Page 12 of A Perfect Devon Pub
The door shut. As Fiona picked up her book, she rearranged the pillow behind her and, feeling something beneath the linen, pulled it out. It was the folded wad of money, left discreetly as if by an overly generous tooth fairy.
On the first Tuesday in September, Fiona woke to the sound of laughter. A car horn honked. She heard the high-pitched shrieks of excited children and sat up to yank back the curtain. Across the road youngsters were hurtling round the primary school playground, buzzing with energy like popcorn in a hot saucepan.
With a heavy heart, she watched. After she passed her exams, her next dream involved raising a family – two or three kids, not a single child, like she had been. She sighed. Now that she had split up with Ru, would that ever happen for her? He would have been such a good father; he was always so patient with his team. But how would those children have fared in a family where one parent was the star, and the other was just the also-ran? It wouldn’t have been a good example to set and would probably have ended in divorce when Ru realized Fiona wasn’t good enough and found someone who was.
Her eyes fell on the stack of study flashcards she’d ordered online. She reached for one and cuddled it against her chest. She was creating a rock-solid foundation for her future: a proper qualification which would command the sort of salary that enabled her to repay her debts and finance a stable life. By then, she should be over Ru and could start to look for love again.
As always, Fiona arrived early for lunch service. Anothermotorcycle courier was accelerating away, leaving George looking like he needed a decent night’s sleep.
‘Good afternoon, George,’ she called.
He looked up, a startled expression on his face. ‘Is it?’ he muttered, scrambling up the steps looking like a man dodging deadlines that were in hot pursuit.Poor manthought Fiona.George clearly didn’t deal with stress as well as Ru.
Rose was behind reception as George trudged past her.
‘Cheer up, Grumpy. The cavalry is in sight!’ Rose said breezily, ‘Mum’s coming in to help, and there are a few replies to the advert,’ – her tone became resigned – ‘though I’ve no idea when I’ll get a chance to look at those with the kids’ homework to supervise.’
Having overseen recruitment for the restaurant, Fiona knew how important a speedy response was to securing talent. And that was in London, let alone a rural position. She could spare an afternoon away from her studies to be with two children as endearing as Becky and Timmy. ‘I could stay and supervise homework so you can crack on.’
‘Really?’ said Rose. ‘That would be great. I don’t know how I managed without you.’
Fiona felt the stirrings of pride, delighted to be needed again.
It was another busy lunch service and in the warm kitchen there was a powerful aroma of rosemary and seared lamb that mingled with a sharper scent. Fiona tracked that down to an oven tray George was deglazing, creating a sharp, vibrant smell from the acidity and alcohol of wine evaporating quickly in the hot pan. Next to him was a woman who introduced herself as Pat. She was the same size and shape as Rose and spoke with an equally strong south-London accent. Pat was chopping vegetables, the knife jerky and clumsy in her hands.
Fiona caught sight of Josh across the kitchen, his head downover a stack of dishes, whistling a cheery tune that cut through the noise.
‘Fiona!’ Josh’s voice was bright. He glanced her way, eyes sparkling beneath the sweat beading on his forehead. ‘Had any thoughts about wine lessons?’ She couldn’t ignore her studies, but something about Josh’s enthusiasm – so fresh, so eager – nudged her to carve out time. She would plan each lesson – she didn’t want to overwhelm him. Anyway, wasn’t teaching one of the best ways to learn?
Through the clatter and steam, she realized thinking about teaching Josh was giving her a surprisingly warm sensation that had been distinctly lacking these last weeks. Although he was younger than her, there was a cockiness to his presence she found herself drawn to, something almost dangerous amid the humdrum of her life.
‘Service!’ boomed George. Two plates clinked against the metal serving counter. Fiona picked them up glancing at the order slip to check the table number. As she turned back to the dining room, her pulse quickened slightly. Maybe this would be more than just a lesson in wine.
Rose and George lived in a low-ceilinged flat tucked away in the pub’s attic. Later that afternoon, in the flat’s surprisingly spacious reception room, Becky and Timmy sat cross-legged on the floor with sketchpads in their laps. Fiona moved between them on all fours, dipping her face close to each child in turn. Becky’s task was to draw a picture of her favourite animal, but she couldn’t decide between an elephant and a dog. Knowing the child would have to write the name of the animal on the picture, Fiona was promoting the merits of the dog. Timmy’s homework was to sketch a simple map of his neighbourhood and label important landmarks like the shops, the park or a friend’s house. The top half of the boy’s paper was hatched in blue crayon, thewords ‘Timmy’s Sea’ written in shaky misshapen letters.
In a corner, George sat at a desk scribbling, sighing and scratching his head. ‘Daddy,’ whined Timmy.
Fiona leaned across to the boy. ‘Ask me, Timmy, your daddy’s busy.’
‘I want to ask Daddy.’
‘Shush! I need to concentrate,’ groaned George.
Rose dashed in waving a piece of paper and rushed over to her husband, ‘George,’ she whispered. And thrust the page at him.
‘Not now,’ he moaned.
The page rustled. ‘George, look at this. Now.’
Sighing, he took the paper off her. Rose snatched up a pen from his desk. ‘Mind if I borrow this? I’ve lost mine.’
Fiona removed the blue crayon from Timmy’s grip and replaced it with a brown one. ‘Why not draw the road up to the school? Then you could draw in where you live and maybe show where your grandparents live too?’ she suggested.
Fiona switched her attention to Becky, who was drawing a stick dog, but this one had a trunk instead of a snout. ‘What are you drawing there?’
‘It’s anele-dog,’ announced Becky.Hmmm, thought Fiona. How was she going to untangle this one without a tantrum?
George handed the paper back to his wife. ‘Is this the best candidate?’ moaned George, ‘I’m grateful for Pat’s help, but she takes five minutes to chop an onion.’
