her.
"Mmm. Whatever."
She resigned herself to doing the dishes left over from last night. She scrubbed at them with a heavy-duty scouring pad, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks as her anger threatened to bubble to the surface once more. She was tired, irritable, and embarrassed by the situation.
She took a deep breath, staring at the dirty dishes and counting to ten in her head. The anger dissipated, replaced by something else. Sadness? She wasn't sure. A heaviness settled in her chest, weighing down on her shoulders, making her feel small and insignificant. She leaned against the sink, resting her head on the edge of it. Her hair fell forward, brushing her face. She closed her eyes.
To think she was actually beginning to feel settled yesterday. This was supposed to be the new her; this was supposed to be her new life. But it wasn't and it couldn't be. If she wanted to start anew then she needed to stop living in the shadows. Stop hiding every time something shakes her. Stop being afraid to exist. She wanted to put this all behind her and move on, but it seemed everywhere she went, always managed to get polluted. Like a bad omen was haunting her. Every time she tried to escape, there would be someone or something to drag her back.
It was quiet in the kitchen, aside from the sound of running water. There were no voices, no music coming through the speakers yet. Just her own thoughts.
They were dark.
Later, as the Christmas crowd began to trickle in, Ol' Tom climbed out of the basement and started to assist her one woman-war against the cutlery. He smiled warmly as he handed her a stack of plates to dry, winking as he turned around.
"What's the matter, missus? You look like you've seen a ghost."
She gave him a weak smile as she placed another plate on top of the stack.
"Just tired," she mumbled.
He nodded, reaching up and rubbing his chin.
"Aye, well, you're not the only one."
She sighed as she wiped off the counter. "How is the basement coming?"
Ol' Tom grinned, chuckling as he grabbed a rag and started wiping off the counter.
"Oh, it's coming along grand, my treacle!"
She rolled her eyes. "You always say that? Treacle? What is treacle?"
He shrugged.
"Why not? I'm an old man, doesn't mean can't talk the modern slang? Besides, I like sayin' it. Makes me sound fun, it does."
"We don't say treacle."
"Well, why not?"
She shook her head incredulously.
"Because we're not in the eighteen hundreds anymore!"
"N'awww, but it's so much fun sayin' treacle!"
"That doesn't make sense."
"Ayy, see I love usin' words I haven't heard before," he said, putting the rag away and picking up the broom. "Helps me stay young. Keeps me on my toes."
She sighed with frustration, watching him sweep.
"You're a weird old man, you know that?"
His grin broadened.
"And you're a strange young lady."
She rolled her eyes as she poured a pitcher down the sink. Ol' Tom nodded as he continued to clean the floor.
"How's it been goin' up 'ere?" he asked, waving vaguely toward the kitchen.
"Busy."
"No rest for the wicked."
She picked up the glass she'd been polishing earlier, then set it down once more, frowning as she stared into space.
"The water's either boiling or bloody freezing. Never anything in between. I'm either scolding my hands or freezing my fingers off..." she trailed off, shaking her head. She glanced over at Ol' Tom. He was leaning on the broom, arms crossed over his chest. He nodded slowly, glancing up at the ceiling.
"Yeah, the pipes have always been a bit wobbly..." he muttered.
"There's nothing you can do about it?"
He shook his head.
"Not really, missus. The plumbin' 'ere is a bit shoddy, if you'll pardon my French. But I try to take care of things as best I can. It's 'ard keepin' things workin' all the time. Sometimes you just gotta accept that things will break now and then."
She nodded, looking back towards the sink.
Through the wall, she could hear the bar filling up. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the edge of the sink. It was not as late into the night as she'd have liked and she hadn't even finished cleaning everything from last night yet. She reached out and twisted the hot tap, staring at the water as it slowly began to boil. Her stomach grumbled loudly but she didn't feel hungry. She felt drained, worn-out, and exhausted. And then she was hungry.
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath through her nose as she tried to steady her breathing. She knew this feeling. She had felt like this ever since she arrived. This feeling of being pulled in two different directions. It had been easy to pretend she was someone else. She could function if she was someone else. But last night brought back a lot.
As she looked around, she noticed the door creak open and a familiar face appeared by it. She turned off the faucet.
"Hey, have we had anything handed into the Lost and Found?" Hannah asked.
"The what?"
Hannah snorted.
"I'll give you three guesses what 'Lost and Found' means..."
Ol' Tom shook his head and called across the room.
"Nowt' recently, my treacle!"
Hannah smiled at him. "Thanks, Ol' Tom."
The next few hours passed swiftly, filled with routine and monotony. She spent that time scrubbing pots and pans, mopping floors and polishing the silverware, occasionally breaking patterns for a few words of conversation whenever Ol' Tom spoke up about anything that came to mind. As always, he was more than willing to talk, telling her stories from when he was young. Some were annoying, some sad and many absolutely disgusting. Most of it made little sense to her, though regardless, it was better than silence.
Finally, around one o'clock in the morning, another knock sounded on the door. Hannah reappeared before them again.
"Mummy says we're closing up now."
Ol' Tom gave her a nod of acknowledgement.
"Right you are, lassie," he said with a wink. "We'll join yer soon."
Ol' Tom moved over to the sink and dried his hands. She watched, bemused, as he pulled a large bottle of brandy out of a cupboard and poured himself a generous measure. Then he turned to her, holding out the bottle.
"You look like you need one," he said with a grin.
She laughed dryly.
"Say that again."
Ol' Tom chuckled and held out the bottle to her again.
"You look like you could use one."
Shaking her head, she took the offered brandy. Okay, she walked into that one. She removed one of the freshly clean glasses from the drying rack and poured the amber liquid into it. Taking a sip, she grimaced.
"Oh, by the old gods," she muttered under her breath. "That's strong."
Ol' Tom chuckled and clapped her on the shoulder.
"Keeps you warm through the winter nights."
She took another sip.
"I'm sure. What is it?"
Ol' Tom grinned widely.
"Used to brew my own, but there's no time for that no-more, so I treat myself to an expensive 'un every now and then. This lots from a town in Crimea called Sevastopol. Vampire-made. Best stuff I've ever tasted!"
She raised a hot eyebrow at him.
"Vampire-made?"
He nodded, grinning even wider.
"Sure are, lass! Why do ye think they call it the Black Sea?"
Her brow furrowed slightly.
"What would vampires need with alcohol?"
Ol' Tom snorted loudly and waved her off dismissively.
"Well, if I 'ad to live forever, I certainly couldn't do it sober!"
She frowned and sipped at the brandy once more.
It really wasn't too bad. In fact, she found she might even be able to drink enough of it to get a buzz off. But she doubted she'd ever have the sort of money to buy herself this sort of brand.
After finishing the last of the liquor, she set down her empty glass and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Thanks."
Ol' Tom happily nodded, gesturing to her to take some more.
"'Elp yerself, my treacle. Only Christmas once a year."
She wasn't one to deny anything free when it was offered to her, and much less when it involved alcohol.
He handed her glass back and she took a deep gulp of her second pouring, methodically considering the burning sensation in her throat. She felt a bit dizzy already, but decided not to worry about that just yet. The hazy warmth spreading throughout her system helped to rid the chill that'd been chasing her all day. And it was nice having someone else serve her the drinks for once.
As they drank, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only this kitchen in its place. It was the silence after the storm.
She gave herself a rare moment of reflection. How many things had to happen for her to end up here? Sharing vampire alcohol with a crippled old man in the back of a pub? She knew she should feel ashamed, guilty or something along those lines, yet she was content to sit here all night, letting the brandy wash away her troubles.
She met his gaze with a deep look of consideration.
"How'd you get your hump?"
Ol' Tom cocked an eyebrow at her.
"What hump?" .
She scowled. He grinned wide, showing off a mouthful of tobacco-stained teeth.
"Got it fightin' a troll durin' the first war against You-Know-Who. Got me a good one there. Made a decent meal o' the bugger too afterward."
She blinked at him.
"A troll?"
His grin widened. "Course I did. A whole village full o' em, in fact."
"Piss off."
His eyes twinkled with amusement.
"Nah, 'course not. Born with it, weren't I?" He chuckled and gave her a wink. "Can't 'elp 'ow yer born, can ya?"
"I guess not," she said absently.
She deflated, bringing her attention to her reflection in her glass. She hadn't realised how tired she'd become until she'd finally sat down. Her arms ached from the cleaning and the soles of her feet burnt from being on them all day. And the lingering turmoil of her encounter last night still threatened to eat away at her, never far behind. All of that, combined with the warmth spreading through her chest, and she could crawl into bed and sleep for days.
O'l Tom patted her arm comfortingly.
"C'mon! What say we get ta other lassies in on this?"
He smiled at her encouragingly. She stared at him blankly for a moment before catching him up. The thought of company didn't suit her well right now, but she also didn't fancy chasing the rabbit and ended up in a more foul mood than she already was.
"Alright. Let's go meet some ladies."
Together they gathered their things and exited, where the pub was now a stark contrast to how she'd last seen it. Gone were the rowdy patrons and drunken brawls; instead there was only silence. All the windows were closed and locked, the fire in the fireplace had burned itself out hours ago and left nothing but ash and cinders. It had become a ghost town, all except for the two of them and Mrs Abbott, who was still busying herself about with the cleaning. Even Hannah had disappeared somewhere.
"Hello, you two!" Mrs Abbott exclaimed cheerfully. "We're almost done here, then you can go up if you want!"
Ol' Tom cackled mischievously.
"Oh no, we're stickin' down 'ere tonight!"
Mrs Abbott cast a suspicious glance over at her. Her companion laughed and brought up the bottle of brandy for inspection.
"Well, what do ye say, lassie?" He asked with a smile. "Care t'join us?"
Mrs Abbott looked from him to her and nodded quickly.
"Ohh... go on then! Just let me finish clearing up here first, dearie!" she told them happily.
The pair moved themselves over to and sat opposite one another. She finished off her second glass before her bottom hit the stool. It was giving her the second wind she'd definitely needed. She reached for the bottle to top herself up.
"No!" Ol' Tom growled sharply, waving at her. "I'll pour! I'm the bartender tonight!"
"Fine, hurry up then!" she muttered, turning away from him so he couldn't see the smirk creeping onto her lips.
Ol' Tom poured them both a generous helping and offered her a toast.
"To vampires!"
He declared his toast loudly enough for everyone to hear. She raised her glass and clunked it against his.
"To vampires!" They echoed in unison.
They downed their drinks in one gulp and started laughing.
"That's the stuff!" O'l Tom announced gleefully.
She was steadily becoming the most at peace she'd felt in a long time. It was a very different sensation to the bloated, messy feeling she got when drinking beer. Or the floaty, out-of-body experience that wine gave her. Maybe after all this, it turned out she was a brandy girl?
She sipped on her newly filled glass of brandy once more, enjoying what it did for her. Her eyes danced across the room, taking in the wooden bar, the worn floorboards beneath her feet and the tables and stools scattered around. A part of her was dying to know what lay for her outside those doors. But a bigger part of her could stay right here.
Finally, Mrs Abbott came to their side.
"There ya go, love," Ol' Tom slid her a glass over. "Your turn."
She smiled softly and accepted the glass, looking down into it thoughtfully.
"This place always feels so much bigger when it's empty, doesn't it?" she mused. "We made enough galleons tonight to see us through the winter."
"Aye, well," Ol' Tom agreed. "Yer said we would and low-and-behold, yer were right! Nothin' to worry about!"
He winked at her and she chuckled quietly, nodding slowly with him.
"Ol' Tom... you're such a kind soul, bless you."
He smiled back proudly.
"It's part of me job!"
The older Abbott giggled lightly, taking her first sip of her brandy.
"You've always been a good worker, O'l Tom, and I don't think I could have done this without you."
"Well, thank ye, ma'am!" he grinned at her fondly. "If it weren't fer me, you wouldn't have no food or drink in the house!"
She watched on, amused by the banter between them, but staying in her lane.
She was coming to not mind being around them as much anymore. When her moods haunted her she wanted nothing but to be left completely alone. But even at her lowest, these mild amusements had yet to truly push her over the edge. And they seemed happy to take her for the way she was. They were just happy to be working together, happy to be alive. She wondered if she ever would get used to that. If she ever could.
"So, tell me, what do you think of dish duty?" she asked her.
Her eyes twitched slightly.
"It was fine."
But Mrs Abbott laughed heartily at this.
"Oh, come now!" she chided gently. "I can read ya like a book! Don't hold yerself back!"
"Alright..." she huffed. "Well, it's boring and tedious and I wouldn't wish it on a House Elf. You need to sort them pipes out, as well."
Mrs Abbott nodded accordingly.
"Tell me about it..."
They sat in silence for a few moments, taking in the peace and quiet of the pub. There wasn't much more to say, and mercifully, neither of them still felt the need to fill the silence when it wasn't necessary. Whether this was because they knew her better now, or they were too tired to be arsed, she couldn't tell. They let the conversation lapse until Ol' Tom spoke up once more.
"How 'bout a game?"
"What kind?" she raised an eyebrow.
"Why, poker, lass! Me and the wife used ta play that all the time when we first met. It was nice, yer know? We'd sit there in our own little world for hours on end!"
"Poker?" she repeated, sceptical. "I'm not familiar."
He produced a deck of cards and shuffled them carefully.
"Don't worry 'bout it, luv," he reassured. "Let's see how well yer got it."
He dealt three cards each across the table. He looked expectantly at her. She shrugged and took the first card from the pile.
"No cheating, lad!" he warned.
She chuckled.
She didn't feel any sense of urgency or pressure to win, which was strange, given her usual nature. As far as she could remember, she'd never played poker before, but then, she'd hardly any card games before. Even in Hogwarts, the most she'd strayed into that world was Exploding Snap. So, she wasn't sure why she didn't feel the usual level of stress she experienced with the threat of losing. Maybe it was because she was surrounded by people she trusted… or maybe it was simply because she was so damn tired. The latter, probably.
She looked over at Mrs Abbott, who was watching her intently. She was playing close to the chest, though, and she noticed her looking away whenever she tried to catch her eye. She was also holding herself very still and straight, making sure that every inch of her body language was completely open. She figured this meant something in the world of poker, but she wasn't sure what.
Ol' Tom leaned forward to take a look at his cards, grinning broadly. He held up the top card with pride.
"Aces," he declared. "Always a good omen."
This seemed to make him happy enough. He started the next round.
The next hour happened. Cards were dealt, money was lost, friendships were ruined, formed and ruined again. All in all, it was the most concentrated she'd been on anything since arriving at the pub and still wasn't sure if she understood the rules. And while she did have some doubts about the way she was feeling, she decided to put those aside. That probably meant something significant.
"This game is boring," she threw her cards down in disgust. "All you do is bluff."
"Bluffin's the point, girlie!" O'l Tom retorted. "Yer supposed to try and trick everyone else into thinkin' yer better than yer actually are."
She stared at him.
"Are you saying I'm not good at that?"
"Nay, luv! No no no!" he waved his hands in front of him frantically. "I ain't sayin' nothin', don't ye worry!"
She picked up her cards, glanced at them, glanced at O'l Tom's face and then proceeded to make the two meet. O'l Tom cried out, Mrs Abbott fell about laughing, while she just smiled, returning to her drink.
"I have an idea for a game..."
They both looked at her, smiling.
"...Oh? And what's that, treacle?"
She grinned, thinking hard.
"Something we used to play in the common room... You got any veritaserum?"
Mrs Abbot nodded slowly, stroking her chin.
"Well, I've heard of such a thing," she said approvingly. "But however could we go about using that, my dear?"
She pursed her lips, frowning.
"It makes drinking games a lot more fun when you know nobody is lying."
Ol' Tom just sniggered and took another swig from his bottle.
"Haven't played no truth or dare since I was in Hogwarts me'self!" he said loudly. "And I'm only thirty-six, mind."
"Think you got those numbers the wrong way around, mate?"
He pointed at her, grinning widely.
"Only as old as ya' feel!"
Mrs Abbott shook her head fondly, smiling at the two.
"Well... I'm afraid unfortunately we don't make a habit of stocking lie-detecting potions in the Leaky Cauldron, dear. So unless you want to play strip poker..."
O'l Tom let out a loud laugh, clapping his hand on Mrs Abbott's shoulder.
"Oh! Yes please!"
"Gonna have to offer me a lot more than just brandy for that. Pervert."
"Ahhh, I do like you, girlie," she winked at her. "You're honest as they come."
She rolled her eyes again, but couldn't help the smile breaking out on her face. It felt so freeing to be able to joke to without having to watch what she said. After all, it wasn't every day one gets a chance to reinvent oneself and pretend to be someone new.
She poured herself another glass of brandy.
"So... what was the shouting about earlier?"
O'l Tom coughed, spluttering a little as he tried to hide the fact he was choking on his brandy.
"Ahhh..." Mrs Abbott deflated, nodding a little. "... it may have had something to do with short, round and ugly."
O'l Tom choked louder this time, finally managing to get his breath back after a moment.
"Bloody Hughnor..." he muttered. "What'd he do now?"
Mrs Abbott frowned and looked at the floor, taking another sip of her brandy.
"Nothing really," she lied. "Just gave me a bit of a fright, I suppose. Some nonsense about the Lost and Found..."
The way the two spoke, sipping at their drinks and pretending everything was alright - she saw right through them. They weren't fooling anyone, probably not even themselves. Not least because Mrs Abbotts's eyes were still wide open, staring at the floor, lost in thought.
"He's just such an arsehole…" she cursed, "... I really wish there was something more we could do about people like him."
It was rare she saw the landlady upset. Not properly upset - scorning her because she said a slur to a patron, perhaps - but now? She looked genuinely hurt, which didn't sit well with her.
"Something you can do? Bar him? Or hell, call the Aurors if he's that bad?"
Mrs Abbott shrugged her shoulders uselessly.
"We'd lose business, most likely. People talk. Plus, I doubt the Ministry has the time to care about some drunk…"
Her last words hung in the air as silence settled over the scene.
The landlady was probably also tipsy, the thought had occurred to her. They'd been sipping pretty regularly at these drinks and closing had been nearly three hours ago now. But saying that, she was fairly certain Mrs Abbott had gotten drunk around her before and her mood hadn't taken a swing like this. She'd only half been paying attention when she heard the shouting through the door, but for it to have still been bothering her, she could only guess she must have missed something important.
"But, I'll say this much for him…" she muttered. "If there's one person I wouldn't mind seeing dead, it would be that bastard."
Her eyes widened, shocked by the sudden venom in the woman's voice. The landlady laughed at this and waved off the concern.
"Don't threat yourself, dear! It's just... it's just, I hate him. He makes my skin crawl whenever I see him!"
"I'm..." she tried. "I'm sorry for bringing it up... I... didn't mean to upset you."
"Oh, no need to apologise..." her tone was gentle as always. "You're a good woman, and you've done nothing wrong."
She paused for a second, and took another drink of her brandy.
"That's debatable."
"No, it isn't! You might be a little rough around the edges, but you're one of the good ones. I can always tell."
A smile crossed her face for a brief moment and she glanced away from the landlady.
"Thank you…" she muttered quietly.
They both stared into space for a few moments until they noticed the latch at the front door being fiddled with. She turned her attention towards the window. The sun had long set up the moon was hidden behind a thick layer of cloud. Warm reflection of street lamps light up the snowy blanket, making the scenery look especially like a painting.
A few seconds later, Hannah poked her head inside. She didn't even know she'd left.
"Hey! Sorry we're late! Had to wait for the night tube!"
Mrs Abbott nodded and gestured to the girl inside.
"Come on in, you two! Have a seat, why don't you?"
The door opened fully and Hannah returned inside the pub, wrapped up in bundles of winter clothes. With her was another girl, wearing glasses and a red scarf.
"Hiya, Kim! How was the journey up?"
Kim smiled at the older woman, but didn't reply, instead she rushed in to give the landlady a hug, which made her blush slightly.
"Oh! My! Hello to you too, petal!" she giggled, returning the hug.
She looked between the two young girls, confused.
"Oh, Cara, I forgot to tell you! This is Kim, she's Hannah's best friend and she's spending Christmas with us!"
The young girl nodded politely at her.
"Hello, miss. Nice to meet ya!"
As she watched the scene play out, for some reason or another, felt herself growing more and more unsettled. She glanced back out the window at the snowfall. Then she realised it.
"You're a muggle, aren't you?"
Kim seemed taken aback by the question. For a moment, silence filled the room and the air went still. For a second, she thought her words just hadn't been heard. But then her error occurred. And not only was Kim staring at her, so was Hannah, Mrs Abbott and Ol' Tom.
Oh.
She stared at them for a moment, wondering what she should do.
"I'm a... a what, sorry?" Kim asked slowly.
Hannah broke the awkward tension with a loud laugh.
"Muggle is slang for southerner! She's from Scotland!"
She looked blankly at the others, her drunk thought process struggling to respond.
"Oh... aye! Aye, that is right, my little... haggis..." she finally forced out.
Ol' Tom laughed loudly and clapped her hands together. Kim blushed and shrugged awkwardly.
"Oh, then... yeah! I'm from Brighton, I've just done the train up tonight!"
She smiled weakly at the younger girl.
"Nice to meet you, wee lassy."
Kim nodded back at her and smiled, before turning her attention to Mrs Abbott.
"Thank you for letting me come up, Mrs Abbott. It means a lot."
The landlady waved off any thanks.
"It's no bother, love! You're practically family to us."
Kim gave a shy smile at that, and she couldn't help notice the way she and Hannah held themselves around each other.
They stood very close, almost touching, but never quite making physical contact. Almost like they were consciously trying to avoid it. She recognised it all too well, and thought back to the confusion she faced in her teenage years. To the hurtful things said about her and the times she had been called a freak. Of course, she'd always send them hopping to the hospital wing, but it didn't stop her from crying herself to sleep at night.
She shook away the memory.
"We're actually gonna head up straight to bed if that's alright?" Hannah asked. "She's had a long journey up and we have a lot to catch up on."
Mrs Abbott nodded at them both.
"Of course, love. You two get yourselves tucked up! Straight to bed, so you can see what Father Christmas got you in the morning!"
Kim nodded and Hannah hugged her mother goodbye once more before they ascended to the stairs.
She watched the pair ascend the stairs. The whole time, she tried to think of something to say. Something clever, witty and very befitting of her. But all she could come up with was:
"... those two are shagging, right?"
Mrs Abbotts eyes widened at the bluntness of her words, while Ol' Tom descended into a smug laughter.
"Oi, oi! No need for such talk in here!" she boomed over the sound of Ol' Tom's chuckling.
She turned a deep shade of crimson, but Mrs Abbott just leaned forward conspiratorially.
"I know, but Carly, honey, you aren't one I need to hear that from."
Mrs Abbott shook her head and leaned back, nursing her glass of brandy. She looked down at her half-empty glass. She wasn't used to drinking this much. Or rather, drinking this much around people. She took another swig, feeling the alcohol burn through her throat and settle in her rapidly bloating stomach.
"Sorry, I just… " Mrs Abbott began, leaning across the table towards her. "... I know. Ol' Tom knows. I'm pretty certain Kim's family knows. I just… I want to be happy for her, but I don't know why she isn't letting me."
She looked carefully at the older woman, taking in the sadness and frustration behind her eyes. They shared a similar look to when she'd told her aunt about her first relationship with a girl. That same helpless confusion that was trying so hard to understand. She took a moment to compose her thoughts.
"Maybe she doesn't feel like she can?"
Her voice was soft, but firm enough to cut through the silence of the pub.
Mrs Abbott nodded slowly and leaned back, sipping on her drink.
"They've been together for two years now, best I can reckon. And she still just tells me she's her best friend… who does she think I am? Does she really think I wouldn't be okay with it? Does she think that less of me?"
She shrugged her shoulders absently.
"Maybe."
Mrs Abbott let out a heavy sigh.
"Do you think... Do you think there's anything I can do?"
She thought carefully about how to respond.
"It's not your place to. It has to be her decision, nobody else's. And that isn't a reflection of you, it's just something she has to do in her own time."
The older woman nodded her head, looking slightly disappointed.
"I can respect her reasons... I'm just terrified that one of them is because she thinks I wouldn't approve. If she wants to tell me in her own time, then that's fine. I just don't want her to think she has to hide it."
She paused, considering.
"You know, you could always just ask her?"
Mrs Abbott blinked, surprised by the suggestion.
She nodded slowly.
"Maybe she's built it up in her head about telling you? Maybe she thinks she'll have to explain herself? Maybe she's just as scared of approaching the topic as you? If it'll give you the peace of mind, it's always an option."
Mrs Abbott smiled, with an air of futile sadness.
"I guess I could try that."
She picked up her brandy, taking a sip before setting it down.
There was a long pause between them both, neither wanting to break the quiet tension. The only sounds coming from the room were the clinking glasses of others around them. After a while, Mrs Abbot spoke.
"Thank you, Carly."
"Any time."
By the old gods, she was drunk. She didn't remember getting to the bathroom. Well, she did. She remembered walking, stumbling up the stairs and climbing the rest of the way on all fours. But what happened after that was hazy. Her head felt fuzzy and everything was moving too fast. She couldn't focus. She couldn't think. All she knew was that she needed to pee, and that if she didn't, she would wet her pants.
A wave of dizziness washed over her as she sat on the toilet seat and she reached out to steady herself against the wall. Secure, she slumped against the cold tiled wall, feeling weak and sick.
Shit. She should never have done this. This was a bad idea. She shouldn't be drinking like this. She had to drink a second dosage of her potion tonight to keep her disguise up - which was potion she didn't have to spare.
Why was she even trying with them? There wasn't anyone in this world she liked, least of all these people. Why did she care so much about what they thought of her? Why was she wasting her new start on them?
She had no answers. No direction. Nothing.
And she hated it. She hated everyone. Every person in her life. She was sick of giving more than she received. She was sick of being taken for granted. Not a single one of them understood her or what she'd been through, they didn't understand her pain, or her loss. They didn't understand her loneliness. Yet they had the nerve to judge her for her decisions?
She hated them. Hated them for leaving her alone when she was younger. For being cruel and selfish and uncaring. Hated them for dying when she needed them the most. Hated them for making her feel worthless. She wasn't worthless. She was the Greatest Witch in... somewhere. Somewhere? Where was she?
Oh, the bathroom, that was right. What was she thinking about? Oh, yeah. Bathrooms.
Baths. Yes, baths. What was the deal with bathtubs anyway? Weren't they such a waste of water? And didn't the water get dirty? How are you supposed to clean yourself in dirty water? What was she doing in here?
Then, she remembered, and began to pee. Afterwards, she stood up and pulled down her jeans. A sharp pang of pain shot through her leg.
She winced and bent forward. That hurt. She put her hands on either side of her knee and massaged it gently. Then she looked up at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She grimaced, then shook her head slowly. That wasn't her. She had to stop this. Stop drinking. She had to control herself or risk loosing control. Loosing all this.
She sighed and flushed the toilet, then stepped out into the hall and headed for the stairs.
On the way, she encountered a blonde head.
"Oi! Why're you up?"
Hannah span around, looking like she hadn't expected to run into someone at this time.
"Oh. Just going loo. Sup?"
Focusing all of her energy into not appearing as leglessly drunk as she absolutely was, she deadpanned at the girl.
"Come out to your Mum. She's pretending she doesn't know, but she does. Everyone fucking does. Get over yourself and show your Mum she's great at her job."
The younger girl's mouth opened and closed half a dozen times as she fought desperately to compose herself.
"I-I… I… we…"
She stuck a hostile finger at her.
"Shut it."
And then pointed to the staircase.
"Tomorrow. Introduce your Mum to your girlfriend. It's Christmas."
She left the panicking, bubbling pile of teenage angst and waddled back towards the stairs to the par, pausing at the top of them to steady her breath. Then, she continued down the stairs and made her way to the bar where now Mrs Abbott remained. Ol' Tom had been sent to his room after he started snoring loudly, which she found rather hilarious considering he'd still been standing up.
As soon as she hoped off the last step, Mrs Abbott turned around from behind the bar, smiling warmly.
"You feeling okay, sweet? Your face looks pale."
She gave a wonky smile.
"I'm alright, just getting tired… And drunk. I'm drunk."
Mrs Abbot giggled and smiled. She had a glowing smile.
"Come on, hon, let's get you ready for bed."
She nodded, an action which then made following Mrs Abbott into the kitchen very difficult as the room span around them. Mrs Abbott grabbed a tea towel and wiped some sweat off her brow before grabbing a glass and filling it with water from the tap. She gulped down half of it without stopping and handed it to her.
"Here," she said. "We'll make sure you sleep well tonight."
She nodded gratefully and drank the water, finishing it quickly.
"Thanks you, Mrs Abbott," she slurred, rubbing her eyes.
By the old gods, this was embarrassing. She knew she wouldn't be able to stay awake much longer. It had been a long day and there were many more to come, but for now, she needed to lock herself back in room fourteen and sleep for eternity.
She nodded a few times to Mrs Abbott, who smiled softly at her.
"Oh, Cara?"
She stopped walking and looked over her shoulder.
"Ye?"
"Why don't you kip on our settee tonight, dear?"
She turned back around, confused, meeting her gaze once more.
"Why?"
Mrs Abbott smiled apologetically.
"Because you're very drunk, sweetie. You should let someone look after you."
She shrugged carelessly, but Mrs Abbott shook her head.
"No, I insist," she laughed. "Plus, it's... it's been really nice having you working with us over the holidays. Please, I insist."
She tilted her head awkwardly, glancing at the clock above the bar. It was quarter past seven in the morning. The sun would be rising in an hour. How had they stayed up so late?
She thought about arguing, but could tell that Mrs Abbott was genuine and concerned. Besides, she hadn't slept well since she arrived in London; maybe this would help. Maybe if she got some real rest she'd start feel better.
Maybe…
She sighed with defeat and nodded.
"Alright."
Mrs Abbott beamed and led her towards the back of the pub and a door she'd passed by a hundred times, but never crossed through before. They entered the doorway, went up a staircase single-file and came out in what appeared to be an entire house, complete with furniture, a bathroom and multiple bedrooms, all hidden away behind that lonely door in the pub.
She wobbled her way to the edge of the settee and removed her shoes and socks. The room was spinning. She blinked several times and tried to focus.
Mrs Abbott cooed from somewhere nearby.
"There we go!" she said. "Now, lie down, sweetie. You look exhausted."
She frowned.
"Don't worry!" Mrs Abbott continued, putting a hand on her forehead. "I have some sleeping draught here that will knock you out fast. Then you can catch up on your sleep, as long as you like. No worries."
She wanted to fight. But she was tired. She was so tired. Too tired to keep fighting anymore.
So, giving herself entirely over to the household, she nodded and splayed herself out on the settee, fading away into it. A moment later, she felt something cool being pressed against her forehead.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," Mrs Abbott whispered. "Maybe something was given into the Lost and Found today?"
A/N Passing the midway point of our story now, I hope everyone's finding the same entertainment in this story that I had writing it :)