circumstances. But they had welcomed her nonetheless.
Friday evening came around and Josie and Brad felt that Mallory really should get out of the cottage. They decided that a nice walk in the fresh air and then a couple of drinks at the pub was in order. Mallory took some convincing, but eventually she conceded and readied herself. Renee had agreed that Ruby should stay home and she was happy to doggy-sit.
Mallory pulled on a baggy sweater, jeans and a fleece. She scraped her hair into a low pony tail and slid her spectacles up her nose. When she examined her appearance in the bathroom mirror she was shocked at just how pale and drawn she had become. She lifted her glasses and dabbed on some under eye concealer to rid herself of the dark circles and rubbed a tinted lip balm onto her lips.
The walk was short, but helped clear some of the fuzz that had taken up residence in her head. They stopped at the midpoint of the bridge on their journey toward the pub. Mallory inhaled the cool sea air into her lungs and fought the tears that once again stung her eyes. Would she forever be plagued by this sinking feeling whenever she stood here, she wondered. Josie and Brad, who flanked her, enveloped her in a group hug. It felt good.
“C’mon guys,” she squeezed her friends’ shoulders. “To coin a well-known Josie Gardiner phrase…‘ let’s go get rat arsed! ’” this brought giggles and overly enthusiastic grins to her friends’ faces. They made their way toward the lights of the pub and its warm welcome.
Mallory stopped when she saw Greg leaning on the bar at one end; pint in hand. He wasn’t in his usual spot, grumpily serving the locals and visitors. He looked fidgety and rather nervous. He was wearing a dark blue shirt which had little pale blue flowers on it. It suited him, Mallory mused. He looked smart. Probably on a date, she deduced.
The three friends sat by the fireplace with their drinks and chatted. Josie and Brad doing their best to keep the conversation light hearted. Mallory began to enjoy a relaxed feeling brought on by the alcohol she imbibed.
They had just begun their third round of drinks when someone began to speak over a PA system. They turned to the direction of the voice. Much to their mutual surprise, Greg sat on a stool in front of a mic stand, clutching an acoustic guitar.
“Ahem…evening all,” he coughed. “Good to see you. Ahh…for those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of being served intoxicating liquor by my good self…I’d better introduce myself, eh?” He fidgeted nervously again. “My name is Greg McBradden and I’m the local handyman, bartender and all round grumpy arse.” He looked directly at Mallory who cringed and felt rather guilty considering he’d come to her rescue on the beach so readily. He laughed to himself at her obvious recoiling. “Anyways, I’m going to do my best to add ‘ entertainer ’ to my list of talents. Thanks to Stella, the owner here, she seems to have a disliking for all you locals as she’s agreed to let me sing to you.” The pub customers roared with laughter; some heckled and some booed.
Lifting his guitar aloft he went on, “Anyways…I’d like to introduce you to Rhiannon…my guitar…named after a Fleetwood Mac song that got me into playing in the first place…so you can blame them if you don’t like ma playing.” A rumble of laughter travelled the room. “She has just been repaired at the guitar hospital…also known as a music shop for you heathens…so she sounds grand…If any of you’s get up and leave, don’t forget I know where most of you live.” Greg chuckled.
“Right, well, seeing as this is my first night I’m not going to scare you away with my own compositions. This first one, you should all know, but don’t bloody sing along. I hate that,” he laughed. “It’s a little number that I like to call ‘ Trouble ’…because…erm, that’s its name.” Another rumble of laughter. “It’s by a
Friday evening came around and Josie and Brad felt that Mallory really should get out of the cottage. They decided that a nice walk in the fresh air and then a couple of drinks at the pub was in order. Mallory took some convincing, but eventually she conceded and readied herself. Renee had agreed that Ruby should stay home and she was happy to doggy-sit.
Mallory pulled on a baggy sweater, jeans and a fleece. She scraped her hair into a low pony tail and slid her spectacles up her nose. When she examined her appearance in the bathroom mirror she was shocked at just how pale and drawn she had become. She lifted her glasses and dabbed on some under eye concealer to rid herself of the dark circles and rubbed a tinted lip balm onto her lips.
The walk was short, but helped clear some of the fuzz that had taken up residence in her head. They stopped at the midpoint of the bridge on their journey toward the pub. Mallory inhaled the cool sea air into her lungs and fought the tears that once again stung her eyes. Would she forever be plagued by this sinking feeling whenever she stood here, she wondered. Josie and Brad, who flanked her, enveloped her in a group hug. It felt good.
“C’mon guys,” she squeezed her friends’ shoulders. “To coin a well-known Josie Gardiner phrase…‘ let’s go get rat arsed! ’” this brought giggles and overly enthusiastic grins to her friends’ faces. They made their way toward the lights of the pub and its warm welcome.
Mallory stopped when she saw Greg leaning on the bar at one end; pint in hand. He wasn’t in his usual spot, grumpily serving the locals and visitors. He looked fidgety and rather nervous. He was wearing a dark blue shirt which had little pale blue flowers on it. It suited him, Mallory mused. He looked smart. Probably on a date, she deduced.
The three friends sat by the fireplace with their drinks and chatted. Josie and Brad doing their best to keep the conversation light hearted. Mallory began to enjoy a relaxed feeling brought on by the alcohol she imbibed.
They had just begun their third round of drinks when someone began to speak over a PA system. They turned to the direction of the voice. Much to their mutual surprise, Greg sat on a stool in front of a mic stand, clutching an acoustic guitar.
“Ahem…evening all,” he coughed. “Good to see you. Ahh…for those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of being served intoxicating liquor by my good self…I’d better introduce myself, eh?” He fidgeted nervously again. “My name is Greg McBradden and I’m the local handyman, bartender and all round grumpy arse.” He looked directly at Mallory who cringed and felt rather guilty considering he’d come to her rescue on the beach so readily. He laughed to himself at her obvious recoiling. “Anyways, I’m going to do my best to add ‘ entertainer ’ to my list of talents. Thanks to Stella, the owner here, she seems to have a disliking for all you locals as she’s agreed to let me sing to you.” The pub customers roared with laughter; some heckled and some booed.
Lifting his guitar aloft he went on, “Anyways…I’d like to introduce you to Rhiannon…my guitar…named after a Fleetwood Mac song that got me into playing in the first place…so you can blame them if you don’t like ma playing.” A rumble of laughter travelled the room. “She has just been repaired at the guitar hospital…also known as a music shop for you heathens…so she sounds grand…If any of you’s get up and leave, don’t forget I know where most of you live.” Greg chuckled.
“Right, well, seeing as this is my first night I’m not going to scare you away with my own compositions. This first one, you should all know, but don’t bloody sing along. I hate that,” he laughed. “It’s a little number that I like to call ‘ Trouble ’…because…erm, that’s its name.” Another rumble of laughter. “It’s by a
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