stone not to be upset. Sheâll feel guilty too, probably. You know, all that, âif we hadnât split up, it would never have happened,â business.â
âYeah.â Lindsay sighed. âSheâs not one of my favorite people, but if sheâs feeling a fraction of what I felt about Frances, then my heart goes out to her.â
Before they could say more, there was a disturbance behind them. A familiar voice floated through the door, focusing every drinkerâs attention on the speaker. âWill you for Godâs sake leave me alone, Tom? Iâm not a piece of bloody china,â Laura Craig was shaking off Tom Jackâs protective arm and stalking into the bar.
âBut Laura, you shouldnât be left alone, youâre in shock.â For once, thought Lindsay, he actually sounded sincerely concerned.
âTom, piss off,â Laura said slowly and clearly. âWatch my lips. I want to be alone.â She sounded more like Margaret Thatcher than Greta Garbo.
Tom Jack stepped back. There was no mistaking the determination and anger in Lauraâs voice. He put his hands up at chest level, palms towards Laura. âOkay. Okay. Iâll be through in the lounge if you want me.â
She watched him leave before turning back towards the bar, face set in a hard, expressionless mask. Shaz leaned forward to say softly, âSounds like your sympathy might be a bit misplaced.â
Lindsay shook her head. âSheâs in shock, like Tom said. Grief does funny things to you.â
When she realized who her companions at the bar were, Laura sighed in exasperation. âOh God,â she said. âIs there no peace in this bloody town?â Lindsay opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, Laura said sharply, âDonât say it. Donât for Godâs sake say youâre sorry. Is anyone serving here?â she
demanded, turning to the barman. âGood. Give me a very large vodka and ginger beer. When I say very large, I mean four.â The barman took one look at her face, decided not to comment and scuttled off towards his optics.
Lindsay moved towards Laura and said, âLaura, I know what itâs like. After Frances died, I sometimes felt it was only the anger holding me together.â
Laura shook her head, as if to clear the vision. âThatâs what comes next, is it? People giving me permission for my emotions?â Lindsay felt as if sheâd been smacked in the face, but tried to subdue her reaction. When Lauraâs drink came, she swallowed half of it in one. As the alcohol hit, her shoulders straightened.
A BBC radio producer chose that moment to come over and put his arm round her. âLaura, love, weâre all so very, very sorry,â he said.
Laura pulled herself clear. âYouâre dripping beer on my suit. I doubt you earn enough to have it cleaned, never mind replaced. Now piss off,â she hissed.
The man dropped his arm as if heâd been stung. He backed away, his face a mask of shock.
Laura finished her drink and slammed the glass down on the bar. âWhat a waste,â she said bitterly. âWhat a bloody, bloody waste.â
âI know,â Lindsay persisted. âI canât believe it either. I can only imagine how much worse it is for you.â
âCan you?â Laura asked dangerously. âCan you? Sure youâre not just fishing for an angle for your story, Lindsay?â
Lindsay clocked the look of shock on Shazâs face, and suspected it was mirrored on her own. âFor Christâs sake, Laura,â she protested.
âHow come you didnât make it to the hospital like the rest of the pack, Lindsay? Oh, of course! You came in Ian âs car, didnât you? You didnât have any wheels to get there. Well, you missed a great show. Your cronies were in fine form. âHow do you feel, Laura? What was the last thing he said to you, Laura? What