‘Great, I’ll walk you to the door,’ said Darcy.
Darcy stood behind the bar strumming her fingers as she watched the only two punters she had walk out.
‘Goodnight, love.’ One of them waved drunkenly as they exited.
She checked the clock hanging above the bar. ‘It’s only nine. Even my local back home was jumping at nine and there were only thirty-odd people in the village.’
‘Including the sheep?’ Mr. Jones asked.
‘Hey, no sheep jokes, its racist,’ she laughed.
‘I don’t think the sheep will mind.’ Mr. Jones slid his empty glass across the bar. ‘Give me a coffee, Jess.’ He then turned to Darcy. ‘When your gran was here, this place used to be packed to the rafters every night. And when your great gran was here. God bless her soul...’
‘You knew my great-grandmother? Exactly how old are you, Mr. Jones?’ She grinned.
‘Old enough,’ he laughed. ‘Your great grandmother, Mary, pulled a pint for Churchill once in this pub, did you know that?’
Intrigued, Darcy took a seat on a stool next to him. ‘No, I didn’t. I know little about either of my grandmothers if I’m honest.’
‘They were wonderful women and when they went, they took the heart of this place with them.’
‘I’ve never seen a picture of my great gran, Lily. Dad said there wasn’t any he can recall. I’ve always wondered what she looked like.’
‘You haven’t seen a picture of her at all?’ He asked, surprised. ‘See that,’ he pointed to a wooden cupboard under the bar. ‘Have you looked in there yet?’
‘No. Why?’ She looked at the cupboard wondering how she could have missed it.
‘Open it.’
Darcy got off the stool and walked around the bar. She twisted the handle and opened the door. Inside was a brown envelope that she pulled out. ‘This?’
‘Yes, I’m surprised you haven’t found it already. Didn’t you explore the place when you got here?’
‘Barely. I was too focused on opening and making money.’ Darcy opened it and tipped the contents out on the bar. There was a pile of postcards bound with a red ribbon. ‘What are these?’
‘Love letters between your great nan and a guy she met here at The Churchill.’
‘Why were they kept in the cupboard?’ she asked, untying the ribbon.
‘Your grandmother Mary kept them in there. No idea why to be honest. But everyone who came here knew about the letters.’
‘Well, I didn’t.’ She remarked, but then realised that her father hadn’t spent any time in the pub after he’d moved to Wales and met her mother. ‘So, what’s the story?’ she asked, reading the hedgehog scrawl that belonged to a man named Walter.
‘Your great gran and Walter were very much in love. I’d say he was her soulmate. Anyway, he went away to war, and they never saw each other again except for one brief meeting when his ship docked. I believe they wrote to each other for two years and when they were due to meet on Christmas Eve at Piccadilly Circus in 1944, his ship sank in the Atlantic. So tragic. So very tragic.’
‘Oh no, that’s really sad.’ Tears welled in her eyes as she read what she believed to be the last postcard he ever sent. It was dated August 1944.
Dear Lily, my darling,
I was so happy to receive your letter. I am sorry to hear about the bomb but I am relieved to know that you are okay.
My ship is due back in Blighty this Christmas and would love to meet you as there’s something I really need to ask you. Shall we arrange to meet on Christmas Eve at Piccadilly Circus? I’ll be the one standing by the fountain of Anteros.
All my love,
Walter.
‘Wasn’t the fountain boarded up during the war?’ Asked Darcy, proud of herself for knowing this fact.
‘Yes, but I believe that’s where they would’ve met if it hadn’t been for the tragedy.’
‘So where are the pictures of them?’ She asked, going through the postcards once more.
‘No picture? Well, there should be a picture of both of them in there. I saw it with my two eyes. It was taken over there,’ he pointed to the table by the window. ‘If I remember rightly, the window was covered with blackout blinds because of the war, and your great gran and Walter were sitting on that very table having a drink.’
Darcy glanced over her shoulder at the table. ‘I wonder what happened to the picture.’
‘Me too. It’s very strange that it’s not in there.’
Darcy went up to the table and gently ran her fingers along the grooves. ‘Oh, I’ve got the chills, Mr. Jones. In a good way, mind you.’
‘Yes, those were the days. This place was the local hotspot for soldiers, did you know that?’
‘No, I didn’t. If the walls could talk, eh?’ Said Darcy returning to the bar.
‘Yes, if only. I’m sure it would have amazing stories to tell.’
Chapter Three
‘Good morning, Mr. Jones.’ Darcy arrived at the pub at around eight-thirty with the milk she’d bought from the shop next door. She was cold, hungry and wanted nothing more than to get inside for her first cup of coffee before she opened for the day.
‘I bought you a coffee and a bagel, love.’ He held up a polystyrene cup and a paper bag.
Surprised, Darcy thanked him and fumbled in her bag for the keys. ‘So, what’s the occasion?’ She asked, slipping the key into the lock of the black chipped door. ‘Is it to apologise for the wallpapering catastrophe? If it is, there’s no harm done.’
‘Oh, I know that. No, there’s no reason. Well, okay. Jess told me you are having trouble with the pub and you’re thinking about selling it.’ He patted the side of his nose. ‘I won’t tell a soul, you know, I’m very discreet like that...’
Darcy sighed. ‘It’s not a secret, but I don’t really want to discuss it right now if that’s okay with you.’ About to step inside, she saw a bundle of assorted envelopes on the welcome mat and bent down to collect them. ‘I’ll have the coffee in a moment, Mr. Jones. Just put it on the bar.’ She went straight to her living quarters that also served as her office at the back of the pub. There was a small passage that separated the very tiny kitchen and living area and there was a door to the left which was her bedroom. She pushed open the living room door and threw the mail on her floral sofa. It hadn’t been decorated for over twenty years and it still boasted a 1930’s fire surround.
‘Still haven’t decorated for Christmas, I see?’ Mr. Jones asked.
Darcy went back out into the bar and rolled her eyes. ‘No, Mr. Jones, I haven’t had the time. Besides, it’s only the middle of November.’ She spotted the cardboard box of decorations on the windowsill she had found in the cupboard. She didn’t want to think about Christmas at the moment. Although she was looking forward to it as she did every year, this year it felt different, as if something was missing. She thought back to last Christmas when she returned home from work to find her fiancé cheating on her in their bed. Anger coursed through her body once more but then she talked herself out of the feeling. She had a lot going for her at the moment even if it didn’t really seem like it right now.
She put her bag on the chair, remembering how Scott, her ex-boyfriend, gave it to her for last Christmas. In a fit of rage, she emptied the contents onto the coffee table and held out the bag to Mr. Jones who had just walked into the room.
‘The next person to walk into the pub, give this to them’ She dangled the bag as though it was poison.
‘Are you serious? Isn’t that the posh designer handbag worth two hundred pounds you were bragging about the first day you came?’
‘Hardly call it bragging, but yeah it is.’
He looked at her incredulously. ‘Give it away?’ He asked again and took it from her.
‘Yes, give it away.’ She flicked her hand.
‘If that’s what you want.’
There was a knock on the door. Darcy was busy cleaning the mascara from her cheeks.
‘I’ll
get it.’ Mr. Jones walked out of the living room to answer it while Darcy got up from the sofa, deciding she needed to check on the stock. She went out the back garden and down the cellar. Christmas was coming and she needed to boost business. If she couldn’t make the pub work, she would have to sell the pub and find somewhere else to live. It wasn’t what she wanted. She rolled a barrel and connected it to the mains when she thought she heard someone call her.
‘Darcy.’ Mr. Jones called her back into the pub.
‘What is it?’ She asked, irritated. She opened the door and saw Mr. Jones sitting in his chair looking pleased. ‘I got rid of your bag for you.’
‘You did?’
‘Don’t look so shocked. Now you can get on with the rest of your life.’
She slapped her hand across her forehead and went back into her living room without saying a word. How could she tell him she was only joking with him? She flounced on the sofa and sobbed.
‘Yoo-hoo, it’s only me,’ Trudy hailed from the pub.
Darcy snatched the box of tissues on the sideboard, plucked one out and wiped her eyes.
‘Hi, Trude, I wasn’t expecting you today.’ She said, acting as if nothing had happened.
‘I’m not putting up with this.’ Trudy walked in, threw her handbag on the chair and sat next to Darcy. ‘If the pub is giving you grief, sell it on, love. Nobody will hate you for it.’
‘It’s not the pub for once.’ She sniffed back tears.
‘What then?’
Darcy exhaled. ‘I was just angry over what happened last Christmas and gave my bag to Mr. Jones to get rid of, which he did. Now it’s gone.’
‘So, you’re crying over the bag or that bastard who cheated on you?’ She wrapped an arm around Darcy’s shoulders.
‘Both I suppose.’ She blew her nose into a tissue.
‘Why are you wasting good tears over a jerk like him?’
‘I was with him for a year and a half, Trude.’
‘And how many times out of that was he away working? I say at least seven months out of the year.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘What I’m saying is, did you love him or are you missing what could’ve been?’
Trudy wasn’t the kind of person to mince her words, but Darcy agreed. ‘I was with him for a year and a half, Trude.’
‘And how many times out of that was he away working? I say at least seven months out of the year.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘What I’m saying is, did you really love him or are you just missing what could’ve been?’
Trudy wasn’t the kind of person to mince her words, but Darcy agreed, she did have a valid point.
‘I suppose in some way, you’re right. I hardly saw him even when he was home. His job would take him all over the world. It was like having a relationship with my phone because that’s the only way we communicated.’
‘Good, now you’re seeing sense. But there’s one other thing. Remember that business lunch my Harvey put on? Well, he and Scott got talking and Harvey, the idiot what he is, gave him a job. Here, in London.’
‘You’re joking?’ Darcy looked at Trudy shocked. She didn’t want to see him.
‘No. I didn’t want to tell you before you came here otherwise you wouldn’t have come and you would never have known you could run a pub. I’m sorry, Darcy, but with the size of London, I doubt you’d ever bump into him.’
Darcy rubbed her temples that were throbbing with all the stress. She came to London to de-stress, and yet she was under more stress than she had been before she moved.
‘Okay,’ she took a deep breath. ‘That part of my life is now over, and yes, London is a big place and yes, I’ve got a pub to make a success of.’ She turned to look at Trudy. ‘I can do this, can’t I?’
‘Of course you bloody well can. Look, I’m sorry, Darce. It was out of my hands. You know I would never have agreed to it if I knew what he was planning.’
‘Shit. Well at least London is bigger than Swansea, eh? There’s fat chance in me bumping into him.’ There was still a small chance that she would. She didn’t know how she would cope if she did see him. Did she even want to see him again? She really didn’t know if she could answer that.
‘That’s the spirit. Now, do you want a cup of coffee before you open the pub?’
‘Yes, please.’ She rummaged through the junk from her bag, looking for the postcards. ‘Oh no, the postcards, they’re gone.’
‘What postcards?’ Trudy asked from the kitchen.
‘My great grandmother’s postcards. They were here, in amongst all my stuff. Oh no, I think I put them in the pocket.’
‘Why did you give the bag away anyway? It was expensive.’
‘Because I didn’t want any reminder of him. But that’s another story right now. I need to find these cards.’
‘Slow down.’ Trudy put a mug of coffee on the table. ‘And start from the very beginning.’
Sweeping the pavement outside the pub, Darcy, who was concentrating on the crisp packets that were getting away, flinched when a set of brown loafers appeared in her line of vision.
‘Sorry,’ she looked up and moved aside for the pedestrian to move.
‘No need to clean up, especially for me,’ Gareth said, carrying a holdall and two suitcases. ‘But I thank you anyway.’
‘Hello there. Moving in now, are you?’ She asked, straightening herself up.
‘Yeah, thank you again for allowing me to stay here for three months. I know you wanted a longer tenant.’
‘No bother. It’s helping me out...’
Gareth interjected. ‘So, I heard you haven’t been here long?’
‘No. I inherited this place a couple of months ago and as you can see it needs a lot of work...’
‘So that’s why you’re renting out the flat?’
‘No choice. Well, I don’t want to hold you up with my troubles.’
‘I see that packet is getting away...’
‘Bugger,’ she went after it and snatched it from the pavement. ‘Well, it was no bother. I’m glad you didn’t turn around after seeing the wall.’ She managed a weak smile.
Gareth deep blue eyes softened.
‘If I can return the favour anytime or if you want a chat, you know where I am. My students say that I’m a good listener.’
‘Really? Okay, well, thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.’ Darcy replied. The offer put a genuine smile on her face. Gareth bid goodbye and headed around the corner to his flat.
Chapter Four
‘I hate to point out the obvious, Darcy but business is slow.’ Jess said, sat behind the bar twirling her blue hair. ‘Has sexy from upstairs been down yet?’
Darcy smiled. ‘No, he hasn’t. Give the man a chance he only moved in yesterday.’ She flipped through the mail. Most were notices for payments and she shoved them to the side wanting to forget about them.
‘You can’t avoid it forever.’ Mr. Jones remarked, lifting his pint glass.
‘I can for now. It’s been a quiet month and I don’t have the money to pay them. Oh, what am I going to do?’ She flopped down on the stool, resting her head in her hands that were placed on the bar. ‘We’re just not getting the customers thanks to...’ She pointed to the window at the pub across the road. ‘That big chain.’ She couldn’t bring herself to say the name.
‘It’s not just that, love. The Churchill has been closed for a long time. Most of the regulars have either moved on or passed on. You need to find a way to re-invent it. Bring it back to life.’
Darcy could see his point and felt her spirits lift a little. ‘Yeah, I think you’re right, Mr. Jones. Maybe doing a bit of dusting will help me think of that million-dollar idea.’
She set about dusting the shelves when the bell chimed on the door. She spun around, surprised to see Gareth holding her handbag.
‘That’s a nice bag, Gareth. Do you carry one often?’ Jess asked, before bursting into laughter.
Da
rcy wasn’t sure what to think. Either he had an exact man bag replica or Mr. Jones had given it to him. Thinking it had to be the latter, she began to laugh.
‘Is that for your makeup?’ She questioned with a nod to the bag.
Gareth cleared his throat, his face now red from embarrassment. He looked at Mr. Jones who was smirking behind his pint glass, and then back to Darcy. ‘I believe this may be yours?’
Happy to have her bag back, Darcy zoomed in on the bag, hoping the precious postcards were left inside. ‘I can’t believe it. Did the silly sod give it to you yesterday?’ She gave a nod to Mr. Jones who raised an eyebrow at her.
Gareth handed her back the bag. ‘I had a feeling it was yours and would’ve given it back sooner but I had a meeting and then I totally forgot about it when I saw you yesterday. And no, I didn’t take into the meeting,’ he laughed, too. ‘I left it in my car. Here, I swear I didn’t nose in it, but these did fall out of the side pocket.’ He reached into his jacket pocket and handed her the postcards.
Darcy’s heart leaped for joy. ‘Thank you. You have no idea what these mean to me.’
‘I think I can guess actually. They’re quite special it seems.’
Darcy looked up at him expectantly.
‘Sorry, I mean, I read them. I hope you don’t mind, but they fell out of your pocket. Do you have an idea who the couple may be? Because if you don’t I may be able to help with your research.’
‘I do actually,’ she replied, excited to have the cards back. ‘Lily is my great nan. She owned the pub. In fact, you’ve given me an idea. I don’t know anything about Walter, so that could be something to look into.’
‘Well if you need any help you know where to ask. As a history professor, I’ll be more than happy to offer my expertise.’
‘Thank you. Oh, and you may be wondering why he gave you the bag?’ Darcy asked, walking to the bar and then taking a clean glass off the shelf.
‘I did wonder, yes.’ He sat on one of the barstools.
‘I wanted to get rid of it, but when I asked,’ she rolled her eyes at Mr. Jones, ‘he took me literally when I said to give it to the first person to walk into the pub.’
Christmas Eve at Piccadilly Circus Page 2
