Carl side-stepped the collection of muddy boots as he pushed the door of the pub open and held it for Isla and Bridget. Isla walked in first, and the small group of men propping up the bar, clad in black singlets and shorts, all sat to attention.
Her eyes moved on to the array of jugs lined up in front of them. It must be happy hour; she thought catching a waft of stale beer. It transported her back to her barely legal pub days. A quick glance around at the decor on her way up to the bar confirmed what she had suspected. Nothing had changed in over twelve years, apart from the publican. She didn’t recognize him.
Bridget followed behind her, shooting one of the singlet men a sour look. It was a look that spoke volumes; stop leering at my granddaughter because you’re old enough to be her father. Carl let the door close behind him and sauntered inside, eager for a taste of an authentic West Coast pub.
His step faltered as with a sweeping gaze he took in the scene. It was a drinker’s hall, not a cosy wee pub. Down the middle of the room was a row of lean-to tables with stools and around its periphery were a smattering of tables with blue cushioned seats. He knew without looking that they would be stained. The cigarette burns decorating them would be a nostalgic reminder of the good old days for those who were slaves to nicotine. There were two pool tables on the far right of the lounge bar area with a door leading to an outside courtyard. One lonely smoker, stood out there chuffing away.
Up ahead and to the left of Carl was the bar itself. A television set adorned the wall at the far end of the room, and the channel was set to the horse racing, although mercifully the sound was off. A jukebox was pushed up against the wall near an empty stage area. His eyes swiveled to his immediate left where two men were playing darts near the door leading to the toilets. He hoped their aim was good or one could get more than what one bargained for on a visit to the little boys’ room!
He reached the conclusion that a classy joint, it was not. Isla had tried to warn him, he supposed, seeing her beckon him over to the bar. Looking at the group of drinkers standing next to her, he was glad he’d worn his checked shirt and jeans because at least he’d look the part. In keeping with his Southern Man role, he attempted a swagger. It was how he imagined a cowboy who’d been riding hard all day and had earned a beer would move towards the bar. Bridget and Isla watched in bemusement.
‘Do you think we should call in on Mary and ask her for something to help with that chafing of his?’ Bridget asked, wondering why Isla giggled, but she was distracted by the publican clearing his throat.
‘Afternoon all.’ He nodded at Bridget. ‘Mrs Collins, we don’t see you in here often.’
He had a dimply red nose and cheeks that were road mapped with the spider veins of a serious drinker.
‘Mick.’ Bridget nodded back. The last time she’d been in the pub was for a birthday drink for Joe’s fiftieth birthday bash, and that was more than a few years ago now. ‘This is my granddaughter, Isla; she’s not long back from the UK.’
‘Alright, guv’nor?’ He addressed Isla in a shocking faux Cockney accent for which he received a weak smile.
‘Yes, good thanks.’
‘And I’m Carl, originally from the UK but a Kiwi boy through and through these days. Now, lovely ladies, it’s my treat, so what’ll it be?’
To Isla’s amazement, there was a bottle of perfectly acceptable Marlborough Sauvignon in the fridge. Things were looking up at the Pit! She ordered a glass of the wine and received a generous country pour and not the precisely expensive measure she’d been used to in the London bars. Bridget settled for a whiskey and coke. ‘Single, mind,’ she tutted at Mick. Carl, with a glance over at the men with their jugs, ordered a handle of Speights.
‘Do you like that stuff or did you just order it because you thought you should?’ Isla asked as they made their way across the room to a table near the pool table.
‘The latter if I’m honest, I’m not much of an ale man. I much prefer a cheeky cocktail but …’ he shrugged. ‘You know, when in Rome and all that.’
‘I wouldn’t compare Bibury to Rome,’ Isla said, setting her drink down on the table as Carl fussed around, pulling a chair out for Bridget and settling her in it. She smiled to herself. Gran would slap her away were she to fuss her like that, but she was lapping up the attention from Carl.
‘Now then, Bridget, what are we going to do about this hall of yours?’ he said, finally sitting down himself. ‘How about a Pub Quiz Night? They always go down well. An eighties music theme, perhaps? It’s my strong point, eighties music, lived and breathed it.’ He looked at the two black t-shirt boys who were playing pool with their jeans halfway down their backsides. ‘Perhaps not, ACDC trivia might be more the ticket in Bibury, yes?’
‘A pub quiz has been done,’ Bridget said. ‘The PTA’s got that one covered.’
‘Well, what about … oh I don’t know, a karaoke night?’ Isla suggested.
‘The Bibury Line Dancers Association have already nabbed that to fundraise for their trip to the championships down in Gore.’
Dear God, she was serious, Isla realized, but there was worse to come.
‘Margaret suggested we hold a barn dance, but the Bibury Scottish Dancers pipped us to the post with their successful Haggis and Hoedown evening. They were fundraising for new kilts.’
Carl was looking at her, his eyes wide. ‘Never a dull minute in Bibury then.’ He fished around in his pocket and produced a few coins. ‘We need a spot of music, come on Bridget, what do you fancy?’
‘I’ve only just sat down.’ She took his hand though, letting him help her to her feet and followed him over to the jukebox. A few seconds later the sounds of the Everly Brothers’ Unchained Melody came on.
‘I thought about Elvis, but it’s a bit too early for Jailhouse Rock,’ Bridget said sitting back down, leaving Carl over by the box.
‘Are you alright Gran? You seemed a bit lost in thought at the cemetery this afternoon.’ Isla rested her hand atop her gran’s soft crinkly one.
Bridget didn’t answer straight away and Isla wondered if she’d even heard her, but then she sighed. ‘Ah, don’t worry about me. As you get older you tend to dwell on the past a bit more, and I was just thinking about how things used to be and how things could have been.’
It was a cryptic reply, Isla thought, sitting back in her chair.
‘Are you hungry girls?’ Carl interrupted, sitting back down. ‘Because I just about helped myself to a chip from that basket over there.’ He waved over to the two pool playing lads. A bowl of chips had been placed down on a nearby table, and they were snaffling them in between shots. ‘Didn’t think they’d appreciate it though.’
‘Mm yeah, I could have a few chips.’
‘I’ve got the crockpot on. There’s a nice bowl of stew waiting for me at home, there’s enough for you too Isla if you want it? Otherwise, I’ll pop it in the freezer.’
‘Thanks, Gran, but I’ve got room for both chippies and your yummy stew.’
‘What does it say on that blackboard?’ Carl asked peering at the bar. ‘Steak pie, steak’n’cheese pie, mince’n’vegetable pie and, ah, chips in a basket. Don’t mind if I do.’ As he got up, he said, ‘I might text Annie and see if she and Kris can be persuaded to join us for a tipple. It would be rude not to being a Friday night and all. It’s nearly 5.30, that’s officially the weekend!’
‘He’s got ants in his pants that one,’ Bridget muttered.
They watched as he placed his order and Mick disappeared out the back to tackle the deep fryer.
‘He’s good fun, isn’t he?’ Isla ventured.
Bridget nodded. ‘It’s a crying shame, I have to say, that he bats for the other team because you could do a lot worse.’
‘Gran, I’m not looking to meet anyone. After Tim, I just want to be on my own for a bit,’ Isla stated emphatically as the door swung open and Ben walked in.
Bridget raised an eyebrow at the expression on her granddaughter’s face as she saw the pretty blonde girl whose hand he was holding come in behind him.
Isla waved over but only because Ben had seen her as soon as he stepped inside the pub. Bridget didn’t miss the scowl that flashed across his face as Carl re-joined them and leaned in close to Isla to say something.
Isla hoped he wouldn’t come over and say hi, she didn’t want to meet this Barbie doll of his no matter how nice she was. Thankfully, she saw out the corner of her eye that he’d gotten talking to one of the singlet men. Carl watched her watching Ben with amusement.
‘Fancy him, do you?’
‘No! I mean who? What’re you on about?’
‘Mechanic Man up at the bar, I recognize him from the garage. Looks spoken for, I’m sorry to say sweetheart.’
‘Oh him.’ Isla knew her attempts at feigning innocence weren’t fooling anyone. ‘I’ve known him for years – most of my life in fact. I was just curious as to who he’s wound up dating that’s all.’
‘They were an item, these two, before Isla moved away. They made a good couple too, but she broke it off, more fool her.’ Bridget pointed at her granddaughter as she put her ten cents’ worth in.
‘Gran, do you mind! It was over twelve years ago, Carl. Obviously, we’ve both moved on.’
‘You haven’t, I can tell by your face you still have a soft spot for him,’ Bridget said.
‘Unfinished business.’ Carl nodded knowledgeably.
‘You two are incorrigible. I can’t win this conversation, can I? There’s absolutely no point in my telling you that I’m not interested in Ben Robson and that I wish him a wonderful future with his lady friend.’
‘No,’ Bridget and Carl chimed as Mick plonked a bowl of chips down in front of them and grunted. ‘Sauce?’
Annie and Kris arrived at the pub as Isla was licking the last of the salt from her fingers. The fries had been just the ticket to soak up the oversized glass of wine she’d partaken of. Not that she was complaining and she fully intended to have another. She didn’t want to miss out on the happy hour discount. She noticed Gran yawn after Carl had done the introductions. He was filling Annie and Kris in on what they’d done that afternoon. ‘Are you ready for the off Gran?’ she asked.
Bridget had finished her drink and didn’t want another. ‘I wouldn’t mind, Isla. I’d like to get home in time to watch the news.’
Isla knew her gran liked to keep abreast of what was happening in the world, though, sometimes when she caught up with current events she wondered why she’d bothered. It seemed there was hardly ever any cheerful news about the goings on in the world.
‘I’ll drop you home then. Are you guys going to stay on for a bit?’ She directed to the others.
‘The night’s young,’ Carl said raising his glass. ‘And, the second pint tastes better.’
Annie and Kris were sharing a jug of beer and didn’t look like they were in any rush. ‘Well, I might drop Gran home and come back down then.’
‘That’s a good plan.’ Carl got up and planted a kiss on Bridget’s cheek. ‘I’m going to rack my brains for ideas for your hall, darling.’
Bridget looked pleased as she nodded at Annie and Kris. ‘Enjoy yourselves but don’t overdo it. I know what you young ones are like.’
She linked her arm through Isla’s and nodded at Mick on the way out.
‘It’s been a good day Gran,’ Isla said, feeling happy. She’d bought a car and made some lovely new friends.
Bridget rested her hand on her granddaughter’s forearm, her whiskey and coke making her feel misty-eyed. ‘It has.’ Annie and Kris were nice people, she could tell. She was a good judge of character. As for Carl, he was an absolute delight. Isla was settling in at home again, and it warmed her heart to see it.