by Alex Brown
Ahh, Jude looked around the pub, preserved in time. It hadn’t changed at all over the years, with its cosy snug and the little shop through the hatch selling all the essentials – sweets, crisps, milk, magazines, eggs, bread, firelighters, logs, lighter fuel … that kind of thing. Even the honesty box was still in place, so you could take what you liked and leave the money in the bowl. It brought back a trillion memories for her, as she’d been coming to the Duck & Puddle pub for years, and ever since she was knee-high to a grasshopper, as her dad would say. Talking of whom, Tony was standing at the bar with his best friend, Barry, each with his own silver tankard in hand.
‘Hello, love.’ Tony put down his drink and turned to give Jude a big bear hug. ‘Have you packed up for the day?’
‘Sure have, Dad.’
‘Been busy?’ he asked cheerfully, rubbing his hands together.
‘Ooh, yes. I’ve been rushed off my feet in the shop. So jam-packed in there, I’m seriously thinking about expanding and buying up the whole of the High Street just to cope with the demand.’
‘Really?’ Tony made big eyes, sounding impressed.
‘No, Dad,’ Jude sighed. ‘But, I wish. Honestly, I’m sure it never used to be this sleepy in the village. Why doesn’t anyone want my lovely artefacts?’ She pulled a pretend sulky face by pushing her bottom lip out.
‘That’s the internet for you,’ Barry piped up, leaning away from the bar to join in the conversation. ‘All those factories in China churning out their cut-price tat,’ he paused to puff out his cheeks. ‘They’ll be the death of the small retailer, you mark my words. A crying shame it is. And I’ll probably end up having to pack in the shop next year.’ He tutted and then sank the rest of his beer in one, seemingly resigned to the doom and gloom of his words.
‘Nah, ignore him, Jude,’ Tony said, flashing his mate a look. ‘You’re going to retire soon anyway, aren’t you, Barry? Thought you’d had enough of selling hardware and cutting keys and were going to try your hand at gardening or golf. Or doing up that old banger of yours that you’ve had in the garage for donkeys’ years.’
‘I’ll have you know that my beautiful coffee-coloured Ford Cortina certainly isn’t an old banger! She’s a rare jewel. A classic car from the Seventies,’ Barry claimed.
‘If you say so,’ Tony teased, shaking his head, not wanting to be subjected to yet another one of Barry’s long-winded soliloquies about the coffee-coloured Ford Cortina. ‘So, are you retiring or not?’ he said, changing the subject.
‘I’m going to have to.’
‘You could undercut the Chinese manufacturers. Flog your gear even cheaper … you’ve had some of that old stuff in the back of your shop for decades, so you’ll not be losing out.’
‘But you can’t deny that less than a fiver for a multi-bit screwdriver is bloody cheap. I can’t compete with those prices.’
Jude and Chrissie listened and watched, swivelling their heads to look at each man as they batted back and forth with endless quips. Jude smiled, inwardly recalling a wealth of nostalgic memories. Her dad and Barry had always been like this. A comedy double act, almost. Like Little and Large, or the Two Ronnies. She remembered watching all those funny television shows as a kid. She’d be snuggled up with her mum, Sarah, on the brown Draylon sofa, with her dad and Barry sitting on dining chairs by the patio doors so they could puff their fag smoke out into the garden so as not to make Mum’s asthma bad.
‘Guess not,’ Tony agreed, breaking Jude’s reverie and patting his pal on the back in sympathy.
‘Now, back in the Seventies,’ Barry started regaling them with his memories, ‘when I took over the shop from my old man—’
‘Ahh, yes, yes … we know, Barry … you’ve told us a trillion times,’ Tony joked, rolling his eyes. ‘Back in the good old days when Tindledale was mere fields and dirt tracks with none of these new-build estates, and everyone lived off butterscotch Angel Delight and Findus Crispy Pancakes! Go on, say it mate, tell us how marvellous it was then and how diabolical and awful it is now.’ He lifted his arms up, as if to play an imaginary violin.
‘OK, no need to be like that,’ Barry laughed, going to put his oldest friend in a pretend headlock. But Tony was too quick for him, and ducked out of the way just in time.
‘Well, I’d like to hear all about those good old days,’ Jude intervened, shooing her dad and Barry away, gesturing for them to pick up their tankards and behave themselves, instead of jesting around like a pair of overgrown schoolboys. She had known Barry her whole life; he was like an uncle really, and so she had no qualms about telling him off or teasing him.
‘What would you like to know, love?’ Barry asked, ignoring Tony, who was pulling a face.
‘Tell me about the Seventies: was it really hippies and flower power and flares and all that?’ she asked, pushing her red curls away from her face before leaning forward in anticipation. ‘Did you wear one of those Afghan coats that smelt of patchouli?’
‘Oh crikey, you’ll never shut him up now,’ Tony said, before turning to Chrissie. ‘And how are you, my love? Is Holly OK after the fall?’ His forehead creased in concern.
‘She is, thanks Tony. And thanks for fixing the front door. And I’m really sorry for overreact—’
‘Don’t mention it. You’ve a lot on your plate at the moment, and I’m sorry, just wish there was something I could do to help.’ Chrissie nodded and flicked her eyes downward. Tony smiled warmly before adding, ‘Now, what can I get you to drink, love?’ He gave her arm an affectionate squeeze.
‘Ooh, I really fancy one of those lovely Prosecco cocktails, please, Tony. What are they called, Jude? The ones we had the other night?’
‘A St Germain,’ Jude answered, then, ‘good idea, I’ll have one too please, Dad.’
‘A san what?’ Tony laughed, turning towards Cher behind the bar. ‘Have you ever heard the likes of it, love? Cocktails in the village pub!’ he added, astounded.
‘Of course, Tony. They’re all the rage these days.’ Smiling, Cher shook her head. ‘Coming right up, ladies. Two delicious St Germain cocktails.’
‘Thanks,’ Chrissie replied, slipping her handbag from her shoulder and hanging it over the back of a bar stool.
*
Later, having said goodbye to Tony and Barry, who had left to go for a curry, promising to pop back in a bit after they’d devoured a delicious Balti, Jude and Chrissie were now nattering away at a table tucked in the corner. They had just polished off generous portions of the lemon meringue pie with extra-thick gooey topping, when Myles walked in wearing another one of his silly online-purchased outfits. It appeared to be a disguise this time. An ankle-length waxy raincoat teamed with a big, furry Cossack hat.
‘Oh, err, hello,’ Jude said, spotting him right away, and really wishing she hadn’t been licking her spoon quite so enthusiastically when he glanced in her direction. Furtively, he came over to Jude and Chrissie’s table.
‘Is it always like this in here?’ he mouthed, his eyes flitting from Jude to Chrissie and back again.
‘What do you mean?’ Jude asked, trying to keep a straight face.
‘You know. Rammed.’ He shrugged furtively.
‘Rammed?’ she couldn’t resist.
‘Busy, you know … rammed with loads of people.’ He pushed his hands deep into the pockets of the oversized raincoat.
‘Yes, pretty much so. It’s the village pub, and there aren’t that many places to socialise in Tindledale, with it being such a small place and all … Why, is it a problem?’
‘I don’t like busy places … they’re usually full of paps trying to get an unflattering photo. Or groupies,’ Myles muttered, glancing around again.
‘I think you’ll be OK in here.’ Jude motioned for him to sit down; but she could already see half a dozen villagers gawping at him, most likely wondering why he was dressed up like a Cold War spy. She didn’t imagine anyone in Tindledale was likely to want to get a scoop on him to sell to a red-top newspaper, or wav
e an autograph book in his direction like they might have done back in the day when he was still actually famous. Rather, it was all in his head, which she thought a bit sad really. Or maybe he really was just a giant dickhead after all, and she had been wrong to thaw towards him.
Myles sat down in the space on the bench next to Chrissie and pulled the silly fur hat from his head. His face all red from wearing such an inappropriate garment on a warm, early summer evening.
‘Myles, this is Chrissie. Chrissie, this is Myles King,’ Jude introduced, and they both shook hands.
‘Ooh, nice to meet you, Myles,’ Chrissie said pleasantly, as if greeting an old friend. I used to love that record of yours.’
‘Which one?’ Myles asked, a little too quickly, as he settled on the bench next to Chrissie.
‘Um, “Baby Blue”, I think it was. Do you remember, Jude? We used to sing along to it while getting ready for a night out,’ she smiled, taking a sip of her drink.
‘Ahh, yes. That’s right, I remember it. It went … Baby, baby, baby, why do you make me feel bluuuuuuue,’ Jude sang, using her folded fist as a pretend microphone.
‘That’s the one!’ Chrissie grinned.
‘Cool. Sold over a mill, that song did,’ Myles said, leaning back and nodding. Jude and Chrissie exchanged surreptitious looks.
‘Wow,’ Jude drank some of her cocktail and then found herself wishing she could quickly move the conversation on. She didn’t want Myles to come across as cocky in front of Chrissie. But before she’d had a chance to work out why this mattered to her, seeing as they were barely acquainted (it wasn’t as though he was her boyfriend or anything, and meeting her best friend for the first time), or indeed say something else to change the subject, Myles surprised her, yet again, with his sensitivity.
‘You’re Holly’s mum, aren’t you?’ he turned to face Chrissie.
‘Yes, that’s right. How do you know that?’
‘Your daughter told me when she came to visit!’ he stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the whole world. ‘She’s a great kid. Gentle with the animals. And whip smart too. You must be very proud of her.’
‘Yes. And thank you for showing her your pigs. She hasn’t stopped talking about the one called Tiger.’
‘Ahh, no problem. She’s welcome to visit any time,’ he said, kindly. But then he went and ruined it all by leaning forward and casually helping himself to an enormous swig of Jude’s cocktail, and giving her a cheeky wink as he did so. She smiled to herself at his cheek, and surmised that he was quite clearly used to doing whatever he liked without question from the flunkies who had most likely surrounded him for the majority of his adult life. Well, she wasn’t one of his flunkies. She swiped her glass from his hand.
‘Get your own, you cheeky cheapskate.’ She made a point of downing the last of her drink. And then almost spluttered the Prosecco and elderflower cordial concoction all over herself on seeing the look on Myles’s face. He definitely wasn’t used to anyone questioning his actions or putting him in his place.
‘Is she always like this?’ Myles gave Chrissie a conspiratorial nudge. ‘You know, bossy in a scary way?’ and he pulled a pretend petrified face.
‘Well, you did take her drink without asking, so I’d say she’s well within her rights to call you out on it.’ Chrissie didn’t miss a beat, and Jude laughed, pleased to see her friend hadn’t lost her loyalty or spirit, despite all that she was currently going through.
‘Fair enough!’ Myles at least had the decency to look slightly abashed. His cheeks were tinged pink when he turned to look at Jude, his face just a few inches from hers. His sapphire eyes staring straight into hers. ‘Please forgive me.’ And he actually took her hand and planted a lingering kiss on the back of it. To her utter dismay, Jude felt her own cheeks flush and her pulse quicken as his warm lips touched her skin.
She quickly pulled her hand back and pretended to bat his arm away in jest. Jesus, he really was the most obnoxious, cocky and quite infuriating person that she had ever met. Why couldn’t he just behave normally like everyone else? Why did everything have to be so over the top with him? It was as if he actually delighted in winding her up. Teasing her. Getting her flustered. Just like he had in that first phone call when he’d made fun of her surname. And he’d been doing it ever since.
She had tried to have a sensible conversation with him just a few days ago about the curtain sample packs, but it was hopeless … he had suggested she join him in a game of Twister instead. Said curtains were boring and getting tangled up on a plastic mat was much more ‘his thing’. Jude had declined, of course, but still … did he really have to behave like such an overgrown teenager? If she hadn’t needed the work at the Blackwood Farm Estate to launch the interior design part of her new business, then, well … she would have told him where to go long before now. But it was intriguing the way he could come across as genuinely sensitive and kind one minute, and then cocky and crass the next … The thought lingered.
Finding herself keen to pull back some control of the situation, Jude took a deep breath and asked,
‘So, Myles, how come you’re in here, the “too rammed” pub, if you don’t like crowds?’ She tilted her head to one side. Ha, two can play your game.
‘Sylvia said I needed to make an effort to fit in.’ He said the words like an errant schoolboy having been chastised by a teacher, before doing a big shrug.
‘Oh, so you thought you’d do that by coming into the village pub, in disguise.’ It was Chrissie who said this, and it made Jude laugh.
‘Sorry,’ she hastily said, slapping a hand over her mouth on seeing his face. He genuinely looked like a crestfallen little boy as he pulled the hat from his head and stuffed it into a pocket before running a hand over his hair in an attempt at tidying it.
‘What’s wrong with the coat? Isn’t this what everyone wears in the countryside?’ Myles tugged at the front of the ridiculously oversized, waxy raincoat.
‘Well, no, not really. Particularly not in springtime. And is that why you were wearing the deerstalker and breeches get-up the other day?’ Jude asked, unforgivingly.
‘I guess so,’ he shrugged. ‘Thought I’d make an effort to fit in. But in that case …’ And before either Jude or Chrissie could utter another word, Myles stood up, unbuttoned the coat, took it off, bundled it into a ball and slung it underneath the bench. ‘Is that better?’ he asked, folding his arms across a navy blue T-shirt. ‘I was roasting hot in the coat in any case.’
‘Much better.’ Jude nodded in approval. He looked great. And smelt great too, as a giant waft of that intoxicating Chanel aftershave permeated the air all around her.
‘Good. Now, how about you go to the bar and get a bottle of Prosecco for us all?’ Myles turned to Jude. ‘Here,’ and he pulled a credit card from his jeans pocket. ‘Put it behind the bar to start a tab.’
‘Err, why don’t you go to the bar and buy the Prosecco yourself?’ She was conscious of Chrissie smirking at his audacity too. ‘And you can start your own tab while you’re at it!’
‘I can’t do that!’ Myles said, aghast, and looked genuinely shocked at the suggestion.
‘Of course you can. Go on. You’ll be fine. Nobody will try to take your picture or get an autograph … honestly, you’re safe enough,’ Jude nodded by way of encouragement. But she was intrigued to know if he genuinely was an introvert – she’d met plenty of hugely successful star performers over the years in LA who were incredibly shy offstage – or was Myles actually deluded, assuming he was still a big name and really here to court attention? Was he secretly hoping for a bit of free publicity in a red-top newspaper tomorrow morning to boost his ego? Fame was a funny thing – she had seen how those who had it in the past still craved the limelight long after their moment had passed. Or was she being far too cynical? Perhaps she should just give him the benefit of the doubt instead?
‘And if you really do want to fit in …’ Chrissie added, lifting her eyebrows, and Myles looked
at the two women. His piercing blue eyes darted first to Jude, then Chrissie, and then Jude again, where they lingered as if he was trying to work out what to do. What would please her most, Jude thought … He eventually stood up.
‘OK. I’ll do it.’ He made going to the bar in a village pub sound as if he’d just agreed to eat a live cockroach on TV as part of a bushtucker trial in that jungle programme. Jude and Chrissie clapped in unison to spur him on.
The minute Myles was out of earshot, Chrissie shuffled along the bench so she was sitting up close to Jude.
‘Well, you’re a dark horse,’ she started, nudging Jude in the side.
‘What do you mean?’
‘What do I mean?’ Chrissie made big eyes, and then lowered her voice. ‘You and him. Don’t be coy, it’s so obvious.’
‘Obvious. What is?’
‘The way he looks at you. He can’t take his eyes off you. And that pretend cocky thing he has going on. Trying to seem all laddish and indifferent towards you. He fancies the knickers off you, that’s what,’ she said in a stage-whisper voice, referring to the phrase they used to use as young girls at school when the boy they were crushing on at the time showed an interest.
