by Susan Lewis
He stamped his feet, threw out his long arms, and shouted, “Olé!”
Jules’s eyes were alight with laughter.
Tap-dancing across the bar, the matador (or was he a flamenco dancer?) clicked his fingers, flourished his cape, and declared, “I am come to see the beautiful lady. You must follow me outside, lovely señorita. I have special surprise to make your heart happy and your husband very jealous.”
Glancing at the laughing decorators, watching from atop their ladders, Jules was about to ask if they were in on this when Ruthie Bright bustled in from the next bar with a bucket and mop in one hand and something indefinable in the other.
“Mary, Mother of God!” Ruthie muttered as she spotted the man in black. “What the devil has he come as this time?”
“I’m still trying to work it out,” Jules said with a twinkle as the flamboyant Don Juan planted a trail of noisy kisses up her arm and whisked her from behind the bar to dance her out through the door into the morning sunshine.
The pub garden was cluttered with boxes, pallets, dumpsters, all manner of builders’ paraphernalia, and a freshly painted sign waiting to go up. THE MERMAID OF HOPE COVE, it declared. The garden’s grass was long and ragged, coated in cement dust, and appeared on a steady slide into a glistening bank of pebbles that dipped abruptly onto the shale beach beyond. Beside the garden was a slender stone footbridge over an inlet that led into a small harbor, where a mere handful of boats bobbed and jangled in the watery undulation.
Rising up alongside the cove, as though protecting it, or maybe even threatening it, were dark and jagged cliffs, dropping straight from the vast and mystical wilderness of Exmoor National Park. Nestled at the heart of the cove, with a gentle flow of fields and forest to the back and the tempestuous estuary to the front, was the legendary Mermaid Inn, one of Kesterly’s oldest and quaintest public houses.
It was said somewhat intriguingly, or even absurdly, that the pub was responsible for choosing its owners. It was also said that its walls had ears and no secret was safe if spoken within, but no one had any proof of that. Everyone knew it had a ghost, though no one could actually lay claim to having seen it. The records showed that the oldest part of the inn dated as far back as 1462, with various rooms, stables, and outhouses having been added over the years to form the characterful although run-down establishment it was today. Until a dozen years ago it had belonged to an investment banker from London who’d visited often but had left the running of the place to those more qualified than he. Since his untimely death in a skiing accident the Mermaid had stood empty, the subject of a bitter inheritance dispute. Those who knew Dickens’s work had referred to it as a Jarndyce v. Jarndyce situation, though mercifully the case hadn’t dragged on anywhere near as long as its fictional counterpart, and there was certainly nothing bleak about this house.
Its outer walls were silvery white and glistened like mother-of-pearl in the after-rain sunshine; its windows were black-framed and randomly placed, and seemed to gaze out at the channel like a wise old soul seeing all, judging nothing, simply waiting for storms to pass and seasons to change. Its roof was slate, its beams gnarled and black, and its history as colorful as the sunsets that cast their fiery glow across the waves to turn the entire setting into a dreamland.
Fortune had bestowed a dazzling smile on Jules and Kian the day it had decided to make the place theirs. It had been a dream, albeit an idle one, almost since they’d first known each other, and now, amazingly, unbelievably, ten years on and still only in their twenties, here they were, the owners of this historic, heart-stirring jewel of a pub.
It would also seem, Jules realized, as the crazy Spaniard began flamenco dancing around a vintage Austin-Healey Sprite with a convertible roof—and maybe even a starter handle, it was so old—that they might just be the owners of this little charmer too.
“Ees-a for you,” he announced, “with all-a my love-a.”
Laughing, Jules took the keys and slipped into the driver’s seat. “You’re seriously going to let me loose in this?” she challenged the ludicrous figure in its nylon mustache and flame-retardant wig. Her husband’s sparkling violet eyes narrowed playfully. “I let you loose-a with everything. This is how we make-a loose-a woman out of you.” And with a swirl of his cape to shield them from watchful eyes, he stooped to kiss her.
“What are you supposed to be?” she chuckled as he raised his head to gaze into her teary eyes. “And the car’s not even Spanish.”
He grimaced an apology. “Is only costume Nola have left in shop that fit me.”
Loving him, and wanting to hug him almost as much as she wanted the reason for this gift to go away, she put a hand to his face as she whispered, “You didn’t have to do this. It’s fine, honestly.”
Removing his hat and wig to reveal a flattened riot of ash-blond curls, he said gravely, “It’s not fine, but it will be, I promise.”
Turning at the sound of an admiring whistle, he immediately flourished his cape again, clicked his heels, and thrust out his chest. “Come meet my wife’s new car,” he told Ruthie and the decorators. “She will be the envy of all Kesterly for this cheeky little minx, just as she is for her dashingly handsome Romeo of a husband.”
“Will you just listen to him?” Ruthie was trying not to laugh as she came to join them, her wide brown eyes and cheery moon face showing as much fondness as humor as she tweaked Kian’s rugby player’s nose. “If only I’d been lucky enough to catch myself one like you,” she sighed. “I got the wrong cousin, so I did.”
“Now, you won’t want our Connor to be hearing you say that,” Kian chided, “when we all know you worship the ground the dear bloke walks on.”
“Yeah, like I worship his betting and boozing and big-talking buddies.” Ruthie had always had a knack for alliteration. “Now, what’s this dear little car all about?” she wanted to know. “Don’t tell me I forgot your birthday, Jules. If I have, I’ll rush off somewhere right now to put things right, though heaven only knows what I’d get you when the mad Manuel here spoils you half to death already.”
“It’s not my birthday,” Jules promised, “and actually it’s not my car.”
“What are you saying?” Kian protested in a Spanish fluster. “The lovely lady no want the lovely car?”
“I know you do,” she countered. “You’ve had your eye on it ever since Danny told you it was in Damian Boyle’s showroom.”
“But my eye is looking out only for you, to present this gift to make you smile.” She knew at least a part of that was true. He always hated it when she cried. The last time it had happened he’d come home with his face painted like a clown and had injured his back trying to somersault down to the beach. “Of course,” he ran on nobly, “if you would like me to be your chauffeur, it would be my honor to do this favor for you.”
“Take the car,” Ruthie told her. “I know I would. Imagine yourself driving around town in that, up and down the coast road, onto the Temple Fields estate. Take it there for half an hour and you won’t have any wheels left to get out again.”
“Sad but true,” Kian conceded. Coming from the wrong side of the estate himself, there wasn’t much anyone could tell him, good or bad, about what went on there.
Jules herself was from the right side of the estate, which meant south of the high street, where many of the cul-de-sacs and avenues were quite leafy and smart, with dustbins taken in after collections, front lawns regularly mowed, and net curtains washed with bleach and ironed with starch.
The Mermaid was about as far along the coast from the estate as it was possible to get while remaining in Kesterly. However, there was no doubt in either of their minds that Kian’s enormous Irish family and their numerous friends from all over town, including the estate, would make regular trips to see them.
The grand opening wasn’t too far off now, since the major repairs were all but complete, the new kitchen was due to be installed tomorrow, and, joy of all joys, their licenses from the local authority had co
me through in plenty of time. They’d been through several training courses by now, and the experience they’d had of working at the Red Lion, Kian’s uncle Pete’s drinking man’s pub over on the estate, hadn’t done them any harm at all. However, running their own establishment was going to be a whole other sort of challenge, which was why they’d taken professional advice every step of the way—and were still doing so now. They understood how important it was to go above and beyond their training to know the rules and regulations that applied to them, and to comply with the health and safety requirements imposed by the government. They’d even gained something close to medical training on how alcohol affects different people and what to do in all kinds of emergencies.
Their most vital needs right now were for a cook—Fliss at the Seafront Café in town had told Aileen, Kian’s mother, only yesterday that she knew of someone good who was looking for a job, so that might be sorted—and an experienced bar manager to run the front of the house while Jules and Kian took their turns at shifts, but mostly concentrated on everything behind the scenes.
Since they were fully confident of finding the right person for each role by the deadline they’d set, the recruitment wasn’t an issue that vexed them unduly. In fact, being the type of people they were, very little worked them into a frenzy of sleepless nights and fraught, overstretched days. There was always an answer to a problem, they’d remind each other; it was just a question of finding it, and stressing out wouldn’t make things happen any quicker. More likely it would steer them off in a wrong direction and end them up flat on their faces.
Watching Kian now in his hilarious costume, showing off to the boys, Liam and Greg (his second cousins, who’d been tasked by their builder father, Davin, to paint the pub without making arses of themselves), Jules felt so much love and sadness engulfing her that she had to turn away.
“What is it, pet?” Ruthie asked softly, all concern.
Jules instantly brightened. “Nothing,” she assured her. “Just something in my eye. Is that the phone? My God, they’ve connected it at last!”
Ruthie cocked an ear to listen. “Miracles will never cease,” she cried gladly, and off she bundled back inside, leaving Jules to slip out of the car, close the door, and lean against it as she stared off toward the milky horizon.
The sea was like shattered glass today, sparkling with sunlight; apart from the waves sighing quietly onto the shore, it barely seemed to move. They might still be young and foolishly naive, but they were going to love it here; there wasn’t a shred of doubt in her mind about that. It was such an idyllic spot, people wanted to come here; some said they wouldn’t even have to bother with any publicity, because word of mouth would do it all. That could be true given how fast news traveled in Kesterly and how well known Kian’s family was. However, they’d already hired an agency to work on a marketing strategy, which was the kind of thing most new businesses were doing these days. They didn’t want to try to make out as though they were anything more than they were; they simply wanted it to be known that they were going to serve some fine ales from local breweries, a good selection of French and New World wines that a local merchant was advising them on, and as wide a range of spirits as any self-respecting bar could boast. As for food, they were going to start out fairly modestly by offering all the traditional fare: scampi or chicken in a basket with chips, jacket potatoes with four different fillings, an assortment of sandwiches, a full-blown roast on Sundays, and of course the usual packets of crisps, peanuts, and pork scratchings.
Later, if things went well, they intended to make the catering a bit posher, and might even turn a section of the pub into a restaurant. But that was for the future. For now, since under-fourteens weren’t allowed in the main bar, a family room was already being set up at the back complete with pool table, dartboard, and the game of devil among the tailors, aka table skittles, that they’d found in the cellar during the renovations. Of course there was also the garden and the beach for when the weather was fine, and what had once been the old off-license, where the pub sold beer and wine to take home, was now a spacious boot room for hikers and dog walkers as they came down from the moor.
The upstairs rooms had already been transformed into a luxurious three-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment, and now that all the work was complete, it would be hard to love it more. An interior designer from London had taken on the project, since Jules had hardly known where to begin, especially when so much of the building was covered by historic preservation regulations. So, working together with Kian’s uncle Davin, the designer had managed to retain most of the original features while knocking down partition walls, opening up fireplaces, repairing decaying oak beams, sanding and resetting Victorian pine floors, and recrafting ornately corniced ceilings. Afternoon and evening light now flooded from the sea and beach in through the casement windows of the romantically cozy master bedroom and into the sitting room and kitchen, while the two bedrooms and bathroom at the back could boast their own mesmerizing, even haunting views of the moor.
It seemed that the whole place now felt as full of happiness to be alive again as Kian and Jules did to be there. Jules even swore she could see it smiling at them, especially last night, after all the workers had gone and they’d laid out a picnic blanket on the beach and toasted a week of being in actual residence. They’d looked at the Mermaid and raised their glasses, and at that very moment the sun had caught a window, making it seem as though it was winking at them. They’d laughed, hugged each other, and toasted the place again. Kian had chosen a new beer they were trying out from Exmoor Ales, while Jules had gone for an unexciting lime soda. This morning she’d discovered that she too could have had beer, or even champagne, because the evidence had been right there to show her that in spite of all their efforts she still wasn’t pregnant.
She’d felt so crushed, so angry and helpless, that she’d hurled a box of tampons at the wall with such force that it had split and scattered the contents all over the place. As if being violent was going to change things. What difference did a temper make when the body clearly wasn’t listening?
Because they were still only twenty-six and twenty-seven, everyone kept telling them they had plenty of time, but they’d been trying for over four years now, and still nothing had happened. Their lovely doctor over on the estate had sent them for one test after another; they’d attended all sorts of counseling sessions, had spent hours with their legs in the air (Kian always joined in) to encourage a happy bonding, and had even gorged on leafy greens, lentils, oysters—everything that was recommended to help the little miracle occur.
It shouldn’t matter so much. Jules told herself that repeatedly, angrily, fiercely, sadly, reasonably, because she knew very well how lucky she was in every other way. She had a wonderful husband, more friends than she could begin to count, and this dream-come-true of a pub; they even had enough money for it not to matter too much if things didn’t work out the way they’d planned. So how dare she be so desperate about failing to conceive? It didn’t diminish her as a person, it wasn’t destroying her health, it made no difference to their plans for the pub, and it wasn’t affecting their marriage.
At least not yet.
Kian swore that it never would. She was all that mattered, he always insisted, but she knew that his longing for children ran just as deep as her own. They’d talked about it so often, even as far back as when they hadn’t been much more than children themselves, laughing and thrilling at the prospect of becoming parents to four, five, six, even seven kids, all with personalities, dreams, looks, quirks, and passions of their own. Perhaps it was being only children themselves that made their desire for a large family so overwhelming. Or maybe, these days, it was because so many of their friends were managing it with no trouble at all. It made their own failure seem so pathetic and cruel. Whatever the reason, biological, psychological, or nothing logical at all, it was beginning to turn their irrepressible urge to become parents into an out-and-out obsession.
Thi
s last failure had been the bitterest blow of all, since it had followed their first attempt at IVF. Clearly even that wasn’t going to work, which could only mean they weren’t meant to have children, and if that was the truth, then Jules just wanted to walk into the sea right now and never come back. She felt so miserable, unworthy, useless, and…cheated. Yes, cheated. Which just went to show how selfish and shallow she was to think she had the right to be a mother when no one actually had that right, and anyway, she already had so much.
Round and round; round and round.
Kian’s laugh suddenly broke into her thoughts, and she turned to watch him sending his cousins back to work. “That’s enough now,” he told them with a wink at Jules. “I’m not paying you to stand about all day admiring Jules’s car, or her ass, Liam….That’s right, you little tosser. She’s family, for God’s sake.”
“Stop,” Jules cried as the sixteen-year-old lad blushed to the roots of his fiery red spots.
“I was not looking….”
“Get out of here,” Kian told him fondly. “And you, Greg. You’re supposed to be done in the main bar by the end of today. How likely is that looking?”
“Hundred percent if you’ll let me take a spin in that car,” Greg promised.
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen. Anyway, it belongs to Jules, so you have to ask her.”
Greg immediately turned to Jules.
“The answer’s no,” Kian informed him. “Ruthie, my darling, do you think we can rustle up a cup of tea for us all?”
“Who was that on the phone?” Jules called out.
“An engineer testing the line,” Ruthie replied, coming to the door. “Very polite he was, and he told me if we have any problems—”
“Tea?” Kian interrupted.
“Just what I was thinking,” Ruthie told him. “You know where the kettle is. Two sugars for me.” Allowing the boys to pass, she grinned at Jules before following them back inside.