Page 27 of Trying Sophie

“I want to know how much you’re really spending each month to run the pub against how much you actually bring in. You told me before, but I’ve learned you left some things out. Like the fact that you sometimes offer temporary employment to people off the books. I want to see if there’s somewhere you can cut spending or raise prices to offset those costs.”

He grumbled under his breath about females that were too smart and demanding for their own good before standing and making his way from the room.

“Come on with you then,” he said, crossing into the hallway that led to his disheveled office.

For the next two hours he showed me the books and described the relationships he had with suppliers, going over what a regular month looked like versus a busy one—or worse, a slow one. One of the things I found most surprising was the pub didn’t bring in a ton of revenue during the summer months and he explained it was because people wanted to be outdoors with their friends and family instead of in a dark pub with low ceilings. Not surprisingly, their best business occurred during autumn and winter when customers came in to warm themselves by the pub’s turf fires while they listened to a featured musician or watched a match on the big screen TV.

“Have you ever thought about using some of the space out back to put in a beer garden?” I queried some time later. “With the right atmosphere, you could get people to spend their money here instead of buying alcohol and drinking at home. And what about having some live musicians play outside too?”

“There’s probably zoning codes prohibiting that sort of thing,” my grandma interjected as she breezed past with a bottle of furniture polish in one hand and an old, soft rag in the other. “And besides, the neighbors would hate it.”

I closed my notebook and set the pen I’d been using to jot down notes on top of it. I refused to be stonewalled again by more excuses.

To the right of the pub was a small clothing store that, to my eye, had been shut more than it’d been open. And to the left was a dentist’s office that closed promptly at 3 p.m. Monday through Thursday and didn’t open at all on Fridays or the weekends.

“I’m pretty sure the dentist won’t care since he’s gone before 4 p.m., but the clothing store is a wild card. What other neighbors do you think would object?”

My grandma pulled a chair from the corner and plopped down. “Well, the bank won’t want music blaring at all hours either, that’s for sure.”

“The bank that’s closed by 5 p.m. and not open on weekends?”

I was pretty sure the bank wouldn’t be a problem.

“Well, you might have a point,” she conceded.

“There’s still gotta be some rules about noise or something,” my grandpa said, not warming to the idea. “And besides, we don’t have space for it.”

He was wrong. I’d spent enough time drinking in bars across the globe to see how easily it would be to set up. I envisioned the space out back and how it could work. We had a wide, flat gravel lot, there were no trees to work around, and best of all, it had direct access into the pub from rear double doors. Unfortunately, it wasn’t only a matter of a build out. In order to make the space inviting, we’d have to paint the entire exterior of the building as well and invest in some easy maintenance landscaping and sturdy patio furniture.

“Not to mention the money,” he added.

There, he wasn’t wrong. They didn’t have any spare cash to invest in improvements right now, but I hoped that wouldn’t always be the case. Maybe after we’d poured over the books with a fine-toothed comb we could free up some money to put back into the place.

Despite some roadblocks, I wasn’t ready for them to write the idea off. I knew it had merit, I just had to find a way to piece it all together, and then present a cohesive plan to drive additional revenue without eating into what cash they managed to save in the meantime.

Thank god I had a degree in business. I couldn’t imagine trying to help them if I didn’t.

“If I do the research and determine there’s a way to make it work, will you at least consider it?”

I looked to both my grandma and grandpa. The pub was his pride and joy, but word had gotten back to me that it was my grandma who’d been the one running the place for the last several months. She deserved to have as much a say in its future.

They shared a long, speaking glance, during which I realized they were having a whole conversation I wasn’t privy to.

That’s what you get after fifty years of marriage, I thought, as I watched the silent exchange take place.

It couldn’t have lasted more than 20 seconds but it seemed like much longer from where I was sitting, an outsider to their easy intimacy.

“I tell you what Sophie. We’ll consider your idea, but not yet. It’s not the right time.”

My shoulders slumped in defeat. Short of me investing my meager nest egg, I was out of ideas on how to get our hands on the cash they needed to bring Fitzgerald’s back to its former glory and a viable business once more. My grandparents couldn’t run the place forever, and if we were going to sell it—which I thought would be the eventual outcome—I wanted them to get top dollar. To do that, we needed to turn it into a property investors coveted. As I looked down at the paperwork spread out in front of me, I was stumped on how to achieve that goal.

“Alright then.” I stood and gathered my notes. “Keep me updated,” I added, resigning myself to their wishes.

Disappointed, I ventured back to my room and splayed out on my bed while mentally reviewing the notes I’d jotted down. I didn’t know what I expected to uncover that I might have missed the other 3012 times I’d gone over the situation, but I was desperate.

Not to mention despondent.

It was a Friday night and rather than going out like I used to, I was holed up inside my childhood bedroom. It was like 1999 again, except unlike Prince—may god rest his fabulous, bitchy soul—I was not partying.

Nor did I foresee many parties in my immediate future.

Grabbing my phone, I checked to see if I had any new messages to distract me from my malaise. A few junk emails, but nothing worth reading. As I scrolled through various newsletters, my mind wandered to Declan and I wondered what he was up to and whether or not I’d hear from him again any time soon. He’d told me I could call him to chat, but I didn’t feel comfortable doing that. Not yet.

I might not be ready for much where he was concerned, but I could use some cheering up and his texts had made me laugh. I could use a whole lot of that right about now.

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