The Buses Come as They Please

Part 9

The young, clean-shaven bartender slid two cocktails across the fake laminate wood to where Tracy and Anita were perched on swivelling wooden barstools. The dark floor of the restaurant, that doubled as a night club, was splattered with dappled pools of light from the ceiling disco light that failed to properly show up in the unsuccessfully dimmed room. Warm, grey light flooded in from the pale summer evening through the floor length windows that opened into the high street. The bar targeted uni students on the weekend, and was sometimes rather successful, but on this particular evening it was populated by only a handful of people, clustered in their bejewelled sparkling mini dresses and four-inch heels. Even one of the men.

Anita frowned. She had imagined the place full and throbbing like the ache in her head. At least then the music and chatter would have drowned out the pain. She had wanted to get lost in a crowd, but it seemed the crowd had somewhere better to be. The music that was playing was dreary pop music from last decade and everyone seemed to be miserable. Anita rested her forehead on her hand and tried to think of something other that the music, than her headache and the artificial smell of the orange syrup in her drink. She sipped it gingerly and the acrid sweetness lingered as a bad taste in the back of her mouth.

"I think I need some air." She murmured before heading for the door. Tracy watched her leave, but continued to chat and flirt with the bartender, who happened to go to school with her.

Anita took a deep breath of the cold evening air as the noise of the music faded behind her with the closing of the big wooden door. She walked over to a metal bench, lonesome on the empty high street. A shiver ran up her spine as her bare legs touched the cold metal. It really was rather chilly outside now that the sun had gone down. The sound of cars could be heard from behind the row of shops. No-one was around these pedestrian walkways though and the shop fronts had all been locked and tidied away. A murmur of music from behind her seeped through the cracks in the brick walls and the faint smell of cigarette smoke wafted and lingered in the mild breeze.

Anita's gaze drifted and zoned in on a group of men in an alleyway made by a break in the shops in front of her. She couldn't hear their voices, but she fancied that she recognised one of them by their movements. All she had wanted all day was talk to Gary and make things okay, and here he was with his friends. This was her chance.

She couldn't help but smile in relief as she walked across the abandoned, cobbled street to where the side road was.

"Gary." She called, cautiously and questioningly. Her voice sounded more timid in the big, dark void of the night than she had expected. Nothing stirred. Maybe she had been mistaken. A few more silent seconds passed and she turned away and started walking back towards the club. She wondered if she was going crazy. Then she started, as two large hands on her back propelled her forward, heels struggling to find a grip between smooth stone and frequent ridges. Gary put a hairy finger under her chin menacingly. She felt his warm sweaty breath on her face and the unpleasant smell of cheap liquor.

"I will get your money for you, you spoiled brat, but then I don't ever want to see you again." Then he left to re-join his mates leaving the lingering smell of liquor and armpits.

Tracy had caught the end of this interaction when she had come out to check on Anita. She rushed over as quickly as her awkward shoes would carry her.

"Are you okay?" she asked, but Anita didn't answer and failed to the whole ride home and didn't mention the incident even when she left Tracy's the next morning. She arrived home and fallen back to sleep on the sofa.