Sam and I had started working on a list of potential ideas straightaway and by the time the shops opened on Saturday morning I had added a few more. There were some things I knew he would never give the green light for, but I figured seeing the expression on his face when he read them would be great entertainment. For me, if no one else.
Wide awake as if my usual early alarm had called me and with Sophie’s welcome pack beginning to look a little depleted (which was a big surprise, given the amount it had included), I decided to walk to the shops and restock. I might have been keen to wind down and relax a bit, but my body clock was going to take considerably longer to reset.
I joined the queue in the fishmonger’s, craning my neck to get a look at what was on offer and feeling right at home among the other customers with the reusable shopping bag Sophie had left in the cottage tucked under my arm. It might not have been my usual shopping experience – a last-minute, end of the day rush around the Tesco Metro – but it felt good to be giving some thought to what I wanted to eat and plan out a meal or two, rather than grabbing whatever was closest and would be ready after two minutes in the microwave and by the time I’d uncorked a bottle of wine.
‘What can I get you?’ asked the woman behind the counter, when it was finally my turn to be served.
I seemed to have been waiting for ages. Everyone in front of me had taken so long, what with the chatting and catching up on each other’s news, but no one seemed to mind. There was no self-service aisle here and there were no impatient eye rolls or foot taps either.
‘These crabs,’ I said, pointing at one of the things on the ice bed that I could definitely identify. ‘Do I have to do anything with them before I eat them?’
‘No, my love,’ said the woman. ‘They’re dressed already, so they’re ready to eat. Lovely in a salad.’
They were also pretty good in Sophie’s curry I remembered.
‘I’ll have one of those then, please.’
The woman quickly wrapped it and put it on the counter and I looked at the rest of the array that was on offer. I wasn’t sure I wanted anything else, for a start I wouldn’t have a clue what to do with half it, but then I spotted the cockles tucked to one side.
‘And some cockles, please,’ I smiled, remembering how my parents used to recoil as I munched my way through them.
There was something moreish about that salty, slightly grainy texture that I had always found irresistible, especially when splashed with vinegar.
‘How many?’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I’m not sure.’
There were some old-fashioned pint glasses sitting next to them.
‘Half a pint?’ The woman suggested.
That sounded like quite a lot, but then I did like them.
‘Yes, please,’ I said, ‘and I better have a bottle of vinegar too.’ I added, having spotted the condiments on the shelf behind her.
‘Wonderful,’ she grinned. ‘You can’t beat them with a drop of vinegar.’
I fondly recalled the little polystyrene pots and wooden forks I used to spear them with and smiled back.
‘Are you here on your holidays?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I said, pulling out my purse. ‘I’m renting Crow’s Nest Cottage next to the pub.’
‘It’s a bit quiet around here,’ she said, ‘but ideal if you’re looking for a peaceful sort of getaway.’
‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘Although,’ I added, throwing caution to the wind, ‘according to the landlord at the Smuggler’s, it might not be all that quiet next weekend.’
‘Oh?’
‘Apparently, there’s going to be some sort of entertainment in the pub.’ I elaborated but didn’t go as far as to explain my involvement in it all.
The woman looked unsure.
‘Oh, I doubt that,’ she said.
‘That’s what he told me,’ I said.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive,’ I nodded.
‘And it was Sam you spoke to?’
‘That’s right,’ I confirmed. ‘The chap who owns the pub and cottage.’
‘The fella with the gorgeous green eyes?’ she questioned, just to be sure.
‘Oh yes,’ I said, sighing without meaning to, ‘that’s definitely him.’
‘Well, I never,’ said the lad who was serving next to her. ‘That’s a bit of a turn-up for the books, isn’t it, Mum?’
‘That it is,’ she frowned. ‘The Smuggler’s isn’t known around here for offering anything much beyond a decent pint and the board game club. Sam keeps himself to himself as a rule. Always says he’s got no interest in putting on anything extra.’
Given what Sam had told me, I knew the situation was more about finding the time to do things properly than guarding what little privacy his position afforded or lack of interest on his part. I wondered if everyone in the village had got the wrong end of the stick and, if so, why had he let them?
‘I wonder what it’s going to be?’ mused the lad. ‘It would great to have a night out in the village. It’s a drag having to drive further afield. It always means someone can’t have a drink . . .’
His excitement tailed off as his mum looked at him sharply, but she didn’t say anything. He hastily turned his attention back to the queue which now almost reached the door. I got the impression that he’d said something out of turn, but I wasn’t about to find out what.
‘So, you think it sounds like a good idea then?’ I asked them both. ‘You’d go, would you?’
‘Absolutely,’ said the lad. ‘And I wouldn’t be the only one. As I said before, a night out on our home turf would be great.’
I paid for my purchases and then moved on to the grocery store next door where I stocked up on fresh salad, local fruit and large speckled eggs laid by the shop owner’s very own hens. It was amazing to think that everything I had in my bag had been either caught, harvested or produced practically within walking distance from where I stood.
There were no plastic-wrapped beans or strawberries bearing the usual ‘produce of Kenya’ or ‘imported from Spain’ labels. Granted, the range of food on offer was a little limited and nowhere near as exotic as I would find in the supermarket, but it was incredibly fresh and I couldn’t wait to try it all.
Even the meat in the butcher’s was Norfolk born and bred.
‘So, you’re as keen as the chap in the fishmonger’s,’ I said, aiming for definite clarification as I added some sausages, bacon and chicken to my rapidly filling bag. ‘You think an evening of entertainment in the pub’s a good idea too?’
‘Absolutely,’ agreed the woman who served me. ‘People around here have been crying out for something. We all support the pub of course. It’s a great place to meet, but it would be even better if there was a reason to go there other than to have a drink or play Scrabble.’
I mulled over what everyone had told me as I walked back to the cottage, greedily picking at the cockles as I went. When I had broached the subject with the grocery store staff even a couple of the customers had joined in and they were all enthusiastic.
It was a shame that Sam hadn’t picked up on what the locals wanted or asked for some help before making a joke out of asking me. I was certain any number of the friendly locals I had encountered would have been more than happy to lend a hand and he could have had things up and running far sooner. There was certainly enough interest to make it worth his while and this weekend, if push came to shove, I could even get behind the bar myself. I might not have pulled a pint since my days working in the union bar at university but I was certain the knack would come back soon enough.