‘Poor old Digby is not getting a look in,’ she went on. ‘He’s not had a walk in days and keeps looking at me with those sorrowful brown eyes.’
‘You want me to walk him?’ I asked, relief peppering my words. Dogs I could deal with.
‘Please. And I wondered if you wouldn’t mind having him stay for a few days too. Just until Nigel’s home. Digby’s no trouble, as you know. And I’d feel so much happier knowing he was staying with you rather than at the kennels.’
‘Yes, sure, that’s no problem. He can come with me to the pub. Eric and Josie won’t mind. And he’ll get plenty of walks with me when I’m out and about with my other doggy clients.’
‘Thanks, Ellie.’ Gemma surprised me by throwing her arms round me and giving me a tight squeeze. The fresh scent of newly laundered cotton wafted under my nostrils, making me wish I’d jumped in the shower before Gemma’s arrival. How did she do it? Five kids, an absent husband, a pristine swanky house to maintain and she still managed to look drop-dead gorgeous and totally on top of things first thing in the morning.
As I watched her drive away to her poorly children, I bent down to give Digby a cuddle, nuzzling my face into his fur. Seemingly she had it all, but I knew, for the moment at least, I wouldn’t want to swap places with her for the world.
For that week Digby followed me around everywhere. He was the perfect man; adoring, gorgeous to look at, cuddly and very low maintenance. Just the type of man I needed in my life right now. There was no hidden agenda and no game-playing; you knew exactly where you stood with a loyal dog at your side and that’s just how I liked it. In fairness, it seemed that Johnny and I had reached a new level of understanding. He still popped into the pub for a chat and a pint, but he never stayed long and had stopped offering to walk me home ever since our heart-to-heart about our relationship. Bless him, he’d given me the space I’d asked for and for that I was hugely grateful and somewhat relieved too. I’d been worried that our friendship would suffer or things might become awkward between us, but when we had been out together recently Polly had always come along too and there’d been no noticeable tension between us.
‘Hello darling, I wasn’t expecting you in today. You’re not down for a shift, are you?’
I’d turned up early at the pub one morning, with Digby in tow, just as Eric was emerging from the steps of the cellar.
‘No, but I was chatting with Josie this morning and we thought it might make sense to make a start on sorting through all the donations. We can put them into piles, similar items together, and then bag them up and label them ready for our trip. That way it will make it much easier at the other end.’
We’d agreed to make the trip to France at the end of the month, to give enough time for people to get their donations in, but I don’t think any of us could have anticipated the response we’d had already.
‘That’s a good idea. Although I think you might have a job on your hands – you can hardly get in the back bedroom for clothes.’
‘Oh, it won’t take us long once we get started. Anything that isn’t suitable we’ll put to one side and then we can decide what we want to do with them – maybe pass them on to another charity.’
‘Sounds good to me. Fancy a coffee to get you going?’
‘Yes, I’ll make them. Josie’s at the doctors for a check-up at the moment, but she'll be along in a while.’ I wandered into the kitchen, as Digby did a sweep of the floor behind me, picking up any wayward crumbs.
We’d only just sat down when there was a rat-a-tat-tat on the back door.
‘Come in,’ called Eric.
‘Morning Eric, Ellie.’ Tim Weston, editor of The Leyton Post, wandered in, along with a young woman I didn’t recognize. ‘This is Victoria,’ Tim explained. ‘She’s just started working on the paper so I thought I’d bring her along to introduce you. I know we put a small piece in the paper a couple of weeks ago about the charity appeal, but we thought we’d run an update in this week’s edition, if that's okay? We wanted to get some more details on the campaign and grab a photo of the pair of you.’
‘Sure, Ellie will give you all the information you need to know,’ Eric offered. ‘Come and have a look upstairs, Tim, you’ll be amazed by the amount of stuff we've received already.’
Victoria Evans was fresh-faced, twenty-one-ish I reckoned, with long brown wavy hair and barely there make-up, reminding me of a young Kate Middleton. She had a natural, easy charm about her and was clearly eager to do a good job, poised as she was with her pen and notepad.
‘So why this particular cause?’ she asked, sitting down next to me and sounding like an old pro, as if she’d been doing the job for ever.
‘I think we were all touched reading about the plight of the refugees in Calais. These are people, like you and me, fleeing their home country to escape the fear and violence there; it’s hard to imagine being driven to such lengths. We wanted to do something to help, to show a solidarity to these people who have found themselves in such terrible circumstances.’
‘And what can our readers do to help?’
‘We’re asking for donations of good quality clothes and bedding. Shoes too. People can drop off any items here at the pub or we can arrange collection if that’s easier.’
‘That’s perfect,’ said Victoria, ‘we’re aiming to get the piece in this week’s edition so hopefully it will bring in lots more donations for you.’
‘Thanks Victoria.’ Immediately I’d warmed to this young woman, especially after Digby had given his seal of approval by resting his snout on her legs and gazing up at her adoringly, which she didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. There was an honesty and integrity about her that I hadn’t always seen in her boss, Tim. She’d make a useful contact for any future events we wished to publicize. ‘Are you local?’ I asked her as we stood up to go through to the main bar.
‘Kind of. I live in Upper Leyton. At the Old Vicarage?’
‘Oh right.’ Upper Leyton was the next village along to us, just as picturesque as Little Leyton with its rich honey-colour stone houses surrounding the village green. ‘Rev. Trish Evans must be your mum then?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said with a smile that only confirmed the fact that she could be no other woman’s daughter.
‘Well look, I hope to see you again, Victoria. If you’re interested, the first Friday in every month we have live music here out in the old barn, and every second Tuesday of the month is quiz night, which is always good for a laugh. Aside from that, there’s usually something going on here.’
‘Great, I’ll definitely have to take you up on that.’
After Tim had taken the required photos of me and Eric standing behind the bar our hands on the beer pumps, he and Victoria stood at the front door about to leave, when Tim turned and asked: ‘So come on Eric, tell me, what’s this I hear about the pub being sold? I understand this place is being turned into a restaurant, is that right?’
‘What?’ boomed Eric. I glanced across at him to see a tell-tale twitch of annoyance hover above his lip before he quickly broke into laughter. ‘You been listening to the village gossip train again, Tim? You should know better than that. What was it they were saying last year? That I’d bought myself a Russian mail-order bride. Ha ha, well, I’m sorry to have to disappoint again, but there’s no changes afoot here. Rest assured though, if there is you’ll be the first to know. No, the truth of the matter is the only way I’ll be leaving this place is when they carry me out in a six-foot box.’
As Tim and Victoria left and with Eric back down in the cellar seeing to his barrels, I was left wondering what exactly was going on behind the scenes. Clearly Eric hadn’t wanted Tim to know anything about the future of the pub, which was understandable, but I was curious to know if there’d been any developments about the new ownership. Perhaps Josie had got it wrong and Eric’s tenancy would be renewed after all, but then Eric had intimated to me himself that he might not be around here for much longer. The thought made me shud
der. I didn’t like to ask him directly as I sensed it was a sensitive topic and I felt sure if there was anything he wanted me to know then he would tell me himself when he was good and ready.
This place was like a second home to me. I knew every nook and cranny, upstairs and down. The old oak wood panelling and dark mulberry walls offered a warm comforting atmosphere and even in the depths of winter with the rain lashing down against the sash windows making them rattle, it still felt like the cosiest place on earth with the fire blazing steadily in the hearth. What I loved most of all was the fact that I could wander in here whenever I chose, help myself to a cuppa, have a chat with Eric or Josie, or anyone of our lovely regulars who happened to be around and generally while away a couple of hours without worrying if I was in the way or making a nuisance of myself. I couldn’t imagine being able to do that with new people at the helm. Nor could I imagine wanting to. I sighed longingly. Did things really have to change?
Upstairs I walked into the back bedroom and gulped. What a job I had on my hands. So many clothes! I could barely make out the bed beneath the mountain of items. I took a deep breath, wondering where I should start. Seeing the daisy-sprigged curtains hanging at the window brought a whole rash of memories rushing back at me. When I was small I’d slept in this room on many occasions when staying with Josie for a sleepover. We were always so giggly and excitable, unable to settle to anything, instead running up and down the stairs to collect a bottle of pop, and then some crisps, and then… there was always something else, anything that would give us the excuse to go downstairs to listen in to the grown-up conversations. The sound of laughter, chinking glasses and animated chatter had sounded so exotic and sophisticated to me back then. When we finally made it into our bed, Josie would scare the daylights out of me with her stories of the pub ghost, a young woman in a white flowing dress, who supposedly wafted along the landing in the dead of the night. After that every creak of the floorboards and every thump on the stairs would have us screeching aloud and burying our heads beneath the duvet.
Now, a cold shiver ran down my spine as I looked over my shoulder towards the doorway. Not the pub ghost, I suspected, but the growing realization that if Eric were to leave the pub, then soon we might only be left with our memories of this place.
I distracted myself by pulling out items from the big heap of clothes all around me. The sooner I started this job, the sooner I’d finish. I inspected each piece, folded them and placed them into piles of mens, ladies and children’s wear. Everyone had been so generous. Part of me had been dreading this task, thinking I might have to rifle through old and smelly worn pieces that had seen much better days, but without exception everything was of high quality.
I’d just filled to the brim another bag, fastening the top with a tie, when I stopped, rooted to the spot, alerted by a stomach-churning crash from downstairs followed by an anguished cry.
‘Eric?’ I called.
When there was no response, only a muffled groan, I sprinted down the stairs.
‘Eric? Are you all right? What’s happened?’
‘Aargh, Ellie, I’m down here.’
I peered down into the darkest depths of the cellar. Usually I avoided going down there if I possibly could, but now was no time for sissiness.
‘I’m coming,’ I said, sounding much braver than I felt.
Carefully, hanging onto the handrail, I navigated the steep stairs, the sounds of Eric’s distress getting louder with each step that I took. When I reached the bottom I saw him, sprawled on the ground, surrounded by the contents of a crate of Belgian beer bottles, now shattered across the floor, the smell of hops meeting my nostrils.
‘Oh goodness, Eric. What have you done?’
‘It’s my leg. I think it might be broken. You’ll have to call for help, love. I can’t move. Be careful of that glass. It’s everywhere.’
I’m not a medical expert, but I could tell by the way Eric’s ankle was sticking out at an awkward angle, that he’d done some serious damage. His skin had taken on a pale cast and suddenly he looked every one of his sixty years.
‘Don’t worry, Eric. I’m going to call for an ambulance,’ I said, trying to quell the panic rising in my chest when I realized there was no phone reception down in the cellar. ‘Don’t go anywhere,’ I said, wincing at my choice of words. ‘I’ll be straight back.’
I hated to leave Eric alone, but I knew I had no other choice. Seeing him completely helpless, unable to move and groaning in pain, made my heart twist in sympathy. Nothing else mattered now but him. My mind flittered back to the last words he spoke to Tim as he left the pub, “the only way I’ll be leaving this place is when they carry me out in a six-foot box.” Oh no! I really hoped it wasn’t some kind of unlucky omen.
I rushed up the stairs, grabbed the phone and put the call into the emergency services. I was just on my way back down to the cellar, armed with a blanket, when Josie wandered, unsuspecting, through the front door.
‘Oh Josie!’ A surge of emotion filled my chest at the sight of her. I hadn’t wanted her to witness this, not in her condition. It took all my self-control not to break down in front of her, but I bit hard on my lip to keep the tears at bay. ‘Your dad’s had an accident,’ I told her, my voice wobbling. ‘But don’t worry. The paramedics are on their way.’
‘What’s happened?’ I saw the concern in her face. One hand flew to her mouth, the other instinctively cradling her bump. ‘Is he all right?’
‘He’s had a fall. It looks like he’s damaged his leg.’ She began to follow me down the stairs and I turned to stop her. ‘Don’t come down. Please. There’s glass all over the floor and we don’t want you falling over too. Try not to worry, he’ll be fine once they get him to hospital, I’m sure.’
‘Tell him I’m here, won’t you?’ she said, squeezing my hand.
Dan, the barman, alerted by the frantic text I’d sent him, bowled through the front door just at that moment.
‘Is he all right?’ he asked, looking from me to Josie, placing a hand on my shoulder.
‘He’s in the cellar. Broken his leg, I think. The ambulance is on its way. I’d better get back down there now to see him.’
Dan followed me, immediately going to Eric’s side, and I felt so grateful for his reassuring presence. Meeting Dan for the first time, you might look at him twice to check out the full visual feast in front of your eyes: black spiky hair, multiple tattoos and piercings all over the place, but beneath the whole gothy vibe, he was the sweetest, most gentle guy you could wish to meet. He’d worked at the pub for the last few years, and was such a steady hand, always ready to stand in and do extra shifts when needed. And he took on most of the heavy work down here in the cellar too. Apart from today, of course.
’I would have got these beers shifted,’ he gently scolded Eric.
‘I know.’ Eric grimaced as he spoke. ‘I wish you had now,’ he said, just about managing to raise a smile.
Thankfully the ambulance arrived within a matter of minutes and the paramedics worked quickly to make Eric comfortable, offering him oxygen to ease his breathing, before manoeuvring him out of the cellar on a stretcher. As they carried him out through the pub, Josie was waiting, her face etched with concern as she strained to see her dad.
‘Oh, Dad, I’m here, are you all right?’
Eric gave her a weak smile and a thumbs up from beneath his blankets.
‘Don’t worry about anything here. Dan and I will take care of everything,’ I said, patting him on his shoulder.
‘And I’ll follow you down to hospital in the… car,’ said Josie. ‘Oh… my… god! What’s happening?’ Josie looked down in horror at the flood of water pooling at her feet.
‘Looks like your waters have broken, love’ said the paramedic matter-of-factly.
‘But they can’t! The baby’s not due for another couple of weeks.’
The paramedic laughed ruefully. ‘Well it looks as though your baby has other ideas about that. Come on, you’d be
tter get in the ambulance with us. We can check you over on the way.’
Nine
They kept Eric in for a couple of nights before he returned home with the addition of a metal plate and five screws in his ankle, a plaster cast, a bag full of painkillers and, despite the pain he was suffering, a huge grin on his face from the news that he had become a grandfather for the first time to a beautiful baby girl. Stella Darcy Martin was born at 3.35 a.m. weighing a bonny 6 pounds and 5 ounces despite being two weeks’ early, and Mum, Josie, Dad, Ethan and new granddad Eric were all doing fine.
News had quickly spread amongst the locals about Eric’s fall and the arrival of the new baby and a crowd of well-wishers gathered in the snug bar at the end of the following week wanting to check on Eric’s progress and, more importantly, to wet the baby’s head.
Eric sat in Noel’s favourite place, in the rocking chair next to the fireplace, his leg supported on a padded stool, and was at the end of some good-natured ribaldry.
‘You know Eric, you really should take a bit more water with the booze these days.’
‘And what were you doing getting sozzled on the Belgian beers at ten o’clock in the morning, anyway?’
Eric took it all in good part.
‘I don’t know about sozzled. I was certainly drenched – all I could think about lying flat out on the floor was what a waste of good beer! I still don’t know how I managed it. I do that journey up and down to the cellar every day, and have done for years, without any mishap and yet that day I tripped over the bottom step, landed flat on my back and couldn’t have caused more damage if I’d tried.’
‘You don’t do things by half, that’s for sure,’ said Johnny laughing. ‘I reckon you’re going to be out of action for some time though, even when that cast comes off.’
‘I know, it’s a blimming nuisance,’ said Eric, his voice heavy with frustration. ‘There’s so much I should be doing instead of sitting around here getting in the way.’
Christmas at the Dog & Duck Page 7
