As we walk into the pub, I'm surprised to see Jamie sitting at one of the tables near the bar. I can't focus on him for long though because the place is rammed. Within moments of stepping into the building, I'm sweating from places I didn't think I could sweat from. Laughter booms from all corners of the building, cheesy Christmas songs blast through the speakers at the bar, and I've never seen so many god-awful Christmas jumpers in my life. I kind of love it.
Ava grabs my arm and yanks me towards Jamie, and we sit down at the table with him. His hair is in its usual slicked back style, and it looks more like a dead animal than ever. He's dressed to the nines, suit and tie and all. I feel a little underdressed in my unwashed white t-shirt and secondhand jacket.
"Since when did you get back?" I shout to him over the noise.
"About half an hour ago, my aunt dropped me straight here," he explains. "Carmen's not coming, is she? I'd rather not repeat the trauma from last time you two were together in the flat."
Ava laughs, and I figure Carmen must've told her about that night because she struggles to hide the knowing smile that lingers on her lips. I've not really put much thought into what'll happen when she does return, and I don't even really know what I want to happen. I just hope it's not weird between us.
Jamie's still looking at me like he's eaten something sour, so I give him a wink, then say, "nah, we're saving that for another time to give you something to look forward to."
Jamie tells me I'm not funny while Ava and Annabel, who's found herself a stool beside Jamie, laugh at his blatant horror, and I'm questioning why I ever thought tonight would be a bad idea. Ava mentions drinks, and I briefly glance at Annabel to gauge her reaction, but she just shrugs. Go for it, she mouths. Well then, in that case, it would be rude not to.
Three hours, five vodka shots, and several beers later, the three of us have been joined by a group of Ava's family friends. Annabel's either disappeared or the alcohol has kicked in, and everyone's singing their best rendition of Fairytale of New York. I've always fancied myself as a bit of a singer, especially when I've had five shots of vodka, but the only spare person available to be my Kirsty McColl is Jamie.
"Mate, c'mon, it's literally our song!" I exclaim to him over the hustle and bustle of the pub. "They hate each other, that's the point--Well, I think it is. It doesn't matter anyway, it's fate, it's the universe binding us together! You get to call me a scumbag, and a maggot! I realise I'm more vocally suited for Kirsty's part, but I sound really northern when I sing and it just won't work, man, it just will not work."
"I swear to god," Jamie groans, leaning his head back against his chair.
"Aw, c'mon Jamie!" Ava interjects, having picked up on our conversation. "I did it with Steve."
Steve is her dad's friend. I like Steve, he has a beard. He told me food gets stuck in there sometimes.
"C'mon, be my Kirsty," I plead to him with big eyes.
"No."
"If you don't do it for me, do it for the Ghost of Christmas Past." I pause. "Oh! Ava, is there actually a Ghost of Christmas Past? I've never seen one myself, I have to admit, but there was this one who said he could predict the future. Ugly bugger he was, face looked like it'd been through a blender, but it was a boating acci--"
There's a sudden smash, and there's cold liquid running down my leg, and Ava's friends are saying something about napkins, but I'm confused. It's only when I look down to see beer seeping through my black jeans and a smashed glass on the table do I realise what's happened. Shit, did I do that? I don't think so.
Something flicks the back of my head, so I go to rub it, only for it to be flicked again. Someone hands me a tea towel--not Steve, but another guy with a beard--but it's too crowded in here to use it, so I step outside.
I know it's cold because air gushes out of my mouth when I breathe out, but it doesn't feel it. I don't even have my jacket on, and I feel all right. I sit down onto one of the wooden picnic tables outside the pub, and as I begin rubbing at my jeans, there's another flick at the back of my head.
"Annabel?" I question, but get no response. "Stop being annoying."
"What?"
I turn to the pub entrance to see Jamie standing there with an irritated expression still on his face. I wave my hand in the air to shrug it off, and continue working on my jeans. They're not really getting any drier, and the beer has reached my crotch by this point, which isn't the best feeling in the world.
"You do realise you're rubbing your dry leg, right?" Jamie asks, moving towards me. "You're without a doubt the most annoying drunk I've ever met."
"Aw cheers, that means a lot to me," I reply, genuinely proud.
"Right... Yes, anyway, the countdown is happening soon, so I was ordered to come and collect you," Jamie states extremely unenthusiastically. "Well, and to check you're not passed out under a table or any--Ow!" he suddenly yelps as he rubs his arm and looks down at it. "What the--Something just scrammed me."
I laugh at the guy because he's such a dramatic little bastard, but when he moves his hand from the spot on his arm, I see that it's red. It's bleeding a tiny bit. I stand up from the table to inspect it, and there are four fresh scratches on it.
"Annabel?" I mutter aloud.
"What?" Jamie asks, to which I shrug off.
Why did she just do that? Sure, she does annoying shit sometimes, but only ever to me. And never anything harmful. Jamie's still rubbing his arm, so I take it as a chance to scowl into the air in the hope that Annabel will notice it.
"What?" Jamie asks again.
"Nothing, I was thinking aloud, Annabel's just this--"
"No, not that, you said something else," he interrupts.
I gaze at him and shake my head. "Mate, I haven't said anything else. I don't--"
"There! Listen!"
I clamp my mouth shut and listen, but all I can hear is the distant sound of a motorbike. Just as I'm about to speak again, the chequered tea towel I left on the picnic table flings off it and smacks into my side. That definitely wasn't the wind.
Jamie stares at the towel as it lies in a heap on the damp concrete, and begins stuttering. I'm starting to feel the cold now. I think I'm shivering. There's another movement; one of the pub's wooden deck chairs, and this time it's definitely not the wind. It falls backwards into the wall of the pub, one of its legs snapping in the process.
"What the... Felix, did you just see that?"
I stare at the broken chair, and only then does it hit me. This isn't Annabel. This is something dark. Shit.
"That's our cue to head back in," I mutter, more to myself.
Within seconds, I'm trying to push the pub door open, but it's not budging. I ram it a little with my body, but there's still nothing. I bang on it, but no one inside must hear me because it's so goddamn loud in there.
"What's happening?" Jamie's breathing is heavy. "Why have they locked it?"
There's a swishing sound. Something hard strikes my ankle. I lose my balance, and only just manage to stop myself from falling. On the floor beside my foot is the chair's broken leg.
Jamie starts banging on the door now, but I know it's a lost cause because there are too many people in there for them to hear us, and the door isn't going to unlock itself any time soon. We're going to have to run.
I turn to Jamie, who's still hopelessly trying to shove the door open, and I have no idea what to say with no time to figure it out. So I don't say anything. I grab his arm and pull him away from the door. I'm much stronger than him, so when he pulls back, I barely budge.
"What are you doing? We can't stay out here, we need to get back in!"
"Jay, we're not getting back in, and we can't just sit around here, so do you have any better suggestions?"
As if on cue, an empty glass that was left on the picnic table I was sitting at minutes ago is thrown onto the floor with an ear-shattering smash. What remains of it rolls towards us, stopping at Jamie's feet. He stares at it for a few seconds, then looks back up at me with his eyes wide.
"Yes, okay, we'll go."
If I wasn't shitting myself right now, I'd probably find it hysterical how matter-of-factly he just said that. This isn't just something dark, this is a poltergeist. It has to be. I grab Jamie's arm and we sprint towards the road opposite the pub as if either of us have any idea where the hell we're running to.
I've only ever dealt with a poltergeist once before, and that one was much weaker than this. It could only just throw a pillow at me, for starters, let alone break a chair. All we can do is run and hope for the best.