Forty-Two
The barman smiled as Guthrie walked back into the Fisherman's.
"Same again?"
"Aye, please."
The barman poured a dark pint and handed it over to Guthrie who, in turn, handed him a ten pound note. Once he had pocketed his change, he took a seat at the same booth he and Jacquie had vacated just a few minutes before. This time, however, he was sitting where she had sat. The seat was still warm.
He looked around. An older man was at the far end of the bar, staring at a small television in the corner. The sound was down. Some kind of talent show. A young couple sat in another booth. They were in hushed conversation, sharing a joke or funny story, large smiles, animated faces.
Guthrie flopped his head back onto the velvet fabric of the back of the booth and closed his eyes.
"Shit
