The next morning, as Heather went towards the stairs to make the bed and have a general tidy up before the arrival of Amy, she glanced through the study door at the back view of her husband. He’d barely talked over breakfast, which wasn’t especially unusual, but he’d hardly talked to her the day before either, or the day before that. She didn’t expect a running commentary, far from it, but this silence wasn’t contemplative but morose. She was sure something was bothering Brian. Again, that wasn’t unusual. He was often burdened by the problems of his parishioners, who seemed to expect him to be able to provide some sort of magic solution to their troubles, an expectation which weighed heavily on Brian when he couldn’t. Heather paused at the foot of the stairs, her hand on the newel post, as she thought about her husband’s silence, and then she turned and went to the study door.

‘Brian, darling, is something the matter?’

He spun round in his office chair. ‘Whatever gives you that idea?’

‘You’ve been very quiet... thoughtful.’

‘I’m not the comedy turn,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I’ve not been more entertaining.’

‘That’s not what I meant. Is it money? I could always ask for more work at the school.’

Brian shook his head. ‘It’s not money. Honest.’

‘The bishop?’

‘Nor the bishop. Really, Heather, if I was worried about either of those I’d tell you.’ He stared at her over the top of his glasses. ‘Now then, you must let me get on. I’ve got to go and talk to the primary school year sixes this morning and I need to read through my notes before I do.’

Heather left him shuffling through the papers on his desk and pattered upstairs. She made the bed, tidied the bathroom, folded the towels and picked up the washing to take back down with her. Laden with laundry she returned downstairs slowly, her slippers making almost no noise on the carpet. When she got to the landing a pair of socks fell off her armful and she stopped to pick them up. The house was silent – apart from the sound of a muffled sob. Brian?

Heather tiptoed down the remainder of the flight.

‘Brian?’

His chair remained turned away from the door for a second. She saw his hand move to his face – to dash the tears away? – and then he turned.

‘Heather. You startled me. I didn’t hear you come back down.’

Obviously, she thought. She dropped the washing and went into the study. ‘What is it, Brian? Don’t deny it, I’m not stupid, please tell me what the matter is.’

‘I can’t. It’s confidential.’

‘One of your parishioners?’

Brian nodded but he didn’t meet her eye.

‘Is there nothing I can do to help?’

Brian shook his head. ‘A lost cause, I fear.’

‘Oh, darling. I am so sorry this is upsetting you. If circumstances change, and there is something for me to do, you must let me know.’

‘In that unlikely event, yes, I’ll tell you.’ Brian fished a crumpled hanky out of his trouser pocket and blew his nose. ‘Now, I really must get on.’

Heather returned to the hall where she gathered up the laundry and took it to the kitchen. As she pushed it into the washing machine she cast her thoughts over the regulars in the congregation, the ones she and Brian knew best, the ones he’d care about the most, and tried to work out which of them it might be who was causing her husband such distress.

*

Belinda walked to the bank clutching her handbag tight against her side, aware that she had an awful lot of cash in it. After years of running a pub she knew she ought to be used to banking the takings but she always worried that someone might mug her. And recently there had been talk of break-ins in the town and neighbouring villages; nothing too serious, nothing violent, no one had been attacked, but it was slightly unsettling all the same. According to the gossip in the pub it had mostly involved the theft of small items of jewellery, cash, laptops – items of value that could be easily fenced, thought Belinda. The word was that it was druggies from Cattebury hitting on soft targets like Little Woodford because, like lots of small country towns, the police station had been closed long ago and bobbies on the beat were as rare as rocking-horse balls. They had Leanne Knowles, the local police community support officer, but there was only so much one woman could do.

Belinda felt a familiar slight whoosh of relief when she got to the bank and stepped in through the door. There were only two people queuing ahead of her and she was soon at the counter.

‘Hi, Belinda,’ said the teller.

Belinda opened her bag and took out the bags of coins and bundles of notes which the bank clerk put on the scales or through the automatic counting machine. As the money was counted she ticked off the sums on the deposit slip. ‘That’s fine,’ she said, finally, as the last of the money was put in the drawer under the counter. ‘Business is looking good.’

‘Yes, but I wish I could get decent staff. There must be someone in town who wants a part-time job. I like to think that Miles and I are good employers so I don’t understand why we don’t seem to be able to keep people, although, to be fair, my last part-timer has got a new baby as an excuse for leaving. Anyway, I think I’m going to have to put yet another ad in the post office window – but if we get anyone reliable it’ll be a triumph of hope over experience.’

‘Good luck.’

Feeling more relaxed now she’d off-loaded the takings at the bank, Belinda wandered back along the road towards the pub. Ahead of her she could see Amy gazing into a shop window and an idea suddenly struck her. She ran to catch up with her.

‘Hi, Amy.’

Amy spun round. ‘Oh, hello, Belinda.’

‘Listen, I was wondering if you could help me.’

‘If I can I will, but it’s got to be quick – I’m almost late for Heather’s.’

‘I just wondered if you know of anyone who needs a job – part-time, at the pub.’

‘That new woman who’s moved into The Beeches – she told me she was after a part-time job.’

‘But she won’t want to work in a bar, will she?’

‘Dunno. When she spoke to me she didn’t sound as if she was picky. I think she wants something to get her out of the house and take her mind off the fact her old man got killed not long back.

‘Killed?’

‘Traffic accident, so she said. Mind you, she’ll probably only want to do daytime shifts, what with having young kids and being on her own and everything.’

‘Even so...’

‘Ask her. She can always tell you to get lost.’

‘True. Maybe I’ll pop round there later and have a word. Anyway, it’ll be nice to meet the new neighbour.’

*

Later that morning, Brian walked to the ancient church and unlocked the vestry door. He remembered his wedding vows and all those promises about sticking with your spouse through thick and thin. Would Heather want to stick with him if she knew what was going on? It was one thing coping with sickness and the bad patches but how would she feel if she discovered that she was married to an out-and-out hypocrite? For weeks now he’d been lying to her, lying to his congregation, pretending he was a Christian, a believer, when the reality was he was a sham, a charlatan, someone no better than a snake-oil salesman, peddling something he had no faith in whatsoever, and now he was about to do the same to a group of primary school children. As a man who ought to be able to inspire them to be good, truthful and honest, he was about to let them down.

He went through to the cool vastness of the nave. Sunlight shining though the stained glass dappled colour onto old stone flags, worn smooth by thousands upon thousands of footsteps. The footsteps of people who had believed and still did believe, without question, that there was a God, there was life ever after, that prayer had the power to cure the sick and calm the troubled... So, why couldn’t he any more? He knelt down in front of the altar and gazed at the cross above. Nothing. He shut his eyes and listened to the silence. Nothing. No comforting feeling that he was not alone, no reassuring presence. Wearily, he got to his feet again and headed back out of the church wondering how long he could carry on living a lie.

*

Bex was trying to decide if she liked the way the sitting room furniture was arranged when the doorbell went. She opened the door to a stranger.

‘Hello.’

‘Hi, I’m your next-door neighbour. I run the pub. I’m Belinda.’ The woman stuck out her hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’

Bex took the hand and shook it. ‘Hi, I’m Bex. I think we waved at each other some while back when I had, literally, just moved in.’

‘We did.’

Bex opened the door wide. ‘Come in. And lovely to meet you too.’

‘Actually,’ said Belinda, ‘I’m here for a reason. This is a bit cheeky, but Amy told me that you’re looking for a job.’

‘Amy?’

Belinda smiled and nodded. ‘Are you? I mean, Amy often gets the wrong end of the stick – that doesn’t stop her from talking, but her information isn’t always completely reliable.’

‘Fake news?’

Belinda grinned and nodded.

‘Well, this time she’s right, I am. But only part-time.’

Well, Miles – he’s my partner – Miles and I are run off our feet at the pub, my last part-timer went off to have a baby and we’re really keen to try and recruit people to do some of the shifts.’

Bex frowned as she thought about the idea. ‘Bar work?’

‘Look, I’m sorry, it was a long shot...’

‘No, no, I’m not offended that you asked me but I’ve never done anything like that before.’

‘It’s not tricky, honest. The till’s dead easy to work and I’m sure you can pour a drink.’

‘I suppose.’ Bex had been in pubs and she’d seen how busy they could get. Would she be able to remember a long list of drinks, tot up the total, clear the tables, load and unload the glass washer without pissing off the customers by keeping them waiting or getting it horribly wrong? In theory it shouldn’t be difficult but in practice...?

‘To be honest, if you did the lunchtime shifts it’d be pretty quiet. Market day can be busier but I wouldn’t let you cope on your own – or not till you really knew what you were doing.’

‘I can’t say I’m not flattered at being headhunted—’

‘There’s a “but” coming, isn’t there?’

Bex nodded. ‘I suppose it’s because...’ She paused. ‘I don’t know.’ Then she said, ‘It’s just a bit sudden, that’s all.’

‘Look, think about it, you want a job, I want staff...’

‘Put like that... Maybe if I had a look at the pub.’

‘Now?’

‘Why not? I mean, if it’s OK with you.’

Belinda nodded.

‘I just need to lock up and grab my bag.’

‘Sure.’

Two minutes later Belinda unlocked the front door of the pub and led Bex inside. The ceiling was beamed and there was a fire crackling in the grate of the big inglenook that stretched across one of the walls. Above it was a long shelf, crammed with books. The brass handles of the beer pumps gleamed on the polished wood of the bar, there were pictures of local scenes on the walls, and a pile of newspapers and magazines on the sill of the bay window, and the place smelt of beer and wood smoke. Everything was as it should be in an English country pub.

‘This is lovely.’

Belinda laughed. ‘Don’t sound so surprised!’

‘I’m not, but I’ve come from London and the pubs around us were more...’ she searched for the word, ‘more functional. This is a bit like being in someone’s house.’ She looked about. ‘Coo, that makes a change – no fruit machine.’

‘No fruit machines, no jukebox, no TV, no piped music... Peaceful, isn’t it?’

Bex nodded. ‘It’s lovely. Perfect.’

‘Thank you. So, this is the bar, obviously. We don’t have a saloon and public bar, only this.’ Belinda opened up the flap on the bar and led the way through. ‘The kitchen is through here.’ She rested her hand on a swing door.

‘Kitchen? There’s food to cope with as well?’

‘Nothing too fancy: sandwiches, pasties, salads, egg and chips, that sort of thing. Bar snacks really.’

Belinda pushed the door fully open and Bex saw a small but highly functional kitchen filled with stainless steel appliances. ‘And this is my partner, Miles.’

A man busy slicing tomatoes with lightning dexterity stopped chopping and looked up. The first thing that Bex notice were his incredibly blue and smiley eyes. Lucky Belinda, she thought. Good-looking and a cook! She gazed at him and realised that this was the first time since Richard’s death that she’d felt any sort of attraction to a member of the opposite sex. It had been nearly a year since he’d died – maybe she was starting to get over it. People had said that she would and she’d tried to believe them, but for months and months she’d felt sad and desolate. Being busy, finding things to do and, more recently, moving house had helped keep the worst at bay but it was always there in the background. But suddenly, here she was, staring at a strange man and thinking how attractive he was.

‘Hiya,’ he said. He smiled at her and she smiled back before he began chopping again, reducing the last whole tomato to half a dozen slices in a couple of seconds.

‘This is Bex,’ said Belinda.

Miles reached for a stainless steel bowl and swept all the neatly sliced tomatoes into it.

‘Hiya, Bex.’ He wiped his hands on a damp cloth and held his right one out. ‘And to what do I owe this pleasure?’

Bex shook his hand. ‘Belinda is trying to persuade me to come and work for you.’

‘Is she now?’ He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. ‘Take my advice, don’t. She’s a slave driver.’

‘Oh, shut up, Miles. That’s not helpful.’ But she was laughing. ‘Right, we’ll leave you in peace.’

Belinda led the way back to the bar and unlocked a door next to the Ladies. She flicked on a light switch and Bex saw stairs leading downwards. ‘And this, pretty obviously, is the cellar.’

She led the way down the steep wooden stairs where a row of eight barrels were lined up against the wall. There were also piles of cases of wine and trays of soft drinks and mixers covered in shrink wrap. In a far corner were huge boxes of crisps. A draught came through the metal trapdoor that presumably allowed the delivery men direct access to the cellar from the street. But other than that, the cellar was spotlessly clean and dry. No smell of damp, no mustiness, no beaten earth floor like her own one under the kitchen.

‘So, what do you think?’

‘It’s a lovely pub but I’m still not sure I’m the right person for the job. I really won’t be able to work weekends and I couldn’t manage evenings either – not with the kids. And then there’s the school holidays... I’d better come clean, I’m a single mum... well, a widow if I’m honest.’

‘I know, Amy said.’

‘Ah... Amy.’

Belinda gave her a rueful smile. ‘I didn’t like to say anything in case Amy had got it wrong.’

Bex sighed. ‘Not this time, sadly.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah... well...’

‘But not being able to work late or in the holidays won’t be a problem. The thing about running a pub is that it’s not only about pulling pints and chatting to customers over the bar – there’s the VAT returns, stock control, ordering, the accounts... it all takes time and that’s what I don’t have at the moment, not since my last barmaid went off to have a baby. It’s all I can do to keep the place clean and tidy.’ Belinda smiled at Bex. ‘If you do a shift at lunchtime I can get on with the admin, instead of having to do it before we open or when we shut in the afternoon. Trust me, working from nine in the morning till closing time is quite knackering.’ She smiled. ‘That’s an understatement, by the way.’

Bex grinned back.

‘I pay the living wage – in case you wanted to know.’

Bex felt a bit of a fool; for many people the hourly rate would have been a key question and she hadn’t even thought about the wages.

‘Please think about it. It’s a great way to meet people, honest,’ said Belinda.

‘OK, I will. I’ll let you know later. Promise.’

‘That’d be great. And just think, it’s a doddle of a commute.’

Bex laughed. ‘You’re not wrong there.’