Page 20 of Meet me at the Seaside Cottages

‘Yes, because of horrible people like her!’

‘Uh-huh.’

Al sets the wine down and Janey smiles at Essie. ‘See, I told you you’d be fine in here.’

‘I am not fine in here!’ says Essie immediately. ‘She looks like she wants to bar me! God, this town.’

Janey can’t believe it’s quite as bad as all that and looks around the room expectantly. She knows nearly everyone in here. That’s one thing. People were so sympathetic after the divorce, and it really helped. Milton is sitting on her left, frowning. He gets nervous on quiz nights and says it reminds him too much of the citizenship test, but he comes anyway to keep them company. Lish is texting her Emma, who wants to know what she thinks of her new curtains. Amsan is drinking coke and telling her about how worried she is that her son is getting into crypto, which is Amsan’s way of also telling her that her son has enough money to be getting into crypto.

Suddenly she sees an oddly familiar face appear at the door. He’s tall and thick-set and burly and looks like he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing there.

Al sees him too. ‘Oh, God,’ he says, frowning.

‘What? Who’s that?’ says Janey. It’s tugging at the back of her mind but she can’t quite place him.

Meanwhile, Essie finds herself seated next to Owen, the only man her age. She’s feeling a bit guilty about slagging off the town to her mum, but really.

‘Hi,’ he says in a doleful voice.

‘Hi,’ says Essie. ‘Are you here for the quiz?’

Owen snorts. ‘Well,obviously,’ he says, which is quite rude if you think about it.

‘Uh, good,’ says Essie. Owen sniffs again, loudly.

‘The problem here,’ he says, glancing round at the warm room full of happy people greeting each other, who alllook pleased to be out on a lovely spring evening, and are passing trays of bottles and glasses along the throng, and ordering chips from a very young waitress, and wandering among tablesto chat to their neighbours and discuss the upturned tractor on the B47, ‘is that these people don’t look like they’re going to be taking this seriouslyat all.’

His droopy face droops even further, and he folds his arms. He is wearing a short-sleeved shirt that has sharply ironed creases in it. Essie wants to ask him if his mum had done them but didn’t think it would be quite polite.

‘Isn’t that okay?’ says Essie. ‘Isn’t it supposed to be fun?’

Owen snorts again. The way he clearly thinks he is too good for all this is, paradoxically, making Essie want to defend it.

‘If your idea of fun is . . .losing a quiz,’ he says, glancing at his watch. ‘Look at that. We should have started five minutes ago.’ He looks at her. ‘Have you even got a pencil?’ His tone is accusatory.

‘No,’ admitted Essie. ‘I need a pencil?’

‘No, not if you always write the correct answer downfirst time,’ he says with something thatmight be laughter.

Meanwhile, Janey is still looking at the man who has just walked in the door and is now standing at the bar.

‘I’m sure I know him,’ she says.

‘No, you don’t,’ says Al. ‘I’ve worked on his land. He’s an absolute grouch. Does nothing but complain about us.’

‘No, I definitely know him,’ says Janey, frowning. Stupid menopause brain. She can never remember anyone. ‘He’s got a weird name.’ Then she snaps her fingers.‘Oh! He had a kid.’

‘Well, he definitely lives alone,’ sniffs Al. ‘I know because I have to go to his big stupid house and explain to him that he’s got to stop feeding the deer. And I know he has a weird name. It’s Lowell.’

‘He feeds deer?’ says Janey. ‘What a monster.’

It is all coming back to her. A little girl, congenitally deaf. Gosh, that was a long time ago. He had been . . . he hadn’t had as much grey hair then, and his wife had been much younger . . . Something had happened – she racks her brains. Oh, yes! They had been lined up for a cochlear implant; the child was just lovely, and then . . . nothing. They’d moved away or the files had been transferred or something. How strange. He was English, she remembered that, and his wife was . . . Albanian? She can’t quite recall.

The man stands at the bar looking awkward, then relieved when Shelby bustles over to serve him. He orders a half-pint, then looks around, a little nervous, at the noisy room, full of people who knew each other.

‘Look busy,’ says Al, just as the man’s gaze sweeps over him.

‘When are we starting, please?’ comes Owen’s voice, loudly.

---