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Authors: Peter Robinson
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advantage of me.’
Keith blushed. ‘I wasn’t . . . I mean I—’
She waved dismissively. ‘Doesn’t matter. Yes, I’ll have another, if you like.’
It was while he was away at the bar that Martha first heard the voice. It made her hackles rise and her throat constrict. Casually, she looked around. Only two men were playing darts now, and it
was one of them who had spoken. He was small and swarthy and wore a navy-blue fisherman’s jersey. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, and his eyes seemed to glitter
unnaturally, like the Ancient Mariner’s, under his ragged fringe. He caught Martha looking and returned her gaze. Quickly, she turned away.
Keith came back with the drinks and excused himself to go to the gents.
Martha turned her head slowly again, trying to catch the man in her peripheral vision. Had he recognized her? She didn’t think so. This time he was so absorbed in throwing the dart that he
didn’t notice her looking. Could it really be him?
‘Do you know him?’
Martha almost jumped at the sound of Keith’s voice. She hadn’t seen him come back. ‘No. What makes you ask that?’
Keith shrugged. ‘Just the way you were looking at him, that’s all.’
‘Of course I don’t know him,’ Martha said. ‘This is my first day here.’
‘You just seemed to be staring rather intently, that’s all. Maybe it’s someone you thought you recognized?’
‘I’ve told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Just drop it, will you?’
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Martha said. And it was probably the truest thing she’d said to him all evening. Now she had something concrete to work on, her mind seemed more able to
focus and concentrate. On the other hand, she felt herself drifting further and further away from Keith. It was becoming harder for her to follow his conversation and respond in the appropriate way
at the right time. He began to seem more like an irritating fly that she kept having to swat away. She needed to be alone, but she couldn’t escape just yet. She had to play the game.
‘You a student, then?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I’m doing postgraduate work at Bangor.’
And this book, is it your doctoral thesis?’
‘Sort of.’
It was excruciating, like some awful interview she had to go through. As she answered Keith’s inane questions, Martha was conscious all the time of the darts match going on behind her. Her
skin was burning and her pulse beat way too fast.
Finally, the game drew to a close. The man she had been watching walked over to the bar, where she could see him out of the corner of her eye, and put his empty glass down on the counter.
‘Well, that’s my limit for tonight,’ he said to the barman. ‘See you tomorrow, Bobby.’ The accent was right, the voice hoarse.
‘Night, Jack,’ said the barman.
Martha watched Jack walk towards the exit. He glanced briefly in her direction before he opened the door, but still showed no sign that he recognized her. She looked at her watch. It was a
quarter to ten. For some reason, she got the impression that what had just happened was a kind of nightly ritual: Jack finishing his game, putting his glass on the counter and making some remark
about the lateness of the hour. If he was a fisherman, then he would probably have to be up early in the morning. But shouldn’t he already be out at sea? It was all so confusing. Still, if it
was his habit to do this every night, she could come back tomorrow, when Keith was out of the way, and . . . Well, the next move would take careful planning and a lot of grace, but she had plenty
of time.
‘Want to go?’
With difficulty, like focusing on something from a great distance, Martha turned her attention back to Keith. She nodded and reached for her holdall. Outside, the warm fresh air felt good in her
lungs. A bright half-moon hung high over St Mary’s.
‘Want to go for a walk?’ Keith
Keith blushed. ‘I wasn’t . . . I mean I—’
She waved dismissively. ‘Doesn’t matter. Yes, I’ll have another, if you like.’
It was while he was away at the bar that Martha first heard the voice. It made her hackles rise and her throat constrict. Casually, she looked around. Only two men were playing darts now, and it
was one of them who had spoken. He was small and swarthy and wore a navy-blue fisherman’s jersey. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, and his eyes seemed to glitter
unnaturally, like the Ancient Mariner’s, under his ragged fringe. He caught Martha looking and returned her gaze. Quickly, she turned away.
Keith came back with the drinks and excused himself to go to the gents.
Martha turned her head slowly again, trying to catch the man in her peripheral vision. Had he recognized her? She didn’t think so. This time he was so absorbed in throwing the dart that he
didn’t notice her looking. Could it really be him?
‘Do you know him?’
Martha almost jumped at the sound of Keith’s voice. She hadn’t seen him come back. ‘No. What makes you ask that?’
Keith shrugged. ‘Just the way you were looking at him, that’s all.’
‘Of course I don’t know him,’ Martha said. ‘This is my first day here.’
‘You just seemed to be staring rather intently, that’s all. Maybe it’s someone you thought you recognized?’
‘I’ve told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Just drop it, will you?’
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Martha said. And it was probably the truest thing she’d said to him all evening. Now she had something concrete to work on, her mind seemed more able to
focus and concentrate. On the other hand, she felt herself drifting further and further away from Keith. It was becoming harder for her to follow his conversation and respond in the appropriate way
at the right time. He began to seem more like an irritating fly that she kept having to swat away. She needed to be alone, but she couldn’t escape just yet. She had to play the game.
‘You a student, then?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I’m doing postgraduate work at Bangor.’
And this book, is it your doctoral thesis?’
‘Sort of.’
It was excruciating, like some awful interview she had to go through. As she answered Keith’s inane questions, Martha was conscious all the time of the darts match going on behind her. Her
skin was burning and her pulse beat way too fast.
Finally, the game drew to a close. The man she had been watching walked over to the bar, where she could see him out of the corner of her eye, and put his empty glass down on the counter.
‘Well, that’s my limit for tonight,’ he said to the barman. ‘See you tomorrow, Bobby.’ The accent was right, the voice hoarse.
‘Night, Jack,’ said the barman.
Martha watched Jack walk towards the exit. He glanced briefly in her direction before he opened the door, but still showed no sign that he recognized her. She looked at her watch. It was a
quarter to ten. For some reason, she got the impression that what had just happened was a kind of nightly ritual: Jack finishing his game, putting his glass on the counter and making some remark
about the lateness of the hour. If he was a fisherman, then he would probably have to be up early in the morning. But shouldn’t he already be out at sea? It was all so confusing. Still, if it
was his habit to do this every night, she could come back tomorrow, when Keith was out of the way, and . . . Well, the next move would take careful planning and a lot of grace, but she had plenty
of time.
‘Want to go?’
With difficulty, like focusing on something from a great distance, Martha turned her attention back to Keith. She nodded and reached for her holdall. Outside, the warm fresh air felt good in her
lungs. A bright half-moon hung high over St Mary’s.
‘Want to go for a walk?’ Keith
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