‘I’ll get the drinks in,’ called Rick. ‘Are you eating here?’
Sam gave him a thumbs-up. ‘I am, steak pie and chips ordered already. I’ve got a babysitter for Elsie tonight so I’m making the most of it. And another pint of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord would be great. The first one hardly touched the sides.’
Rick ordered two beers and added a chicken salad for himself to his tab. He was well aware that over the last two days, his eating habits had reverted to those he’d slipped into after his divorce. The takeaway with Vee had been necessary after all their hard work. There was no point in stressing that he was going to put on weight again because he’d had plenty of exercise in the cottage, just as he had when doing his own house up, but it was time to get a grip.
‘Right, are you ready to annihilate the opposition tonight, partner?’ said Sam as Rick set two pints down on the table and tried not to think about his rumbling stomach. The two of them had played solo whist together on several occasions since Ned, the landlord of the Fox and Fiddle, had introduced games night. They made a good-looking pair and always turned a few heads. Sam was as blond as Rick, but his hair was a naturally golden tumble of curls. Many of the women who frequented the pub had been impressed by his charm. Unfortunately for them, although Sam was a single parent, his dalliance with the female sex had been a brief blip in his teens. His priority was his young daughter, Elsie, but Sam’s other passion was called Luka, and he was currently away at university.
‘How’s the love of your life these days?’ Rick asked, taking a sip of his beer. ‘Still living it large on the campus?’
Sam pulled a face. ‘A bit too large, if you ask me,’ he said sadly. ‘Luka adores student life. He was meant to be coming home this weekend, butsomething came up. The mind boggles.’
‘Try not to worry, it’s you who’s got his heart. He’s just…’
‘Young?’ Sam said, forcing a smile for the girl who was delivering his pie. She gave him a broad wink, which he didn’t even notice. Sam peered down at the plate as if he’d never seen food before. ‘I’m even losing my appetite,’ he whispered, so that the girl wouldn’t overhear him as she walked away. ‘I don’t want this really.’
‘Well, you’d better hurry up and change your mind or I’ll eat it,’ said Rick, looking enviously at the pile of crisp golden chips. ‘I’m having a salad. Want to swap?’
Sam picked up his knife and fork and set to with more enthusiasm. ‘I hate bloody salad,’ he said. ‘I’m always telling Elsie how good it is for her, but I don’t really believe it. My mum used to make me have lettuce sandwiches for my school lunch. I’ve been scarred for life.’
‘Just lettuce? Are you sure?’
‘Well, she swears blind there were other things in there too, but I can’t remember them. Oh, here’s yours coming over. That’s the one good thing about lettuce. You don’t have to cook it, so it’s quick.’
The girl was back. This time she aimed her wink at Rick, and he grinned back, glad he wasn’t totally invisible next to the glorious beauty of Sam. They ate in silence as the jukebox pumped out tracks selected by three women who were clearly out to drink as much as possible before happy hour ended. When ‘I Will Survive’ came on, they all punched the air and danced.
‘I reckon they’re celebrating someone’s divorce,’ said Sam, laughing.
A pang of sadness hit Rick for a moment when he remembered the pain of his own marriage ending. He’d felt more like howling to the moon than dancing. Then it occurred to him that this wasn’t how the memory affected him nowadays. He was settled in his new home and supporting his estranged sons as best he could at a distance, even though they were living in Germany. There was no need to look back over his shoulder any more. Unless… unless Vee’s arrival meant he would have to do just that and delve a lot further into the past.
The two men carried on eating. Finally, both sat back and finished their beer.
‘That was immense,’ said Sam. ‘Iwashungry after all. How was yours?’
‘It was great, actually. Oh, and here’s her highness, the queen of Fiddler’s Row.’ Rick turned as the outer door swung open and Beryl sashayed in.
‘I love Beryl. Are you being sarcastic?’ asked Sam.
‘No, not at all. So do I. It’s just that she looks very regal tonight, and I kind of feel as if she has a lot of power in Willowbrook, don’t you? Along with the other two, of course, but Beryl’s in charge, even if they don’t know it.’
Beryl and Frank made their way to the Saga Louts’ usual table and then Frank went back to the bar to order drinks, just as two more customers entered the room.
‘The full set,’ said Sam. ‘Here are our missing links.’
The two elderly men who had just walked in looked as dashing as Frank tonight. Sid Potter, who Rick had known since childhood, wore a hand-knitted fair isle sweater in gentle, muted shades over a navy shirt with smart jeans and Maurice Fortesque, another old friend, was his usual dapper self in a vintage smoking-jacket edged with gold braid, teamed with burgundy velvet trousers. They both ordered a large glass of red wine and brought their drinks over to Rick and Sam’s table.
‘Good grief, you two have put me and Rick to shame,’ said Sam, pretending to swoon. ‘I know Maurice always makes an effort, but even he’s gone the extra mile tonight and I’ve never seen you looking so magnificent, Sid. What’s brought this on?’
‘Wait and see,’ said Maurice, tapping the side of his nose mysteriously.
‘Ready for us to wipe the floor with you?’ asked Sid, setting his glass down and pulling up a chair.
‘As if,’ said Rick. ‘We’re on a winning streak since Ned got this new beer of the month in, remember? It makes our brain cells work twice as well.’
‘Ha!’ Sid took a sip of his wine and shook his head. ‘You’ve no chance. Get the cowries out, Maurice. Let’s get this show on the road. I’ve got the cards.’
The two packs were soon on the table along with the ornate wooden box that held Maurice’s collection of tiny cowrie shells. When Ned had introduced games night, he’d laid down a couple of basic rules: no cheating and no gambling with money. Rick was disappointed to begin with. He’d had hopes of putting his giant whisky bottle that was almost full of coins to good use, but now he’d grown fond of the little shells, used as betting currency. They’d been in Maurice’s family for years and he was the last man standing so he’d inherited them.
‘And don’t do your usual trick of picking out the shiniest ones for yourselves,’ said Maurice, as Sam started to count the cowries out, fifty for each player to start with and five for the initial kitty.
