"So what's your tipple of choice then?"
Sally looked around in horror. Of all the people in all the places, what was this guy - Matt, she recalled from the events earlier that day - doing in her local? Could she not escape from any bad memories even here?
"Gin and tonic, not that it's any of your business," she replied curtly.
"Com'on, that's 'ardly a way to treat an ol' mate, eh?"
"Let's get things straight," Sally said, turning on her bar stool to face Matt. "First, I am not your mate. Second, I have no interest in small talk_"
"And third?" Matt butted in.
"Will you stop with this fake cockney accent? You were hardly pretending during your antics with the stewardess on the flight from New York, all cut glass and upper class and lah-di-dah_"
"Christ! What's got your goat then, sweetheart?" Matt laughed. "Somefink really buggin' you, eh?"
"Enough." Sally held up her hand to silence him. "I really am not interested in your small talk. Either you speak properly or piss off back to the hole you crawled out of."
"Ouch. I was only trying to be friendly."
"Yes, well, you know the saying: you can choose your friends, not your family." Sally swiveled back to her drink. "And what are you doing here anyway?" she asked over her shoulder.
"I followed you."
Sally choked on her drink, the contents tickling her nose as she stifled a sneeze. "You what?"
"I followed you. You ran off so suddenly after that surreal dog racing exchange, the Ginger bloke_"
"Colin."
"_yes, Colin, whatever, became quite distressed and thought you were possibly suicidal or something, so I offered to keep an eye on you."
"How reassuring," Sally mumbled into her now-empty glass. She sat up suddenly.
"You followed me home then? And now here? Are you stalking me?"
Matt beamed a smile. "Love, don't be offended, but you really are not my type."
Sally looked around in horror. Of all the people in all the places, what was this guy - Matt, she recalled from the events earlier that day - doing in her local? Could she not escape from any bad memories even here?
"Gin and tonic, not that it's any of your business," she replied curtly.
"Com'on, that's 'ardly a way to treat an ol' mate, eh?"
"Let's get things straight," Sally said, turning on her bar stool to face Matt. "First, I am not your mate. Second, I have no interest in small talk_"
"And third?" Matt butted in.
"Will you stop with this fake cockney accent? You were hardly pretending during your antics with the stewardess on the flight from New York, all cut glass and upper class and lah-di-dah_"
"Christ! What's got your goat then, sweetheart?" Matt laughed. "Somefink really buggin' you, eh?"
"Enough." Sally held up her hand to silence him. "I really am not interested in your small talk. Either you speak properly or piss off back to the hole you crawled out of."
"Ouch. I was only trying to be friendly."
"Yes, well, you know the saying: you can choose your friends, not your family." Sally swiveled back to her drink. "And what are you doing here anyway?" she asked over her shoulder.
"I followed you."
Sally choked on her drink, the contents tickling her nose as she stifled a sneeze. "You what?"
"I followed you. You ran off so suddenly after that surreal dog racing exchange, the Ginger bloke_"
"Colin."
"_yes, Colin, whatever, became quite distressed and thought you were possibly suicidal or something, so I offered to keep an eye on you."
"How reassuring," Sally mumbled into her now-empty glass. She sat up suddenly.
"You followed me home then? And now here? Are you stalking me?"
Matt beamed a smile. "Love, don't be offended, but you really are not my type."