‘Oh? Was he feeling unwell?’
‘Home to France.’
‘France?’ Charles’ heart freefalls. ‘Loris went back to France? Why?’
‘He’d rather spend Christmas and New Year with his family than here running my pub. How ungrateful?’
She pinches her chapped lips, but they stretch into an affectionate smile.
Charles’ heart clambers back up, beating sporadically. His talent to jump to conclusions will end up being fatal.
‘I see… When did he leave?’
Here’s a compelling new scenario. Two days ago, Loris entered the Channel Tunnel and, for some Brexit reason, his chats with British people vanished, his contacts have been—
‘Earlier today. I begged him to take care of this board before he left, but seriously?’ She brushes the remaining lines of chalk. ‘How can he be so good at drawing, but have such rubbish handwriting?’
Charles chuckles, relaxing a little bit. ‘I agree it’s terrible.’
‘Anyway, what do you need him for? I can pass on a message when I call to blackmail him so he comes back sooner. Might threaten to torture that chocolate-teapot temp covering for him.’
‘It’s alright, I’ll…’ Charles will come up with new goals, scenarios and solutions to not lose his mind over everything he will come up with. ‘I’ll text him. Thank you and… Merry Christmas.’
Based on her repelled grimace, merry isn’t a word she appreciates being associated with. Afraid to become her next torture victim, Charles makes for the door.
‘See you soon, Charles Ledwell.’
He stops dead in his tracks and looks back at Patty, who’s wringing the sponge in ominous fashion. Then again, she’s probably ominous when she sleeps. If she sleeps.
‘What did he say about me?’
‘Who?’
‘Loris.’
‘Loris didn’t say squat about you.’
‘How do you know who I am, then?’
‘You’re the spit of Fred. Maybe a wee bit sleeker, he was more—’ She cuts herself off when Charles flinches. ‘Yeah, forgive me if that’s indelicate, I don’t do tact.’
‘No, I’m used to it, but… You remember Fred?’
It’s impossible. If the blurry mess he recalls can be trusted, she didn’t see his brother the day they stole beers from her van. Only Liv entered the pub to rescue Charles and George.
Patty rubs her chin, spreading chalk on her skin. ‘You don’t seem to know why I obviously remember him.’
‘Perhaps I do, but… can we pretend that I don’t? If you don’t mind.’
‘Your brother nicked booze from me.’
‘He did? No way…’
‘Please. I bet you’re one of the little shits he sent in to distract me. Yeah, thought so. Anyway, very stupid of him to think I wouldn’t check CCTV. I added an unflattering screenshot of his face to my wall of knuckleheads. And I caught him outside three months later. He denied it, acted all outraged, was quick to bore me shitless. So I told him to get me my money the next day or I’d send the video recording to your parents. Your teenage kind usually sneers that off, because daddy can pay or intimidate to protect you. But boy, it did wonders on your brother. Went all pale, begging for my leniency, said he was gonna get the cash, but one day was maybe too short. He bored me again, so I said “Listen, you scrub the basement clean and we’re square.” He came back a few hours later, wearing sunglasses and an absurd hat not to be recognised.’
‘Really? Fred cleaned the basement? Here?’
‘Where I roast little brats.’
