Page 2 of Sparring Partners
“Don’t you get fed up being here on your own all the time?”
Adrian bristled. “But I’m not on my own, am I? You and Elena are here most days.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Harry bit into what was left of his cake, eyeing the tin where the rest of it was. Adrian put the lid on it, and rammed it down hard, narrowing his eyes at the disappointment on Harry’s face. “They’re introducing a new pie variety this week, and?—”
“Do you think you can finish the new hen house today?”
“What? Er, maybe.”
“Then perhaps if you get back to it now, you might do.”
Harry nodded, his face growing red, as he stood up and wiped his crumb covered hands down his thighs.
With Harry gone, Adrian poured himself another tea and sipped slowly. Of course he wasn’t going to drive into the village for pie night. His days were filled with hard work from the moment he got up to when he stumbled, exhausted, into bed, falling into a deep sleep within seconds. It was the life of a farmer, and the life he had accepted. Yet… When had he last made the effort to go out?
A warm body pressed against his leg, and Adrian smiled. Spud stared up at him and Adrian rubbed the old collie dog behind one of his ears.
“How was your nap, old fella?” he asked softly. Spud had long since retired from herding sheep, the flock so much smaller than it had been in Adrian’s father’s day, and spent his time snoozing in a sun drenched patch of ground in the summer, and by the big log burner in winter. Now, his place out in the fields was taken by Fang, who showed more enthusiasm than skill.
Spud barked and nuzzled into Adrian’s hand and, as he gazed down at the old dog, Adrian’s mind drifted back to what Harry had said. The secret truth was, he did get fed up rattling around the sprawling farmhouse on his own yet owning up to that felt like a failure. His brows contracted into a tight frown, because it had never meant to be just him here, night after night. Yet, that’s what it was.
Perhaps he should go in on Friday. Show his face, have a couple of pints. Do something other than work and sleep. Or not.
He glanced at the clock, and pushed himself up from the table. There was a lot to do before the day was out, just like there would be tomorrow, and the day after. Banging the back door closed harder than he’d intended, he made his way towards one of the fields, pushing Harry’s words aside.
CHAPTERTWO
Raucous laughter and the babble of voices hit him as soon as he pushed open the door. Adrian hesitated on the threshold of The Fisherman’s Arms. The pub was packed, and he fought the urge to turn round and walk away, but Harry’s words had hounded him until, grabbing his keys, he’d jumped into his battered Land Rover and made the twisting, turning journey into Love’s Harbour. Flexing his shoulders, Adrian pushed his way through the crush towards the bar.
“Adrian! Haven’t seen you here for pie night before.” Across the bar, Ryan, the young publican, grinned at him. “Pint of Badgers?” Before Adrian could answer, Ryan was already pulling the pint, the dark ale filling the glass. “What time did you book for?” Ryan pulled out a large book from beneath the bar, and ran his fingers down the page.
“Booked? No, I’ve not…” Adrian’s voice trailed off as he looked around him. There wasn’t a spare seat in the place. His big night out would be nothing more than a quick pint.
“Hmmm… We’re really busy, but if you’re on your own, I might be able to fit you in. You’re not with anybody, are you?” Ryan looked up from the page, his brows raised in question.
Adrian cleared his throat. “No, it’s just me.”
Ryan returned his attention to the page. “In that case, I think I can?—”
Adrian winced at the loud, braying laughter from the group standing next to him. “No, don’t worry about it. I should have?—”
“Bill on table four’s just about to leave. I can fit you in there if you like?” Ryan nodded towards a small tucked away table on the far side of the pub, near the toilets. An old man, whom Adrian recognised as one of the local farmers, swallowed back the last of his pint and pushed himself up on short, bandy legs.
A table for one, shoved in a corner and next to the gents’ toilet. A moment’s gloom settled over Adrian. Would he be like the weathered old farmer in a few years, alone in a corner?
“Adrian?”
Adrian dragged his gaze back to Ryan, who held a pencil aloft over the notebook. “We’ve got…” Ryan reeled off a list of pies, all with chips and peas. Adrian made his choice, the last one he heard, and Ryan nodded.
“Give me a mo, and I’ll get the table sorted. Best to book next time, though.” Ryan laughed and gave him a quick wink before he disappeared out from behind the bar.
A couple of minutes later, Adrian settled himself at the small table. Although in a corner, it commanded a good view out across the pub. The Badger’s, short for Badger’s Arse ale, began to relax him, as the muscles in his neck and shoulders softened. The noisy pub, which at first had been deafening, had smoothed out to a good natured background hum.
He recognised several of the other customers, some the owners of local businesses he supplied with veg, along with his regulars at the weekly market. A good number were the newcomers who’d made Love’s Harbour their home in recent years.
The village, which had been a dull backwater when he’d been growing up, and one of many rural communities struggling to survive, had by some miracle reversed its fate. Tatty fishermen’s cottages were now bijoux harbour front residences. Where uninspiring shops selling uninspiring goods had stood, there were now good restaurants, cafés, and a couple of upmarket delis most of which, like the pub, were his customers. There was even an art gallery and a shop selling Wicca friendly bath products and healing crystals. His lips twitched a smile. Increased prosperity had its downside.
“Adrian, my love. It’s good to see you here.”
