Page 37 of A Snowy Seaside Christmas
‘The one near to where Stella’s mum lives is an option, but I think I prefer the one on Saffron Street with it having a view out to sea. Both need a bit of TLC, but they’ve both got good-sized gardens, so they tick those boxes.’
‘True. Having a look around them will help give you a better idea, give you a feel for a place.’
‘You’re right. You can accompany me, tell me what kind of vibes you pick up. Hopefully neither place will make you feel like Crayke’s Cottage did.’ He gave a laugh.
‘Ugh! No, you really don’t want anywhere like that! I’d struggle to come and see you. Though, in fairness, the building itself is stunning; right up your street actually, with all its original features. It’s full of character.’
‘That much is obvious from the information in the books I brought. It’s just the unseen things that go with it don’t seem so appealing.’ He gave a mock shiver, making her laugh.
They turned the corner onto the seafront, the wind hitting them full on. They strode along, passing the stack of lobster pots lined up against the sandstone wall, which were still covered in a dusting of snow though it looked frozen solid now. The whoosh of the waves was never far away down here, nor the cry of a gull, even at night. Soon the pub came into view, its lights casting a glow onto the outside seating area which was unsurprisingly empty but for a couple having a heated argument.
The Jolly Sailors was a whitewashed sixteenth century inn, with thick, uneven walls and stout windows. It sat in the embrace of the cliffs where it faced out to sea, stoically taking whatever the unforgiving elements threw at it. Which had been plenty over the centuries, not least the high spring tides that had been known to rush in, flooding the ground floor and the cellar – and tunnels, if local rumours were to be believed.
‘It feels like an age since I was last in here,’ said Silas, pushing on the solid oak door. In an instant they were hit by a wave of warmth, closely followed by the sound of jaunty fiddle music that floated over the top of lively conversation. It was rounded off by the delicious aroma of the award-winning fish and chipsthe Jolly was famous for. They couldn’t have asked for a better welcome.
Stepping into the bar, with its soft lighting courtesy of recommissioned storm lanterns, the smell of woodsmoke from the fire curled around them. Thick, tweed curtains were drawn against the night, while a bushy Christmas tree, groaning with baubles and tinsel, glowed against the wall near the bar. Yet more tinsel and garlands were strewn across the age-darkened beams of the low ceiling and, in an amusing twist, an original figurehead of a bare-breasted woman, which had been washed up on the beach directly in front of the pub, had been given a festive makeover. She was sporting a sparkling tinsel halo and large, red baubles dangling from her ears. It was the same for the highly polished old ship’s bell, with tinsel wrapped around it.
Lark watched as her father’s face broke out into a smile.
‘Oh, wow!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s heaving.’
He wasn’t wrong. There wasn’t much that could deter the Jolly’s loyal clientele from venturing out.
‘Oh, and there’s Jacob Crayke’s decommissioned pistol – I’d forgotten about that,’ Silas said, intrigued. ‘I wouldn’t mind taking a closer look at it sometime.’
The pistol, which was alleged to have belonged to the town’s infamous smuggler, was kept in a glass case behind the bar. It was much plainer than the one in the suitcase from Crayke’s Cottage, which would make sense if it had belonged to the wealthy Benjamin Fitzgilbert.
‘Is Louisa here yet?’ Lark asked, scanning the room. She spotted Jasmine and Stella at the friends’ usual table by the fire, and gave them a wave.
‘I can’t see her.’
‘You’re welcome to sit with us until she arrives.’
‘If it’s okay with you, I think I’ll loiter at the bar. That way, I’ll see her coming in. She might not spot me if I’m tucked away in the corner. I’d hate for her to think I haven’t turned up.’
‘Good point.’ She noted her father looked more than a little apprehensive. Him having a date – if indeed that’s what this was – felt unusual to her, so she couldn’t imagine how it felt to him. She squeezed his arm. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Have a lovely time, Dad.’
‘Thank you, sweetheart, you too.’
Lark was just about to head over to her friends when Louisa appeared beside them wearing a thick, padded coat and chunky scarf, her hair fanning out from beneath a woolly hat. Her eyes were shining and she smelt of fresh, frosty air.
Silas’s face lit up. ‘Louisa!’
‘Hi, Louisa.’ Pleased to see her, Lark gave the curator a warm smile.
‘Hi.’ The smile Louisa returned was a mix of excitement and uncertainty. ‘I hope you haven’t been waiting long.’
‘We’ve just got here,’ said Lark. ‘And I’m about to join my friends at that table over there as I do every Friday evening.’
‘Oh, okay.’ Louisa’s gaze followed to where Lark was pointing, Jasmine and Stella looking over with interest.
‘I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy your evening.’ Lark smiled, giving her dad a wink as she walked away. She secretly crossed her fingers that his evening went well.
Lark was yet to warm through and was pleased to see a lively fire blazing in the inglenook of the old sandstone fireplace that sat beside the friends’ table.
‘Now then, missus.’ Jasmine, who was in her usual seat at the head of the table, treated her to a wide smile as Lark shrugged off her coat and slid along the settle opposite Stella. It still felt odd to Lark to see Jazz here on time. Not so long ago, she was always late, arriving out of breath and stressed, edible glitter oricing sugar in her hair, smears of it on her face; the evidence of her cake-baking side hustle. But all that had changed since she’d given up her job at the bakery and all-but-one of her cleaning shifts for Stella’s mum who owned and ran a cleaning business. Having just her celebration cake business kept her busy but it made her time more manageable and meant she wasn’t living life racing around trying to get things done while still feeling she was being a good mum to Zak and Chloe – something she constantly beat herself up about. But dating Max Grainger had put an end to her races down Skitey Bank on a Friday night. All of the friends agreed it was good to see this new, relaxed version of their friend. Well, it wasn’t new exactly; it was the Jasmine they’d all known before her relationship with Bart Forster had taken its toll. But tonight she was looking happy and relaxed in an olive-green hoodie that emphasised her sharp green eyes and brightly dyed red hair to perfection.
‘Hi, flower.’ Stella passed Lark a freshly poured glass of Pinot Grigio. Whereas Jasmine favoured a casual style, Stella was always groomed – her friends regularly teased her that she even looked immaculate when she went for a run on the beach, with her hair neatly tied back and her pristine running gear. Tonight she was wearing a caramel-coloured turtleneck jumper and black bootleg jeans. Her sleek blonde hair was hanging in a glossy curtain down her back, while a designer handbag was tucked on the settle beside her. ‘Looks like your dad’s getting on well with the heritage centre’s new curator.’
