The Fall

Boatman's Bar

CLAIRE POV

"Nice chocolate moustache. Did you finally get a piece of that Saturday Special cake?" Sally reached over and wiped chocolate from my face, sucking her thumb with a serious face after the cleanup job.

"Damn. That IS good." Her expression morphed to appreciation, eyes wide and brows high as she enjoyed the remnants of the chocolate cream.

I had brushed off the crumbs, finished cleaning up, slipped out of my disgusting cafe clothes and into a little bar appropriate number to meet my best friend. Procuring a slightly crusty leftover salami roll for the road.

Boatman's Bar sat on the river bank without riverbank prices, and was our Saturday afternoon favorite. It had a trendy decor inside that would have looked at home on the Thames with the young men from the rowing club blowing off steam. Timber decking sprawled out the back and stretched out to overlook the water. It boasted an eclectic clientele; tall tables scattered around the deck were surrounded by hipsters with scruffy beards and women in flowy floral wraparound pants, as well as business men straight from the office accompanied by regal women in dark pencil skirts and sensible pumps.

The sun broke free from its captivity again and for a few delightful minutes light playfully danced across the river, sending little shadows fluttering whimsically around our feet on the wooden decking. At this time the local rowing teams from universities and boat clubs could be watched skimming across the surface. Afternoon entertainment.

Sally and I usually placed bets on how many of the skiffs would pass. I generally lost and won the opportunity to buy the next round, but I had more than a sneaking suspicion that my best friend was not entirely honest in the game of Boatmaster.

"Yes...and also no. You would not believe what just happened." I paused to collect my thoughts, pouring out a glass of pinot noir for each of us, then pouring out every last sordid detail.

Sally listened intently, sipping away and raising her eyebrows in all the right places.

"God Claire. Did someone jump out with a camera after and say 'Oops. Sorry. We are shooting the porno next door...'" She clearly doubted the veracity of my tale. That was ok. I did too. I shook my head and Sally tried to pout, complaining that I had all the fun. Excited eyes glittered behind her unbelievably long lashes and ruined the look.

"There's a story hiding behind your eyes too. Spill!" I demanded. "Wait," I held up a hand to stop her talking. She had just taken a rather large breath, and spluttered it out at my gesticulating hand. "First, what's your Boatmaster guesstimate this week? I'll say sixteen."

Another two boats with muscular young men sweating away their sins from the weekend so far ran across the water. Whatever. I was going to lose anyway. She guessed eighteen and continued on with a gravitas that belied the twinkle in her eyes. "Now. Are you ready?"

My head bobbled like a dashboard toy and I set to catching up on sipping the light vintage boasting high fruity notes. Tannins bit the side of my tongue, it could really have used another year on the rack, but at these prices I would put the wine snob in a soundproofed room and enjoy what I could get.

Sally took a deep breath theatrically, and at the same time an itch raced up the side of my leg. I tried to shake the feeling off, looking under the tall table to make sure it wasn't a spider. It wasn't. Sally glared at me when I resurfaced, annoyed that I was interrupting her turn to tell a story.

The vexing sensation traveled to the prickle along the skin of my exposed lower back as if it had a mind of its own, and it didn't stop there. It crept up, causing shivers to ripple outwards, settling on the owl tattoo behind my ear and staying there, even as I tried to shake it off.