The rest of the day was spent deep inside her head. Everything seemed a long way away off; unreachable. Going through the motions with a fake smile so well practiced everyone thought it was real. The posters on Whitaker's wall were so true. You really could be standing next to a depressed person and never know. At work she amused herself on this one.

Sandwiches to the elderly chap on table five; old man, you're now next to a depressed person. A fake smile and she moved on. Table of six, starters delivered; you're all fucking about while a depressed person waits on you. The chef and kitchen crew; hello, depressed person here, anyone noticing? Dave didn't come in though. Much to Rose's relief. She wasn't angry now though. Just sad. No you are angry sad... I think... might not be... fuck it, how am I supposed to be thinking? There was a quirky ‘I'm going mad’ moment in the main bar. Putting glasses back on shelving next to the vacant gunslinger seat.

Derrick was standing behind her as she stood up thinking, depressed person here, the one stocking shelves. Clear as the crow flies into Mystery Ville beyond her staring window she heard, I know somewhere in her head. Voice of Derrick as sure as it was midday in the Oak. She froze and the crash of glass on the floor dragged her back.

“Dammit.”

“You OK, Rose?” The inside voice outside. Rose shook her head, trying to bring herself out of the zone.

“Yes, I was miles away. Sorry. I'll just get the dustpan.”

When she came back, Derrick just smiled. “Seen Dave today by any chance?”

Rose glanced up as she cleared up glass shards. You know I have, don't you? Her phone buzzed. WTF, this pub is bloody psychic. “Yeah, this morning at the cemetery. Why?”

“Not like him to miss out on lunch. Was he OK?”

Why you asking me? Text him. She could feel frustration building. “Not really, he was...” being a twat “... maudlin over the grave he keeps vigil on.”