Page 64 of New Beginnings at the Little Christmas Inn
The teapot was doing overtime. She made Bernie breakfast and pointed him in the direction of the bar. PC Khan arrived thirty minutes later. He simply repeated what had been said the night before but, having drunk his tea, promised to have a good look around the car park before he left. ‘And, in the new year, I seriously recommend getting CCTV fitted,’ was his parting shot.
When Fabio and Stewie arrived, Livvy left them in the kitchen prepping for the day’s lunch service. Going through to the bar she switched on all the Christmas lights and busied herself carting a load of logs in and stoking up the fire. Keeping active was a way of stopping herself thinking. And, although it was good to have people around her again, she needed light and warmth too. The post took another half hour to sift through. The first bills were in and made her heart sink. She sat for a moment,breathing in and out, calming herself, trying to instil some confidence. Taking another deep breath, she coughed. The logs were damp and the wood burner was all smoke and no flames. It didn’t seem a good omen.
Two hours later Bernie perched on a bar stool and picked up the turkey and stuffing roll Stewie had made for him. ‘Livvy,’ he said heavily, ‘from what I can see – and I’ve been through all your itemised till readings, all your dispensed spirits and your real ale barrels – accounting for wastage, you’ve got three bottles of vodka, one of gin and two bottles of tequila unaccounted for. You always note down any drinks for your own use, don’t you, and those given out on the house?’
Livvy nodded, feeling slightly sick. She put down her own sandwich, her appetite gone.
‘Seeing as it’s you, I’ll go through everything one more time but it looks very much as if one reason for your lack of profit is–’
‘Someone’s pilfering.’
‘Och, it’s not uncommon, Liv. Your father’s had it happen more than once in his hotel bars. It’s rife in the hospitality industry.’
‘I just hoped it wouldn’t happen in my part of it.’
‘Obviously, talk to your accountant about any other issues. It’s been a nightmare of a time for pubs. It’s nigh on impossible to predict any profit margins, what with the unpredictability of the last five years. Look at what you’re charging, lassie, what you can cut down on.’ He took a swig of coffee. ‘But remember, you need to look at it long term. My advice, if you want it, is to increase your food covers. That’s where the profitability will lie.’
‘Thanks, Bernie,’ Livvy said slowly. ‘Lots to think about.’
‘First thing you need to do is sort who’s taking the unaccounted-for spirits. You got anyone working for you with a wee drink problem? It’s also common in our world.’
‘I’ll have to have a think about it.’
‘Then you’ll have to catch them at it to prove it. Not easy.’ He picked up his sandwich and continued eating.
‘I’ll leave you to your lunch. Thanks, Bernie, I appreciate it. And huge thanks for coming out on Christmas Eve. Happy Christmas and give my love to Moira and the kids. Safe drive back.’
She took her own coffee to Pete’s favourite chair and table in front of the wood burner. She couldn’t seem to get warm and hugged the mug to her chest, her mood low. No one said running a pub would be easy and she should have anticipated problems of this kind. As Bernie said, it was a common occurrence in the pub trade, but she’d thought her little team was bomb-proof. Letting a sigh escape, she wondered what else could go wrong.
She watched, through the many-paned window, as traffic inched down the narrow hill into town. It was a bottleneck outside The George and when two busses met it caused chaos. It would be fun when the tourist season began. The roads were slick with wet and no longer icy, but drivers were obviously erring on the cautious side.Is any of this worth all the stress? I could be out, like everyone else, doing last-minute Christmas shopping.Not only had she a malicious vandal to contend with, but she also had someone working for her who was stealing. Screwing her eyes shut, she forced herself to think calmly and rationally. She wasn’t the first landlady to face this problem, she wouldn’t be the last. She had to deal with it logically, remove the emotion.
Sipping her coffee, she thought through each member of the team one by one. Despite her attempt to be professional, it hurt her personally to think one of them was pilfering and in such quantities.
Candice the cleaner was an unlikely suspect; she didn’t work when the pub was open, plus Livvy was usually around when she was in cleaning. She supposed the woman could have helpedherself to a sneaky spirit but was hard-pressed to fit all the cleaning in as it was. And in those quantities? Surely Livvy would have noticed the optics getting low before opening times.
Brittany was a health nut, lapsing with the occasional burger and didn’t touch spirits. The most she ever drank was the odd glass of white wine, or champagne.
Young Karl she’d trust with her life, besides he was a beer man through and through and loved his real ale. It couldn’t be him; if it was, she’d be horrified.
It was unlikely to be Stewie as he rarely ventured out of the kitchen, Fabio kept him too busy.
Could it be Fabio? He wouldn’t be the first chef to have a drinking problem. But surely, as he had to drive all the way back to Honiton after each shift, he wouldn’t risk drink-driving? With his mother being sick he’d need his driving licence for any emergency. Livvy drained her mug. That is, of course, if what he’d told her was the truth.No!She prided herself on being a good judge of character; she couldn’t believe it was Fabio; he invested so much of himself into making The George a success. Surely, he wouldn’t jeopardise that? And hadn’t Jason mentioned Fabio’s ill mother?
Her thoughts twisted and turned. Alcohol was a desperate addiction, though. For those who suffered, it took over their lives and they cared for little else. She put her mug down with a bang. It wasn’t possible. She refused to think it was Fabio.
And what of Simona and Eli? What would Simona’s motive be? She wasn’t short of money, had generously given up her own time, didn’t drink a great deal and ate even less. Besides, Livvy considered her a good friend now; she’d made the busy run-up to Christmas great fun.
It left Eli. Of all her team he was the one she felt she knew the least. He was mostly monosyllabic, crucified by shyness, then came across sullen. It meant he didn’t always go downwell with some customers but was efficient unless it was hectic when he got flustered. And that was improving, along with his confidence. The only time he seemed scared of his own shadow was when his family were in; he was especially wary of Gerry. She’d never seen Eli drink while at work; like Stewie, he was another young person who was happier with a pint of cola or orange squash. She couldn’t see him having the guts to work out he could take a measure and not put it through the till. And she’d never seen him even mildly tipsy let alone drunk.
Livvy ground her teeth. This was all her own fault; she should have kept a closer eye on everyone. She let an enormous sigh escape.
‘Ooh, kitten, sounds as if you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. Missing your Mark? Or is it that awful scene out there in the car park? Darling, I can’t believe it’s happened again. How awful. There was a rather nice Scot getting into a new plate Range Rover out there. He said bye-bye and Happy Christmas. I do rather like a man in a kilt.’ Simona giggled. ‘Shame he was in a boring old suit.’
Livvy twisted round to see Simona come into the bar. As she chattered nonsense, took off her fur hat, shook out her hair and went behind the bar to make herself a latte. Livvy watched as she found the little black book and wrote down that she’d had one. She never expected staff to pay for tea and coffee, or soft drinks within reason but expected them to record what they’d had. Surely, if Simona automatically noted down a latte, she wouldn’t bother snaffling a shot for free – and she certainly wouldn’t touch tequila.
Simona sat in Pete’s chair and stretched her feet out to the wood burner. ‘Brr. Cold as murder out there. Now, sweetness, tell me all about it. What’s up, kitten? Can’t be just the vandalism, although awful as that may be. You look really forlorn.’
‘Oh, work stuff. You know.’
