Chapter 3
‘What do you think,’ Sam said, ‘to starting a weekly carvery in the dining room?’
Across the table, his dad cradled his mug of tea, making no reply. Sam watched him closely, scanning his face for some sort of reaction. Nothing.
‘I just think the dining room’s wasted,’ Sam persisted. ‘There’s plenty of room in there to set up the food bar and I’ve been talking to Kenny about it. He’s keen to give it a go.’
Maybe keen was a bit of an exaggeration, but the head chef had promised to think it over.
He’d been working at The North Star for over thirty years now and didn’t take kindly to change.
Sam had a feeling Kenny still thought of him as the boss’s son who was maybe getting above his station.
The chef had made no secret of the fact that he wanted things back the way they used to be.
Well, he wasn’t the only one. Sam ran a hand through his hair, trying hard not to feel impatient, but bloody hell, it was hard.
He glanced out of the kitchen window across the car park to the woodland beyond and smothered a sigh.
To think, he could be out on a building site right now, working alongside his best mate in the fresh air and sunshine instead of being cooped up in the pub every day, trying to coax some signs of life out of his father.
‘Well,’ Seb said with a slight shrug, ‘if Kenny’s all right with it, why are you asking me?’
Sam closed his eyes and counted to ten.
‘Because, Dad,’ he said at last, ‘you’re still the owner of this place. The landlord. It’s your name above the door.’
Seb gave a short laugh. ‘As if that means anything! You’re in charge now, lad. Do what you please.’ He got up, took his mug over to the sink and placed it in the washing up bowl, then left the kitchen without a backward glance.
Sam put his head in his hands. Well, that had gone well.
Although, if he was being honest, he’d not expected anything else.
It was just a tiny seedling of hope that refused to give up and wither away.
Even though his dad refused to water it.
Even though it never seemed to get any sunshine.
Even though it never grew any bigger. It just stayed there, clinging to life. Just enough to keep Sam trying.
He drained his tea then carried his own mug to the sink.
Now what? Since taking over the running of the pub, he’d not made any changes because he still considered his dad to be in charge and hadn’t wanted to do anything that would rock the boat.
The fact was, though, he’d been here full-time for two years now, and the temporary job had seemingly become permanent.
His friend and former boss had long ago found a replacement for him – reluctantly – and Sam had given up the lease on his flat in Millensea as soon as he’d quit his job.
No point paying rent when he was stuck in Kelsea Sands all hours, running the pub while his dad refused to set foot in the bar, and keeping Seb company every spare moment he had.
And as if all that wasn’t bad enough, Layla had dumped him not long after he’d lost everything else. As Sam headed to his bedroom to put on a smarter shirt for work, he recalled that bitter day all too clearly.
Layla worked at the Tourist Information Centre in the local seaside town of Millensea, and Sam had really liked her.
Two years older than him, she was confident, chatty, and very easy to be around.
Sam had enjoyed her company and even started to hope that this could be the real deal.
He was ready to settle down. Maybe Layla was the one he could settle down with.
They’d been dating for over eighteen months when Sam’s mum, Donna, had died.
Layla had been sympathetic and compassionate, and very kind to his dad.
But over the following year, as Seb had withdrawn from the world and Sam had found himself having to work evening shifts at The North Star because Seb didn’t want to, she’d started to get a bit testy about the situation.
When Seb listlessly announced one Sunday that he’d had enough and was going to sell the pub, Sam had been appalled.
He knew how much his dad loved the place.
How much his mum had loved it. Before their time, Sam’s grandad and great-grandad had been the landlords.
The North Star meant everything to his family, and he knew his dad wasn’t thinking straight.
‘He’ll regret it for the rest of his life if he sells,’ he’d told Layla anxiously. ‘He’s grieving. Now isn’t the time to make such big decisions.’
‘If he wants to sell, let him sell,’ she’d replied. ‘It’s only a pub.’
‘It’s not only a pub! It’s our home. It’s been my home and my dad’s home since we were born. Grandma and Grandad lived there, and their parents before them. He’s not thinking straight, that’s the truth of it.’
‘Well,’ she’d replied with a shrug, ‘it’s up to him, isn’t it? Nothing you can do about it.’
But Sam knew he couldn’t let his dad make such a terrible mistake. He’d tried his best to continue working as a bricklayer while also running the pub, covering as many shifts as he could and organising bar staff to the best of his ability.
It didn’t take long for him to see that he couldn’t go on that way for much longer, and with his father showing no signs of wanting to go back to work, Sam had realised he had a big decision to make.
When he’d told Layla that he was going to give up his job and flat and move in with his dad to keep the pub running, she’d been incensed.
‘Are you serious? You’ve got a good job and a decent place to live, and you’re going to chuck it all away to bury yourself in that dead-end village? Your dad doesn’t want the bloody pub, Sam, so what does it matter? What are you trying to prove?’
‘I’m not trying to prove anything,’ he’d said hotly.
‘I know my dad, okay? I know that when he comes out the other side of this grieving process he’s going to be devastated if he’s given away the one place that he and Mum loved with all their hearts.
Right now, he’s not thinking clearly. It’s all too raw for him—’
‘It’s been a year!’
Sam could hardly believe the scornful tone of her voice. ‘You think that’s long enough to grieve for the love of your life?’
‘Oh, come on! I’m not saying it’s not hard. Of course it is. But by now he should be back to normal. No one grieves for that long. He’s just wallowing.’
He could hardly believe she was saying such a hurtful thing. His dad was in pain, and Sam couldn’t bear it. He’d do anything to make things easier for him, even if that meant sacrificing his home and his job.
At least his boss, Luke, had understood.
‘I can’t say I won’t miss you. You’re a great bricky. More than that, you’re my best mate. It will be weird going to work without you every day.’
‘I know. It will be weird for me, too. But I have to do this for Dad’s sake. Maybe it won’t be for long. Maybe he’ll be back behind the bar in a few months.’
Luke had nodded, his eyes troubled. ‘But you know I can’t keep the job open for you, don’t you? I have work coming out of my ears. I’ll need a new bricklayer, Sam.’
‘I know. I understand that.’
‘If I could help—’
‘It’s okay, honestly.’ Sam had held up his hands to quieten his friend’s anxious assurances. ‘I knew the situation when I made the decision. I still think it’s the right one.’
‘Yeah, well…’ Luke had sighed sadly as he rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I understand that, but we had plans. We’d talked about a partnership, remember?’
‘I know.’ Sam didn’t know what to say and there was a long silence.
‘Sorry, Sam. Guilt-tripping you isn’t very fair. This can’t be helped. You must do what’s best for you and your family. I hope it all works out for you, mate.’
So Sam had given up the keys to his flat and moved back to The North Star, and he’d been living and working there full-time ever since.
Just three weeks after he’d arrived in Kelsea Sands, Layla had told him their relationship was over.
‘I don’t see the point now you’re so far away,’ she’d explained casually.
‘It’s twenty minutes by car!’
‘Yes, well.’ She’d shrugged. ‘You’re going to be stuck behind the bar every day and night and what am I supposed to do? Sit in a corner and play dominoes? I don’t think so. It’s been nice, Sam. Fun. But I think it’s time we called it a day, don’t you?’
‘If that’s how you feel…’
‘It is. No hard feelings?’ She’d held out a hand for him to shake, and he’d stared at it in disbelief, trying to process this unexpected turn of events and how his warm-hearted, fun-loving girlfriend could suddenly sound so cold and uncaring. It was like their relationship had meant nothing to her.
At his hesitation, Layla had glared and withdrawn her hand. ‘Fine. Be like that then. Hope you’re very happy in your new life.’ She’d given the pub a scathing glance. ‘Though personally, I think there’s fat chance of that.’
She’d jumped into her little Fiat and driven away, leaving Sam staring after her. He hadn’t seen or heard from her since.
So that had been the end of that, and he couldn’t imagine he’d ever find another girlfriend now. There was no one suitable in Kelsea Sands, and when did he get the chance to go anywhere else?
He’d really thrown himself into his new life, trying hard not to grieve for his old one.
He’d worked long hours and in his spare time he’d done odd jobs for the locals.
Many of them were getting on and there was no bus service in the village any longer, so he offered to take them to appointments or shopping, or he’d do their shopping for them.
Sometimes he’d weed their gardens or unblock a sink…
Anything they wanted, really. It was a great distraction from the fact that he had no life of his own.
But nagging away at him was the thought that maybe he’d made a terrible mistake. He’d really expected his dad to be back behind the bar by now, but Seb showed no signs of wanting to work, and his grief had settled into depression. A depression he refused to see a doctor about or get help with.
There was only so much Sam could do, and he felt like he was failing all the time.
And meanwhile, his own life was passing him by. He was thirty-three now and it felt as if nothing was ever going to change. How much longer could he continue this way?
As he buttoned up his shirt and stared at his reflection in the bedroom mirror, Sam had to admit that he just didn’t know the answer to that.