Read Bar None for Free Online Page B

the pub garden, stroked the back of her neck with one hand, hair falling across her eyes. I did not see her again for what felt like hours. When she looked back at me her eyes were moist, but I would never know whether they were tears of sadness or joy.
    I did not ask. It was always easier not to, and it was starting out to be a nice day. I always was one for the moment, keen to keep things calm and comfortable and quiet, and there were a million things I should have said and done which remained unsaid and undone because of that particular cowardice.
    "It'll be fine," I said. I finished my pint and stood to get another. Ashley offered up her glass and I negotiated my way across the garden, looking down instead of forward so that I did not trip over any kids.
    I bought another Double Drop, though the wide selection of ales there was tempting. The Hanbury had long been a favourite haunt of mine, and since we met, Ashley had also fallen in love with the place. She drank halves as I quaffed pints, and though I knew that she was not as obsessed with ales as I was, I appreciated the gesture. There was something about love in that. She didn't really like Japanese movies or sushi either, but she indulged for me, and I ate the curry she liked and watched the occasional episode of ER, and we both knew that compromise was a big part of falling in love and staying in love. So far, we had done very well indeed.
    Later that day we moved across the wide river bridge and sat on the opposite bank outside the Veil's Arms. The pub had always intrigued me, and when I finally asked, the landlord told me that the name was something to do with a seventeenth-century highwayman, his love for a local farmer's daughter, and the piece of clothing of hers he wore when he was being hanged. The old oak tree in the pub garden was reputedly the hanging tree, and one of the thick lower branches bore a ring of knotted bark that was allegedly the wound made by the rope. It was a rich, interesting story, and the pub took full advantage of the opportunities afforded by it. You could order a Hangman's Lunch from its varied menu, drink a pint of locally brewed Highwayman's Best Effort, or peruse various etchings and paintings of the events whilst taking a piss. I was glad they had not gone too far; the next step was surely a mannequin hanging from the tree and a photographer charging to have your picture taken holding the rope.
    Ashley and I sat on the grassed riverbank and watched the river rise as the tide came in. It was peaceful, warm, and the sound of kids playing drifted across the river from The Hanbury. We talked inconsequentialities because the important stuff had already been said, and I stuck to the Double Drop, and as the sun started to sink toward the wooded western hills I had a comfortable buzz about me.
    "How much of the same water do you think flows back up-river when the tide comes in?" Ashley said.
    "Er . . ." I shook my head. The ripples in the muddy water's surface caught the sinking sun, giving the river a clayish texture never seen in the day.
    "I mean, all that water flows down from the hills, picking up sediment, carrying leaves and twigs, rolling stones. The odd corpse of a sheep or bird. And it dumps it all into the estuary. Then a few hours later the tide rises, and this part of the river goes up, and some of the water flows back in."
    "I'm not quite sure that's exactly what happens," I said. It struck me that I had spent many days of my adult life staring at a river with a pint in my hand, but in truth I had no definite idea of how rivers really worked. This type of revelation often hit me, and it worried me that I could go through life understanding so little. I was afraid I would lose my way.
    "You see the same things flowing in and out with the tide, sometimes," Ashley said. "Almost as if the river can't decide whether or not to move on."
    "Er . . . do you want another drink?"
    "Gin and tonic," she said, never taking her eyes