Page 41 of Snowflakes Over Micklewick Bay

‘Of course,’ agreed Florrie. ‘You don’t have to have anything alcoholic if you’d rather not, they stock lots of different types of soft drinks behind the bar.’

‘True, but if you do opt for some vino, don’t try to keep up with Jazz or you’ll end up crawling out of here on your hands and knees by the end of the night.’ Maggie gave a cheeky giggle.

‘Now listen here, Maggie Marsay, that’s fighting talk,’ Jasmine quipped back. ‘What have I done to deserve being slated like this by you? I thought you were my pal.’ She arched her eyebrow, feigning offence. She leant in to Hannah. ‘See what I mean about her being trouble?’

‘Just teasing, flower. I’ll leave you alone now.’ Maggie blew Jasmine a noisy kiss. Jasmine shook her head.

‘Next question, Hannah, are you joining us for a portion of the Jolly’s rather fine fish and chips? The only reason I ask is that I usually go and put our order in before it gets too busy.’ Jasmine looked at her, awaiting her response.

‘I’d love to, thank you, even though I had a rather large portion of food earlier today.’ She exchanged a look with Florrie who laughed. ‘I got a whiff of them earlier today and they smelled delicious.’

‘Same here about the big portion of food, but it hasn’t put me off either,’ Florrie said with a chuckle.

‘Fab! I’ll go and grab another glass and bottle of Pinot and put the order in while I’m there. Don’t talk about anything exciting till I get back.’ Jasmine jumped up and headed over to the bar.

While she was gone, Lark started telling them about some new vintage clothing she’d taken delivery of at her shop. She was in the middle of describing a dress she thought Florrie would like when a wailing sound filled the air. Hannah’s eyes widened and she looked around at the other women, noting their equally startled expressions. It was only then that she noticed the fiddle music had stopped.

‘Oh blimey, here we go.’ Maggie was wearing a face of mock alarm.

The wailing grew louder, the tuneless note dragging out pitifully.

‘What’s that noise?’ Hannah asked.

‘That noise is our very own Lobster Harry,’ said Stella, her mouth quirking with a smile.

‘No way? Lobster Harry? Is he still kicking about?’ She twisted round, following the painful warbling, her eyes landing on the small barrel-chested man she remembered from her teenage years. Her mouth fell open; he’d aged badly since she’d last seen him, his weatherbeaten face riven with deep lines.

The ruddy-faced fisherman, dressed in a navy blue gansey that had seen better days, was bent double, his eyes were tightly shut and he was wearing a pained expression. Hannah looked on as he pressed a hand to his ear and released another mournful cry that seemed to emanate from deep within him, escaping through his nostrils.

‘Is he okay? Do you think he needs help?’ asked Hannah, concern taking a grip of her. Her eyes swept the customers in the bar. Confusingly, though he appeared to be in agony no one seemed remotely concerned and, worse, some were even laughing. ‘Why’s everyone just standing looking at him?’

The droning sound continued, though it had taken on a slightly higher pitch.

‘Is there a doctor in the house? Lobster Harry needs checking over!’ called a voice from the bar. It was met with a ripple of laughter.

‘Aye, there’s one over here!’ another voice replied.

‘Oh, thank goodness.’ Hannah pressed her hand to her chest, watching for someone suitably qualified to come forward. ‘And why are they laughing like that?’

She looked on in disbelief as Lobster Harry threw his head back, his face distorted in a grimace revealing a gappy set of teeth that put her in mind of a load of wonky gravestones. He took a noisy breath before he let out another wail. ‘Whhhhhooooooaaa, from me swashbucklin’ days on the seeeaaaaa, I’ve known me a mermaid or threeeee…’ The words were dragged out for several excruciatingly long seconds.

Hannah’s mouth fell open. ‘He’s singing?’ I feel like I’m in another world! She was suddenly aware of a riotous bout of giggles and snorts coming from the other women at the table. Just then, she clocked Jasmine squeezing her way through the crowd at the bar, a bottle of wine in one hand, an empty glass in the other. She was wearing an expression almost as pained as Lobster Harry’s. The women’s laughter was infectious and Hannah soon found herself laughing along with them.

‘Flippin’ ’eck, he doesn’t get any better, does he? That’s woeful. And why’s he putting on a Cornish accent? He’s Old Micklewick born and bred, never even set foot outside the town.’ Jasmine set the glass down in front of Hannah as the fisherman’s caterwauling continued and the lasses round the table continued to giggle uncontrollably. ‘There you go, Stells.’ She slid the bottle along the table for Stella to pop into the metal chiller. ‘You lot all right?’ she asked when they hadn’t come up for air. ‘What’s so funny, apart from that daft apeth’s howling?’

‘Oh, my days.’ Florrie removed her glasses and wiped tears of laughter from her eyes as she looked over at Hannah. ‘Sorry, we’re not laughing at you.’

‘S’okay,’ said Hannah, who was still in the grip of mirth.

‘Well, we kind of are,’ Maggie said through her guffaws. She, too, was wiping her eyes. ‘But it’s not in a mean way.’

‘Come on, share the joke, you lot,’ said Jasmine.

‘I– I th–ought Lobster Harry w–was really in p–pain.’ Hannah’s cheeks were now aching she’d been laughing so hard.

‘She couldn’t work out why no one was helping him.’ Stella roared with laughter.

Jasmine gave a throaty cackle. ‘Hah, love it! That’s so funny!’