‘Okay, okay. I’m sure we’ll manage somehow.’
Although he didn’t know how. It was the first Tuesday of the school summer holidays. The pub would be busier than ever over the next few weeks, with the villagers and any residents of the caravan park who fancied a change from the site’s clubhouse, along with day trippers, birdwatchers, nature lovers, hikers, photographers…
His heart sank at the thought.
‘You’re a star, you really are,’ Briar informed him, and he managed a laugh.
‘I know. So everyone keeps telling me.’
It was true. So many of the residents were convinced he was an angel on earth, since he went out of his way to help them out. Sam wondered what they’d say if they could read his thoughts. They were certainly taking a darker turn lately. His resentment was building – not against them, but against his life in general, as he faced the prospect of spending the rest of it alone, trapped behind the bar of this place.
Maybe it was time to face facts. He loved The North Star. He loved Kelsea Sands. Even when he’d rented the flat in Millensea he’d missed his home village and had gone back to see his dad as often as he could manage. But was there a future for him here?
He’d come back in good faith, honestly believing it would be a temporary thing. His dad would get back on his feet and resume working behind the bar. Sam would find another job, another flat. Eventually things would work out.
But it had been three years since his mum’s death, and his dad showed no signs of moving on. It was as if he didn’t want to. Sam was tired of worrying about him. Tired of running this pub alone. Tired of having no future to look forward to.
Was it time to admit defeat and put The North Star up for sale?
Not that it was his decision, of course. The pub belonged to his dad. But it was his dad who’d wanted to sell it in the first place, and Sam who’d stopped him. Had he made a terrible mistake?
He thought of the conversation he’d had with Luke earlier that morning. His friend had been buzzing with excitement and confidence.
A huge new estate was to be built on the northern fringes of Millensea, and Luke was one of the builders who’d each won a tender for the construction of multiple houses on a parcel of the land. It meant he’d have plenty of work for months, and with construction due to start in January, he was feeling happy and positive.
Sam had been really pleased for him, naturally. Luke was a good man and deserved this, especially as he had a wife and two young children to support. Sam didn’t begrudge him any of it, though he couldn’t help comparing his own life to that of his friend.
Luke, it seemed to him, had everything Sam had ever wanted.
‘There’ll be plenty of work for you, if you’re interested,’ Luke had ventured. ‘Not that I’m trying to pressure you in any way, and if you’re happy at the pub, that’s fine. I just thought I’d mention it. Just in case.’
Sam had groaned inwardly. It was a tempting thought. But how could he?
Unless he really did suggest to his father that maybe it was time to sell The North Star after all?
But The North Star was home. It always had been. And once that had gone it would be almost impossible for his dad to stay in Kelsea Sands, because accommodation was very hard to come by. Houses rarely came up for sale, and he couldn’t think of any to rent. That was why Rosie Wainwright had bought herself a caravan when she returned to the village after living in Sheffield for years. She couldn’t find a house, so a caravan was her only option. She lived on site for eleven months of the year and spent January at her parents’ home. There’d be no such option for Sam or his dad. If they said goodbye to Kelsea Sands, it would probably be forever.
Would his dad want that? Really?
Did Sam?
He sighed, watching Briar as she cheerfully wiped down the tables, all smiles now that she’d had her leave confirmed. He envied her, skipping off abroad with her friends. She was only nineteen. Her whole life was ahead of her. He, meanwhile, felt worn out and ancient.
‘Just going upstairs, Briar,’ he called, and she nodded in return, her eyes shining with happiness.
His dad was in the kitchen, frying up a hearty breakfast. Well, it was breakfast to him since he’d not long got out of bed, even though it was quarter to eleven and Sam had been up for hours.
‘Hungry, Dad?’ Sam enquired, noting the vast number of sausages and what looked like half a packet of bacon in the pan.
‘Just fancied it, that’s all. Not had a cooked breakfast for ages. Do you want some?’
Sam shook his head. ‘I’ll wait for my dinner. I had breakfast hours ago. Dad?’
His father gave him a knowing look.
‘I know that voice. What do you want? Some favour, no doubt.’
Sam shrugged. ‘Not really a favour. I’m only asking you to do what you should be doing anyway.’ Maybe, he thought, it was time to stop mollycoddling his dad and start talking straight with him.
