Chapter One Friday night _____ The sudden downpour had caught her unaware, and the thin jacket had offered little protection against the torrent that was still falling. She could feel the wetness seeping into her trousers. Rivulets trickled down the back of her neck. The spreading puddles reflected the orange of the streetlights as this damp November evening waited for the weekend to begin. Raucous laughter, causing her to start, cut through the drone of late rush hour traffic as six men in business suits tumbled, laughing, out of the nearby pub.She had walked more or less at random, responding to some half-forgotten sense of direction. Her wanderings had brought her, unconsciously, to her old haunts. How long had she been walking? Where had she gone? She looked at her watch. An hour and a half had passed since she had left the functional but impersonal hotel room near the train station. She took in her surroundings, familiar, but different. The pub across the road now had a trendy Irish name and sandwich bars for the office workers had sprung up everywhere. She was standing at the bottom of the stone flight of steps, worn into small hollows by the thousands of feet that had over the centuries, used this shortcut towards the narrow streets that lay beyond. Something took hold of her and she felt the pull of the climb, with the lure of amber nectar at the top. How many times had she used those steps in the past, walking the short distance from the bus stop to the bar every weekend for what seemed like an eternity. She shook her head, not wanting to dwell on the past. She was in the old part of the city, her home, but it had been over ten years since she had moved away. How that date was etched into her brain, with all the pain and tears that went with it. The fifteenth of March, beware the Ides of March so the saying went. How she wished now she had taken heed then? Taking a deep breath Jocelyn bounded up the stairs two at a time and then in ones as her lungs cried out for relief. She reached the top and grabbed hold of the handrail, taking in a lungful of air, whilst she let her pulse rate and breathing return to normal. “Got any change for a cuppa please, my love.” Jocelyn looked around, wondering where the voice had come from. The rich burr of the Bristol accent stirred up memories, how she had missed it. “Got any change please,” the voice asked again. Jocelyn looked towards a bundle of rags huddled between the telephone box and the wall. A young boyish looking face peered at her, pleading. The hair was plastered to the face and clean streaks of water tumbled down the gaunt cheeks. Jocelyn felt herself drawn to the face and she felt herself held by a mesmerizing effect. The eyes were bright, having not yet lost their hope through the despair of living on the streets. Jocelyn yearned that they would not soon enter some existence unimaginable. This young girl looked no more than sixteen, too young to be out on the streets alone. The gaze still pleaded and Jocelyn wondered what had brought her to be living like this and what kind of life this youngster had suffered. Were they there through choice? Were they a runaway? Had they come to seek solace in the anonymity of the big city, or was there some other reason? The bundle of rags did not look like any drugs were involved. Not yet. Feeling sorry, and thinking there but the greater good goes I, she pulled out a twenty from her pocket and passed it over. “Go inside, get yourself something to eat and drink and dry off.” Thanking Jocelyn profusely, the small bundle of rags grabbed the money, tucked it inside the clothing, and furtively looked around, as though checking to make sure that no one was watching, ready to follow, and slunk off into the night. Jocelyn stepped out into the street and looked around. Recognizable buildings made her smile, making her realize that her memories weren’t all bad. The old fish market appeared to be a stylish bar and some brave souls sat under the heated umbrellas, offering scant protection against the weather, cigarette smoke rising nonchalantly into the evening air. The covered market waited, quiet, anticipating the start of a new day tomorrow. Some of the independent shop signs had changed, along with the passing of time. She then looked across at the pub. It had been given a lick of paint, but the familiar statue of the three graces, from which the pub got its name, stood proud in the high alcove, surveying all who came to drink inside. Jocelyn wondered whether she would still feel welcomed. She noticed one of the two doors were closed forcing the new entrants to pass past the dark suited man and woman standing on guard, ready for all that a Friday night in the centre of town could bring. Jocelyn strode purposely towards the door. The two suits greeted her. The man nodded a greeting. The woman coolly appraised her from top to bottom, a lop-sided grin passed across the security woman’s face and approval filled her eyes. The door protection stepped aside to let her pass, as the man said, “Enjoy your evening.” At thirty-four Jocelyn had the looks and the body of someone younger. Although she had given up on team sports a few years ago through lack of time, she still worked out in the gym, doing martial arts; her body had only recently become a little thicker around her waist. The thump of the cheesy eighties music greeted her ears as she stepped inside. In an eye blink, she surveyed her surroundings. The bar had certainly changed over time. With relief, she noticed the rainbow flag behind the bar and the free magazines piled up on the side. The interior was now one big room instead of two. The horseshoe shaped bar remained, but the dark and dingy rooms had given way to light wood and bright walls. Gone were the tacky, male orientated fixtures, instead new trendy pictures adorned the borders, making the old place more inviting. The pub had, for three years, been her second home, starting on Friday night through to Sunday, going home only at night to sleep off the effects of the alcohol, if she was unlucky, or waking up in some strange bed if not. Then she had settled down. She made her way to the bar and was greeted by a friendly barman with “Good evening, and what can I get for you?” Jocelyn looked at the pumps and asked for a pint of her favourite lager. Whilst she was pulling the pint, Jocelyn made herself comfortable on a stool. She examined the young woman pulling her pint. She judged her to be about 5 foot 4 inches with shoulder length blond hair, pulled back into a ponytail. The standard uniform of black trousers and white shirt accentuated the lines of her body. The woman placed the frothy drink on a bar mat in front of her andJocelyn was aware of the striking deep blue eyes looking straight into hers. The woman gave a slight smile as she took the money and sashayed to the till. Jocelyn smiled to herself and surveyed her fellow customers. At this relatively early hour, the place was scattered with workers on their way home to partners and family, hoping not to be berated for their lateness. The habitual drinkers, who had been sipping their halves most of the day chatted amiably. In the far corner, a couple of bright young things, ready for a night of indulgence, cradled bright coloured cocktails. A group of six men entered the bar, three of whom looked as though they should be still in school. One of the older guys ordered the drinks and paid with a crisp £50 note extracted from his wallet, which was stuffed with high denomination notes. The young boys took their drinks and proceeded to fawn and play up to the elders, speaking in effected voices and over the top gestures. Jocelyn picked up one of the magazines and started flicking through, wishing she had remembered her glasses. She peered at arm’s length, trying to catch enough light, and to keep the words in focus. She looked in the classifieds to see if anything locally took her interest. The new bar staff arrived, two men and a woman, and proceeded to make the bar and tables ready for the coming onslaught. The woman smiled at Jocelyn and said “Evening.” Jocelyn smiled back, “Not very nice out there tonight.” “Nah. I got drenched getting here. I hope it clears up otherwise it will be a quiet one tonight.” The bar tender paused, “I haven’t seen you in here before. Are you new to the area?” “Just a flying visit, I hope. I grew up here but moved away. I’m back for a funeral and other family business.” “Families. Hah. More trouble than what they are worth.” “You can say that again.” The woman held out her hand, “I’m Bernie.” “And I’m Jocelyn, but my friends call me Joy.” She replied taking hold of the firm outstretched hand. Jocelyn appraised the woman in front of her. A pleasant face, and a winning smile, that showed huge dark, sparkling eyes. The baggy sized sweatshirt made her breasts a mystery, and something so alluring in her expression that Jocelyn found it unnerving, childlike in innocence and a hard-boiled come on, alternating at will. Bernie looked her up and down and replied grinning, “I bet they do. Pleased to meet you, Joy.” Laughing a deep rich sound, Jocelyn replied, “And you’re not the first one to say that.” Bernie moved away to serve a group of women who had just entered and Jocelyn assessed her ease of movement around the bar. Taking sips of her drink Jocelyn settled down to some serious people watching, smiling to herself at some of the overheard snippets of conversations, as well as the antics of one particular young man doing his best to be over the top in order to be noticed. She loved to people watch. She made up little stories in her mind to go with her preconceived ideas of the person, but she knew that every single person had their own story; a life full of happiness, sadness, experiences, dramas, dilemmas and problems. She sighed and relaxed back onto the bar stool. She beckoned Bernie over. “Same again, please” she said touching the pump, “and one for yourself.” “Thanks. I’ll take some lemonade with you. We’re not allowed alcohol behind the bar.” Jocelyn’s mobile suddenly rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and saw her brother’s number. Taking a deep breath, she waited for the onslaught. “Hi” “Where are you? I thought you said you would be here this afternoon.” His voice held anger and annoyance. “Sharon has got herself all worked up.” “And a good evening to you, little brother.” She responded knowing how much he hated being called that. “As a matter of fact I am in Bristol, and I did arrive this afternoon. Remember you made yourself perfectly clear last time we met. Your words were ‘Don’t darken my doorstep again’ if I’m not mistaken. I’m staying in one of the hotels by the train station. So you needn’t worry your little head about this dyke sister of yours descending on you.” She continued, not letting her brother get a word in. “I’ll phone you tomorrow morning to arrange a place to meet.” With that, she ended the call, let out a sigh, switched it off and placed it back in her pocket. “Trouble?” “Nothing I can’t handle.” Jocelyn downed the rest of her pint. “Another, please, but with a whisky chaser.”
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