Forty
Jacquie was already at the Fisherman's when Guthrie arrived. She was sitting in a booth across from a fireplace. He saw she had a drink but motioned to her if she wanted another. She shook her head. Guthrie walked over to the small bar and ordered a lager.
As he waited, he looked back to Jacquie. "Shite," he said to himself. The barman looked at him, quizzically. "Uh, sorry," Guthrie said. "Talking to myself." The barman returned his focus to pouring the pint.
Guthrie was mentally kicking himself for not going over to Jacquie when he came in. She sat looking out the window. Guthrie felt his stomach lurch with a mixture of guilt and sickness. He paid for the drink and walked over to Jacquie. He sat opposite her, a wooden table between them, stained with circles from the bottom of v
