In the Shadow of the Trees by Elenor Gill

of beer from the pump and laughing with the customers, but she spotted me as soon as I entered and her face lit up. Thank God, I thought, and ran to her as if she were my salvation.
    ‘Regan, hi, what’s up? Is something wrong?’
    ‘I need a beer, that’s all. No, everything’s fine.’
    ‘Well, you don’t look fine. Here get this down you. I’ll be with you in a moment.’
    ‘Thanks, I’m just thirsty. Been working, you know how it is—’
    But she had gone, wiping the bar top and taking orders from a cluster of men at the other end of the counter. I took a long pull at my glass and realised how dry my mouth and throat were. My lips were cracked as I licked the foam from around my mouth.
    Looking around I recognised one or two of the lunchtime crew but they were outnumbered by an older crowd that included a few women so I didn’t feel so out of place. People sat at tables in twos and threes. One of the women was playing darts with a man in a police uniform, tie loosened off and hat thrown down on the table. Two young girls sat in a side booth, giggling, their heads close together, their legs long and bare beneath matching leather skirts. By the time Maggie came back my glass was nearly empty.
    ‘Wow, I guess you did need a drink. Here, let me get you another. Sorry I had to leave you. This is usually the busiest time of day. People come in straight after work and some of them like to eat here.’
    I had noticed the smell of cooking meat hanging in the air.
    ‘You’re not the cook too, are you?’
    ‘No, that’s my dad. Fancies himself as a chef. Are you hungry?’
    ‘No. No thanks. I couldn’t eat right now. The beer’s fine. Listen Maggie, you know we were talking about the Sullivan family, their history? You said some of the locals might know more about it. Is there anyone here I could talk to?’
    ‘Possibly, yes. Why, what’s happened?’
    ‘Nothing, it’s just…Well, I found some old grave markers and wondered if anyone knew anything about it.’
    ‘Well, there’s old Trevor Benson just come in. He might know something. Hey, Trev, there’s someone here wants to meet you.’
    A barrel of a man in shorts dragged his hat off as he picked his way to the bar. He used the hat to wipe the sweat and dust from his head where a few wisps of white hair still defied the course of nature. His skin was pale and burnt red except where time had melded freckles into patches the size of cornflakes. He blinked at me with no sign of curiosity, and then focused on the beer pump.
    ‘This is Regan, Trev. She’s new round here. Interested in local history.’
    He watched Maggie fill a large jug, then hand him a chilled glass.
    ‘She’s staying out on the Sullivan place.’
    Trev whipped his head around to stare at me with red-rimmed eyes. ‘Ya don’t say. Well I’ll be—’
    ‘Can I shout your drink, Mr Benson? Perhaps you wouldn’t mind me joining you for a few minutes?’
    He continued to stare at me. His eyes were pale and watery; he looked like a startled rabbit. He didn’t answer, but when I moved towards a side table he followed like a dog at heel, clutching his jug and glass.
    ‘Is that right now?’ he asked as we settled at the table. ‘Staying at John Sullivan’s, are ya?’
    ‘Yes, that’s right. Not at the house, though. I’ve taken the cottage for the summer. Apparently it belongs to his son, Jason.’
    ‘Well I’ll be…Ya don’t say.’
    ‘You do know the Sullivans then?’
    ‘No more ‘n anyone else. John comes in here most nights. We usually exchange a word, ya know, the weather, stock. Not that he’s got much. Stock, that is. Barely keeps the place ticking over and most of that’s down to his hired help.’
    ‘That’s the hairy one. Connors, isn’t it?’
    ‘Well, it is at the moment but they’re always moving on. No one stays long.’
    ‘Why is that?’
    ‘Blowed if I know. He’s a good enough boss and it’s not what you’d call a heavy workload. But you say