‘Well I might be able to help you with that if you like,’ he says. ‘I work in marketing.’ He shrugs as if to say it’s no big deal, that it’s easy to get new followers, even though I’ve been trying for a nearly a year.
‘And what marketing business are you in Sanderson Bay on?’ I ask. It’s meant to sound light, amusing but I hear it more like an inquisition and I don’t mean it to be like that at all.
‘I’m sorry,’ I mumble before he has a chance to answer. ‘That’s none of my business. I’m really grateful for your kind offer but I totally understand if you’re too busy.’
He sinks his hands into his coat pockets and looks at his feet. ‘I may not have been entirely honest about my reasons for being here,’ he says. It sounds as though he is going to make some great revelation. ‘I’m just taking a bit of a break to be honest so I don’t have much to do.’
‘Any social media help you can give would be hugely appreciated,’ I say. ‘I don’t think I’m very good at it.’
He smiles and it doesn’t seem reluctant or embarrassed or smug this time, but it does make my stomach turn over.
After Ben has left I check my phone and see a text from Sascha: Ben is up early and on his way to you! Tell me everything! He’s even better-looking in the light of day!
Sascha is a fan of the exclamation mark, but I can’t deny the truth in her text. He is even better-looking in the light of day, but however good-looking he is and however that genuine smile made me feel, I know he’s hiding something with his “here on business/taking a break” excuse. And later, when I see him deep in conversation with Eric Andrews, owner of the Sanderson Bay Model Village, I’m even more sure that he knows more about this town than he’s letting on.
And it’s only then that I remember I’d never asked him how he knew my name.
4
Thursday night is Pilates night in the café. This was the one night I wasn’t sure would take off. When Seren, the Pilates teacher, first approached me about it I wasn’t convinced, but over the last six months the class has grown from three of us – me, Sascha and Lisa – to at least ten every week. Bessie even came once, although we couldn’t convert her, and Miranda comes every week and Seren gives her special modifications for her arthritis.
I only started going because I wanted the class to be a success but now I notice that if I don’t go I really miss it. Joseph Pilates apparently said that “a man is as old as his spinal column” and although after a long day in the café my spinal column feels as though it belongs to an eighty-year-old, Joseph also said that “physical fitness is the prerequisite for happiness”, so I continue to persist in my efforts, inelegant as they are.
It’s a quick turnaround after Pilates to get to The Black Horse in time for the weekly pub quiz. Every week I try to persuade Lisa to join us but every week she refuses.
‘I’m asleep on my feet, El,’ she says. ‘Maybe next week.’ But every week she’s too tired and sometimes I wonder what her life must be like, whether she’s lonely, whether she ever gets sick of the long commute and the high-stress job. I tell myself that I need to get to know her better but somehow every week runs away with me and I forget and suddenly it will be Thursday again and she’ll be telling me that she’s too tired to come to the pub and it starts all over again.
Sascha, Geoff, Miranda and I, collectively known as The Teacups for pub quiz purposes, are determined to beat Clara’s team before the end of the year so we can’t afford to miss a week.
My aunt and uncle have lived in Sanderson Bay for fourteen years and in that time I’ve watched it change from a sleepy seaside town to the hip and trendy staycation location it’s become today. I spent most of my school holidays here, unless my parents summoned me back to France, and it’s always felt like a second home. The Black Horse is the pub in which James and Miranda bought me my first legal drink (there were several illegal ones before that at boarding school but we don’t need to go into those now), and until a few years ago it was one of those very traditional, rather run-down British pubs with horse brasses on the wall, Anaglypta wallpaper stained yellow from years of cigarette smoke and a carpet that had seen much better days. The summer after Karol Bergenstein’s much photographed visit, Terry decided to have the pub done out and it now boasts solid pine tables, perfectly white walls and every sort of coffee and cocktail under the sun.
As usual we’re the last to arrive and Terry already has four ploughman’s baguettes waiting for us. We settle down to eat and get ready for the quiz as Terry does his usual introductions.
‘Welcome everyone to the Sanderson Bay pub quiz,’ he drawls as though there’s anybody here who isn’t aware that it’s quiz night. ‘Tonight I will be asking some of the toughest quiz questions on the planet and the winning team will get a bottle of champagne.’ He announces it as though we’re about to win a Rolls-Royce, but we all know it’s just cheap prosecco and technically Terry could be done under the Trade Descriptions Act. The prize isn’t the reason the pub is so full. The Teacups aren’t the only team desperate to beat Clara’s Brainboxes.
Just as we’re about to begin the pub door swings open and Ben walks in. It’s an unfortunate moment for him to arrive because we’re all waiting with bated breath for the first quiz question and for once the pub is almost completely silent. Everyone turns to look at him and we’re really not the sort of town that stares at strangers in the pub. We like to make them feel welcome – a lot of our livelihoods depend on holidaymakers and passing trade after all. We are not making the best impression on Ben Lawson.
Eric raises a hand in greeting and Ben goes over to talk to him as the pub falls back into gentle conversation.
‘How does Ben know Eric?’ I whisper to Sascha. ‘I saw them talking the other day too.’
She shrugs. ‘No idea.’
Terry starts his tedious introduction to the pub quiz again as though we’re all goldfish and have forgotten in seconds why we’re here.
‘Get on with it,’ someone shouts.
Ben goes to the bar to get a pint and as he’s being served Terry asks him, over the microphone, what his name is and why he’s here.
‘Um, I’m Ben,’ he says hesitantly very aware of all eyes on him. ‘And I’m staying at Geoff and Sascha’s hotel.’
‘Are you joining a team?’ Terry asks.
Ben looks around at us all and it seems to finally dawn on him that it’s quiz night. He catches my eye and I beckon him over.
‘Join us,’ I say. ‘We need all the help we can get. Are you any good at sport or politics?’ The Teacups are excellent at music, TV, books and popular culture but ask us a question about cricket or who the foreign secretary was in 1987 and we fall apart.
Ben takes a long gulp of his pint and walks over to our table, sitting down next to Miranda.
‘OK,’ he says cracking his knuckles. ‘Let’s do this.’
The pub is suddenly in uproar, complaining about this sudden new arrival.
‘How do we know he’s not a plant?’ someone shouts. ‘Here to let Ellie’s team win?’