The Homecoming

by Rosie Howard

  ‘Not in Patrick’s favour, I’ll be bound,’ commented Ben.

  ‘I certainly feel the terms were generous then, but now, ten years on, I can tell you Top Taverns will, reasonably enough, be looking for a somewhat better return on their investment …’

  ‘I bet their “investment” ten years ago wasn’t nearly as much as the pub’s worth now,’ said Maddy. ‘And that’s the key, isn’t it? That’s why you can’t get selling out of your mind, but why on earth would a pub company want to start selling off its pubs?’

  ‘They do, though,’ interjected Ben, looking up from the lease. ‘There’s only a handful of huge pub companies now, whereas historically most pubs were owned by small, individual freeholders. The pub companies have borrowed such huge amounts to build these massive property portfolios, plus the value of property has risen so much since they bought, the companies are reducing their leverage by selling stuff off. Of course, a lot of the time that means the pubs close and end up being converted into residential or something else …’

  ‘I can see you’ve done your homework,’ said Dennis, clearly miffed that Ben was so well informed.

  ‘But you’re making such a lot of rent out of Patrick,’ Maddy said. ‘Why would you even want to sell?’

  ‘I’m afraid we would be looking for a substantial increase in rent if we were to offer another lease,’ said Dennis. ‘I’m waiting for head office to confirm but, basically, you would be looking at more or less twice the current level.’

  ‘What?’ she exclaimed. ‘Surely you can’t do that?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘According to this, they can,’ he said, waving the lease at her.

  Dennis looked smug.

  ‘Fine,’ said Maddy. ‘We can pay your poxy rent, don’t you worry.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear that, because there has been a small issue with rent over the last few months. We cannot afford to be receiving it as late as we have been doing. I am sure you are aware,’ he gave her a triumphant little smile, ‘that the rent is currently two months in arrears?’

  ‘Of course!’ she said. ‘It’s hardly surprising with Patrick being ill. It’s purely an administration issue; I’ll get right onto it.’ She threw Ben a desperate look.

  In response he waved the papers at Dennis again. ‘These beer ties are pretty frowned upon nowadays. I hope I can assume Top Taverns won’t be putting such punitive terms in its new lease?’

  ‘We are more than entitled to our beer ties. As a brewing company we are proud of our beers and it’s a mark of the quality of our pubs that customers can be assured our much-loved beers will be on tap in all our premises.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Ben, ‘leaving the quality of the beers to one side – although I am sure you know the Top Taverns “Golden Brite” lager is widely known as “Golden Shite”, it’s more about the pub companies’ insistence that their publicans are compelled to buy their beer and at a hugely inflated price.’

  ‘That’s your opinion,’ said Dennis icily. ‘The debate on that issue is continuing and Top Taverns will respond appropriately to any legislative direction it is given.’

  ‘So, what happens if the new draft lease is so completely pants not even an imbecile would sign it?’ pressed Maddy, not entirely understanding the beer ties issue. She would need to ask Ben about it later.

  ‘If our lease is not acceptable, then – as current company policy has it – I will be instructed to sell at the best possible price.’

  ‘By which you mean not as a pub?’ asked Ben.

  ‘I really don’t know. Certainly the building would make a very desirable family home.’

  Maddy made a noise of pure disgust.

  ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘the only other thing we haven’t yet covered is the issue of dilapidations. As I mentioned before, Patrick has a full repairing lease. To be fair, I am sure we all agree the maintenance has been a little peremptory in recent years.’

  Maddy and Ben took a brief look around the room they were sitting in. Even the insides of the window frames needed repainting and their shabbiness gave a fair clue as to the outside, where – in places – the remaining flakes of paint were hanging on for dear life. And then there was the ominous damp patch on the ceiling … She had persuaded herself it was evidence of a long-since-repaired leak but – looking again – it had definitely grown.

  ‘I took the liberty of getting our property maintenance team in to assess the cost of repairs before I last saw you. Patrick was well aware,’ he added nervously, glancing at Maddy’s expression. ‘We now have their estimates and, although tenants are not obliged to use our own team it would be a simple way of ensuring repairs are done to an acceptable standard …’

  ‘Let me see,’ said Ben, putting down the lease he was still studying.

  ‘But that’s nearly fifty thousand pounds,’ he exclaimed, looking at the figures on the final page.

  ‘Those are just the essential repairs,’ insisted Dennis. ‘When you neglect a property as – I’m sorry to say – Patrick has, it can add up.’

  ‘Yes, but fifty thousand pounds,’ said Maddy. ‘And then you want a massive rent increase as well … What on earth do you want us to do?’

  ‘You do have a little time. The lease doesn’t expire until the first of January next year.’

  ‘Whoopee,’ said Maddy, ‘that’s less than three months.’

  ‘You asked me to fill you in,’ said Dennis, puffed up with spite. ‘And I have.’

  There was too much to do after Dennis left to think about it, but later – when the bar was open – Maddy found herself in the quiet before the lunchtime rush, sitting on a bar stool with her head in her hands.

  ‘This’ll cheer you up,’ came a delightfully modulated voice in her ear.

  ‘Serena!’ exclaimed Maddy. ‘I wasn’t asleep.’

  ‘Didn’t look like you were,’ said Serena. ‘Well, it did a bit … Anyhow, I thought I’d pop in and show you the Bespoke Consortium logo stuff from a graphic designer I know. I hope you don’t feel I’m rushing ahead. Loved your marketing ideas, by the way …’

  ‘Not at all; these are brilliant!’ Maddy said, as she spread the printed designs on the table. ‘I think this one, don’t you?’ she continued, pointing out the least elaborate of the logo options.

  ‘I hoped you’d say that. The simplest is always the best, and don’t you think the colour palette is absolutely genius?’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Maddy. ‘Do you think the others will like it?’

  ‘I’m sure they will. I showed it to Flora. Did I say? She loved it and they’ve appointed her as official spokesperson and go-between for us and the team. I know she’s a bit nuts but she’s got some good ideas.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ agreed Maddy. ‘She’s a bright girl. Oo – and is this the website design?’

  ‘Just a go at the layout of the home page and a sample other page,’ said Serena, drawing the printout towards them both for a closer look.

  ‘You appreciate we’re going to need someone who can actually build us this website,’ said Maddy, waving the page in question. ‘I don’t know anybody local … do you?’

  ‘There’s a brilliant small company in Brighton. I know they can give us good advice about making the whole online retail thing work but they won’t, unfortunately, be free.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Maddy, deflated. ‘Could the members stump up a bit, do you think? It’s all about sharing the cost so they’ll get more bang for their buck than they would be able to on their own.’

  ‘Funding’s another issue for another day,’ she said. ‘Why don’t I give my Brighton lot a call?’

  ‘Mum!’ exclaimed Maddy, pressing the phone tighter to her ear. ‘I’m so glad I’ve caught you.’

  ‘So sorry, darling,’ Helen replied. ‘I got your message but I never know when to call back. You’re either running the bar or out and I’m sure you don’t want me calling after midnight or anything …’

  I’d be up, thought Maddy, but d
idn’t say.

  ‘I’ve been busy,’ she said, trying to inject a smile into her voice, ‘but it’s fine really, just a bit hectic.’

  ‘You sound tired.’

  ‘I’m fine, Mum, honestly,’ she said, but tears were pricking at her eyes. ‘I was wondering whether you’d like to come down. I haven’t seen you for ages, and it’s still quite sunny and warm most days. You could have a little holiday.’

  ‘If I came it would be to help,’ insisted Helen. ‘And I’d be doing it for you, not Patrick.’

  ‘Ah … about that … Patrick has been saying he’d love to see you. I think it would be good for the two of you to meet up.’

  ‘Why on earth would we?’ snapped Helen. ‘What’s he said?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing … He’s just been saying he’d like to see you. He’s really quite ill, Mum,’ she implored. ‘You are such old friends. Won’t you consider it? You could stay here, in the pub. Just get on the train and I’ll meet you …’

  ‘Well, if I can’t persuade you to leave, get away from the place, then fine, I’ll come – but remember this: you owe nothing to that man. Nothing.’

  Maddy decided not to mention her mum’s possible visit when she saw Patrick that afternoon. She also thought she’d better not mention the meeting with Dennis – not until she had had a chance to talk it over with Ben and – somehow – come up with some solutions.

  All in all, there didn’t seem a lot they could safely talk about.

  Patrick’s only topic of conversation was his amazement at still being kept in hospital. ‘I’m as fit as a flea,’ he said. ‘No bleeding wonder the NHS doesn’t have any money. Still, they do say I can probably leave in a few days.’

  ‘Really? So soon?’

  ‘Oh yes, it’s all about recuperating at home nowadays. Marvellous really …’

  Maddy didn’t think it was marvellous at all, but she smiled brightly for Patrick and added his discharge to her list of things to panic about in an orderly fashion.

  It was nearly opening time before she noticed a text from her mother announcing she would come down to visit the following Tuesday. It looked likely she would arrive at about the same time Patrick came out of hospital. Maddy didn’t know if that was a good thing, or another complication to add to her growing list. Either way it was bound to be exciting.

  Thankfully, Kevin showed up a few minutes before opening time, rather than loping in half an hour or more into the session. It was probably because it was payday, thought Maddy uncharitably. She was relieved to see him, though, because tonight was generally a big night for food. She had stuck with her reduced menu, basically a dish of the day, plus a handful of old favourites, which she rotated depending on what ingredients were fresh and available. The dish of the day was mussels, and for variety she had decided to sell them prepared with a choice of broths: a classic moules marinière with wine and garlic; a fabulous Thai version with lemongrass and coconut milk; and, another French classic, moules Normandie, with smoked bacon and cider – all the options served alongside a big bowl of chips. The broth was all quick to prepare in advance, leaving the mussels to be cooked fresh, to order. There was a decent markup to be made and, with such mouthwatering choices, Maddy was pretty sure she would sell out.

  Kevin loitered around the bar, desultorily tidying the shelves and taking the last lot of glasses from the lunchtime session out of the glass-washer.

  ‘Patrick is hoping to come out in a few days,’ said Maddy.

  ‘Oh … okay,’ replied Kevin, not meeting her eye.

  ‘So,’ said Maddy, infuriated by his lack of response, ‘I’d be interested to know your plans. With Patrick back and me here we may not need you quite so much.’ It was a lie, of course; Maddy wouldn’t be letting Patrick come back to work anytime soon, despite his own opinions on the subject.

  Kevin’s eyes widened, and he turned to face her.

  Gotcha, thought Maddy.

  ‘Is that right?’ he said at last.

  Minutes later, Maddy wished she had been able to resist the temptation to rile him. She was barely coping and – despite her strong and unshakeable antipathy – Kevin’s presence was vital. He was also Patrick’s employee, and not Maddy’s, she reminded herself guiltily.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A few days later, Patrick’s release from hospital was Maddy’s most pressing thought when she woke. Her mother’s imminent arrival was the second.

  Paper and pencil in hand, she decided on a recce. There was Patrick’s room, cluttered and comfortable, needing a good airing and clean sheets on the bed. Other than that, it would do for him; it was clearly what he liked.

  The other large room at the front was the one where she imagined her mother would stay. It was in a worse mess than the little back bedroom she had appropriated when she arrived after Patrick’s heart attack. Was it really only days ago? It seemed a lifetime … Taking a closer look, she made a ‘to-do’ list. It really just needed a good clean. The bed was basically fine. There was a little chest of drawers and wardrobe, mainly empty. Maddy was sure Patrick wouldn’t mind if she bundled up the few contents in a bin bag and despatched them to the loft, which she knew was capacious. Perhaps Ben would give her a hand. Then it was just a case of finding her mother some sheets and bedding. She could even get out between bar shifts and buy a new set for her. She noticed a huge supermarket had opened up on the outskirts of the town in the three years she had been away – they were bound to sell bedding.

  Feeling more cheerful, and pleased she would soon be able to share her woes and concerns with her mother, at least, Maddy went into the little kitchen and made herself a black coffee. Pirate was pleased to have his blanket taken off and be released from his cage for a wander around. After a little tour he plonked himself on the kitchen table and managed to persuade her to dig him out a handful of walnuts, which he loved. She scratched him fondly on the head as he ate and he chuckled appreciatively. He had been generally more morose than usual since she arrived and she knew he was missing Patrick quite a bit.

  ‘You and me both,’ she told him. ‘Although I’ve got to say, I can’t see life getting quite back to normal for either of you anytime soon.’

  Pirate regarded her seriously, a large piece of walnut stuck to the side of his beak, presumably to be savoured later. He had taken to bar life like a duck to water and she worried – if it came to an end – neither he nor Patrick would welcome such a seismic change. Who would give Patrick a job? God help any future boss of Patrick, who had always been the one in charge. Also, where on earth would he and the little parrot live? They had both been at the pub for as long as she had known them. She imagined Patrick had no capital so it would be a rental, and who would even take pets?

  ‘I do hope that’s not breakfast,’ came a familiar voice. ‘Have I taught you nothing?’

  Maddy turned around to see Ben ducking slightly as he came into the little kitchen, his broad shoulders seeming to fill the doorway.

  ‘Don’t you ever knock?’

  ‘Nope,’ he replied. ‘The door was open, so I knew you were up … I promise you’ll be delighted to see me once you hear why I’ve come. Look at that, for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘What?’

  She followed his gaze to her right hand, which was clutching the cup of strong, black instant coffee she had just made.

  ‘You’re trembling.’ He grabbed her other hand and held it between his own. ‘And you’re sweating, even though you’re freezing cold … That’s not your first cup is it? Have you slept?’

  She snatched her hand away. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘What have I told you about eating breakfast? Caffeine is no substitute for food.’

  ‘Who are you? My mum?’

  ‘Good grief, I’ve had sixteen-year-old troops coming straight into the army from children’s homes who needed less parenting than you do …’ he grumbled, giving up. ‘Anyway, what I came here to say is it’s your lucky day. I bumped into Flora last night and asked her to cover
your shifts for you. You’ve got a whole day off and the best bit of all is I’m totally at your disposal.’

  ‘I can’t!’ she cried instantly. ‘I can’t subject Flora to Kevin all day.’

  ‘Yes, you can.’

  ‘That’s just mean,’ she chided. ‘But even if I’m not in the bar, I’ve got consultancy work to do. Simon needs me to be available to respond to client queries.’

  ‘There won’t be any, I promise.’

  ‘How can you know?’

  ‘Because it’s Saturday.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Fair point. Gosh, is it really the weekend again already?’

  ‘I rest my case,’ he replied. ‘You’ve been so flat out it’s no wonder you don’t even know what day it is. Now, first …’ he looked at her appraisingly, ‘you are going to take a long hot bath and then get dressed.’

  ‘Nice – so I smell, do I?’

  ‘Not that I can tell, but do as I say because your arse, and the rest of you, is mine, soldier – that’s an order.’

  ‘Okay, okay, enough about my arse, although the mention of “soldier” is even more disturbing … But even if I don’t have to work in the bar or do stuff with Simon I’ve still got that “to-do” list,’ she said, waving at the paper on the table.

  He craned his head to read it. ‘Good grief, why don’t you add “world peace” and “eliminate hunger from the surface of the planet” while you’re at it? That’s not a weekend “to-do” list … it’s a New Year’s Resolution pledge for the head of the United Nations – and an optimistic one at that.’

  ‘I’ve got to do them all – somehow,’ she muttered, grabbing it away from him.

  ‘Okay, so, I’ll let you bring it with you and we can talk it through while we walk.’

  ‘Walk?’ said Maddy, gulping. ‘Far?’

  ‘Oh yes. Very far. Now get in that bath while I do the washing-up,’ he said, gesturing at the sink, piled high with dirty cups and plates. ‘You live like a pig, has anyone told you?’