Bridge of Shadows

She stood near the ancient doorway and pretended to look over the posted menu. The idea of walking in alone didn’t thrill her but the need to find information spurred her on. Besides, her stomach was rumbling. Swinging the door open, she stepped inside.

“A table for ye, lass?” boomed a voice just off to her left.

She squinted, adjusting her eyes to the dimly lit room.

“Are ye alone?” This time she made out the tiny shape of a man who, though standing straight as a stick, appeared to be about the same vintage as the door. So he was here.

“Uh, yes, a table for one.”

“Then I’ve got the perfect spot for ye. Just follow me.” He turned on a dime and strode through the cramped quarters, nodding to everyone along the way until he reached a small table smack in the middle of the room. Waving his little hand with the finesse of a Persian rug dealer, he pulled out the chair. Sela felt her cheeks flush scarlet. The place had grown uncomfortably quiet. “I’ll give ye a minute to look over the menu and get acquainted.”

She sat down, staring at the menu but seeing nothing. Was she required to strike up a conversation with perfect strangers now? This was ludicrous.

After a moment she heard a slight cough and looked up. Seated close by was a crudely dressed young man with a grin on his face. “There’s a fish tea that’ll stick to your ribs,” he offered.

“Thank you.” She quickly looked down again. Someone nearby chuckled. She wiped her sweaty palms on the legs of her jeans and clenched her jaw. “I might just try that.” Her voice sounded annoyingly high pitched.

“You’re not from these parts?” Again the grin.

“No, just visiting.”

“Alone?”

What was it with these people? Was everyone in Ullapool joined at the hip or something? “I’m traveling,” she said, her shrill tone once again betraying her embarrassment.

Mercifully, the resident elf appeared out of nowhere, bill in hand, and held it out. “You’ll be wanting this, Jimmy.”

“What makes ye think so? I’ve as much right to be here as anybody.”

“Come now, being the gentleman that ye are, I’m sure you’ll want to pay up and make room for others.”

Jimmy shuffled in his seat then stood, his eyes staring straight into Sela’s. “A pleasure.”

With that he swaggered off, apparently unaware of the oily aroma left in his wake. If she hadn’t been so mortified by the attention she would have admired him just a little. Where did that kind of confidence come from?

“What will it be for ye, lass?” asked the little man.

“Fish—fish will be fine.” She’d wolf down a giant squid if everyone would stop looking at her. She reached into her purse and pulling out a trusty number six pencil, began doodling on the rough paper place mat.

Slowly her heart resumed its regular beat as the image emerged. She hadn’t consciously noted the details of the young man’s face, but here it was, staring up at her. Deep-set, inquisitive eyes, straight nose, cocky grin and a shock of unruly black hair. Something about him was familiar but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe the little waiter could help. He knew everybody, didn’t he? No, she thought. He’ll think I’m a floozy for asking. Still, there was something about that guy that didn’t add up. Was all that bravado a cover-up for something else? He’d sure left in a hurry when the waiter gave him the bum’s rush.

“Oh, I see you’re quite taken with our Jimmy.” The little man had reappeared like a genie, bringing with him a plate of deep fried cod, chips and peas. Sela’s stomach rumbled again. With all the hullabaloo, she’d forgotten how hungry she was.

“I like to draw people.” Taking courage, she added, “He’s quite a character. Does he live around here?”

The old man’s craggy face took on a wary look. “He comes in now and then. A regular toerag he is.” Sela cast about in her mind for the meaning of the expression. She’d heard Granddad use it occasionally. Something to do with a con artist. That was it, then. He was nothing but a crook. She reached for the oversize plate and deliberately set it down in the middle of the face.

It wasn’t until she was outside the pub, having gobbled down her food and paid the bill, that she remembered Tanika. Was she entirely incompetent? She’d have to go back but now wasn’t the time. He’d know something was up. In frustration she sent a small stone flying onto the street with her toe.

“Ye’ll have to watch that, Miss,” said a male voice coming alongside her. “A stubbed toe can cause a great deal of pain.”

Sela recognized the tone before she looked up and saw Jimmy’s grin. She groaned inwardly. “I’d pay more attention to my own toe if I were you. A little polish would go a long way.”

He chortled with laughter and pushed his cap back on his head, revealing once again his dark tousled hair. “I wasn’t meanin’ to be cheeky—just looking out for the tourist industry is all.”

“You’re the official guide to Ullapool, then?” She quickened her step but he matched her pace with his own.

“I try to keep an eye out for the young ladies—in case they run into any difficulty of course.”

“If you don’t mind, I have things to do.” She started to turn onto the street but he stepped in front of her.

“I’m sorry, Miss. I seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot, so to speak. I’m really not what I appear to be.”

She was about to snap out a retort when she stopped mid-step. Last night outside the pub. The same oily cap and mocking eyes she’d seen when the door had been opened with such a flourish. Her cheeks burned again in embarrassment.

“What’s wrong—cat got your tongue?

“No and I’d appreciate if you’d leave me alone. I don’t take to being followed.”

“Followed? I can assure you I’m not followin’ you, being that I was the first to arrive on both occasions.”

“So you remember me from last night. Well I’m certainly not the one following you, if that’s what you’re implying.”

His mouth twitched in amusement. “Of course not, of course not. You were with your boyfriend after all.”

“He’s not my boyfriend—he’s my…ah…cousin.” She blushed again as his eyebrows shot up in apparent surprise. Why was she explaining herself?

“Look,” he said, sticking out his hand in her direction, “would it be alright if we started this over again? I’m Jimmy.” His eyes crinkled once again though not mockingly this time.

She noticed he wasn’t nearly as tall as Dougal, though by the way his shirt sleeves bulged, more muscular. He must be a manual laborer. She looked at his fingers and stopped dead. “I really have to get going.”

“Can’t you at least tell me your name?”

“Sela,” she snapped. She turned and without looking back, strode off in the direction of the hostel, leaving him standing alone. Good. She hoped he felt like a fool. That’s how he’d made her feel last night. What was he up to anyway? He hadn’t actually stated what he did for a living though he’d given the impression he worked with his hands. But if that was the case, then why were his fingernails clean as a surgeon’s?