‘In what way?’ I asked.
‘Oh, you know, the usual: complaining to the council about non-existent lock-ins and writing horrific online reviews about us on Google and Tripadvisor to put off any potential customers.’
‘That’s awful! Can’t you report him to someone?’
‘We’ve got no proof. But we know it’s him. He even comes in for a meal or a drink now and then, leaving vastly inflated tips for the staff so they greet him like a celebrity whenever he’s here. The pub members are even starting to turn against us themselves given how much quieter the place has been this Christmas. His strategy is blatantly to run us into the ground, gaslight at least two-thirds of the members into siding with him and make a vastly underinflated offer that, one day, we’ll be brow-beaten enough to accept. I can’t tell you how much I hate him.’
‘I’m not surprised. He sounds like a total arsehole. I’m going to look him up – his name sounds so familiar but I can’t figure out why.’
I tapped his name into Google accompanied by the word ‘Scarnbrook’. Countless results popped up, including his social media accounts. I opened his LinkedIn page and zoomed in on his photo. Everything clicked into place.
‘Aha,’ I said.
‘You recognise him? I’m not surprised, to be honest – he’s something of a local figurehead with all these connections in high places. I swear that’s how he ended up getting permission to flatten the allotments even though there was so much local opposition.’
‘Yeah, he was in my brother’s football team. His name rang a bell as I think he quite often comments on my brother’s social media posts.’
‘Huh. Small world.’
I was fast realising justhowsmall. I put my phone away, but made a mental note to do some more digging on Christian Woods later since a ‘local scoundrel’ would come in handy for my article – especially one who appeared to be hell-bent on destroying a family-run business.
‘I’m so sorry he’s making life hard for you, Becky. I’d offer to do some promo on social media but I’m afraid I’m the very opposite of Josh when it comes to anything like that.’
‘I know, I get it. Me and Carly are just so happy to see you back in Scarnbrook again.’
I smiled while pressing my spoon into a gooey chocolate fondant that had just been placed in front of me by the smiling bartender. Hearing nice people say nice things to me while eating nice food? This trip was turning out all right!Oh bravo, clever, confidence-boosting alcohol.
‘Hang on a sec,’ I said to Becky. ‘If you and Carly take it in turns to manage the place, how come you’re both here tonight? Or did I just happen to choose the right Monday for a solo dinner?’
‘Well… to be honest with you, Ryan told Carly all about your surprise appearance at Tesco yesterday, and then we put two and two together with tonight’s booking. We were a bit intrigued to see if it was actually you. So Carly’s kids are having a sleepover at our parents’ as a Christmas holiday treat.’
Shit. A spontaneous Scarnbrook get-together was one thing, but a night hooked to my presence alone was quite another. What would everyone ask me? What would they want to know? I’m sure everyone meant well, but this level of attention was way beyond my comfort zone at the best of times. Why was I putting myself through this?
‘Oh. Blimey.’
‘Yeah, sorry, don’t mean to be nosy or anything. It’s just, well, we haven’t seen you in so long and everything…’
‘I know, I know. I’m sorry I’ve not been back before now.’
‘Oh God, that’s not what I mean, please don’t apologise… shit, I need to go and get that phone. I’ll be right back.’
I was fast remembering not only how close-knit Scarnbrook was, but how stifling it could be, too. And how visible I was here. A blast of cold air disturbed me from my increasingly anxious thoughts.
‘There she is!’ It was Ryan, and he was accompanied by a stocky, square-jawed man who – if the tightness of his T-shirt and lack of a coat in the middle of winter were anything to go by – was keen to let everyone know he frequented the gym. I got the impression that the ‘nice’ part of my evening had come to a juddering halt. Only more booze would get me through this.
Carly appeared and gave her husband a peck on the cheek.
‘Yay! Ooh and you brought Darren! Good to see you, Dal.’
‘Oi, Darren.’ Ryan was pointing at me as if I was the largest piece of battered cod in a chippy’s heated display cabinet. ‘This is who I was telling you about – the one and only Miss Fuel.’
The new nickname went over my head. I could only hope that it was less offensive than Double A. The confusion on my face wiped the grin off Ryan’s.
‘Y’know,Miss.Fuel. Because of the misfuel of your motor?’
‘Oh, yeah, of course, ha ha.’
Darren grunted ‘All right?’ in my vague direction and headed towards the bar.
