‘Great from my end.’
‘Good to hear.’
Finally getting to the table in the corner, which was tucked tightly between a huge old inglenook fireplace and a leaded paned window, Daisy kissed Miles and smiled. ‘Hi.’
‘Do you know enough people in here?’
‘You picked the smallest pub in Pretty Beach. I practically grew up in here.’
Miles chuckled. ‘What do you want to drink?’
‘The Locals Only, please.’
‘What is it?’
Daisy frowned as if Miles were asking the most ridiculous question. ‘I don’t know.’
‘But you’ll have it anyway?’
‘Yes, whatever it is, it will be amazing. It’s how we roll around here.’
‘Right.’
The warmth of the pub wrapped around Daisy the second she sat down. It wasn’t just the heat from the old fireplace creaking, but more the layered smell of things that had been exactly the same for what felt like centuries. Daisy inhaled as she got comfy and took off her jacket. The pub smelt of roasted peanuts, old varnish, a puff of damp wool from a coat hanging too close to the radiator, something faintly citrusy that might’ve been a cleaning product and the scent of a long curl of dried hops draped over the bar.
Daisy loved the old pub full of memories. A low and uneven-beamed ceiling where tall men ducked instinctively hung overhead and the walls were dotted with Pretty Beach memories: old horse brasses, dusty photographs in mismatched frames, a chalkboard listing pies that hadn’t changed since she was in her teens. There was something very reassuring about it all. The floor was uneven in parts and bowed slightly towards the fireplace, and the old leaded windows sparkled as she sat and gazed around.
In the corner nearest the door, a couple of old-timers were deep in an inaudible discussion. A sort of low pub murmur hummed pleasantly against the clink of pint glasses and the clatter of a tray behind the bar. Someone's collie lay completely stretched under a bar stool, paws twitching in sleep and the barmaid who Daisy knew from school with a ponytail and a stack of bangles, was pouring a shandy with one hand and handing back change with the other. The whole place smelled of fire, beer, crisps and small-town life. Daisy absorbed it all as she watched Miles at the bar. The pub was old, worn, a bit scratchy, oh-so snug and full of history. The sort of pub where you could disappear on a Sunday afternoon and emerge three hours later warm, slightly pickled, wondering what decade it was. Daisy Henley was in her element and it was, in short, exactly what she needed.
Miles returned with two glasses and carefully put them down on the rickety table, sliding into the seat opposite Daisy. The window beside them creaked slightly as a gust of wind pressed against the pane, and outside, the shadows were starting to stretch.
‘There you go.’ Miles nodded at her drink. ‘The Locals Only. It turns out it’s a mix of some local pale ale and a splash of something cider-y.’
Daisy laughed. ‘You’re not meant to ask, but whatever, thank you.’
Daisy picked up her glass and gave it a sniff. It smelled of orchard fruit and malt. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’
‘How is your mum? I have to say that you look a million times better than when I saw you yesterday.’
Miles smiled, resting his hands around his glass. ‘I feel so much better after a few days here. She loves the cottage.’
Daisy’s face softened. ‘Good. I thought she might.’
‘She was a bit odd at first. She kept rattling on about how she didn’t want to be a burden, but once she’d had a cup of tea and settled herself into that chair in the sitting room, she barely moved.’
‘Sounds like it's doing its job. She needs to just stop and do nothing and let herself fully repair. Hopefully, those bruises and that scar will fade soon.’
‘She did stop. She fell asleep halfway through the afternoon with the radio on and a blanket over her. When she woke up, she asked for a second helping of that soup and then I kid you not, a second slice of the pie.’
Daisy beamed. ‘Did she?’
‘She said, and I quote, “That apple pie is the best thing I’ve eaten all year.” Then she asked if she could have it after supper if she didn’t finish it. Which is how I knew she was on the mend.’
‘The sugar crust on the top always helps,’ Daisy said, laughing. ‘It’s Clemmie’s signature move.’
Miles nodded. ‘You could see something shift in her. Like she let go of whatever tension she’s been holding since it all happened. She sat by the window and talked about the sea air being good for her chest.’
