‘Hi, Kieran.’ Angela gave a table a quick wipe and pointed at the menu board. ‘Beth’s trying out a few new recipes based on customer feedback. Taking everyday ingredients and giving them a unique twist.’
‘Hmm. Fiendish fish fingers with linguine and red onion relish. Malevolent meatballs on a bed of buttery mash.’ Kieran grinned at Angela. ‘Still going for the quirky names?’
Angela shrugged. ‘There’s no harm in it, and we’ve had a couple of lovely online reviews praising both the food and the naming thing.’
Kieran ordered the fish fingers and a soda water and lime. As he waited, Sam Addin came in and joined Jinnie and Wilma. Seconds later, Harvey kissed Jo on the cheek and left – then she joined Jinnie, Wilma and Sam.
Kieran fiddled with a beer mat, suddenly on edge. Was it his imagination, or did they keep giving him furtive glances?
‘Here you go.’ Angela handed him his drink. ‘Beth is doing fiendish things with the fish fingers. Won’t be long.’
Kieran watched as a group of people arrived, conspicuous in baseball caps and brightly coloured shorts and T-shirts. They commented loudly on the pub décor in southern American drawls.
‘Howdy!’ bellowed the tallest of them, a man in his late sixties with close-cropped grey hair, his voice like a foghorn over the quiet clink of glasses. ‘Do y’all serve iced tea?’
A moment of silence, then Wilma called out, ‘Aye, son, we’ve got tea. Comes hot, like it should.’
The tourists shuffled in, stamping their hiking boots and grinning as if they’d stumbled onto a film set. A blonde woman, all bounciness and enthusiasm, leaned over the bar. ‘This place isadorable! What’s it called again? Hyde and … how d’you say it?’
‘TheJekyll and Hyde,’ said Ed, wiping a glass. ‘Named after a book. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?’
‘Oh, sure,’ drawled one of the men, adjusting his baseball cap. ‘That’s the one where the guy turns into a werewolf, right?’
A groan rippled around the pub. Kieran coughed into his hand. As he did, Beth appeared with a wry smile on her face.
‘Close enough,’ said Ed. ‘What’ll it be?’
‘Well, we were hopin’ for some good ol’ Scotch whisky,’ the tall man said, slapping the counter. ‘We’ve been in Edinburgh three days, saw the castle, that big ol’ hill – Arthur’s something – and this morning the GPS kinda took us, well, off the beaten track.’
Laughter rippled through the locals.
Ed poured them generous drams and slid them across the bar. ‘Welcome to Cranley,’ he said. ‘And if you’re hungry, ourwonderful chef’ – he gestured to Beth – ‘makes the finest food in these parts.’
Beth gave a little curtsy, which made the blonde woman squeal with delight. ‘This place is simply darling!’ she declared, before Angela guided them to a table and dished out menus.
‘Enjoying your fiendish fish fingers?’ Beth said, sitting down opposite Kieran.
‘I can say with all confidence they’re a million times better than the budget ones from Janette’s shop.’ Kieran scooped up another mouthful, having never imagined that the combination of fish fingers and pasta would pass his lips.
‘Are you coming to the Open Mic Night?’ Beth’s nose wrinkled as she spoke.
‘Will I be in your bad books if I don’t?’
Beth laughed. ‘How do you know you’re in my good books?’
Kieran adopted a thinker’s pose, chin resting on his fist. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
Beth’s demeanour changed as her gaze alighted on Jinnie, Wilma and co. A tensing of her jaw, a widening of her eyes. Something seemed to pass between them, but what?
‘Beth, are you OK?’ Kieran’s heart beat a little faster.
The raucous laughter of the American group broke the spell. Beth looked at Kieran. ‘I’m fine. It’s … nothing. Ignore me. To repeat my question, are you coming to another fun-filled evening of madness at The Jekyll and Hyde?’
‘Only if you promise to sing. Can you sing?’
The Americans were now indulging in some singing themselves – a tuneless rendition of ‘Jolene’ which no amount of whisky could enhance.
Beth stuck her fingers in her ears, then extracted them. ‘Marginally better than the Dolly Parton fan club over there, but I’ve no intention of warbling unless it’s in the privacy of the shower. You?’
