Now that his karaoke ordeal was over and he’d survived his baptism of fire with the locals, Patrick relaxed and threw himself wholeheartedly into his new job. Although the environment, prices and drinks were very different, the skill of serving drinks swiftly and accurately, while keeping up a cheery stream of banter, had come back to him sooner than he’d expected.
The entertainment had ended but a dozen or so punters lingered in the bar, getting in their last rounds before closing time. Patrick went to change the keg of lager in the cellar and as he was about to climb up the steep steps, he heard a shriek from the kitchen.
He took the steps two at a time and found Hazel in the kitchen doorway. Her face was as white as a sheet and she grabbed him by the arm.
‘Patrick. It’s Ray. He’s collapsed!’
‘Collapsed? My God.’
Patrick hurried after her into the kitchen, and his stomach lurched when she saw Ray flat out on the tiles. His deathly pallor had nothing to do with the white make-up that was running down his face as sweat poured out of him. Patrick’s first thought was that he looked like Greg had at the end, and his second thought was for Maisie.
‘D-don’t f-fuss,’ Ray ground out. The effort of speaking made him fight even harder for breath.
Her tattered veil hanging down her neck, Hazel knelt next to Ray, clutching his hand tightly. ‘Shut up, you silly old bugger, and let us take care of you.’
Patrick crouched down beside her. ‘Do as you’re told for once, mate,’ he said, patting Ray’s hand.
‘I’ll get Maisie, but I’ll call an ambulance first,’ said Patrick, digging his mobile from his pocket. ‘Jesus, what happens here when you need an ambulance?’
‘There’s a medical boat. Hand me the phone and I’ll call the ambulance. You find Maisie and see if any of the first responders are in the bar. Javid was here earlier.’
‘OK.’ Patrick leapt up, ready to rush into the bar.
‘Patrick!’
Hazel clutched his hand. It was bizarre to see her face plastered in white make-up and her lips outlined in blood-red lipstick. Her voice quavered. ‘Try not to worry our Maisie too much.’
Wondering how he could possibly not worry Maisie when her beloved dad was gasping on the floor, Patrick walked quickly into the bar, trying to keep a cool head for everyone’s sake. He’d seen plenty of emergencies in his time as a barman and called out the paramedics numerous times, but this was different. Ray looked bloody awful and Patrick suspected he was having a heart attack. How was anyone going to help him out here? It was way more isolated than the middle of Melbourne where sophisticated medical care was minutes away. They might need a helicopter for Ray, if it could even land in the dark, and by the time it got here and got him to the island hospital or mainland it could be too late.
Patrick scanned the faces for Maisie. By now, people had realised something was amiss but Patrick focused on finding her, just saying to people that Ray had been taken ill.
Adam grabbed his arm as he passed. ‘She went upstairs with Jess. What’s up with Ray?’
‘Don’t know, but he needs medical care and fast.’
Adam’s green painted face fell. ‘Shit. Can I do anything?’
‘Hazel said there might some of the first responders in here? Can you send them to Ray?’
‘I’m on it.’
‘Thanks.’
Leaving Adam to find the first responders, Patrick ran upstairs and found Jess and Maisie walking out of Maisie’s bedsit. Patrick spoke to them as calmly as he could.
‘Maisie. Don’t panic, but can you come downstairs now? Your dad’s not too well.’
Maisie frowned. ‘Not well? What do you mean?’
‘He’s conscious but he’s collapsed on the kitchen floor. Your mum is with him.’
Maisie’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘Collapsed? Oh my God. I knew something like this would happen.’
‘It’s OK,’ Patrick said as soothingly as he could. ‘Help’s on its way. The island first responders are coming and a call’s already being logged on the mainland.’ He felt he was floundering and saying the first thing that came into his head, but he had to try and keep Maisie calm somehow.
Jess slipped her arm round Maisie as she seemed to stagger a little.
‘Oh Jesus, I knew he was worse than he was letting on. I bet he’s had a heart attack.’
‘We don’t know that. He’s breathing and talking. Your mum said try not to worry,’ said Patrick.
‘How can I do that?’
Maisie dashed for the stairs, her horns falling off.
‘Be careful, hun!’ Jess held up her long skirt and hobbled after her with Patrick bringing up the rear. Christ, he’d only been here a few days and he’d jinxed the bar owner. He’d no wish to see another good bloke die in front of him. As he followed Maisie and Jess through the packed bar and a sea of anxious faces, he forced himself to calm down. The Samsons needed him to stay calm now and there was no point him caving in.
Hazel was trying to care for Ray as best she could, keeping him calm while Jess looked after Maisie whose face was grey with anxiety. Ray kept mumbling about ‘not making a fuss’ while being told in return to shut up and lie quietly. Patrick returned to the bar to try and soothe the locals before waiting outside for the first responders, who arrived in a Land Rover ten minutes later.
They were already kitted out in green paramedic uniforms and carrying equipment. They looked familiar and turned out to be Javid and the vicar, who had only been gone an hour. Jesus, thought Patrick, I hope Ray doesn’t think she’s come to give him the last rites.
‘Where is he?’ Javid asked as they entered the bar through a gaggle of locals who’d already gathered outside to allow the responders a clear path.
‘Kitchen floor,’ said Patrick and showed them through, rapidly revising his concerns about there being no emergency cover on the island. He was amazed by how professional the responders were. Javid and the vicar checked Ray’s pulse and blood pressure and after talking to their colleagues on St Mary’s decided to strap him into a chair. The upshot was they didn’t think he’d had a heart attack but he obviously needed medical help and fast.
‘What happens next?’ he asked Jess quietly as Maisie and Hazel tried to reassure Ray, who was looking slightly brighter and breathing more easily.
‘They’ll take him to the ambulance boat and he’ll be assessed in the hospital on St Mary’s or airlifted to the mainland if necessary. Poor Maisie and Hazel, what a worry.’
‘He’s not looked well for days.’
‘He’s not been well for weeks,’ said Jess. ‘It’s a good job you’ve been doing the heavy work tonight or it could have been even worse. Whatever’s wrong with him, he won’t go to the GP.’
‘I don’t blame the bloke. I hate the docs too.’
‘I still say Ray’s a silly old sod,’ said Jess, shaking her head but looking almost as worried as Maisie did.
‘Maybe he’s afraid he’s got something they can’t do anything about,’ said Patrick. ‘I can understand that.’ He thought of Greg.
‘Don’t say that to Maisie,’ Jess murmured as Ray was made comfortable.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘Looks like you’ll have to hold the fort tonight, with the Samsons all off to the hospital,’ she said.
‘Fine by me.’
Ray was carried through the pub and the hushed customers, who cleared a path for him. Jess hugged Maisie and said she’d stay the night in the pub, if Maisie wanted.
‘Thanks, hun, but you can’t do anything. Patrick – I’m sorry but you’ll have to take over here. I’ll phone as soon as I can.’
‘I’ll be fine. I’ve nowhere to run if I do go off with the takings,’ he joked.
She flashed him a weak smile. If she was worried about just such a thing, she had no choice but to trust him. ‘Thanks.’
‘Take care. I hope your dad’s better soon.’
He wasn’t sure if Maisie heard him as she climbed into the front of the Land Rover while Hazel sat with Ray. Patrick and Jess waited outside with some of the customers until the bright yellow ambulance boat rounded the headland in front of the pub, its lights gleaming on the dark sea. It was a short journey to St Mary’s and the hospital but Patrick was still very concerned about the Samsons. Although she’d been putting on a brave face in front of her parents, Maisie must be out of her mind with worry.
Patrick shivered in the damp night air. Even though it wasn’t raining, the atmosphere was heavy with moisture.
‘Nothing we can do now.’
‘Poor old Ray.’
‘Poor Maisie and Hazel.’
‘He’s in good hands.’
The voices rang in his ears when he walked back across the terrace and into the inn. The pub was still busy, but the evening festivities were naturally well and truly over. Most people were shrugging on coats and preparing to go back to their cottages, St Mary’s or the other off-islands on their boats. Despite his protests, Jess and Will went into the kitchen to help put away the food and load the dishwasher. Patrick followed them to offer a hand but they seemed to know what they were doing so he left them to it and went back to the bar to clear the tables and lock up.
The bar area was empty except for Hugo Scorrier.
‘Hello again. We haven’t been introduced properly yet. Patrick McKinnon, isn’t it?’ he said, holding out his hand. Patrick was nonplussed. It was hardly a time for formalities but he shook Hugo’s hand briefly.
Hugo was more polite than he had been when ordering his drink. ‘Good job you’re here to help out the family right when they need it,’ he said.
‘Sheer luck, mate,’ said Patrick. ‘I’ll do what I can.’ Patrick started collecting glasses. To his amazement, Hugo picked up a tray and started doing the same.
‘No need for that,’ Patrick said cheerfully, wishing Hugo would leave. He wanted to get on, not make chit-chat, and take a few moments to collect his thoughts after he’d locked up. Ray’s collapse had shaken him more than he’d expected and he hoped to God the guy would pull through and that it wasn’t anything too serious.
‘Ray looked in a bad way,’ said Hugo helpfully.
With his back to Hugo, Patrick cursed and carried a tray to the counter. He knew Ray took medication as he’d seen the pills in the kitchen, but a lot of people his age did. Perhaps his collapse was due to something unpleasant but not life threatening, something like indigestion.
Hugo put a tray of glasses and dirty plates on the bar counter. ‘Let’s hope it’s nothing life threatening.’
‘Thanks,’ said Patrick.
Hugo smiled. ‘Anything to help.’
Patrick restrained himself from telling Hugo that if he really wanted to help the Samsons, he’d stop harassing them to sell.
Patrick turned away to gather more glasses but Hugo obviously wasn’t going to take the hint and go home.
‘I must admit I was surprised when I heard Maisie had taken on a new member of staff for the winter,’ he said.
‘Why’s that then?’ replied Patrick.
Hugo clutched pint jugs with the dregs sloshing about in the bottom. ‘I wouldn’t have thought there was enough work to keep a full-time member of staff employed over the quiet season. Tonight’s about as busy as this place gets. Place is closed three days a week, apart from Christmas and New Year.’
‘Maisie wouldn’t have taken me on unless it was worth her while,’ said Patrick. Suddenly, the penny dropped and he guessed exactly what the bloke was up to, and it was about more than just the Driftwood. So Hugo had designs on Maisie and thought Patrick was a rival for her affections? Patrick smiled to himself. From what he could see, Maisie didn’t do ‘affectionate’. ‘And besides,’ he added with a sly grin, ‘she’s keeping me busy in other ways.’
Hugo smirked. ‘I’m sure she is. Formidable woman is Maisie.’
‘She is that. I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her.’
‘No … although then again, that could be rather interesting.’
Jesus, thought Patrick. If Maisie heard them talking like that about her … Patrick decided the conversation had to come to an end. It was disrespectful to Maisie and descending into dodgy areas. He was about to tell Hugo he wanted to lock up when Hugo piped up again.
‘You’re from Melbourne, then?’ he said, handing a couple of wine glasses to Patrick.
Patrick took them off him with a forced smile. ‘You’d be right there.’
‘Wonderful city. I know it a little. I have business associates there.’
‘Really?’ said Patrick, thinking how much Hugo reminded him of the persistent flies that sometimes plagued the bush in the hotter months.
‘Hmm. Vibrant place. I’ve only been once but I’d love to go back and explore the place in more depth. Perhaps I’ll go this winter and get away from Scilly. It’s a small community and it can become very claustrophobic, as you’ve probably already realised. Nothing stays a secret for long here.’
‘Just as well I don’t have any secrets then,’ said Patrick, depositing the last of the dirty glasses on the bar.
Hugo retrieved a stray pewter tankard from the window ledge and handed it to Patrick. ‘Everyone has secrets.’
‘Not me. I’m the most boring bloke on the planet. What you see is what you get. Anyway, thanks for your help, mate. I appreciate it, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to lock up now and phone Maisie to see how Ray is.’
Hugo smiled. ‘Of course. If there’s anything I can do to help in the meantime, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll text Maisie myself in the morning when we’ll hopefully have more news.’ Hugo looked around the pub with a shake of the head and a sigh. ‘Whatever the outcome, judging by the state that Ray’s in, if he recovers of course, the Samsons are going to need your help more than ever to keep this place going.’
‘Then let’s hope Ray does get better,’ said Patrick, disliking Hugo more by the second. ‘And I’m not going anywhere soon.’
‘They’re lucky to have you. Goodnight. Tell Maisie I’ll be in touch and send my good wishes to Ray. It’d be a tragedy if the Driftwood lost him now.’
Patrick let Hugo out and locked the door behind him, thinking what a tosser the bloke was: creeping round Maisie, hassling the Samsons and barely concealing his delight that more pressure had been heaped on the family.
He checked his phone but there was no message from Maisie. He didn’t expect it yet: the ambulance had probably only just reached the hospital on St Mary’s or maybe the paramedics had already decided Ray would need to be airlifted to the mainland. Patrick hoped not. His stomach turned over with concern but worrying would help no one. He joined Jess and Will and told them to head home over the hum of the dishwasher and glass washer.
He saw them off via the rear door and went back into the pub. It was bizarre to think he’d only been here a few days and already had been left in sole charge of the place. God forbid there was a fire this evening, he thought, looking around the sturdy old building. It would be just his luck if something disastrous happened on his watch.
Then he told himself not to be so stupid and set about washing up the remaining crockery and glasses that he hadn’t been able to slot inside the dishwasher. Steam rose into the air and suds soaked his arms as he stood at the sink, trying and failing to banish the image of Maisie’s drawn and anxious face as she’d knelt by her dad’s side. Ray’s Dracula cloak, used as a temporary pillow, lay crumpled on the chair nearby. Patrick scrubbed at a plate, trying to scrub away the memories of Greg lying in bed when he’d been ill.
He’d tried for much of his early life not to become emotionally attached to anyone. After his parents died, he’d spent his life constructing a shell around himself. He’d been reluctantly taken in by his cousin, who’d made it clear she was merely going through the motions out of duty and had no real emotional connection to him at all. At boarding school and later on the streets and in prison, that hard outer-shell had protected him. Or he thought it had, until finally the years of pretending not to give a toss about anyone or anything had caught up with him.
After he’d been introduced to Greg, and started work as a pot washer, he’d tried it on a few times, coming in late – and drunk – and giving Greg and Judy backchat constantly. Time and again, they’d given him another chance until one day Patrick had had a blazing row with Greg. Instead of chucking him out, as Greg should have done – as Patrick himself would have done these days if he’d been managing a layabout member of staff – Greg had taken him aside and said, ‘What’s making you hurt so badly, son?’
And Patrick had been stopped dead in his tracks. He remembered the moment clearly when instead of a string of expletives and curses, a great big girly sob had erupted. That was the lowest point, or rather the start of the upward turn of his life. Things hadn’t run smoothly but slowly and steadily he’d pulled his act together, got himself sober and knuckled down. To become a model citizen … well, not quite, thought Patrick with a smile as he finished the glasses. Eventually Judy and Greg had helped him find a decent place to live, promoted him to barman, and become his surrogate parents. Inch by inch, day by day, he’d grown to care for them and love them as he might have done his own mother and father if they’d survived. So it had hit him hard when he’d found out Greg was terminally ill. He felt as if he’d lost his father twice over and the pain had been sharp.
Patrick looked down. The water was barely lukewarm and his fingers were wrinkled. He thought of Maisie pacing up and down a hospital corridor waiting for news. Jesus, he didn’t want her to go through that. But like everyone else on Gull, all he could do now was wait.