Page 7 of The Fete of Summer

“Apart from asking the Red Arrows for a flyby or petitioning Elon Musk to raffle a place on his next space mission, then no, not off the top of my head,” said Nathan.

Polly’s phone began vibrating and sliding across the tabletop. “Oh, shit, I forgot. Hang on a sec. I need to take this.”

When she wandered off, Nathan looked round his busy local. Built during the seventeenth century, the place had benefited from a scant few modernisations and paint jobs over the years. Most of the locals seated around the bar—all retired residents of Crumbington—he knew intimately. Lyn and Eric Pope. Married for fifty-three years. Two seeded sourdoughs, sometimes sliced, and assorted buns for Sunday afternoon tea. Eric Patel. Widower. Large unsliced whole wheat and six cinnamon buns. Molly and Minnie Webster. Sisters. Three baguettes, one bloomer and six crumpets. The list went on. Having Polly and Nathan there tonight decreased the average age by at least a decade. Nathan noticed Polly frowning at her phone before gently shaking her head and heading back to him.

“Voice message. My cousin telling me he’s just arrived. Dad’s brother’s kid. I wasn’t sure he was coming. He wassupposedto be here before our meeting, true to form. He asked if he could crash on my couch while he sorted himself out a place. Hopefully, no more than a week. Family can be a pain in the backside. Do you mind if he joins us? Otherwise I’ll need to head home and let him in.”

Nathan minded but said nothing. He rarely had a chance to have Polly to himself. When Mikey joined them he invariably monopolised the conversation, either wanting to talk about his kids, gripe about the national vegan conspiracy, or bemoan the hypermarket that had opened not far from the village which was hell-bent on closing down his butcher’s trade. Hopefully the cousin would be quiet and polite and not a conversation monopoliser.

“You never mentioned a cousin. How old is this kid if you’re bringing him to a pub?”

“A thirty-five-year-old child called Jaymes.” Polly spelt out the name for Nathan, adding a roll of her eyes. “Always getting me into trouble when we were young.”

“Why do I not find that hard to believe? Must be a family trait. What’s brought him here?”

“Something about a meeting in our neck of the woods. Too tedious to warrant my attention. Enough about him. Let me tell you about the drama that’s been going on at school.”

Polly began a long-winded tale about two teachers at her school who had been seen out and about, even though one was married. Nathan had barely been paying attention when, over her shoulder, a man strolled into the bar, someone not local—he could count Crumbington’s attractive men on one hand. Ruggedly good-looking, he gave off an outdoorsy vibe with his tanned face, windswept hair and solid build. Even from where they sat, Nathan could tell he was put together nicely beneath his brown leather pilot’s jacket and tight-fitting jeans, which were a little grubby in places. His dirty blond mane could also use a bit of tidying up, although the bed hair suited him. When his gaze swung around to take in Nathan, his eyes not only remained on him, but the handsome face creased into a broad smile, causing Nathan’s pulse to quicken and his cheeks to warm. Polly, noticing she had lost Nathan’s attention, twisted around in her seat just in time for the stranger to stride forward and haul her off the stool into a bear hug.

“Poll dancer. How have you been?”

“Put me down this instant, you ape.” Polly pushed herself out of his grasp and readjusted her clothes. Her teacher’s tone only made the man grin wider. “I’m not seven anymore, and you’re not eleven. Although, clearly, you’re happy to continue acting like a child.”

“Gonna buy me a drink, or what?” said the man, Jaymes, ignoring the reprimand. “Seeing as you kept me waiting in the cold.”

“You were supposed to be here over two hours ago.”

“Yeah, well. Snarl up on the M25.”

“For two hours. Rubbish. And if so, why didn’t you text?”

“Shall I get some drinks in?” asked Nathan, hopping off his barstool and stepping away from the table. “While you two fight in private.”

“Hold your horses.” Jaymes reached out and placed his hand on Nathan’s forearm. Even through his thick shirt, Nathan’s skin felt the strength of the firm touch. “Shouldn’t I be officially introduced to my little cousin’s boyfriend? Especially if he’s going to be nice enough to buy me a drink.”

“I’m not—” stuttered Nathan, horrified.

“We’re not—” said Polly at the same time, looking equally mortified.

A beat later, they turned to look at each other and burst into laughter.

“We’re friends from schooldays,” said Nathan.

“And he’s gay,” added Polly.

“Polly!” said Nathan, glaring at her.

Rather than being shocked, Jaymes burst into laughter. His laugh suited his personality. Loud, masculine, unsubtle, and more than a little infectious.

“Yeah, anyway,” began Nathan. “What would you like to—”

“Outed in public by your best friend. Priceless. I’ll have a Guinness, uh—?”

“Nathan. Nathan Fresher. Polly’s former friend. Nice to meet you, Jaymes with a Y.”

“Oh, so she’s already talked about me, has she? As I was about to say, I’ll have a pint of Guinness, Nate, mate.”

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant. Nobody ever abbreviated Nathan’s name, not even his father when he’d been alive. The only person who had ever been allowed to call him Nate had been Cliff—Clifton. After having a brief chitchat with the landlady and ordering, Nathan returned to the table with a tray of drinks.

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