Page 6 of Putting Down Roots

“Ben. Ben, you get in here now.”

Ben, the man from the previous day, appears a few seconds later, wiping his hands on a cloth. He glances at the man and then he sees me and smiles. “Ah Mr Blake, back again.”

“This young laddie here has been asking for yer cupcakes.” Ben’s smile widens. “What have I told you about giving away cupcakes to handsome guys?”

“Well, we’d run out of most things yesterday and he looked like he needed it.”

The man turns back to me with his eyes twinkling. “That’s how he got me, you know, though I think it was a yellow one with a star on it. I said I’d try anything once, though that wasn’t all I tried, eh?” The man guffaws at his own joke.

“Though once wasn’t enough.” I must have looked perplexed as he continues. “I wasn’t this size when I met him.” He pats his ample stomach complacently. “For the other, I had to marryhim.” He guffaws again and sticks out a huge hand. “Keith McCullen. Welcome to Larchdown.”

“Jackson Blake.” I shake his hand.

“You stopping long?”

“A few days. I’m waiting for my van to be mended.”

“So you won’t be at the fete next week?”

“Fete?”

“We always have a village fete on May Day bank holiday. Call it May Day, Beltane, whatever yer celebrate. But we always have a good time on yon village green. There’ll be more cupcakes,” he promises, and laughs as he hands me my pasty and cake box.

“Maybe I will.” I don’t know how else to answer. I’m a little overwhelmed by Keith, but he seems good natured enough. A fete. Well, I’ll be gone by then, but I haven’t been to anything like that in years. Another mark on the quaintness-of-Larchdown tally I’m keeping.

“On the house.”Darla gains my attention by plonking a pint down on the bar in front of me. Until then I’d been reading a book, comfortably sitting on a bar stool and leaning against a wall at the end of the bar. It’s Saturday night. It had been quite busy earlier, with several villagers coming in for something to eat and to have a few drinks. But it’s starting to empty as it’s getting late. Darla’s assistant, Olivia, is clearing glasses and plates from the tables.

“Thank you.” I look up from my book.

Darla wipes the bar in true barman fashion.

“What’s your story then?” She tries to sound casual.

Ah! No such thing as a free pint, then.I regard her and she looks determined, probably from many years of gaining information from people. I often wonder if that’s why people own pubs—they want to know things about other people. I’m not so easily fooled.

“What’s your story?”

“Not gonna be that easy then, huh?” Her mouth quirks. “Okay, my parents owned the pub. I lost my mum a long time ago. I ran it with my father until he died ten years ago, now it’s mine. Your turn.”

“No significant other?”

“Why are you doing this the hard way? You should know the time-honoured tradition of the drink-information exchange. I should take that pint back.” In response, I pick it up and take a mouthful. As I put it down, I raise an eyebrow and give her my best “patiently waiting” face.

She sighs, “Fine, no, there was once, a long time ago. Emily.” She gives a part amused, part resigned huff. “She wanted to travel the world. Part of me wanted to go with her, but I couldn’t leave my father to run this place alone.”

“You run it alone?” I’m good at stating the obvious, but it’s a poor excuse and there’s more she isn’t saying. I rarely get involved in other people’s business, but I’m now curious and, well, she started it. My comment gets a sharp look, and she looks like she’s going to say something, but bites her lip instead for a few seconds before replying.

“I guess I’m just a stay at home kinda gal.” She tries to give a nonchalant shrug, but there is definitely something else there.Pain and regret flashes in her eyes before she straightens up and gives me a brilliant smile. “Now I have my boys to look after.”

Boys?She swings her head to gaze round the pub. There are a few men left in the pub, mostly in twos . . . twos, as in couples. Oh. I met Ben and Keith, but it seems like they aren’t the exception.

“What about the girls?” Surely there are women in Larchdown? I’m sure I saw some.

Darla laughs deeply. “Oh, they can take care of themselves.”

Now I’m really curious. “Is everyone in Larchdown, um, gay?”

Another laugh.

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