The Gentle Touch

The combination of cobblestone pavement and red-brick houses made this entire town look like it had never made it out of the 18th century. The atmosphere was bizarre; despite the swarm of people going about their everyday chores as usual, an eerie silence seemed to dominate the streets.

As a cool chill engulfs me, I lay my bags down by the curb and pull out the wooly hat in my handbag. It was a hideous thing, with bright orange tassels and lime green polka dots. I had only taken it with me to please my mother, but I now found myself grateful for the extra warmth.

So far London had disappointed me. I don't know what I expected, but it sure as hell wasn't this. I had heard tales of it being a town for the youth, where dreams could actually become a reality. Granted with my budget I was only on the outskirts, perhaps the true magic was in the heart of it.

I sigh heavily as I pick my bags back up and sling one over my right shoulder. The address said Allan street, but I could only see a sign for Wicker and Hartford.

"Excuse me," I call out, as an old man in a long coat swaggers by, "I'm looking for Allan street, do you know of it?"

The man turns to face me, with a raised eyebrow and a confused expression.

"Fucking hell, you won't go missing with that ruddy thing on your head anyways," he cackles, the smell of cider emanating from his breath, "listen love, I don't know no Alan but if you do manage to find him, don't tell him you saw me, got it?"

I hear him mumbling something as he takes off down the road. I almost cry out of exasperation and let my bags drop down around me once more, before taking a seat at the side of the curb.

"I wouldn't sit there if I were you." I get a nervous chill at the sound of another man's voice, not wanting a similar encounter to the one just gone by. My worries vanish when I turn to see a young guy in a policeman uniform.

I quickly jump up from the curb and dust myself off, simultaneously dragging the hat from my head.

"Sorry officer," I blush, pulling my bags back up. He chuckles slightly and walks towards me.

"No need to be sorry, you weren't breaking any laws. I just happen to know that's a popular spot for the men who just can't hold a litre of beer in their 500ml bladder."

My eyes widen with disgust and I quickly try to peek at my backside to check for stains. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the policeman holding back another chuckle.

"Don't worry, you're good," he winks, "So I take it you're new here?"

"Is it that obvious?" I grimace, gazing around at the people on the street. The population seemed to be relatively old, with a few kids running around unsupervised. Apparently the architecture wasn't the only old-fashioned thing about the place.

"You do sort of stick out like a sore thumb, but in a good way," the officer smiled, handing the last bag to me. "So where are heading to?"

I grasp the handle of the bag and yank it from him, slightly more aggressively than intended. I silently curse when my balance wobbles and pray for myself to keep it together.

"Allan Street. Although it may aswell be the fucking moon at this stage," I laugh nervously.

This man was extremely attractive, and seemed fairly young to be a policeman. The combination of that and my uncertainty about the people of the area had somehow turned me into a nervous wreck, something that was clearly not oblivious to him.

"You'll want to keep going along here until you see a pub called The Cove. Take the first right and you've got Allan Street. I could also give the directions for the moon, but I feel we may be here for awhile."

I give a small chuckle at his words and internally celebrate that I'm no longer a lost lamb.

"Thank you so much officer–"

"Fitz. Short for Fitzpatrick, but you can just call me Fitz," he smiles, sticking out his hand.

I awkwardly reach for it, feeling the full weight of the bags taking over. After giving a pathetic shake, I thank him again and head in the direction he had pointed out.

My suspicions about the area were further backed up the longer I walked. There were women walking around with skirts down to their knees, while men were split between those in tweed suits and those in a shirt and a paddy cap. They appeared to walk quickly through the streets, and stayed in corners and alleys to socialise.

I couldn't help wondering what or who they were hiding from. Maybe it was just tradition and they didn't know anything else.

My train of thought was broken when I laid eyes on the first building with life. Men surrounded the place both outside and inside, as I could see through the windows. I looked up to find the words THE COVE written in thick black letters.

I was moderately impressed with the place. Nothing could beat the Irish pubs back home in Dublin, but there did seem to be a certain buzz around the establishment. I make a mental note to check the place out later and take the next right to finally find myself on Allan Street.

I walk until I reach number 24 and press down on the bell. An old woman's voice answers.

"Hi. My name is Lexie Cole. I rang about renting a room?" I say into the intercom.

I hear the click of the door and walk up the stairs into my new home.

Notes