The Undomestic Goddess

“Then what happened?”

“One of them would crack,” he says, laughing. “Usually Dad.” He turns his head. “How about your parents?”

I tense up with apprehension. I’m not sure if I’m ready to start talking about myself yet.

“They split up when I was little,” I say at last. “And my mum works hard.… It wasn’t really the same.”

“People do what they have to do,” says Nathaniel after a pause. “It’s tough for a single woman bringing up a family on her own, having to make ends meet.”

“Um … yes.”

Somehow I sense he might have formed a slightly different idea of Mum from the reality.

We walk on, passing an old stone wall covered with a profusion of climbing roses, and as I breathe in the delicious scent, I feel a sudden buoyancy. The street is dappled with soft evening light and the last rays of sun are warm on my shoulders.

“Nice hair, by the way,” says Nathaniel.

“Oh, thanks,” I say nonchalantly. “It’s nothing, really.” Flick. “So … where are we heading?”

“The pub. If that’s OK?”

“Perfect!”

We walk over the bridge and pause to look at the river. Moorhens are diving for weed and the sunlight is like amber puddles on the water. Some tourists are taking pictures of each other, and I feel a glow of pride. I’m not just visiting this beautiful place, I want to tell them. I live here.

“And what about you?” says Nathaniel. “Before you came here? What’s your background?”

“Oh … you don’t want to know.” I give him a brush-off smile. “Very boring.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute.” His tone is light but persistent. “Did you have a career?”

I walk for a few paces without responding, trying to think what to say. I can feel Nathaniel’s eyes on me, but I twist my head away from his scrutiny.

“You don’t want to talk about it,” he says at last.

“It’s … it’s hard.”

Nathaniel exhales sharply. “You’ve had a bad time of it?”

Oh, God, he still thinks I’m an abused wife.

“No! It’s not that. It’s just … a long story.”

Nathaniel doesn’t look put off. “We’ve got all evening.”

As I meet his steady gaze I feel a sudden pull, like a hook inside my chest. Although it’ll be painful, I want to tell him. I want to unburden everything. Who I am, what happened, how hard it’s been. Of all people, I could trust him. He wouldn’t tell anyone. He’d understand. He’d keep it secret.

“So.” He stops still in the street, his thumbs in his pockets. “Are you going to tell me who you are?”

“Maybe.” We’re only a few yards away from The Bell, and there’s a small crowd outside. A couple of people greet Nathaniel and he waves back; the atmosphere is casual and happy. I don’t want to puncture the mood.

“But … not right now.” I smile at him. “It’s too nice an evening to spoil with all my problems. I’ll tell you later.”

We make our way through the crowd. Some are standing by the door, others sitting at the wooden tables.

“What are they doing?” I ask.

“Waiting,” he says. “Landlord’s late.”

“Oh,” I say. I look around but all the tables are already taken. “Well, never mind. We can sit here.”

I perch on an old barrel—but Nathaniel has already headed for the door of the pub.

And … that’s odd. Everyone is standing back to let him through. I watch in astonishment as he reaches in his pocket and produces a big bunch of keys, then looks around to find me.

“Come on.” He beckons with a grin. “Opening time.”

“You own a pub!” I say in wonderment, as the initial melee of the evening dies down.

I’ve watched for fifteen minutes as Nathaniel has pulled pints, bantered with customers, given instructions to the bar staff, and made sure everyone is happy. Now the initial rush is over, he’s come round to where I’m perched on a bar stool with a glass of wine.

“Three pubs,” he corrects me. “And it’s not just me. It’s our family business. The Bell, The Swan over in Bingley, and The Two Foxes.”

Every seat seems to be full, with people spilling outside into the tiny garden and onto the forecourt. The chatter is tremendous. “How on earth do you keep the pubs running and have time to be a gardener?” I ask.

“OK, I’ll come clean.” Nathaniel lifts his hands. “I don’t serve very often. We have a great bar staff. But I thought it might be fun tonight.”