Wednesday
    "Last orders, please!"
    Not for the first time this week, Rita noticed a middle-aged man sitting alone in the corner and only looking up whenever the door to the pub opened. She assumed he was waiting for someone, and thought no more of it when he finished the rest of his drink, donned his coat and scarf and quietly left.

Thursday
    The quiz night had been a great success. There had been a well above average turnout, everyone had a great time, and the turnover was very pleasing. The winning table had been a group from a nearby science park and their family. A table of scientists and their daughters was sure to have the winning mix.
    Rita had again noticed that lone man sitting in the corner. She had asked if he'd like to join a table where someone had had to pull out at the last minute, but he had politely declined, preferring instead to resume his vigil. She observed again that he only looked up whenever the pub door opened, before resuming his quiet brooding over his pint.
    When Rita rang last orders, he once again finished his drink, gathered up his belongings and quietly left the establishment.

Friday
    The pub was full of the usual end-of-week crowd of people celebrating the start of the weekend - friends, workmates and couples having a drink and a laugh, and again the lone man sitting in the corner, nursing his pint and only looking up whenever the door opened.
    During a lull in serving, Rita decided to have a chat with the man. She knew he had a story: he wasn't there to drown his sorrows, as he never got drunk; he clearly wasn't there to have a good time, as he never spoke to anyone; he wasn't there for some peace and quiet, as he was there regardless of whether the place was empty or bursting at the seams.
    Rita walked to his table and took a chair. He only looked when she sat down, apparently lost in thought.
    "Busy night," she began, breaking the ice. "Mind if I sit for a moment? My feet are killing me!"
    He looked around and noticed a couple of empty tables nearby before looking back at her and saying, "Be my guest."
    She smiled. "I'm Rita," she said, and waited.
    "Steve," he replied.
    "So… been out long?"
    "What do you mean?" he asked, looking puzzled.
    "Well," she began. "You've been here most nights this week, keep to yourself, don't get drunk, and watch the door like a hawk. I figured you've either just been paroled or are waiting for a woman who doesn't appear to be coming anytime soon."
    "Barmaid and sleuth, huh?" he asked, smiling.
    "Comes with the territory," she explained. "You see enough people coming in and out; after a while you begin to learn what's going on without even knowing them. And I know most of the people here, so strangers - such as yourself - get my special attention."
    "You're almost right on one count," he replied with some sadness, and turned back to his pint.
    A noise came from the bar, and Rita saw a couple of the locals wanted a refill. Rita said she'd be back for a chat later, and went to pull some more pints.
    The lull had been only temporary, and Rita was kept rushed off her feet for the rest of the night. Even when she rang the last orders bell, she was still busy. She watched as Steve finished his pint, gathered his things and left without looking up.

Saturday & Sunday
    Rita waited all day for Steve to arrive, but he never did. She was worried that she'd somehow scared him off, and silently berated herself for being nosey. Sunday was Rita's day off, so she would have no idea if Steve had been in until she got a chance to chat with John, who filled in for her when she had time off.

Monday
    The brewery had decided that big screen TVs and football matches were the future. Rita didn't know anything - or care - about football, but tonight was some special European match played between some English club and some Spanish club, apparently. She had no idea why an English club would play a Spanish club - as she thought all leagues were local - where English teams played English teams, and presumably Spanish teams played Spanish teams.
    She didn't care enough to find out why this was not always so, but she did know that the place was packed with young men and their girlfriends. There was a great deal of lager poured and crates of 'alcopops' - the alcoholic softdrink type drinks typically favoured by young women - and much noise, while every face stared at the screens. Rita was reminded of crows she had seen who perch on branches, fences or on the ground to face west at sunset. Except these crows were mostly pale, sun-starved faces with close-cropped hair and blazing fervency in their eyes.
    Rita had watched out for him all night, but Steve was nowhere to be seen. She'd asked John if he'd been in yesterday, but he hadn't seen him either. Rita began to worry - and knew it was silly.
    Towards the end of the match, the publican of another pub walked through the door. Errol ran a pub a few miles away with the same name as hers: the George & Dragon. He sat at one end of the bar so he could see the game and chat with Rita. Happy for some like-minded company, they began chatting about business, customers, and life in general. Business owners talk shop like young men talk football.
    Looking at the new screens, Errol mentioned that his brewery had decided the same thing as Rita's, and was awaiting their installation. Errol loved his football and knew Rita's pub had already had the screens installed, so he'd come here to catch the end of the game. Besides, it got him out of the 'house' for a change.
    Errol noticed Rita's occasional glance around the bar and asked if she'd had some trouble.
    "Trouble?" she asked. "Why do you ask?"
    "You keep looking around as if you've lost something or are expecting some trouble."
    She said it was neither and brought the conversation onto Steve, the mystery patron. Rita described his appearance and behaviour, and the brief chat she'd had with him.
    "I know exactly who you're talking about," Errol replied. "In fact, he was still sitting in my pub when I left to come here. He drinks the occasional pint, watches the door and speaks only if spoken to? He was doing the same on the weekend, too."
    Rita couldn't explain the thrill she felt at this revelation. The mystery was getting deeper and she just had to know. But there was no chance of getting there tonight - the game had just ended: the English side had lost. It would have to wait until tomorrow.
    "Last orders, please!"