The Girl In The Dirty Shirt

Chapter 1

I stood on the left side of the bridge along the slim walkway. I wasn't sure what time it was, I just knew it was late, very late. I looked down one side of the street and then the other; empty.

I leaned against the wall watching the water rush under my feet; it looked black in the silver moonlight. I could hear that water and nothing else. The stone ledge was no higher than my waist, it was the reason I'd picked this place, this bridge in particular; easy to climb over, but high enough to make this more than an attempt.

The ledge felt rough under my fingertips jagged and unpolished. I hadn't even noticed he had been standing there; I nearly jumped out of my own skin when he spoke.

"No swimming after eleven...”

I looked over my shoulder, instantly irritated by his presence, and muttered, "Fuck off."

"And you're alone?" he started, as if his pre-determined cadence of dialogue would have continued, whether I spoke or not. "What's the story, love, your parole officer on vacation or summat?" he asked his Mancunian accent quite thick.

I looked at him sideways. "No, he's out getting a pre-emptive restraining order on my behalf against English cunts who can't mind their business."

He leaned against the stone ledge with his back to the river. A fresh cigarette between his lips; he lit it as we stood. "Well that's hardly proper language for a pretty girl like you, isn't it?"

I scoffed. "I can handle myself"

"I'm sure you can, love" he said with a smug smirk. "You're not from around here are you?"

I shook my head, now considering moving my entire emotional breakdown to a different bridge.

“No"

"On holiday?"

I sighed. "Something like that"

I watched as he flicked the end of his cigarette and the ashes fell to his feet before he took another drag and held it out to me.

I shook my head again. "I don't..." I stopped myself taking the smoke from between his fingers. He watched me with raised eyebrows as I took a long drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs.

"So you do smoke..?"

I exhaled with a small smile. "No, but I'm trying to start."

He nodded and brought the cigarette to his own lips once again. "Where do you come from?"

I leaned against the ledge with a small sigh; it had become very apparent that this guy hadn't had any plans of leaving any time soon. My plans would have to be put on hold.

"Canada..."

He nodded again, seemingly interested. "And does the girl from Canada who can handle herself have a name?" He paused and I watched as his eyes looked me from head to toe. Then he spoke again. "Or shall I just call you the girl in the dirty shirt?"

I frowned for a second before I realized I hadn't changed out of the shirt I'd used to throw pots in earlier. A small smile found its place on my lips as I looked up at him, brushing my bangs out of my eyes. I did quite like "the girl in the dirty shirt", but...

"Lyla."

He smirked. "Lyla with the dirty shirt"

I looked at him with raised eyebrows, and couldn't help my small laugh

"Observant." I mused, sliding my hands into the pockets of my jeans.

"Does the observant Manc have a name?"