Page 52 of The Christmas Fayre on Holly Field

‘Who?’ Rowena asked.

‘I’ll tell you later,’ Betsan replied, tapping the side of her nose. Then she hissed, ‘Pen’s been blabbing.’

Suddenly, Owen knew who Betsan was referring to – or he hoped he did – and a warm feeling spread through his chest.

Trying not to give anything away, he carried on adding to his supplies. ‘Have you got any veg?’

‘Sorry, no. We can’t find a local supplier. You’ll have to go to the convenience store down the street – although their range isn’t particularly good. We’re continuing to look, though, so if you’re still here in a couple of weeks…’ Betsan shrugged.

Owen wandered over to the household section and examined the toothpaste tablets, wondering whether he should get some more, and as he stood there, trying to remember how many he had left, a thought came to him.

He had written several articles on zero-waste shops in the past, so he didn’t want to write another on the same topic, but this was a zero-waste shop with a difference. The co-operative angle was new, and one that many readers might find interesting as a way to keep small independent businesses alive. Combined with the backstory of the supermarket chain, it might make for a good article. It would also raise the profile of the shop, if Betsan and Rowena were interested.

‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘Can you tell me more about the co-operative side of your shop?’

‘What do you want to know?’ Rowena asked.

‘Everything.’

Owen paid for his pint and propped himself up at the bar. The pub had a fair number of customers, and he was slowly coming to realise that The Jolly Fox was never empty.

He had visited the establishment a few times since his initial Sunday lunch, usually in the evenings when he fancied some company, and it had always been busy. But this evening was busier than he had expected. There were some faces he recognised, Aled amongst them, but he had yet to see Harriet on any of his visits and he wondered whether she ever came in here.

With difficulty, he turned his thoughts away from Harriet and onto the article he had sent to an online magazine. It hadn’t taken him long to write – he’d emailed it the same day he’d interviewed Rowena. His contact there had been delighted with it, and he’d heard that it was going live tomorrow. Owen was also delighted because he had expected to have to send it to any number of publications before one of them bought it. The resultant fee would keep the wolf from his door for a while longer, and it was also why he was treating himself to a pint by way of celebration.

‘It’s quiz night,’ Dai told him. ‘If you don’t want to be roped into it, you’d best sit in the snug. I’ve got a nice fire going.’

‘I’m fine here, thanks,’ Owen said to the landlord. ‘I might grab a table, though.’

‘Better hurry, we’re about to start.’

No sooner had he sat down, than he was accosted by Pen and two more ladies, and his heart leapt. Maybe he would see Harriet after all.

‘Before you ask, Harriet won’t be joining us,’ Pen said.

‘I wasn’t going to,’ he replied. Which wasn’t an outright lie: he might have been hoping she would, but he hadn’t had any intention of asking.

‘Mind if we sit here?’ Pen didn’t wait for an answer, and he watched in bemusement as she pulled out a chair and plonked herself down on it. ‘This is Dee – she and her husband own the estate agent on the green – and this is Mrs Moxley. She helps out in the charity shop three days a week, and in Sero for one day. I’ve no idea what she does on the other days.’

‘I’ve been playing bowls with Bernie Williams,’ the elderly lady announced. ‘I beat him last week. Oh, and I get my hair done on one of the other days.’ She patted her lavender-tinted perm. ‘On Sundays, I go to Janet’s for my dinner. She’s my daughter.’

‘I see,’ he said, faintly.

‘Are you any good at pub quizzes?’ Mrs Moxley demanded.

‘I don’t know. I’ve never tried.’

The three women exchanged looks. ‘You have now,’ Pen said. ‘Right, ladies?’

‘It depends if he’s any good,’ Mrs Moxley retorted. ‘We don’t want him if he isn’t.’

Dee said, ‘What’s your general knowledge like? Are you any good at sport?’

‘Er, fine, I think. But I don’t follow sport much, sorry.’

‘That’s not a problem, because Mrs Moxley does. She’s brill at it. How about literature?’

‘OK, I guess.’

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