Chapter Ten

Antonia steeled herself against the stares from the smokers outside of the Paddy Coynes Pub. She folded her arms across her chest as she walked through their thick cloud of smoke to gain entrance.

“Evening,” one heavy-set man said, flicking his ashes at the sidewalk.

“Evening,” she breathed, reaching for the door. So far so good.

Inside the small and cozy establishment, things weren’t quite as busy as she feared. Most of the clientele must have been outside smoking. A table of young men and women looked up at her as she entered. They gave her a good once-over before returning to their drinks. Antonia had experience with being one of just a few black people in a classroom, a workplace, or at one of Derek’s work functions. This, however, was even more alienating. She was the only black person in an entire village and imagined that she would be known as “that new black woman,” in no time.

Antonia veered straight to the bar. A stiff drink could do her good right about now. She was weary from the road and jet lag was sure to follow. She wedged herself between two, red-faced men—one fat, the other bald—and flagged down the barman who had his back to her. “Excuse me?” He couldn’t hear her voice over the traditional pipe and drums that filtered through the pub’s speakers. “Excuse me.”

“Danny!” the bald gentleman barked.

The wiry barman turned on his heel, flinging a dish towel over his shoulder.

“There’s no need for ye to be shoutin’, Steven.”

“I ain’t shoutin’ for my sake,” the bald man said hitching a beefy thumb at Antonia. “I’m shoutin’ for the church mouse.”

“Thank you,” Antonia said.

Steven, who already looked bleary-eyed for six o’clock, looked her up and down. “And yer very welcome. Dear me, where’d ya come from?”

“The cottages across the street.”

The bald man burst into a loud braying laughter. “I mean, where are ya from?”

Antonia’s face warmed. This was the second time today she’d flubbed this question. “I’m from America.”

“I’ve got a cousin in Boston,” he said. “You ever been to Boston?”

She nodded. “Yep. I’m from Chicago though.” How many times would she have to repeat this?

“Steven, leave her be,” Danny snapped. “Can’t you tell you’re drivin’ her to drink?”

“Oh, it’s fine.”

Danny leaned against the bar, adjusting the loose cigarette tucked behind his ear. “Now, what can I get you?”

She didn’t want to look like a novice on her first night. “Guinness, please.”

“That’s a real woman,” said the red-faced fat man from the other side of her. He looked fairly tall and wide, perched precariously on his barstool. While he wore an expensive gray three-piece suit, he also appeared to be in his cups.

“Coming up,” said the barman, retrieving a glass. She watched as he pulled the Guinness lever, filling a glass with the dark brown beer. A lovely thick creamy foam formed as it hit the top, making her lick her lips. “You’re from Chicago, huh?”