He wanted her in every way.

It turned out in the end that it was him who was two things. What he thought he was. Then who he actually was.

The pain in her is too great.

The barman has a jaded tone that makes him more attractive.

He is not too handsome. Flora is not attracted to conventionally handsome men. They don’t fuck so well. She doesn’t get that thrill of truly losing control with them. She gets that with flawed men. He laughs at her story and there is a real dirtiness to his laugh. He’s the exact kind of (someone else’s) husband she ends up in bed with. The risk of this occurring becomes more precarious around drink four. Flora picks up drink three. It tastes so good. She has to find out today. If her ex-lover – who she has not seen now for eleven months – is still – after all this time – the one she wants.

– And this happened when?

The barman pushes a sparkling glass toward Flora.

– Dear God of fuckery please help us all!

– Ay?

– Is this my fourth cocktail?

– Do we need to count?

– Yes, we do.

A smile.

He lights her cigarette.

A table of lawyers in the corner drink in such a serious way. Heads up! All the better to disdain the bar. Not her legs though. Nobody is disdainful toward Flora’s legs. She pulls her skirt up another inch. Give them something to make laws about. Arseholes! She turns back to the barman. He is easily ten years younger than she. He tips beer out of catch trays, shines up optics, turns back toward her whilst polishing glasses.

– It happened when the soldiers were evacuated to Edinburgh from Russia, they had been fighting the Bolsheviks, she says.

– And they march up Leith Walk with this polar bear, Baśka Murmańska and you did too?

Look him straight in the eye on reply.

– Aye, all the way along Princes Street everyone was going wild!

– I bet!

The barman turns reluctantly to serve someone else.

Flora swivels on her chair.

Checks out the bar.

There isn’t a man in here wouldn’t go to bed with her if she let him.

Whether they would stay in it once she undressed, is another matter. If they did most would ignore her in the street later, or they’d cross the road to pretend they didn’t see her and if she knew them personally – they’d hope she never mentioned it again. If she tried to bring it up they’d say they didn’t want to discuss that. They would want to fuck her but not talk to her. Or be seen with her. They’d want to take her body in all kinds of violent ways in a darkened room but on the street – they would not hold her hand.

Tiring.

– I should’ve got drunk in Leith, this place makes my teeth appear inferior.