by Jason Ayres
This pub had survived largely because of its excellent restaurant, run by former landlady, Debbie Kent. She and her husband were long gone now. They had left for Cyprus just before the Black Winter, leaving Lauren in temporary charge. It was a position she had never relinquished.
After the horrors of that winter, during which Lauren had nearly lost her life, she had eventually returned to live in the pub, even though it remained closed for almost a year afterwards. She simply didn’t have anywhere else to go. Her mother was dead and she had long ago lost contact with her father.
When the pub did eventually reopen, she was pleasantly surprised by the amount of trade it did. People in the community had a renewed need to bond together after all that had happened, and the pub was the perfect place to do it.
With the country’s financial systems in disarray, Lauren took over the running of the place on a largely cash basis. This was something quite quaint by the standards of an era in which contactless payments had become the norm. In the aftermath of the crisis, people had once again found a fondness for cash. It seemed safer and more real in a world where so much had become uncertain.
From Debbie and Richard Kent, she had heard nothing. After a while, she had just assumed they must be dead. No one had ever questioned her right to be there or come to claim ownership of the lease. So she had just carried on as before, acting as if she owned the place, even though she didn’t have a scrap of documentation to support that claim.
She used her considerable charms to blag a local brewery into giving her credit, until she had enough cash to be self-sufficient, and never looked back.
Her newfound popularity and local status bestowed on her with an award from the honours system also gave her an air of authenticity. Her OBE was awarded for the many lives she had saved running a refuge at an abandoned Army camp during the Black Winter.
It was a pretty decent life now, apart from the nightmares. They all stemmed back to those dark winter days, in particular the terrifying events of Halloween 2029. That was the day when she had first been taken to the camp. It was being run by her nemesis since schooldays, the misogynistic, racist and all-round nasty piece of work, Daniel Fisher.
His men had captured her while she was foraging for food in an abandoned supermarket and forced her to go back to the base against her will. On arrival, she had been frogmarched in to see Dan in his office. Then she was left alone in his clutches, as he tried to force himself on her in revenge for years of spurning his advances.
Then something seriously strange had happened, something she still couldn’t adequately explain to this day.
Threatened with a gun, and with Dan attempting to rape her, the situation had been pretty desperate. Then another man had entered the room and intervened, pushing Dan out of the way. Lauren, temporarily freed, had grabbed the gun in panic and in her tormented state had turned it upon Dan and fired.
It was only then that she got a proper look at the face of her rescuer. He looked exactly like Dan, only older, and was clearly horrified at seeing the younger Dan shot at point-blank range.
As if that wasn’t weird enough, she then thought she caught a glimpse of her ex-boyfriend, Josh, looking in through the window of the hut. It was only a split-second glimpse, but she remembered that he, too, looked much older. Turning back she saw the older Dan who had come to her salvation vanish before her eyes. When she looked back to the window, the image of Josh was gone, too.
This whole turn of events had been so quick, a matter of a few seconds, and so traumatic, she was unsure how much of it had really happened the way she thought she remembered it. She knew that the mind could play strange tricks on itself in times of extreme stress and had become convinced over the years that she had hallucinated much of it.
Perhaps it was all some sort of defence mechanism to divert her attention away from the fact that she had killed a man, even one as odious and deserving of it as Dan.
And now it was her sleeping, subconscious mind that was playing tricks on her. Over and over in her dreams, the events of that fateful day played again and again but with one crucial difference. In the dream there was always a different outcome.
In her sleeping version of events, there was no mysterious Dan look-alike coming to her aid or anyone at the window. In this reality, she was destined to find no salvation. Dan attacked her with the same result every time. She always fell, hitting her head and killing herself in the fall. Even though she always knew it was coming, she remained powerless within the dreamland to prevent it.
Sometimes the dream went further and she could picture her body, lying cold and lifeless in the woods, the blood that had seeped from her fractured skull quickly freezing on the snowy ground.
For years she had remained traumatised by this, so much so that she had kept it to herself, not even confiding in Kaylee, her closest friend. By avoiding thinking about it in her waking hours and getting on with life, she had hoped that the dreams would eventually fade, but if anything the opposite was happening. The nightmares were growing stronger and becoming more frequent now that she had reached the point where she felt she was going to have to talk to someone. It was affecting her sleep so badly that she had recently lost a relationship because of it.
After years of drifting in and out of relationships with mostly men, and occasionally women, she had met a girl she really liked a few months before. Amber was young and pretty, with gorgeous red hair that fitted her name, something Lauren had always found desirable in both sexes.
Amber had come into the pub for the evening with her friends, and when Lauren had started flirting with her, the girl had flirted back. When Lauren had asked her if she was a natural ginger, the cheeky, freckled girl had suggestively replied, “Well, there’s only one way you’re going to find out.”
Lauren instinctively felt a connection, and from that moment onwards it was a foregone conclusion she would be taking Amber upstairs at the end of the night. Running a pub had been good for Lauren’s sex life. She didn’t need to go out to find partners, they came to her. Being in charge of the pub gave her a certain appeal, in addition to her popularity as a local heroine. She could pretty much have whoever she wanted, and had certainly taken advantage over the years.
Some people had labelled her a slapper, particularly when she fell out with certain customers. This inevitably happened from time to time, when people had to be removed from the pub for their behaviour, calling her all sorts on their forced ejection. But none of their comments fazed Lauren. She was just a young, single woman enjoying her body, and prided herself that she had never cheated on a partner during the occasional spells when she was actually in a relationship.
With Amber, what had started as a one-night stand developed into something more when her new flame simply didn’t go home the next day. When Lauren got up to the smell of cooking bacon and found Amber in the kitchen making breakfast in just her bra and panties, she knew she was on to a good thing.
There was quite an age gap between them. Amber was only twenty-two, some fifteen years younger than Lauren, but it didn’t bother either of them. For a few months they were blissfully happy, but then Lauren’s night terrors got worse. Her endless nightmares and screaming during the night began to unsettle the younger woman.
In addition, Lauren’s poor sleep quality and resultant irritability made her highly volatile during the day. She began to take it out on Amber, pushing away the young girl who had grown to idolise her. Eventually, and inevitably, they split up. She hadn’t seen Amber since the day she left, three months before, and there had been no communication between them either.
Now Lauren was alone again, with no one to hold at night and reassure her that everything was going to be OK. As she sat alone in the kitchen where Amber had once made her fry-ups, surrounded by the previous day’s washing up, she munched on a piece of toast and reflected on the situation. There was no getting away from it. With no signs that the dreams were going away anytime soon, she just couldn’t keep it t
o herself any longer.
Her lifelong friends were meeting up that evening for a meal. The Time Bubble Team, as they liked to call themselves, had an important matter to discuss. This would be as good a time as any to seek their support. It had been ages since she had seen some of them, and perhaps they could help her find some answers.
Her ex-boyfriend, Josh, in particular might be able to help. He had theories about more or less everything and hopefully that would include dreams. She could also mention seeing his face at the window. Perhaps that was her mind’s way of suggesting speaking to him for help. His wife probably wouldn’t like it, but Lauren couldn’t help that. What went on between Lauren and Josh was almost twenty years ago, and Alice needed to get over it.
If he couldn’t help, or just took the piss, as was perfectly possible, Kaylee surely could, even if only to provide a shoulder to cry on. The two of them had known each other since reception class, and Kaylee understood her better than anyone else in the world.
The two of them had led very different lives when it came to relationships and sex. Kaylee was very much a one-man woman, but these differences had never been a problem. In fact, during their teenage years, their differing views had been a great help to each other as they charted the rocky path to adulthood.
As it transpired, her friends were not the only old faces she was destined to see today. Just as she was finishing her breakfast, she heard a loud banging on the front door. She glanced at the clock above the kitchen table. It was just past ten o’clock.
“Who the hell’s that at this time?” questioned Lauren out loud. It was still nearly an hour until opening time. She had nearly finished her toast. There was only the centre, crust-free piece left. Since childhood, she had always eaten around the outside first, saving her middle, favourite piece until last.
Shoving the remainder in rather too quickly, leaving a smear of Marmite on her lower lip, she leapt up and headed for the curving, narrow staircase that led to the pub downstairs. Lifting the hatch that allowed access to the bar, she walked across the ancient stone flagstones, opened the heavy, wooden door, and was shocked to see a familiar face waiting to greet her on the other side.
“Kent,” she exclaimed, instantly recognising the chubby ex-policeman and her ex-employer at the front door. “I thought you were dead.”
“That’s charming,” said the pub’s former landlord, as he stood framed in the doorway, the brilliant sunlight shining down on his now almost bald head. He looked much older, unsurprisingly, but also very well. He had a deep tan, not the sort you got in Britain, especially during the past decade.
“Can I come in?” he asked. “It is my pub, after all.”
Reluctantly she moved to one side and ushered him in. Although part of her was pleased to see him again, she was filled with a feeling of apprehension. Had he come back to stake his claim to what was, by rights, his property?
“Relax,” he said. “I haven’t come to evict you. Make me a cup of coffee and I’ll explain all. By the way, do you know you’ve got Marmite on your face?”
He was the same old Kent alright, ordering her about. “Get me a coffee, Lauren, chop some logs, Lauren”: it had never stopped when he was her boss. Despite all that, she had developed a certain fondness for him over the years. He was a buffoon, but a somewhat loveable one, and even when he was bad-tempered and bossy, he was worth having around for comedy value.
Kent excused himself to go to the toilet, explaining that he had had a long journey, while she busied herself with the filter machine. It was ten minutes before he returned, and when he did they settled down with two cups of coffee at the bar. Then Kent explained what had happened after he had gone to Cyprus.
“When the Black Winter hit, there was no question of us even considering coming back anytime soon. We had family in Cyprus. Deb’s sister and her husband had been expats there for years and ran a restaurant in Paphos. We stayed with them for a while and both started working in the restaurant. We couldn’t get in contact with home at all. None of the BBC TV channels were broadcasting, and CNN and Fox were focusing on the problems in America. It seemed as if England was completely cut off.”
“We were,” said Lauren. “Go on.”
“Our biggest worry was obviously the kids, but thankfully they turned up safe and sound in Cyprus a few weeks after we got there. They had managed to get out on foot through the Channel Tunnel. A lot of people escaped that way, apparently. They knew we had gone to Paphos on holiday and decided to follow us there.”
“So how come you never came back?” asked Lauren. “Or even tried to contact me?”
“I tried a few times during that first year, but couldn’t get through on the phone or internet.”
“All of that was down for months,” replied Lauren. “In fact, it was years before it was running reliably again.”
“So it seems,” said Kent. “By the time things seemed to be getting back to normal here, we had got quite settled in Cyprus. Debs loved working in the restaurant. She said cooking all the local dishes made a nice change from roast dinners and fish and chips, so she wanted to stay on. By all accounts England was in a mess so I had no desire to come back either, especially with the amazing weather we were enjoying over there.”
“So where is Debs now?” asked Lauren.
Kent’s face fell, and Lauren guessed what he was about to say before he said it.
“She died,” he replied. “It was a heart attack – about three months ago. She enjoyed her food a bit too much, even with that healthy Mediterranean diet. After a while, I decided I didn’t really want to stay on in Cyprus on my own so it seemed like the right time to come home.”
“I’m sorry to hear about Debs,” said Lauren. “So what are your plans now?”
“Well, as you’ve probably already figured out, I would like to take the pub on again,” said Kent.
“That’s all very well,” replied Lauren. “But this is my home. And what about all the work I’ve put into the place?”
“Or looking at it another way, how about all the back rent you owe me?” challenged Kent. “You’ve been living here scot-free for the past ten years.”
“And I’ve kept your business going for you,” retorted Lauren. “This is the only pub left in town and it would have gone the way of the others if I hadn’t worked bloody hard to keep it afloat.”
“That’s a reasonable point,” conceded Kent. “Don’t worry, I told you I wasn’t about to throw you out. The thing is, I don’t want to take it on all by myself anyway, not at my age. I’m going to be sixty-four next month – I don’t need all the stress at my time of life. What do you think about us cutting a deal to run the place together?”
“I want half the profits,” replied Lauren.
“I’m sure we can work something out,” replied Kent. “Now, tell me, how are things going here? I did a bit of homework online before I came back and it looks like you’re doing well, judging by the reviews you’re getting.”
“I am doing well,” said Lauren. “That’s why I want a fair cut. I’m not blowing my own trumpet, but this place would be nothing without me.”
Kent paused for a minute, summing up what Lauren had said. She had stated her position pretty strongly and he knew what she had said was true. He would be foolish to risk losing her. Far better to agree to her terms, let her have half the money and let her do most of the work. Then he could have a relatively easy life, and more importantly, devote his time to what he had really come home for. He had unfinished business in the town with a long-lost love. It may only have been three months since Debs died, but he didn’t have time to waste at his age.
“You’ve got yourself a deal. Put it there, partner,” he said in a lame attempt at a Wild West accent. He held out his hand to seal the deal.
She took it, not particularly enjoying the handshake. His palms seemed a bit sweaty, and an unpleasant thought went through her head, bearing in mind his lengthy toilet visit:
I hope he washed his han
ds afterwards.
“I assume there is room at the inn?” asked Kent. “I was planning to move back in.”
“That’s fine,” said Lauren, not particularly relishing being housemates with Kent, but realising its practicalities. “But let’s get one thing clear – this is strictly a business arrangement. Don’t get any funny ideas.”
Loose as Lauren generally was with her morals, she had no intention of hooking up with Kent. Somehow that just seemed wrong and she was rarely short of offers from elsewhere.
“Fine by me,” said Kent. His romantic aspirations lay elsewhere and he had no intention of confiding them to Lauren.
“Plus, I’m used to having my freedom when it comes to my personal life,” added Lauren. “If I want to take someone upstairs, I don’t want any moral objections, or complaints about the noise.”
“Don’t worry about it,” replied Kent, who was under no illusion about what Lauren was like. It was one of the reasons he had employed her in the first place. He knew that she pulled in the punters.
Business concluded, he decided it was time to change the subject.
“So what’s happened to all the old gang?” asked Kent. “Is Andy still about?”
The mention of Andy brought a flicker of pain to Lauren’s eyes. She hadn’t thought about him for a while. He had been the pub’s resident alcoholic and a substantial contributor to its turnover for many years. His death was something she still felt guilty about. She had sent him out in the snow, not quite realising how bad conditions were at the start of the Black Winter.
It had been the last time she had ever seen him. Many months later, he was found buried in a melting snowdrift, an empty bottle of expensive malt whisky by his side. She had never forgiven herself, and had felt all the more guilty after receiving the OBE that she hadn’t let him stay. Kent didn’t need to know about any of that, though.
“No, he died,” she replied. “He fell over drunk in the snow and froze to death.”
