sample:                                                                       CHAPTER ONE

     The Golden Gate is one of my favourite hangouts for a number of reasons; the beer is cheap, the food almost edible and it’s close to home. Nobody bothers me, whether I decide to hide in a corner, or prop myself up at the bar. The patrons are friendly, on a good day, and the atmosphere has a familiarity that sucks you right in.
     It is hard, from a newcomer’s perspective, to understand why people keep returning to the pub. The furniture is old and tatty, the lighting is poor even on the brightest of days, and the clientele are usually suspicious of strangers. The first time Barry and Tony met me at the Golden Gate, they thought I had chosen it as a practical joke. Now they visit as often as I do, and they live further away. Perhaps that is the power of the place. Appearances can be deceptive; once you are in its lair, it has you for good. The only thing Barry insists on is that we refer to the pub as Gee Gee’s he is adamant that it gives the place an air of mystery; he is fooling himself.
     As I sat, hugging a pint of John Smiths finest, waiting for my friends to arrive, I made small talk with one of the bartenders. On a personal level, it isn’t something I’m very good at in most cases I pretend the other person is an interview candidate, and I get by.
     It was a busy night, so I was soon left to my own devices. A few moments later I was glad of that because without warning a fear took hold of me that was so strong I had to control my natural fight or flight response. I knew that I was not the origin of the emotion - it was coming from someone else, so I was able to rationalise that I was in no immediate danger.
     In a perfectly natural manner, or so I hoped, I scanned the people around me I did so with as much nonchalance as I could muster. Taking everything in with one sweep of my eyes I looked at my watch and then towards the entrance as though I expected someone to walk though it at any moment. I don’t know why I felt compelled to give such a performance; looking at the people around me is not a crime. Yet I somehow knew that I should not draw attention to myself.
     I soon discovered that I could sense a stronger emotion behind the fear, and it was an emotion I didn’t want to analyse too deeply. It put me on edge, and I begrudged the feeling because I didn't ask for the connection. I tried to block the feelings that churned inside me. It wasn’t easy; they were mingling with my own sudden apprehension. I was so preoccupied that when someone placed a hand on my shoulder, I almost dropped my beer. For a split second I was afraid to turn around, which was when I heard Barry’s wise crack in my ear.
     “Do you realise what a sorry ass you look - sitting here all alone, nursing that beer as though it's a close relative?”
     “Bite me!”
     “Nice!” Barry said, tipping his hand towards the bar tender.
     “Now that’s sad frequenting this establishment so often that you're down to hand signals with the bar staff. “

     “Touché, my friend.”

     I grinned at him, relaxing a little. At the same time it occurred to me that the fear, the connection I had made to some unwilling participant, had gone. I re-scanned the people around me, trying to work out if anyone was missing.

     “Tony can’t make it tonight. He’s packing for the trip.” Barry said.

     I nodded vaguely. Tony had taken an assignment for six months in Iraq and was flying out later that evening. It didn’t surprise me he was so unprepared, all Tony needs is a change of clothes and his camera.

     “He didn’t want a long drawn out goodbye. He knows what a weeper you are!”

     My laugh wasn’t completely natural; I was only half present in our conversation. When I met Barry’s gaze I could tell that he noticed.

     “You feeling the vibe?” He winked conspiringly, and whether consciously or not, he wriggled his fingers as though the sensation was like an electrical energy coursing through my veins. He always managed to bring me back down to earth.

     “It’s gone now, but I can tell you one thing I don't like this new development.”

     “What's changed?”

     “It's hard to explain, but the connection I have to people is different. Instead of picking up on their emotional energy, it feels more like I'm experiencing the emotion with them."

     "Wow, that's freaky. So when you walked past everyone on your way over here, you were tripping on some major mood swings. I can imagine it; 'I'm happy, now I'm sad, no, I'm mad, happy, sad, mad, sad'." Barry said this whilst bobbing up and down in a walking motion. He looked like a demented chicken.

     “I’m so glad I can entertain you.”

     “Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I’m guessing there’s something else going on?”  Barry placed a hand on my shoulder. It was an uncharacteristic thing for him to do; he is usually frustratingly playful and often uses humour when things get serious. If this had been a movie, he would be the goofy, wise cracking side kick who struggles to have a sober moment.

     “There is another letter.” I hadn’t intended to tell him so soon, not until I’d had time to chew it over myself.

     “To Laura?” Barry frowned. “I thought that was resolved?”

     “It wasn’t for Laura whatever the reason for the whole mystic pen pal thing, it obviously isn’t the end of it”

     Barry took a moment to think this over. He reached for his beer, which had so far stood untouched on the bar.

     “Who is it this time?”

     “That’s just the thing. I have a feeling it's for my sister.”

     “Danielle?”

     “How many sisters do I have?"

     Barry pulled a face. "What's in the letter?"

     “It was odd writing this new one.” I reached into my jacket pocket. I was consciously aware of the words formulating on my note pad; it was almost like I could hear them in my head.

     Barry took the letter from me, and scanned the contents with interest. After a while he stopped reading and regarded me thoughtfully.

     “What did Danielle make of it?” he asked, folding the paper back into its original shape and handing it back.

     “I haven’t shown it to her yet. I will, I guess I’m just not ready.”

     “I think, whether you like it or not, that some good old fashioned research is needed. I know you, so I know you need answers. Let’s start with the possible explanations for this new found skill like is it some kind of sixth sense, paranormal experience, tumour that kind of thing.”

     I stared at him, speechless. I had not expected the practical side of him to win out. In the months since my first experiences, he had given me space to work things out on my own.

     “Oh no, I know that look. Please tell me you aren't going to turn sentimental and tell me how much you appreciate our friendship,” Barry said, holding up his hands defensively. “Please don t embarrass me in public.”

     “I may be losing my grip on reality, or at least as I know it, but I m not certifiable!” I laughed. “Make yourself useful and do that tic-tac thing you do to get me a drink.”

     “Not a chance, it’s your round. I'm going to deserve it using all that energy to help you out,” Barry said between mouthfuls of beer. “And besides, tic-tac is used by bookies, you philistine have you learned nothing from Laura? If anything, I use a form of sign language, crude though it may be.”

     I almost choked on the dregs of my beer. Barry rarely remembers details about people he has never met, he sees them as inconsequential. The fact that he remembered Laura is a sign language interpreter when I only mentioned it once, proved he takes in more than he lets on.

     I bowed my head. “All right, fine.”

     "This should be fun."

     I tried to get the barman’s attention by tipping my hand in a similar way Barry had earlier. Dennis gave no indication that he had seen this gesture and continued serving further along the bar. What seemed like an impossibly long two minutes later he walked over to me.

     “Can I help you with something?”

     Barry roared with laughter when he heard him enjoying the joke far more than me.

     “Very funny, Dennis, can we have another round please,” I said in mock disgust.

     “Sure, Phil is just bringing them over.”

     I laughed too when I realised he had been playing me, though I should have expected it from a friend of Barry’s.

     “You know, Den, you’re a funny guy.” Barry was still finding the whole gag amusing.

     “He obviously learnt everything he knows from you!”

     My comment only made him laugh harder.

     “You see you just have to lighten up, my friend.”

     “So you’re saying that if I use more juvenile humour in my life, all my problems will chortle away? “

     Barry rolled his eyes. “Very good you should be a writer.”

     I ignored him and paid for the beer. I actually paid for the next few, but it was worth it. Barry was in decidedly good spirits and his light-hearted banter carried me through, until my overactive brain stirred up more questions for me to obsess about...


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23-09-09

12M

p7

Mixed Messages

By

Melissa Barker-Simpson