‘Joint effort,’ I shrugged, picking up another poster, ‘you were the one with the best ideas and this is what you wanted, isn’t it? You said traditional, so that’s what you’ve got, along with a couple of extras.’
The weather forecast was looking good so I had also been able to plan a few things to happen in the beer garden which was just behind the pub.
‘I have no idea how you’ve managed to get this lot at these prices.’ Sam said, now looking at the handwritten fishmonger’s and butcher’s bills.
‘Like I’ve already mentioned, everyone was so keen for this to happen that they were happy to shave their profits. I daresay it will be a one-off though, so you need to make the most of it.’
Even though the budget Sam had given me was tight, I had managed to make it work without too much pleading. Such was their fondness for him, the business owners had been extraordinarily generous.
‘I’m going to have to find staff though,’ he frowned, chewing his lip. ‘If this is going to be as well attended as you’re suggesting, then I’ll need more hands to help out.’
‘Don’t worry about that either,’ I told him. ‘I’ve been inundated with offers and all on a voluntary basis.’
The butcher was going to set up his barbecue in the beer garden, which was also where a bar skittles tournament was going to be happening, and Sophie was going to make an >extra-special seafood chowder in the kitchen which would need nothing more than the occasional stir to keep it warm and ready to serve.
Sam was looking a little emotional by the time I had finished explaining how everyone had been so willing to help out.
‘I didn’t even have to ask,’ I told him, ‘everyone just offered to pitch in.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ he said huskily, for what must have been the hundredth time.
I had no idea why he was so surprised that everyone wanted to help. Not only were they in dire need of some pub fun, but they all felt a genuine affection for him and clearly wanted the event to succeed. It amazed me that Sam didn’t realize just how popular he was.
‘And this from George,’ he went on, ‘what a way to end the evening. I knew he was collecting local stories for a book he’s planning to write, but to have him sit and tell them will be wonderful. A real old-school tradition.’
George had come to the cottage on Sunday evening and explained that he had spent much of his time in Wynmouth collecting home-grown tales – legends, fables, ghost stories and the like – and that if I needed something to fill in any gaps on the schedule, then he would happily tell a few to anyone who would want to listen. Personally, I couldn’t think of a more atmospheric way to end the evening and had signed him up there and then.
‘So,’ I said, my eyes tracking back to Sam, ‘you’re happy with everything? No regrets about letting the latest Wynmouth arrival boss you about?’
Sam started to laugh.
‘More than happy,’ he said, ducking his head. ‘And I’m sorry if I came across as a bit judgemental about how you want to spend your holiday. I know myself how difficult it can be to switch off and you said yourself, you’re a workaholic so it must be even harder for you.’
Then was not the moment to explain that I had come to Wynmouth with more on my mind that simply switching off from work.
‘I just hope doing all this hasn’t taken up too much of your time,’ Sam added.
‘Not at all,’ I said, meaning every word. ‘I’ve really enjoyed it and if the evening is even half the success I imagine it’s going to be, then it will be a night to remember.’
Sam’s eyes scanned the poster again.
‘You’re not wrong,’ he agreed, his emotional moment now forgotten and his smile firmly back in place. ‘You know, I can’t believe that you’ve only been here a few days. It feels like so much longer to me. You seem so settled and at home.’
I felt my heart start to canter in my chest.
‘Well,’ I said, clearing my throat, ‘it’s impossible to feel anything but at home in Wynmouth, isn’t it?’
Chapter 8
That Saturday morning, I held my breath as I pulled back the curtains, but I needn’t have worried. The forecast had been right; the weather was looking cheerfully wonderful and I couldn’t wait for the day to get started.
Practically from the moment the posters had been put up around the village, Sam had been inundated with folk telling him how much they were looking forward to the evening. In fact, it had proved itself to be so eagerly anticipated that he had decided to kick everything off even earlier than we had initially arranged and that was why I was so relieved about the weather.
Wynmouth was, surprisingly, a hotbed of young musical talent and Sam had agreed to let two star turns sing in the beer garden during the afternoon. They were both solo artists so there was no complicated setting up or acoustic arrangements to worry about and their presence would warm the atmosphere up nicely for the main event in the evening. They were both happy to sing for nothing – aside from their supper – and said the experience and exposure would be wonderful as they were trying to get established locally.
‘How’s everything shaping up?’ I asked Sam, as I crossed the pub threshold extra early to help set up and run through the lists we had devised to ensure nothing was forgotten.
‘Very well,’ said Sam, puffing out his cheeks. ‘Running like clockwork so far.’
‘Well, you needn’t sound so surprised,’ I laughed.
His tone implied he couldn’t believe his luck.
‘This is, for the most part, a Tess Tyler production,’ I reminded him. ‘Everything will run like clockwork.’
‘Are you going to let me take the credit for anything?’
‘Only if something goes wrong,’ I said, with a grin. ‘Which it won’t, so . . . no.’
Sam stuck out his tongue and I laughed again. It might not have been what I had planned to do when I first booked my secret seaside escape, but I was thoroughly enjoying myself and having a lot of fun. Fun in my life had been rather thin on the ground of late, so it was very much appreciated, even if I was still, every now and again, having to force myself to stop thinking about family, phones and the fact that I’d run away.
‘Coming through,’ said a voice behind me, and I quickly moved out of the way. ‘I’ve got the surf here,’ said Toby, the lad from the fishmonger’s, ‘and Mike’s right behind me with the turf. Where do you want it all, Sam?’
I left the menfolk organizing the eats and mulling over the best spot in the garden for the barbecue – what was it with men, meat and fire? – and began clearing the area next to the fireplace where the Sea Dogs would be setting up. If the evening turned chilly, Sam had said he would light the fire, but I reckoned there were going to be so many bodies crammed into the place we wouldn’t need to worry about providing any extra warmth. Consequently, I dotted a few extra candles in jars around the hearth and redistributed the lanterns, both of which would provide a cosy atmosphere without throwing out too much heat when the light began to fade.
‘You were right about the fire,’ said Sam, once the doors were open and the place began to steadily fill ahead of the early musical performances. ‘If folk keep turning up at this rate, there won’t even be standing room by tonight.’