Текст книги "The Haunted Pub"

Автор книги: Melanie Tushmore

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a tonne of sleeping pills.”

“I got those, too!” Sheila called, not missing a beat.

Matt blushed. Ryan nudged him. “Don’t worry about it.”

Sheila carried in a tray of mugs with steaming tea, setting them down on the coffee table. Then she

produced a small bottle of whiskey, waving it over the mugs. “Who wants it Irish?”

Ryan’s lips turned up in the ghost of a smile. He knew Sheila’s family were Irish, and she often

used that expression.

“Me, please,” Matt said. Ryan nodded his agreement. Sheila gave them generous top ups of

whiskey, then handed them their mugs. They sipped in silence for a few moments, before Sheila

moved toward her TV. She paused, then went to her stereo instead. “I’ll just put something chilled

on.” She rifled amongst her CDs.

“Can we talk about the elephant in the room?” Matt said, a hint of irritation in his voice.

“You can ask me things, love,” Sheila said, putting on a CD. “I’ll answer what I can. Beth is the

expert, really.” The stereo buzzed to life, and a gentle piano solo filled the air. Sheila turned the

volume down to a comfortable level.

“Right,” Matt said. “Well...look, I don’t know. I saw some...” He stared into his mug, frowning. “I

saw some fucked up shit, that’s all I can describe it. First, people start collapsing, and Fizz is acting

all weird, and the next thing I know, I’m locked in that pigeon loft. The floor was...moving. Like the

whole place wanted to tip me over, like the fun house ride on the Pier. Then Ryan gets me out –”

Actually, Ryan thought, I didn’t throw that axe, the man in uniform did.

“– and things get weird again,” Matt continued. “I saw Fizz leaning over you, Ryan, and you were

covered in blood and bruises...then Sammy went in and tried to get Fizz off you, but Fizz just threw

him off like, like he was nothing! And now there’s no blood on Ryan, thank fuck, but what does it

mean?”

“It’s okay,” Sheila said quietly. “I believe you. What you saw...some of it was there, some of it

wasn’t. It’s a good thing that what you saw on Ryan didn’t stay on him.”

Ryan’s hand came up to touch his face, where the scratches on his cheek had been. In the rush of

everything else, he’d forgotten about them, but like before, they’d closed up. He could feel very faint

lines there, but nothing more.

“What does that mean?” Matt demanded. “Are you saying I saw things that weren’t real?”

“They are, and they aren’t.” Sheila sighed, putting down her mug. “It’s hard to explain things that

aren’t part of our world. The spirit in that room was very powerful, and powerful spirits can make you

see things, hear things, and even experience things. It doesn’t mean to say it wasn’t real, but mostly,

they’re just visions.”

“Visions.” Matt shook his head. “And yet, Sammy has a broken arm. Possible concussion. How can

a fucking vision do that?”

“Ever heard of a poltergeist?” Sheila asked.

“Poltergeist?”

“It’s German for noisy spirit. Beth told me that, years ago, your pub – which used to be a hotel –

apparently had a poltergeist. There was an account of it in a book she had. I’ll ask her to dig it out.”

Ryan wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. Images of classic horror films came to mind, things

he’d only dismissed as daft before, the stuff of over-active imaginations.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“Spirits use energy,” Sheila explained. “It makes sense, if Fizz was living in that room, that the

spirit somehow connected with him. They always pick on the vulnerable, the weak. They’re easier to

manipulate that way. It’s not a nice thing at all. I caught a flash of the spirit when I first checked Fizz

over, and that’s why I had to leave to get Beth. I can’t cast out spirits, but she can. She’s got a stronger

gift than me.”

Matt grunted. “This is nuts! Shit, if I hadn’t seen those two guys fighting, and then Fizz stepping

out of his own body, I wouldn’t believe this crap for a second. Tell me you saw those two other guys?”

Sheila nodded, looking down at the mug in her hands. “The spirit who’d jumped into Fizz’s body

was a young man, wearing a suit. He’d obviously suffered some trauma when he died, as his skin was

bloody and bruised.”

Ryan flinched at the images that invaded his memory.

“And the second guy?” Matt asked.

“The older man,” Sheila said. “In uniform.”

“He was the one who threw the axe,” Ryan said quietly. Matt and Sheila looked at him. “When you

were trapped in the pigeon loft, Matt. I tried to hit the door, but the axe bounced clean off. That man

caught it, and he threw the axe at the door, and it opened. I think he was trying to help us.”

“I think so, too,” Sheila said. “See? There are some nice people after all.” She sipped her tea and

muttered, “There’s hope for spirits yet.”

“Sheila? Can I have a shot of whiskey?” Matt pushed his mug of tea away. “I need something

stronger than this.”

“Of course.” Sheila stood up. “I’ll just grab a glass.”

Ryan put his mug down too. He leaned over on the arm of the couch, pillowing his head in his arms.

He’d had enough talking. He didn’t want to talk or think any more, but he couldn’t close his eyes

either. Whenever he did, those awful images came back to him. He tried to focus on something else,

something good. He remembered what Ginger had said, the moment before he passed out: It’s you.

What did that mean? Could it possibly mean what Ryan thought – hoped – it meant? What would

Ginger say when he woke up? Something like, hey, you punched my cousin, then you tried to kiss me

while I was on the verge of passing out...

Ryan winced at the thought. Maybe if he was lucky, Ginger wouldn’t remember that bit.

* * *

The figures crept in, dark and menacing. The knowledge of what was about to happen forced Ryan

to wake up, away from the clawing hands and leering faces. He stared, gasping for breath, at an

unfamiliar ceiling. He was safe here, there were no men trying to attack him. He was safe. Awareness

washed over him. This was Sheila’s house. Matt’s not so gentle snore rumbled from nearby, where

he’d fallen asleep in a chair. Ryan lay still for several moments, trying to get his breathing under

control. He stared at Sheila’s bookshelf, at her DVD collection, eyes darting over the various titles in a

bid to ignore the images still lingering in his waking mind.

He needed to talk to Beth.

Ryan pulled himself up to sitting. His body was achy, but only from sleeping in an awkward

position on the couch. He caught sight of Beth’s wooden pendant on the coffee table, and his fingers

reached out to grasp it. Curiously, the wood heated in his hand. Ryan held onto it, willing the memory

of the dream to wash away. The images were still in his mind, but the panic ebbed a little.

Ryan lay down, and tried to go back to sleep. Thirty seconds later, he’d made up his mind that he

couldn’t sleep, didn’t want to, and he had to get up. He put the pendant around his neck, tucking it

inside his t-shirt. The lump of wood protruded from the material on his chest, but Ryan didn’t care. He

didn’t understand what it was, but there was something about the pendant that reassured him, calmed

him.

After using Sheila’s bathroom, he stood at the sink washing his hands. Ryan caught his reflection in

the mirror. Avoiding his own eyes, he inspected the scratches on his face. They were three faint pink

lines. He had no comprehension how such small marks could have opened up and bled, but that’s what

they’d done. He knew Ginger and Ash had seen it, too.

Ginger.

Ryan had to get to the hospital. He quietly let himself out of Sheila’s house. The clock on the wall

had said 06.13AM. Probably no buses around this end of the suburbs, but it wasn’t that far to the

hospital. Pretty much everywhere in Brighton was within walking distance.

As he got to Sheila’s front gate, Ryan realised he didn’t have a jacket. Well, it was too late to go

and borrow one, he’d shut himself out. He didn’t want to wake her or Matt; he couldn’t face talking to

anyone right now. The chill morning air whipped through his thin clothes, making the hairs on his bare

arms stand up straight. Ryan walked briskly, hugging his arms to him. He’d soon warm up with the

walk.

He reached Brighton General hospital via the back entrance, where the ambulances parked. Having

known a shortcut through a park, Ryan had made it there in fifteen minutes. The big white clock on the

wall inside said 06.28AM. He glanced at the lady behind a wooden panel reception desk, and tried to

slip past her. She called to him, and Ryan had to go up to the desk. He attempted to explain himself,

hoping she wasn’t going to turn him out until visiting hours. He didn’t even know what visiting hours

were on a Sunday.

The lady, a middle aged black woman, tilted her face down to look over pebbly thick glasses. “You

were one of the boys they brought in last night?”

“Um...” Ryan wasn’t sure whether to admit it or not, but she nodded her head at him.

“Yes, I remember your hair. Did they send you home?”

“Er, yes, but I...I’m sorry, I really want to see my friends. I don’t have my jacket, and –”

She waved her hand to shush him. “Go on.” She nodded her head to the side, indicating the left hall.

“Down that way, they’re on Blue ward. Tell Amy on front desk that Joanna sent you.”

“Oh. Um, thank you. I will. Thank you.” Ryan hurried away before she could change her mind. He

trod down the hospital’s eerily quiet hallway, following the signs above in various colours, pointing to

different wards. Ryan had been to this hospital a couple of times; once to see his grandfather before he

died, and once to see Dee after a skateboarding accident. They had both been in different wards, not

blue.

The hallways were deserted, and Ryan was deep in worried thoughts when an old man wheeling a

drip rounded a corner, startling Ryan and himself. Ryan apologised, and the old man muttered before

moving off, wheeling his drip alongside him. Ryan’s heart pounded. He’d never felt so jumpy.

Soon, he found himself at the last sign for blue ward, and an un-manned front desk. He looked

around, wondering whether it would be better to wait, or sneak in. After what felt like ages of time

passed by with no one appearing, Ryan couldn’t wait any longer. He stepped through the open door

onto the ward. He’d been expecting it to be dark, but the blinds were tilted open. Grey morning light

shone through the windows, on the rows of beds and sleeping bodies inside them.

All just the same as when he’d left them.

Ryan saw nurses crowded at the opposite end of the ward, three of them. Two were holding sponges

and paper towels, one was writing on a clipboard. They stood near Fizz’s bed. Ryan waited, unsure

what to do. When the nurses noticed him, the ones holding the sponges told the third one. She put

down the clipboard at the end of Fizz’s bed, and strode over to him. Ryan supposed this would be

Amy. She had a very stern look about her, but then, she had been working a night shift.

Before she could reprimand him, Ryan said, “Joanna sent me along. I just wanted to see my

friends.”

Amy agreed. She looked like she had other matters to attend to. “Did you use the hand sanitizer?”

she asked.

“Oh. Sorry.” Ryan hurried over to where she pointed, and squirted some of the liquid into his

palms. It was sticky, and smelt like vodka, but he wiped it all over his hands. When he returned to the

beds, he saw what it was the nurses were cleaning up. Under each bed, on the plain, hard flooring,

were strange markings; pictures drawn in bright green.

There was one under each bed. Ryan tilted his head, looking at the nearest one. It was some sort of

symbol. A triangle? No, an eye, within a circle, and different markings, letters and numbers leading

off it. Ryan walked down the row of beds, eyes darting to his friends lying there, and the markings

under their beds. Each marking was the same. When he got to the end of the row, the two nurses with

the sponges and paper towels were busy scrubbing the floor, removing the marking from under Pete’s

bed.

“Who did these?” Ryan asked.

Amy’s look of displeasure rested on the still form of Fizz.

“He drew these?”

“Mm-hm.” Amy turned her look onto Ryan. “Do you know if he sleep-walks at home?”

“Sleep-walks?” Ryan was confused. “I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“We caught him sleep-walking a couple of times. The last time he’d drawn all this rubbish on the

floor. He got agitated when we tried to remove them, so we had to sedate him again. If he carries on

like this, I may have to refer him to the psychiatric ward.”

Psychiatric. Ryan felt panic trickle through him. He couldn’t let Fizz be put in a psychiatric ward,

Ginger would go nuts.

“I’m sure he’ll be okay,” Ryan tried to reassure. “He’s probably in shock or something. He’s been

through a lot, and...and...”

What else could he say that she would believe?

Amy was clearly tired, and in no mood to banter further. “Sounds like you’ve all been through a

lot,” she said. “Tea and coffee machine’s down the hall, on your right. Water fountain by my desk.

Don’t touch anything, don’t make too much noise, but if you want to chat, go ahead. A friendly voice

might do some good. And if he wakes up again –” She glanced at Fizz. “– tell him to behave.”

Ryan nodded vigorously. “I will. Thank you.”

Amy left the ward, returning to the front desk. Only the two nurses remained, scrubbing the floor,

one symbol at a time. Ryan was beyond confused. Again, flashes of movies filtered through his mind.

Where had he seen symbols like that before? Usually when something like witchcraft was involved.

God. This didn’t bode well.

He picked up a plastic-moulded chair, and carried it over to Ginger. Setting the chair down at the

bedside, Ryan sat down, facing Ginger’s form on the bed. He ignored the discomfort of the plastic

chair, and tried to ignore all the machines around him, and the other still bodies. He also had to ignore

the strange symbol under Ginger’s bed. Ryan removed the pendant from his neck, and slipped it under

the edge of Ginger’s pillow. The man didn’t stir.

“You need to wake up now,” Ryan said. His eyes darted around, just to make sure no one had

sneaked up on him. He could hear the distant scratch and scrub of the nurses cleaning, a few beds

away. Satisfied he was alone, Ryan gazed down at Ginger. His red hair fanned out on the pillow, and

he looked as though he were asleep. Ryan’s fingers reached out, gently touching a long strand of red

that had caught in a curl. He unwound it, smoothing it to lay with the rest of his hair.

“Daniel, I’ve got something to tell you,” Ryan said quietly. “Something that I should have said a

long time ago.”

Silence. Only the machines beeped in the background. Ryan kept expecting Ginger to open his eyes

any second. That was the way things should be. In his mind’s eye, Ryan saw Ginger blinking up at

him, like he had in that moment Ryan had stolen a kiss, before the blood had rained.

Don’t think about that.

Ryan stroked through Ginger’s hair. To stop himself thinking about that kiss, about that horrible

room, he looked at the colours of Ginger’s hair. Poppy red, vermillion, rubine... His eyes stung. Ryan

felt the tears brimming. It was all just too crazy to think about. He wanted to go back in time, to do

everything again differently.

“Daniel, I love you. I’ve loved you since forever, and I was too afraid to tell you.” He breathed in a

long, shuddery breath. “Okay, you can wake up and laugh at me now.”

Silence. Ryan traced the neck of the hospital gown, his fingers brushing over Ginger’s collarbone.

He was careful not to disturb the air tube that rested over his neck, leading up to his nose. Ryan stared

at the sleeping man, his eyes mapping every detail. He’d never had such freedom to stare at Ginger

before. He was used to stolen glances, covert looks, hoping he wouldn’t get caught. Ryan would trade

anything to have that again, to have Ginger open his eyes now.

“Daniel, please wake up,” he said, voice wavering. “I just...I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

When nothing happened, Ryan shifted his chair carefully, so he was able to lean his arms forward

on the bed. “I’ll just shut my eyes, okay? I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

A blend of quiet noises from the machines, and the nurse’s cleaning, lulled him to sleep. Twice

Ryan woke with a jerk, and he wondered if it was because something had happened, but nothing had

changed.

The nurses had scrubbed the floor under Ginger’s bed, and the symbol had vanished. Ryan leaned

forward again, resting his head on his forearms. The silence lulled him to sleep again. This time, he

dreamed. The figures were after him, and no matter how much he tried to move and kick, his body

wouldn’t obey.

Again, Ryan woke up with a start. His vision blurred, and his mind buzzed. He knew he needed

proper sleep, but he couldn’t face the dreams. Ginger was still asleep. Did he dream, too? Ryan

wondered what it would be about, if he would ever feature in them.

He sighed heavily. “I’m going to get a coffee,” he croaked out. When he stood, his back cracked

painfully. He swore under his breath, stretching as he walked. He’d expected to see Amy at the front

desk, but it was one of the other nurses. She smiled at him as he walked past. Ryan gave her a weak

smile in return. His eyes glanced up at the clock on the wall. 07.36AM.

God, he’d only been there about an hour, yet it felt like years.

The vending machine hummed quietly in an empty hallway. Ryan fished in his pocket, relieved

when he dug out some silver. The machine wasn’t expensive, but he guessed he’d be feeding a lot of

money into it today. He chose a cappuccino, extra cream, extra sugar. The cup dropped down, and the

machine whirred to life, shooting jets of different coloured liquid in the cup. When the green light

indicated for Ryan to take it, he picked up the steaming hot cup and peered inside.

Cappuccino? Ryan wasn’t entirely convinced, but it was too hot to taste yet. He took the cup back

to the ward. By each bed was a small cabinet, and Ryan placed his cup on the flat surface next to

Ginger’s bed. He glanced around the ward, looking down the rows of beds. The two people he didn’t

know, the paramedics who’d first come to help them, and then all the people he knew so well. It was

surreal.

Ryan wondered if Mr. Singh would blame him for this. It had been Ryan after all who’d requested

Ash come to the pub. What if something worse had happened to Ash? Ryan figured he probably

deserved whatever Mr. Singh wanted to dish out to him.

With a sigh, Ryan sank down into his uncomfortable plastic chair. His back started aching in

immediate protest, but he wasn’t about to leave. Get used to it, he thought. Maybe he could go find a

better chair later, or a pillow.

The thought of looking for a comfortable chair while his friends lay comatose was shameful. Ryan

pushed the thought away, and reached for his coffee. The beep of the machines altered, as movement

caught his eye. Ryan turned his head just in time to see Ginger’s eyes blink open. He was so surprised

his body jerked to standing, spilling his coffee over his hand, the cabinet, and the floor. “Ahh!” he

cried in alarm, not even looking at his hand. “Daniel?”

His eyelids fluttered, but stayed open. Brown eyes moved about, taking in where he was, then

shifted over to Ryan.

“Daniel, y-you’re awake!” Ryan was too shocked to say anything else.

“Ryan?” he croaked. His nose twitched, and his eyes dropped down to frown at the tubes in his

nose. Ginger’s hands came up to his face, then saw all the extra wires. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“H-hang on,” Ryan breathed, relief flooding his weary body. “Let me get the –”

A nurse appeared at the foot of the bed. A second nurse rushed past her, to another bed. Beeps

sounded through the ward.

“What’s going on?” Ryan asked.

The nurse blinked at him in surprise, then smiled. “They’re waking up.”

Chapter Twenty-two

Two days later

The newspaper was slapped down on the counter in front of Ryan, front page headline: Fainting

Endemic at Local Pub. Gas Leak To Blame? The accompanying picture was an outside shot of the

cordoned off Queen Anne’s Revenge, surrounded by police cars and ambulances. That had been

Saturday night. It seemed like a life time ago. Ryan frowned at the picture, then looked up at Matt.

“Reduced to a stupid headline in the crappy Argyll,” Matt muttered. “I’d always thought their

headlines were...” He shook his head. “Too ridiculous to be true.”

Ryan nodded. He knew exactly how Matt felt. “Coffee?” he offered. He’d just brewed some fresh.

To hell with nerves, he needed the caffeine.

“Nah, I’m all right,” Matt said. He pulled a new pint of milk out of the plastic bag he carried, and

placed it on the counter. “Thought I’d get you some, too.”

He must have just nipped out to the shops, Ryan realised. It was nine in the morning, and Matt was

clearly getting ready to prep his kitchen. No one had broached the subject of the pub opening today,

but there didn’t to be any reason not to. No reason that anyone could come up with, anyway. None that

the police, the fire department, the gas board, the hospital doctors, nor even their area manager, Dom,

could provide. Dom had said they could take the week off if they wanted, but Ryan got the impression

everyone wanted to get back to work.

They were restless, especially Pete and Ginger. Aside from complete memory loss of the whole of

Saturday, they were both fine. Everyone was fine, in fact, apart from poor Sammy with his broken

arm, and minor case of concussion. He was still in the hospital, awaiting a new cast.

Ryan forced a smile at Matt. “Cheers,” he said, taking the milk. “Um...I think Pete said Sammy

would be released this afternoon. He’s going down later to pick him up.”

Matt’s eyes darted at Ryan, then away. He nodded, but he looked nervous. “Yeah...I know.”

Ryan decided to be brave, and broach the subject. “Have you talked to him?”

A snort, then Matt fiddled with his plastic bag. “Not really.”

“Maybe you should.”

“What’s the point?” Matt snapped at him, fixing Ryan with a glare. “No one remembers anything,

do they? Except you and me. I feel like...I dunno!” He huffed angrily. “Like I’m stuck in some bad

dream.”

“I know,” Ryan said gently. Boy, did he know. “But maybe...even if they, or he doesn’t remember, it

doesn’t have to make a difference to anything we do.”

Matt frowned in confusion. “Huh?”

“What I mean is, what’s to stop you and Sammy from...you know, starting afresh?”

Matt’s glare faded, like he was taking in what Ryan said. Ryan could hope, anyway.

“Hmf,” he grumbled. “Maybe.”

“Just try talking to him,” Ryan suggested.

“Yeah, well.” Matt shot him a pointed look. “Maybe you should try taking your own advice, Ry.”

With that, he turned and stomped toward the door. Ryan stared after him.

Sorry I spoke.

As he reached the kitchen door, Matt startled back in surprise.

“Oh, hey, Matt!” Fizz greeted him brightly.

Matt edged around Fizz, muttering a reply. He looked back at Ryan, another pointed look, then

dashed away. Ryan heard his footsteps stomp down the hall.

Fizz blinked at Ryan, confused. “Is he okay?”

Ryan shrugged. “He’s a bit stressed.”

“Oh.” Fizz frowned, seeming concerned. Ryan watched him warily, trying not to be as noticeable in

his wariness as Matt. He knew what they’d seen, back in the pigeon loft that day, and he kept having to

remember it hadn’t been Fizz. Something else had been inside Fizz’s body, controlling him. At least,

that’s how Ryan understood it. Like The Exorcist, or something.

Ryan concealed a shudder. “You...you all right, Fizz?”

Fizz looked at him, offering a bright smile. “Yeah.” He strode into the kitchen with purpose. “Can

you help me?” In his hand, he held his mobile phone. He gazed up at Ryan imploringly. “I want to get

phone credit, but I only have cash. I’m kinda stuck, as I don’t know where to go.”

Ryan was taken aback. Fizz seemed...different. Mildly so, this time. Instead of shy and timid, now

he seemed more...normal. He didn’t shuffle about, he walked briskly. He was alert, made eye contact,

and spoke clearly, brightly. Still very much Fizz, but like someone had reached inside and turned up

his wattage, somehow.

It was a bizarre thought, but Ryan conceded he’d seen a whole lot of bizarre over the last few days.

“Um, sure,” he answered, gazing back into Fizz’s eyes. They were deep, deep blue. Had they always

been that colour? Ryan couldn’t remember. At least they were blue, he thought. Blue as they should

be. “The newsagents up the road do phone credit,” he said. “Want me to go get you some?”

Fizz looked surprised. “Oh no! I can get it, I know you’re busy.”

“It’s no trouble,” Ryan said. He knew Ginger wouldn’t want Fizz going off on his own. “It’ll only

take me five minutes.”

Fizz smiled at him. “Shall I come with you? I’d like to see where it is.”

Ryan didn’t think he’d seen Fizz smile before, not like this. Certainly not at him. He’d caught Fizz

sharing little smiles with Ash over the last few weeks, and of course, there had been those mean smiles

when Fizz wasn’t...wasn’t himself.

Ryan pushed that thought away. That hadn’t been Fizz. Was he going to have to keep reminding

himself of that every day?

“Come on then,” he said, giving in. His coffee could wait. Fizz was clearly itching to use his phone

to contact someone, and Ryan had a good idea who. He led Fizz downstairs. Aside from Matt, they

were the only ones awake, as was often the case mid-morning. Ryan wasn’t sure if anyone else would

get up to work their shifts. As he’d had trouble sleeping, he thought cleaning the pub and getting it

prepped would be better than tossing and turning in bed on his own.

From the bundle of keys in his pocket, Ryan unlocked the side door, opening it to the street. It was a

warm, yet slightly overcast day. The sky was bright, yet dark clouds in the distance threatened the

chance of rain. Typical British summer, so far. Ryan held the door for Fizz, who practically bounded

through it into the open street. Ryan shut the door and locked it, whilst watching Fizz take in the

bustle of the Old Steine in front of them.

Another thing Ryan noticed, Fizz wasn’t all swaddled up in clothes. The kid had a habit of hiding in

layers of clothes and hooded tops, but now, he only wore a thin t-shirt, same as Ryan. He turned to

Ryan, a grin on his face. “Busy, isn’t it?”

Ryan’s eyes swept over the thoroughfare; cars, buses and cyclists, all zooming by as fast as they

could without having an accident. “Mm-hm,” he agreed. “That’s Brighton for you.”

Fizz grinned like Ryan had made the funniest joke in the world. Ryan was bemused. Someone was

in a good mood, he thought.

He led the way, walking down the path that ran alongside the main road, toward the Pavilion. As

they reached the end of the path, and the arched side gate of the Pavilion, he noticed Fizz staring up at

it in wonder. Had Fizz been round Brighton on foot? Ryan didn’t think so. In the month or so he’d

been living at the pub, he’d only set foot outside to go into the beer garden.

Ryan wasn’t sure if that near death experience had changed Fizz somehow, but he hoped maybe

Fizz could start to enjoy life a little more. He tried not to feel resentful for what had happened, for that

spirit or whatever he was, leaving Ryan with all those memories.

“Come on, Fizz,” Ryan said, nudging the boy. “Newsagent’s this way.”

They got Fizz’s phone credit, and Ryan also picked up cigarettes and a chocolate bar. Nicotine and

sugar were definitely the order of the day. Fizz was delighted with his phone credit, and immediately

started topping up his phone. Ryan made sure they crossed the road safely, then started back toward

the pub.

“Uh, Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

Fizz looked down, shy again.

“What’s up?” Ryan asked.

“Do you have Ash’s number? I just want to, you know, check he’s all right,” Fizz said, all in a rush.

“His dad seemed pretty mad.”

Ryan nodded, and felt his pockets for his phone. Of course Fizz wanted to talk to Ash. Since their

discharge from the hospital, Mr. Singh had reappeared and, along with a few stern words for Ryan, had

taken Ash home. As he’d been dragged away by his father, Ash had thrown them an apologetic look,

but there wasn’t much he could do. He had texted Ryan since, to ask how everyone was getting on.

They’d been texting each other regularly, but Ryan had known who it was Ash would rather be texting.

Ryan got out his phone. “You’d better give me your number, too, Fizz.” He had a feeling Fizz

wasn’t going to be as pub-bound any more.

“Oh, yeah. No problem.” Fizz recited his number, and Ryan copied it in.

“All right, got it. I can send you Ash’s number...” One glance at Fizz’s eager face had Ryan

rethinking his decision. “You coming back to the pub with me now?”

Fizz blinked in surprise.

Busted, Ryan thought. Yeah, he’d have to watch this one. Ginger would hit the roof if Fizz went

missing. Not to mention what Mr. Singh would say.

“Um, ye-es?” Fizz said, unsure.

Ryan sighed. “Mate, do me a favour? Talk to Ginger before you go anywhere. He’ll be mad at me if

I let you go off now.”

Fizz’s expression turned to one of quiet amusement. “Ryan, I’m not a child.”

Now it was Ryan’s turn to be surprised. That knowing look, and the tone of voice, threw him. For a

moment, he panicked this wasn’t Fizz. He could feel the fear, the memory from two nights past,

trickle through his veins, grip his chest in panic.

Fizz frowned, concerned. “Ryan? Are you all right?”

He swallowed. “Yeah...yeah, I – I’m fine.” Get a grip, Ryan. Calm down. Two can play awkward,

after all. “You want Ash’s number?” he asked, forcing a smile. “Guess you’ll have to come back to

the pub with me then.”

Fizz smiled back at him. “All right. You win.”

Ryan nodded, and turned back to the pub. He’d won, but only this round. Why did he suddenly feel

like the unwitting mother to a sneaky teenager?

* * *

With his newly topped up phone and Ash’s number, Fizz disappeared out into the beer garden. The

smile on his face was sweet and sly all at once. Ryan really wasn’t sure if he’d done the right thing,

but...

But, there it was.

Young love. How nice for some.