A Winter's Wish. Alice Ross

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СКАЧАТЬ But all that seemed a million light years away now – in LBM.

      As Stan slammed shut the dishwasher door and pressed the ‘On’ button, he realised he wanted that life back. Every single bit of it. But it had gone. For ever.

      That thought making him even more depressed, he grabbed his jacket and headed to the pub.

Chapter Three

      From behind the bar of the Duck Inn, Phil McNally folded his arms over his chest and observed the hustle and bustle of a Sunday night in Buttersley. There was nothing unusual in this activity. There hadn’t been many Sunday nights during his seven-year ownership of the pub that Phil hadn’t folded his arms over his chest and observed the village’s residents relaxing in the plush surroundings. And all the regulars were there tonight: Joe, the window cleaner with his girlfriend, Candi; Jenny Rutter, who now ran guided tours up at the manor house, and her man, Peter; Derek Carter, the vicar, who never said no to so much as a wine gum; and Mrs Gates from the grocery store, wearing a wig that looked like it might have been one of Marie Antoinette’s cast-offs. Added to the colourful mix of local characters were those who had travelled from the surrounding area specially to savour all the Duck had to offer – the comfortable interior, the beautifully decorated conservatory, the carefully selected range of culinary delights.

      Phil had been brought up in the trade. His parents had run a variety of pubs over the years, from those on council estates, where only the most audacious ventured out after dark, to eventually buying their own small hotel on the outskirts of Harrogate. Phil had learned everything he could from them, helping out as soon as he was old enough. And along with all the requisite business skills, they’d also instilled in him the ethic that hard work pays off: an adage to which they were testament. They’d worked hard and saved hard – saved enough, in fact, to help Phil buy the Duck.

      ‘That should cover the deposit,’ his dad had said, shoving a cheque into Phil’s hand.

      ‘I can’t take that,’ he’d gasped, wide-eyed at the number of noughts.

      ‘Oh yes you can. That pub’s too good an opportunity to miss.’

      Phil had bit his lip. The Duck was a good opportunity. An excellent opportunity. One that rarely came up. At twenty-five he’d been biding his time, waiting for the perfect place to come on the market, working and living with his parents, saving every penny. But even so, he didn’t have enough to cover the deposit.

      ‘I’ll pay you back when it takes off,’ he’d vowed.

      And he had. The pub’s balance sheet had been healthy enough before he’d taken over. The only pub in the village, in an idyllic setting on the duck-ponded green, guaranteed its local trade. But, after carrying out meticulous research, Phil spotted a couple of new trends in the market: affluent young families were moving to the area bringing with them lots of disposable cash and regular epicurean visitors. And, culinary tastes were becoming much more discerning.

      So he set out to exploit both these developments, adding a fabulous new conservatory to the back of the building, and offering a tempting selection of grub to suit all tastes – from the traditional to the exotic. Instilling a sense of pride in his staff, he’d built up a good, loyal team, most of whom had been with him for years. And his marketing outlay – huge initially – was now non-existent. Word of mouth, always the best recommendation, proved much more effective.

      Saturdays being far too hectic to even draw breath, Phil allowed himself such moments of reflection every Sunday evening. And normally, amidst all the genial conviviality – not to mention the constant hum of the till – he experienced a warm glow of satisfaction.

      This evening, though, he just felt sick. Sick to his very core. Like he could throw up at any moment.

      ‘Evening, Phil.’

      His navel-gazing was cut short by Jake O’Donnell, who fitted Phil’s well-heeled client profile perfectly. Jake had moved to the village a couple of years ago when he’d married Annie. Phil liked Jake. He was a good, down-to-earth bloke, who wrote a lot of books by all accounts. Not that Phil had read any of them. His reading matter stretched only as far as Top Gear and Private Eye.

      Plastering a smile onto his face, Phil pulled himself together and returned the pleasantry. ‘Hi, Jake. We don’t normally see you on a Sunday night. To what do we owe the pleasure?’

      Jake grimaced. ‘Annie’s ever-so-slightly-scary sister. She’s staying with us for a while.’

      He indicated a table to the right where Annie and another attractive young woman sat perusing the menu. They both had the same honey-blonde hair, but there any discernible similarity ended. Annie was the quintessential girl next door, with her freckled face and messy ponytail. Her sister, with her sleek bob and magenta lipstick, looked like she had a poker somewhere uncomfortable.

      ‘Why so scary?’ he asked.

      ‘She’s an actuary. Scary by default. Smiling is prohibited in the world of risk assessment. Plus, Amelia used to run the whole department. Which makes her—’

      ‘Uber-scary,’ they snorted in unison.

      ‘How long is she staying?’

      Jake shrugged. ‘No idea. She’s been made redundant, which has hit her pretty badly. If I was her, I’d have been delighted to get out – and with a big fat cheque. But her pride’s taken a battering. Annie felt really sorry for her and invited her up never expecting her to accept. But, to our amazement, she did. Quite what she’s going to do with herself, I have no idea. In fact, Annie and I are on complete tenterhooks wondering how it’s going to go, and the poor kids seem completely terrified of her. But that’s enough about us. How are things with you? Not long to the big move now. Everything sorted?’

      As Phil turned to add a dash of gin to a glass, a surge of bile rose in his throat. He swallowed it down before whisking back round. ‘Er, just about. A few loose ends to tie up, then I’ll be off.’

      ‘You’ll be a big miss. This place won’t be the same without you.’

      And I won’t be the same without this place, Phil almost added. But he didn’t. It would sound pathetic. After all, how many people would love the chance to experience a new life in Brisbane? Would kill to have the Great Barrier Reef on their doorstep? Endless sunshine, golden beaches, and barbecues where you didn’t have to huddle in the garage because the heavens had opened?

      Millions of people, he’d wager. It was just a shame he wasn’t one of them.

      When Rachel had first mentioned emigrating, Phil had thought it nothing but a pipe dream. Didn’t everyone at some point fantasise about packing it all in and jetting off on an exotic adventure? But he should’ve known better. Rachel was a doer not a dreamer, and when she set her mind to something, that was it. After five years together, no one knew that better than Phil. He’d even featured on her list of goals at one stage. Years later, she admitted that the first time she’d seen him, whilst in the pub with a group of nursing friends, she’d decided she had to have him. Completely unbeknown to Phil, subtle enquiries as to his marital status had been made, followed by a dramatic increase in her visits to the pub, despite her residing in Harrogate at the time. One particular Saturday night, just after Phil had waved off the last customer and locked up, he’d been stacking glasses in the dishwasher when there’d been a rattle on the door.

      ‘I’m really СКАЧАТЬ