He appeared to have forgotten it was Hallowe’en.
‘Pint of the usual,’ he barked while scrolling through his phone.
‘The usual?’ Patrick echoed. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to help me out, mate. I’m new here.’
‘I know that but I thought Maisie might have briefed you on the regulars’ tastes.’
‘Not all of them,’ Patrick replied pleasantly.
‘I’m a Rat & Ferret man,’ said the man. ‘I’m Hugo Scorrier by the way.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Patrick, feeling anything but.
‘Basil. Come on.’
The dog looked at Hugo briefly, wagged his tail then ran off to sniff Archie Pendower’s trousers. Archie patted him but Hugo shot his hound an angry look.
‘Don’t let him bother you,’ he said.
‘He isn’t,’ said Archie.
Patrick went outside to the storage shed behind the pub to restock with more bottled lagers and soft drinks because even the cellar had run dry. He wedged open the door and picked up a crate but stopped short of stepping outside when he heard Maisie and Hugo Scorrier talking on the patio. They weren’t arguing but Maisie sounded agitated while Hugo’s tone was as smooth as butter. Patrick put down the crate carefully, feeling guilty for lurking in the shadows but needing to hear what was said.
‘I’m not here to spy or act like the villain,’ Hugo said.
‘I wish I believed you.’ Maisie sounded exasperated and he didn’t blame her.
‘Now, that’s not fair. You’ve known me since we were children,’ Hugo replied in a hurt tone.
Patrick peered round the door where Hugo and Maisie were highlighted by the lights spilling out from the pub kitchen. Hugo was smoking and the tip of his cigarette glowed in the dark.
Hugo put his hand on her arm. Maisie moved away. Patrick tensed.
‘Let’s not discuss this now. I’m here to enjoy a relaxed evening off.’
‘And I’m working,’ said Maisie. ‘I have to go inside.’
Patrick told himself he shouldn’t be listening and that the exchange wasn’t any business of his. Maisie didn’t need a knight in shining armour, and she wouldn’t thank him for interfering, but if Hugo Scorrier touched her again, and didn’t take the hint, Patrick would step in, no matter how pissed off Maisie might be.
Maisie hurried back into the kitchen. Patrick waited, watching Hugo inhale and blow out a long plume of smoke. Patrick could smell it from the outhouse. He picked up the crate, put it on the path outside and locked the door behind him, making as much noise as he could before marching past Hugo with the bottles.
‘Busy night,’ said Hugo, blowing smoke just as Patrick walked past.
‘It is,’ said Patrick, trying not to cough as the acrid smell filled his nose.
‘Just as well. This place needs all the help it can get, no matter what Maisie might have led you to believe.’
Patrick rattled his bottles and pretended not to hear. ‘Sorry, mate? Didn’t catch that.’
Patrick and Hugo were face to face, under the light from the back door. Smoke curled up between them. Hugo did a double take, as if Patrick had suddenly sprouted a comedy wart on the tip of his nose. The hairs on the back of Patrick’s neck stood on end but he smiled, as the heavy crate strained his arm and shoulder muscles. He felt Hugo’s contempt for him with every breath the bloke took.
Hugo smiled. ‘I’d better let you get back to your duties.’ He dropped the fag end on the patio in front of Patrick and crushed it under his boot. ‘Mate.’
Chapter 13
For some reason, Maisie had expected Patrick to be able to belt out a tune as good as any of the locals but ouch. He really was terrible. So awful, it was actually funny.
An embarrassed silence settled over the pub as he warbled out the first few bars of the song, and regulars exchanged grimaces over their pints. Maisie cringed as Patrick soldiered on. He was out of tune, off key and had to keep humming when he forgot the words but boy, he was giving it his all, and acting as if he was Frank Sinatra which made his performance all the more hilarious.
‘Myyyyyy wayyyyyeee!’ he howled.
People started to laugh and egg him on. Will wolf-whistled and Patrick threw out his arms and waved a glass cloth like Pavarotti.
The inn descended into uproar. Maisie stopped wincing and started smiling. Patrick was obviously enjoying himself and the regulars were wiping tears from their eyes. She raised her glass of water at him in tribute as he bellowed out the chorus at the top of his voice.
‘My wayyyyy!’
Tears ran down her face and she knew her mascara would be a mess. Although his singing was laughable, she also admired him for having a go. Finally, the song finished and the customers burst into applause. Will whooped and whistled and even Adam Pengelly gave him the slow handclap.
‘Sounded like a cat was being strangled,’ muttered Archie as the hubbub subsided.
‘Well it is a full moon,’ said Will.
The police officer shook his head. ‘I think I may have to arrest you for crimes against popular music.’
Patrick gave a deep bow. ‘I’m here all winter, folks, apart from the O2 next weekend. It’s sold out, but if anyone wants tickets, I can get you a back-stage pass.’
‘Only if you’re paying us, mate,’ Will roared. He slapped Patrick on the back. ‘Little piece of advice: don’t give up the day job.’
Maisie shook her head, relieved that Patrick had survived his baptism of fire and secretly a little bit proud of him. Jess leaned over the bar, a sly smirk on her face. ‘Well, he won’t win the X Factor, although I have to say I’ve heard almost as bad on there. But he’s definitely a big hit with the customers.’
‘So it seems.’
‘He’ll bring more people into the Driftwood,’ said Jess. ‘Of both sexes.’
‘Good. We need the money,’ said Maisie, refusing to rise to the bait as Patrick made his way back to his post behind the bar through a barrage of banter and good-natured insults.
‘It’s not only the money, though, is it? You like having him around. You were worried when he started to sing – sorry – howl.’
‘Worried? Why would I be worried?’
‘In case he was upset by the reaction. I saw your face. You were holding your breath.’
‘The only thing that bothered me is that he might empty the place in ten seconds flat. There’s a buffet going to waste.’
Jess smirked. ‘You’re in denial about the hunky Patrick and you refuse to admit it.’
‘Just like you and Adam Pengelly, then?’
Jess pursed her lips. ‘That’s below the belt, best friend.’
Maisie touched her arm. ‘I know. Sorry to put my oar in there. I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you but I don’t like seeing you unhappy about it. Or Postman Pat, either.’
Jess rolled her eyes. ‘Let’s just forget it for tonight. I’m here to enjoy myself and I don’t want to talk about Adam. He obviously thinks I’ve done something wrong, and if he wants to act like a hurt schoolboy, that’s his problem. He’s always been moody and I can’t handle that kind of drama right now. We’ve enough on our plate managing the business since Dad left. I’m not sure Mum’s ever really got over him running off with “that young floozy”, as she calls her, though she tries to pretend she’s OK.’
Maisie gave Jess a quick hug. Roger Godrevy had caused shockwaves when he’d left the Flower Farm to live with a woman younger than Jess after a twenty-four-year marriage to her mother, Anna. Will and Jess had had to take over the business much sooner than they’d anticipated.
‘I agree. The last thing you need in your life right now is more drama. You really don’t know what’s wrong with Adam?’
‘No … I haven’t a clue,’ said Jess. ‘Look, Patrick’s even a hit with Will.’
Jess inclined her head towards Patrick who was pulling a pint for Will who was leaning on the bar, laughing at some joke.
‘Hmm, they
seem to be getting on. I don’t mind. Anything that makes Will laugh. He always acts like he’s the life and soul of the party but I know him better. There’s something not right with him and it’s not just the stress of the business. Anyone would think he and Patrick had known each other for years.’
‘Yes, they would,’ said Maisie, struck by the sight of Patrick at ease behind her bar and Will and his mates exchanging banter. It could be just a blokey thing. She thought women took longer to let their guard down with new people; she did, anyway. Then again, Patrick did already seem like part of the furniture. That was a good thing, wasn’t it? She’d needed someone who could slot into the Driftwood seamlessly. However, it was slightly disturbing just how perfectly he’d fitted in, almost as if he’d been born on the isles. It was only when he opened his mouth and you heard his accent that you were reminded that Patrick McKinnon was a very exotic cuckoo in the nest.
Chapter 14
Now that his karaoke ordeal was over and he’d survived his baptism of fire with the locals, Patrick relaxed and threw himself wholeheartedly into his new job. Although the environment, prices and drinks were very different, the skill of serving drinks swiftly and accurately, while keeping up a cheery stream of banter, had come back to him sooner than he’d expected.
The entertainment had ended but a dozen or so punters lingered in the bar, getting in their last rounds before closing time. Patrick went to change the keg of lager in the cellar and as he was about to climb up the steep steps, he heard a shriek from the kitchen.
He took the steps two at a time and found Hazel in the kitchen doorway. Her face was as white as a sheet and she grabbed him by the arm.
‘Patrick. It’s Ray. He’s collapsed!’
‘Collapsed? My God.’
Patrick hurried after her into the kitchen, and his stomach lurched when she saw Ray flat out on the tiles. His deathly pallor had nothing to do with the white make-up that was running down his face as sweat poured out of him. Patrick’s first thought was that he looked like Greg had at the end, and his second thought was for Maisie.
‘D-don’t f-fuss,’ Ray ground out. The effort of speaking made him fight even harder for breath.
Her tattered veil hanging down her neck, Hazel knelt next to Ray, clutching his hand tightly. ‘Shut up, you silly old bugger, and let us take care of you.’
Patrick crouched down beside her. ‘Do as you’re told for once, mate,’ he said, patting Ray’s hand.
‘I’ll get Maisie, but I’ll call an ambulance first,’ said Patrick, digging his mobile from his pocket. ‘Jesus, what happens here when you need an ambulance?’
‘There’s a medical boat. Hand me the phone and I’ll call the ambulance. You find Maisie and see if any of the first responders are in the bar. Javid was here earlier.’
‘OK.’ Patrick leapt up, ready to rush into the bar.
‘Patrick!’
Hazel clutched his hand. It was bizarre to see her face plastered in white make-up and her lips outlined in blood-red lipstick. Her voice quavered. ‘Try not to worry our Maisie too much.’
Wondering how he could possibly not worry Maisie when her beloved dad was gasping on the floor, Patrick walked quickly into the bar, trying to keep a cool head for everyone’s sake. He’d seen plenty of emergencies in his time as a barman and called out the paramedics numerous times, but this was different. Ray looked bloody awful and Patrick suspected he was having a heart attack. How was anyone going to help him out here? It was way more isolated than the middle of Melbourne where sophisticated medical care was minutes away. They might need a helicopter for Ray, if it could even land in the dark, and by the time it got here and got him to the island hospital or mainland it could be too late.
Patrick scanned the faces for Maisie. By now, people had realised something was amiss but Patrick focused on finding her, just saying to people that Ray had been taken ill.
Adam grabbed his arm as he passed. ‘She went upstairs with Jess. What’s up with Ray?’
‘Don’t know, but he needs medical care and fast.’
Adam’s green painted face fell. ‘Shit. Can I do anything?’
‘Hazel said there might some of the first responders in here? Can you send them to Ray?’
‘I’m on it.’
‘Thanks.’
Leaving Adam to find the first responders, Patrick ran upstairs and found Jess and Maisie walking out of Maisie’s bedsit. Patrick spoke to them as calmly as he could.
‘Maisie. Don’t panic, but can you come downstairs now? Your dad’s not too well.’
Maisie frowned. ‘Not well? What do you mean?’
‘He’s conscious but he’s collapsed on the kitchen floor. Your mum is with him.’
Maisie’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘Collapsed? Oh my God. I knew something like this would happen.’
‘It’s OK,’ Patrick said as soothingly as he could. ‘Help’s on its way. The island first responders are coming and a call’s already being logged on the mainland.’ He felt he was floundering and saying the first thing that came into his head, but he had to try and keep Maisie calm somehow.
Jess slipped her arm round Maisie as she seemed to stagger a little.
‘Oh Jesus, I knew he was worse than he was letting on. I bet he’s had a heart attack.’
‘We don’t know that. He’s breathing and talking. Your mum said try not to worry,’ said Patrick.
‘How can I do that?’
Maisie dashed for the stairs, her horns falling off.
‘Be careful, hun!’ Jess held up her long skirt and hobbled after her with Patrick bringing up the rear. Christ, he’d only been here a few days and he’d jinxed the bar owner. He’d no wish to see another good bloke die in front of him. As he followed Maisie and Jess through the packed bar and a sea of anxious faces, he forced himself to calm down. The Samsons needed him to stay calm now and there was no point him caving in.
Hazel was trying to care for Ray as best she could, keeping him calm while Jess looked after Maisie whose face was grey with anxiety. Ray kept mumbling about ‘not making a fuss’ while being told in return to shut up and lie quietly. Patrick returned to the bar to try and soothe the locals before waiting outside for the first responders, who arrived in a Land Rover ten minutes later.
They were already kitted out in green paramedic uniforms and carrying equipment. They looked familiar and turned out to be Javid and the vicar, who had only been gone an hour. Jesus, thought Patrick, I hope Ray doesn’t think she’s come to give him the last rites.
‘Where is he?’ Javid asked as they entered the bar through a gaggle of locals who’d already gathered outside to allow the responders a clear path.
‘Kitchen floor,’ said Patrick and showed them through, rapidly revising his concerns about there being no emergency cover on the island. He was amazed by how professional the responders were. Javid and the vicar checked Ray’s pulse and blood pressure and after talking to their colleagues on St Mary’s decided to strap him into a chair. The upshot was they didn’t think he’d had a heart attack but he obviously needed medical help and fast.
‘What happens next?’ he asked Jess quietly as Maisie and Hazel tried to reassure Ray, who was looking slightly brighter and breathing more easily.
‘They’ll take him to the ambulance boat and he’ll be assessed in the hospital on St Mary’s or airlifted to the mainland if necessary. Poor Maisie and Hazel, what a worry.’
‘He’s not looked well for days.’
‘He’s not been well for weeks,’ said Jess. ‘It’s a good job you’ve been doing the heavy work tonight or it could have been even worse. Whatever’s wrong with him, he won’t go to the GP.’
‘I don’t blame the bloke. I hate the docs too.’
‘I still say Ray’s a silly old sod,’ said Jess, shaking her head but looking almost as worried as Maisie did.
‘Maybe he’s afraid he’s got something they can’t do anything about,’ said Patrick. ‘I can understand that.’ He thought
of Greg.
‘Don’t say that to Maisie,’ Jess murmured as Ray was made comfortable.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘Looks like you’ll have to hold the fort tonight, with the Samsons all off to the hospital,’ she said.
‘Fine by me.’
Ray was carried through the pub and the hushed customers, who cleared a path for him. Jess hugged Maisie and said she’d stay the night in the pub, if Maisie wanted.
‘Thanks, hun, but you can’t do anything. Patrick – I’m sorry but you’ll have to take over here. I’ll phone as soon as I can.’
‘I’ll be fine. I’ve nowhere to run if I do go off with the takings,’ he joked.
She flashed him a weak smile. If she was worried about just such a thing, she had no choice but to trust him. ‘Thanks.’
‘Take care. I hope your dad’s better soon.’
He wasn’t sure if Maisie heard him as she climbed into the front of the Land Rover while Hazel sat with Ray. Patrick and Jess waited outside with some of the customers until the bright yellow ambulance boat rounded the headland in front of the pub, its lights gleaming on the dark sea. It was a short journey to St Mary’s and the hospital but Patrick was still very concerned about the Samsons. Although she’d been putting on a brave face in front of her parents, Maisie must be out of her mind with worry.
Patrick shivered in the damp night air. Even though it wasn’t raining, the atmosphere was heavy with moisture.
‘Nothing we can do now.’
‘Poor old Ray.’
‘Poor Maisie and Hazel.’
‘He’s in good hands.’
The voices rang in his ears when he walked back across the terrace and into the inn. The pub was still busy, but the evening festivities were naturally well and truly over. Most people were shrugging on coats and preparing to go back to their cottages, St Mary’s or the other off-islands on their boats. Despite his protests, Jess and Will went into the kitchen to help put away the food and load the dishwasher. Patrick followed them to offer a hand but they seemed to know what they were doing so he left them to it and went back to the bar to clear the tables and lock up.
Christmas on the Little Cornish Isles Page 10