Page 16 of A Perfect Devon Pub
Eight
In front of her, the kitchen swam. Fiona staggered and clutched at the serving counter.
‘Fi,’ he whispered.
Her eyes darted round the room, checking for George. They were alone. ‘What are you doing here?’ she hissed.
‘What do you think?’
She heard whistling, then Josh ambled in, grinning. ‘Fiona, meet the hero of the night.’
‘It’s a team effort, Josh,’ said Ru.
As Fiona turned and stumbled from the room, tears coursing over her face, she could hear Ru still talking. In the staffroom, she yanked her bag and jacket off the hook and fled up the cobbled main street. Halfway through Brambleton she flopped onto a bench and stared out to where lights from the night fishing boats twinkled and sparkled on the inky black sea. What was she going to do now? There was only one reason Ru was here – he hadn’t listened to her. He was here to change Fiona’s mind.
Succumbing to the hollow emptiness piercing her chest might have been tempting, but it would result in facing new, and worse, heartbreak when he inevitably found someone else who was a better match. How could she distance herself, give herself time to fall out of love with him? Should she tell Rose that Ru was her ex?
That wouldn’t work. Asking Rose to choose between Ruben,the celebrity chef, and Fiona, the nobody, was a sure route to her losing her own job. What if Fiona went back to London? But if she did that, Ru would come after her. Maybe she should go travelling, work her way round Europe from one restaurant to the other. Except now it was autumn, seasonal hires would be thin on the ground, and anyway, her precarious finances wouldn’t stretch to buying tickets for travel.
With a heavy heart, she knew what she must do. Stay in Brambleton until her exam. With luck, there would be another sitting soon. All she had to do was keep her job in the pub, throw herself into her studies and smother her love for Ru.
On Saturday morning she awoke full of resolve. She forced herself out of bed and into the shower, then settled herself back on her bed, immersed in the wine world. She was researching a topic close to her heart – the shift towards more eco-friendly practices. She admired those wineries reducing their carbon footprint through organic and biodynamic farming. While organic farming simply avoided chemicals, biodynamic practices ventured into more peculiar territory – burying cow horns filled with manure during specific lunar phases, fermenting yarrow in stag bladders, and spraying vineyards with the burned ashes of the very pests they were trying to eliminate. These medieval sounding rituals followed astronomical calendars and cosmic rhythms. Amusing as these methods seemed, prestigious winemakers swore they produced more vibrant wines with superior terroir expression. Nestled cosily under one of Ivy’s many crocheted blankets, she lost herself in her other world, blotting out all thoughts of who would be waiting for her at the pub.
Shortly before eleven, Fiona walked into Brambleton. From here the distant sea looked like a tranquil blue quilt, its surface sparkling with the sun’s reflection. All around her, treeswere turning colour: an array of soft fawns, yellows and reds, smudged with the occasional dark evergreen. Devon was in the throes of an Indian summer, and the warmth of the sun was a cruel reminder of the holiday she should have spent wrapped in Ru’s arms. She understood why he’d followed her. It was a knee-jerk reaction from a supremely confident man focused on his goals – Ru never took no as the definitive answer from anyone.
For most people, having a marriage proposal rejected would extinguish the love flame like a bucket of cold water, but with Ru, it was more akin to pouring petrol on that fire. He would view this as a challenge. She must do everything to prove to him it was a hopeless case.
She passed Brambleton’s café cum bookshop, Prosecco & Prose. Outside on the terrace were groups of tourists wearing T-shirts and shorts, many with dogs at their feet. A peal of laughter rang out, at odds with her own mood. Fiona had a sudden thought and retraced her steps. As she pushed open the door, a bell tinkled, and the warm smell of coffee and baking pastry enveloped her. Trish, the owner, stood behind the serving counter. Fiona and Trish had become friendly through Ivy. Trish was slim, with an athletic build and dark eyes that today were uncomfortably similar to those of the man Fiona was trying to forget.
‘Hi, Fiona, what can I get you?’ asked Trish.
‘A job?’
‘I thought you were helping Rose. Is that not working out? It’s the end of the season, so I’m not sure I’ve anything to offer.’
‘Forget it, it was a long shot. Please don’t tell Rose I asked ...’ she took a breath, Trish would soon find out anyway, ‘My ex, Ruben has started working in the pub.’
‘Ruben?’ laughed Trish, ‘Cooking in Brambleton? Wow! Think I might book a table.’
Fiona dipped her head, feeling herself well up.
‘Sorry, I was being flippant,’ said Trish, her voice oozing sympathy. ‘Poor you. You’re not ready for this, are you?’
That was an understatement. She swallowed. ‘I just ... I needed to get away from him. Get some headspace.’
‘It must be hard. I’ve no idea what you’re going through, but if you want to talk, I’m here for you.’
‘Thanks,’ muttered Fiona, knowing she wouldn’t take up the offer. Talking to anyone but Ru was pointless, and she wasn’t ready for that conversation yet.
Before turning down the alleyway, she paused. Seagulls wheeled and called above the harbour wall, swooping to ferret among discarded lobster pots and fishing nets tangled on the walkway, no doubt tempted by the fishy smell. Ru, like those birds, was seeking something lost, but this was Fiona’s doing. By blocking his number, she had pulled him to Devon like a ship drawn to a harbour’s guiding lighthouse.
Fiona glanced one last time at the sunlit beach, gentle waves washing the sand. A couple stood hand in hand with the sea lapping over their feet. While she watched, they embraced, intertwining their arms, and kissed. Fiona let out a soft whimper and fled down the alleyway, tears pouring down her cheeks.
Rounding the corner, she heard laughter, stopped and sniffed her tears to a stop.
‘Hey, Fiona,’ hollered Josh, ‘come join us!’
Beside Josh, looking achingly attractive in his white chef’s jacket, Ru lounged against the back door. Fiona scrubbed at her eyes, hoping they weren’t swollen and red.
