The Night Watch ✓

24 / on the rocks

Gaia was asleep by ten o'clock, the wine acting like lead weights on her eyelids until it eventually put her to bed, but Bree couldn't sleep. That wasn't new, but she hated it. She couldn't bear the restlessness of being unable to get comfortable, of feeling the minutes slowly tick by as she lay there wide awake. She had exhausted the entirety of one of her classical playlists, the music coming to a stop once the final song had played, and it only served to remind Bree that she was very much awake. Her curtains were wide open, but Kit's room was dark, and the light from the street hardly reached as high as the twenty-first floor.

It was closing in on midnight, ninety minutes after she had taken herself off to her room, and she couldn't take it anymore. Stumbling out of bed, her brain still addled by what had eventually been almost two bottles to herself, she pulled on her jeans and a coat and grabbed her keys. In times like this, there was no point lying there doing nothing but thinking about how little sleep she was destined to get. Her feet knew exactly where to take her.

There was a taxi rank a couple of minutes from her flat, especially abused on a Friday night by the area's students, who stumbled into black cabs after pre-drinking with their friends before heading out to the clubs. When Bree had first moved in, that had been her. A fresh nineteen-year-old, she had revelled in the independent nightlife. Her parents didn't need to know: she could leave the flat whenever she wanted and only Gaia would know. It was that independence that she had always craved, trusting herself in a way her mother never had. While her relationship with her father was much better, he was a submissive man who gave way to his wife's dominance, and as much as Bree adored the man, she struggled to respect him.

A few of the registered cars sat waiting, engines running as they anticipated fares, and Bree regretted the heels she had slipped into as she jogged across the road. They had been the first shoes she had found, but her ankles already ached just from standing in the lift. Four inches from the ground, or maybe even five, she felt as though she towered above the world when she wore them, but she wasn't tall without them, and with them, she was only a little loftier than average.

The cabbie at the front of the queue leant his elbow out of his open window, eyeing her when he realised she was heading towards him. His thinning grey hair was slicked back against his scalp, highlighting a prominent bald spot, and he blew a long plume of smoke into the chilly night air.

"Where to, love?" He flicked his cigarette stub into the road and reached behind himself to open the back door for her.

"Raven, please," Bree said, slipping into the back seat and slamming the door behind her. Nick was back to his normal schedule now, and he would be there for at least another hour. Maybe even two. With her brain unwilling to shut off for the night, she needed to vent, to get everything off her mind, and he was a good sounding board. He was a good listener, and he would be able to give Bree the male perspective that she needed. It had been a while since she had caught up with him. There was a lot to say.

The journey only took eleven minutes, as opposed to the daily usual of fifteen. There was hardly a car on the road at midnight in a dead end town, and the last buses of the night had already left, scattering across the county to head back to their depots with weary drivers and the evenings last passengers. When she spied the bar up ahead, the taxi as close as it could get without veering off the road, Bree rifled through her purse and came up with a ten pound note, telling the driver to keep the change for the seven pound journey. She wobbled on her feet when she got out of the taxi, almost bending her ankle on the cobbles, and she had to steady herself against the cab before she shut the door. The drinks were beginning to go to her head.

Raven was surprisingly busy for a Monday night, and Bree only caught a glimpse of Nick before he disappeared, busy serving a group of middle-aged women. She headed to the other end of the bar and caught the eye of his colleague. Short and skinny, with a pathetic excuse for a beard, he didn't look old enough to drink himself, and yet there he was, serving the night away.