‘Didn’t see him. Why, who is it?’
Bea tuts and sighs at me. I’m so not good at this gossip stuff. ‘No idea.’ She sighs again.
‘What? So what are you fussing about, asking me to look?’
She rolls her eyes. ‘For that very reason.’ She smiles. ‘We’ve no idea who he is, or where he’s from. That’s the point.’
‘So?’ Confused, I am. Why do people always insist on talking around the point?
‘So? So, we know who everyone else is in here, at least this time of the year we do. Except him. No one’s seen him before.’ She nods back over at the now empty chair.
‘We?’ What’s the big deal? This is a locals’ pub, granted, but even so we do get unknown people in here; lots of them in season.
‘Oh, God, Eve, all of us in here, no one knows him. I’ve asked just about everyone; nobody knows who he is. Ted, Lizzie, Karl, Matt, Abi and Frank so far.’ She leans into me again, as if to reveal some dark secret. ‘Apparently, he first appeared last Monday night on Frank’s shift. Out of the blue. He came in, alone, ordered a drink at the bar, sat at a table for a couple of hours, alone.’ She pauses, then flashes her eyes over towards the bar, nodding in their direction. ‘They said he’s always dressed casually, but smart; usually in dark colours. Each time, he’s sat there, by the fire in the gallery room.’ It’s referred to as the gallery room as each and every inch of wall space between the oak beams reflects the work of local artists and photographers. I shrug at Bea; sometimes she can be so local. I let her ramble on for a little as she’s clearly enjoying herself and it’s a welcome distraction from where I need to be. Eventually, she comes to a stop and looks to me as if she’s just revealed some highly sensitive, shocking disclosure.
‘Really! I mean, how bizarre. Someone visiting a village public house, buying a drink, then sitting at the table by the fire on a cold evening. Not once, not twice, but possibly now for the third time. I see what you mean. Really, Bea.’ I laugh. ‘Come on, please.’ Then it occurs to me; why didn’t it before? Is this you? Have you been stalking my local pub, sussing out the area? Have I just been sitting with my back to you for the last twenty minutes, after all these years?
Bea leans in again, and whispers with a frown, ‘You’re doing that thing again.’
‘What’s that?’ I say as I begin to stand.
‘Firstly, behaving like a migrant from up-country,’ she pauses. ‘And, secondly, thinking you’re an expert on human behaviour.’ She winks at me. ‘I don’t care what you think. It’s odd.’
I press my face up against the window, but it’s too dark to see outside. ‘Am I?’ I say, sitting back down. I’m being ridiculous. It wouldn’t be you; drinking alone in a local pub would never be your thing.
‘Have I missed something?’ Ruan asks, gently placing our drinks down so as not to spill the precious contents.
‘No, you haven’t. Just Bea being Bea. Thinking she’s Sherlock Holmes. Searching for clues, then condemning and hanging poor unexpected tourists for daring to enter a bar without introducing themselves first.’
‘Oh, you mean that guy.’ Ruan turns to point. ‘Where’s he gone?’ He dramatically spins around.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, don’t you start, please. Sit down and let’s just have our drinks, shall we? You two are so blinking base sometimes.’ Ruan shrugs and takes a pew next to me, in a youngster way, perched on the edge of his seat. He takes an enormous slurp from his pint glass, moans out a sigh of relief before slumping back into his chair to outstretch his legs.
‘That’s better, I needed that,’ he informs us.
My throat feels constricted, despite my rationalising. Have you been trailing my local haunts, gathering information? Did you only leave, having noticed me?
‘What did you say he looked like?’
‘Who?’ Bea asks.
‘That guy, the one you were pointing out, speculating about. Describe him.’
Bea and Ruan exchange glances. ‘Only seen him from behind,’ said Ruan.
Bea tutted. ‘You’re useless,’ she tells him. ‘Like I said – good-looking, smart-casual, kind of elusive.’
My heart bounces up my body. I reach for my mobile; still no word from Jack. But then my signal here is so hit and miss.
‘I’m just going outside to try and catch a signal, call Jack. Be back in a minute,’ I tell them, and leave.
It’s pitch black. The light taken by stealth as the winter nights move in. Rendering me on edge, for things hiding, lurking in the shadows. Are the shadows watching me? Watching Jack? A twitchy feeling of being observed crawls over me like an old jumper. I jerk my thoughts away just in time to the purring tones of a 911 passing at speed, only to turn itself around in the car park across the way. I stand frozen as it faces back up the road, preparing to pass by again, away from the cove. I steel myself to gain a glimpse of the driver, stepping slightly back into the porchway so as not to be noticed, but as the car draws level a group of locals bumble and jostle their way in through the doorway, obscuring my viewing point. Then, it’s gone. Did the driver only come down here to turn around? It’s possible. Or did it come with purpose? At a guess I would say the former. It didn’t attempt to slow; it was leaving the village, not coming.
Jack’s face flashes into my mind, quickly I call his number again.
Thank God, it’s ringing. ‘Jack?’
‘Yeah, Mum. I’ve loads of missed calls. I told you I was at football tonight.’
‘I know, I was—’
‘Anyway, I’m here now, outside the gate, talk to you in a sec.’
‘No, wait. I’m not at home, Jack, I’m at The Wheal.’
‘Cool. Just presumed you were in, as the front-room light’s on.’
It can’t be. I’m sure as I can be I turned it off after I left, just an hour ago. I remember wishing halfway down the road I had left it on, for when Jack returned home.
‘Jack, stop. Don’t go in!’
‘What?’
‘Don’t go in the house.’
‘Why?’
I don’t want to panic him, but I’m still shaking from the sighting of the car, and something doesn’t feel right. ‘Come down and meet me, would you? I’ll not be too much longer here with Bea and Ruan, and I could do with the company to walk home after. I’ll come and meet you halfway now.’
‘But—’
‘Please?’
‘Okay, see you in a sec.’
I need to keep him on the phone. It will only take a few minutes for us to meet. ‘So how was football?’
‘Yeah. Good. What’s wrong? Why you being weird?’
‘I’m not. It’s called conversation.’
‘Yeah, but I’ll be with you in a sec. Something’s happened, hasn’t it? To do with him.’
We can’t be far away from each other now. ‘Not sure, Jack.’ He comes into sight and we both hang up.
As we meet, we turn around and start walking back to the pub together.
‘What’s happened? The truth, Mum?’
‘Did you see that car again, a few minutes ago?’
‘What car?’
‘The 911!’
‘No.’
How could he not have seen it? It must have passed him, either coming down or driving back up. ‘Are you sure? It must have passed you. How did you get home?’
‘A lift.’ He pauses. ‘Seb’s dad, like I told you earlier. He dropped me back.’
‘Did you? Well, I can’t believe you didn’t notice the 911.’
He shrugs. ‘Dunno. Maybe we passed it when I was changing my boots over to my astro’s – would have had my head down.’
‘You still would have heard it, surely?’
He shrugs again. ‘Probably not. Seb was playing his dad’s eighties CDs really loud.’
I let it go as we reach the entrance to the pub. I turn to Jack. ‘Actually, I’m quite tired, I think we’ll leave after all, Jack. I’ll just get my things. Bea and Ruan are over there. I’ll ask them to come back with us.’
‘You think someone’s in the house?’
‘No, of course not.’ I must have left the light on when I left.