Some smartass who fancied his chances would inevitably walk over to try, not so much the regulars but the punks who strode in from fixing the road, each of them succumbing to the enticement of the unspoken contest, as if in pre-arranged turns. She always refused to look up from her mobile after the initial brush-off, four or five of them within half an hour at peak-times when they all poured in to wet their beaks, and I think this was what attracted Patty’s attention and then her sympathy. Because the second week onwards, she glared down anyone who gave any hint of sidling in that direction, becoming Martina’s unpaid guardian angel, her self-installed filter of spam. A month later and Martina was history, but for those three weeks between being a constant novelty and disappearing without warning, she became, how do I put it, a feature of the afternoon that reliably marked the passage of time. Noted with silent satisfaction, like anything peaceful. It wasn’t long before Martina grew aware of this favour and repaid it by remaining at the bar for a few minutes after receiving her drink, her attention devoted solely to Patty.
