‘I think your mum . . .’
‘Has the right idea,’ Hope laughed. ‘I know. I’m just excited to get going, that’s all.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ I laughed back, ‘they sound delicious.’
‘Wait till you’ve tasted the coconut one I’ve been working on.’
‘Oh my,’ I drawled. ‘You’ll be creating a buzz in no time and once you’ve decided on your line, you’ll be able to sell them at local food fairs.’
‘That’s a great idea.’
‘I’d definitely focus on getting yourself a local reputation before you launch online,’ I mused, my marketing head already imagining the look of the labelling and website. ‘Build slowly, but strongly.’
‘You’re right, Tess,’ Hope agreed. ‘No point trying to make a splash before I’ve made a ripple, is there?’
‘Exactly.’
‘So, you think it’s a good idea?’ she asked. ‘I know Mum does, but of course she’s biased.’
‘I think it’s a great idea,’ I told her, ‘and,’ I added thinking with a pang of the combined force of such a special mother and daughter, ‘if you follow your mum’s advice and build steadily, I think you’ll be sending off your first batch of Caribbean cookies before you know it.’
Hope looked very pleased.
‘Thanks, Tess,’ she said, giving my hand a squeeze. ‘Besides Mum and Sam, you’re the first person I’ve talked to about it. Your reaction really means a lot.’
I felt honoured that she trusted me enough to tell me about it.
‘Hope!’ Sophie called, ‘can you give me a hand, please?’
In the time we had been chatting, the pub had started to fill. No one looked too soaked, but it was obviously still raining and getting darker by the second. I helped Sam light the candles while everyone settled down to enjoy some fine food and, later, George’s tall tales.
I had just finished my bowl of curried veg and was mopping up with a hunk of crusty bread, when my chair was almost knocked out from beneath me and my lap was full of a familiar-looking Labrador.
‘Hello, you,’ I said, rubbing the top of the dog’s damp head before pushing him and his wet paws away.
‘Bloody hell, Bruce,’ said a breathless voice. ‘I said you could say hello, not leap all over her.’
I twisted round to find Joe standing behind me.
‘Still not dried out from Monday?’ I chuckled, taking in his damp hair and the rain flecked shoulders of his jacket.
‘Something like that,’ he nodded. ‘Have you finished eating?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘are you going to have something? It’s all absolutely delicious.’
‘No, I ate at home,’ he told me, ‘but I wouldn’t mind a pint of bitter. Would you like to join us in the snug? It’s a bit quieter in there.’
I still wasn’t sure I had forgiven him for forgetting me, but in the spirit of making an effort and banishing my low mood, I accepted his offer.
‘Love to,’ I smiled, as the pooch I now knew as Bruce nudged his way under the table, scouting for crumbs.
‘Will you keep an eye on him while I go to the bar?’ Joe asked.
I looked over and saw Sam frowning at the fuss being made because of the energetic hound. Bruce was nowhere near as calm as Skipper who generally just wandered in and made himself at home. That said, when I looked closer, I thought the expression on Sam’s face was directed more at Joe than his dog.
‘I’m not sure Bruce will behave for me,’ I said to Joe. ‘You go and find a seat and I’ll get this round in.’
Joe didn’t respond and when I looked up from checking I had enough cash, I found he was staring at Hope, who was now also behind the bar. I watched as Sam closed the gap between them and bent his head to whisper something in her ear. She gave Joe a fleeting glance, her eyes wide and full of surprise, and disappeared back into the kitchen.
‘Bloody hell,’ Joe groaned.
‘You all right?’ I asked.
All of the colour had drained from his face.
‘I’m okay,’ he nodded.
‘Do you know Hope?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘yeah, I know Hope.’
Bruce’s deep-chested bark suddenly rang out and he lunged towards the bar, cutting off my next question. Joe gave chase and quickly grabbed the dog by the collar and clipped his lead back on.
‘I thought it was you,’ said Sam, when Joe looked up.
‘Hello, Sam,’ said Joe. ‘Long time, no see.’
‘Yeah,’ said Sam, turning red. ‘It’s been a while.’
A few silent seconds ticked by and I realized that everyone had their eyes on the pair, their conversations were halted, drinks forgotten and breaths held.
‘Is it all right having the dog in here?’ Joe eventually asked.
‘As long as you keep it under control,’ answered Sam.
I had no idea what was going on, but you could have slashed through the tension with the bluntest knife.
‘I’ll get our drinks then, Joe, shall I?’ I suggested brightly, trying to break the spell before the relaxed ambience we had worked so hard to create was lost for good.
‘Sure,’ said Joe. ‘Thanks. I’ll have that pint of bitter.’
He turned and made for the snug.
‘Can you make that two pints, please?’ I asked Sam, as the noise level began to rise again.
His gaze was trained on Joe’s retreating back but eventually he nodded, grabbed two glasses and speedily filled them. He put far too much head on the first one and had to tip it out and start again. I might not have known him long, but I’d never seen him so ruffled.
‘So,’ he said, his voice husky and low, ‘How do you know Joe Upton?’
‘I don’t really,’ I shrugged. ‘We bumped into each other a couple of days ago while I was walking along the clifftops, and his dog just made a beeline for me again.’
‘And that warrants buying him a drink, does it?’
‘Was that Joe Upton I just saw you with, Tess?’ asked Mike the butcher before I could answer. ‘You want to watch yourself with him.’
‘That’ll do, Mike,’ Sam cut in gruffly.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked Mike, ignoring Sam.
‘He was a right tearaway back in the day,’ Mike carried on. ‘Always stirring up trouble when he was a lad.’
‘Well, he’s not a lad anymore, is he?’ said Sam, sounding cross. ‘So stop bloody gossiping.’
Mike slipped away and I picked up the glasses.
‘Thanks for these,’ I said to Sam.
By the time I found Joe in the snug, there was no time to ask him anything other than how his week had been before George took to the floor and quickly set about thrilling and terrifying us all in equal measure. I was desperate to find out the history between Sam, Joe and Hope but, for the present, I had to be satisfied with hearing about Wynmouth’s history.
My favourite tale from the evening explained why the young sailor was painted on the village sign. Apparently, the lad had been in love with a girl from the village but her father wouldn’t allow the match. Heartbroken, the lad had signed up to crew on a ship heading for the Caribbean. If he couldn’t marry his life’s love, then he wanted to be as far away as possible.