Chapter 8 #2
‘No one’s told us anything beyond the fact that it’s being turned into a private residence.
We’re protesting regularly and we’ve let the relevant authorities know that this is completely unacceptable, but it doesn’t make any difference,’ Wilma says.
‘That pub was part of this village for over fifty years. People met their spouses there, celebrated birthdays, held wakes. It’s not just a building, it’s our history.
We have a right to know what’s happening with it. ’
‘And now it’s being gutted by some builder who won’t tell anyone what he’s doing,’ Madge continues. ‘Have you met him? Reece Sterling? Pleasant enough, but secretive as anything.’
I nearly choke on my tea. ‘You know Reece?’
‘Oh yes, he comes into the shop,’ Lettie says. ‘Lovely chap. Always polite, but ask him anything about the work and he clams up completely. Been working up there for months now, but he won’t say a word about what he’s doing or who he’s working for.’
‘What’s he got to hide?’ Madge agrees. ‘If it was something good for the village, why all the secrecy?’
Secretive? Reece? I’m trying to think of the last time I met a more open person than Reece when Wilma slams her hand on the table hard enough to rattle the teacups.
‘Exactly! Which is why your arrival is so fascinating. You must have spoken to the owner directly to get permission to park there. What did he tell you about the plans? Is he taking any notice of the protests in the village? We were quite proud of our banner, and Reece must have told him what’s going on… ’
‘I really don’t know anything.’
‘Oh, come now,’ Lettie says encouragingly. ‘We’re all friends here! What’s he like? Old? Young? Millionaire? Billionaire?’
‘Does he seem like the sort who’d care about the village?
’ Madge asks hopefully. ‘Or is he, as we fear, just another one of those rich second-home people who thinks rural communities exist solely for their entertainment while they holiday here for two weeks a year to escape their busy city lives? They’re ruining small villages like this up and down the country! ’
I feel crushed by the weight of their expectations.
Here are three women who care deeply about their community.
I remember how much life here revolved around that pub from when I was younger.
Everyone went to the Kingfisher Arms, and now they think I’ve got answers that might give them hope when this has done nothing but confuse me even more.
I had zero idea that the car park was off-limits. Did I miss a sign in the dark on that first night? Did I drive right through ‘no entry’ tape? And why didn’t Reece tell me that?
I look around, searching for a way out of this without attracting further suspicion. ‘It’s been lovely to meet you all, but I really should get going, I’ve got to get some shopping, and—’
‘Nonsense!’ Lettie waves my concerns away. ‘The shop’s not going anywhere and this is much more important!’
‘Yes, have some cake with your tea!’ Madge cuts me a slice of Victoria sponge the size of a building brick.
‘This used to be a tearoom, you know, but it’s had to close because of the drop in visitor numbers.
This is the best place to watch over the village, so the owners still let us use the outside space, but we have to bring our own tea and cake these days! ’
I take a forkful of the cake and shove it in my mouth as a way of buying time.
I look up at the abandoned building and its hollow, sad soul stares back at me.
I can visualise it in its heyday, picture tables and chairs inside, and that bunting when it was bright coloured and new.
It makes me think of The Nostalgia Café and what my future holds now…
What am I going to do with my life now that dream is over?
The ladies have never seen anyone chew cake so slowly before, because I’m trying to figure out how to approach this.
I don’t want to pique any extra interest, but it also feels like they deserve some honesty.
‘I don’t actually know who the owner is.
I don’t even have permission to be there, but Reece has taken pity on me and not kicked me out yet… ’
The ladies all sit back, disappointment on their faces. ‘And he hasn’t told you anything about the owner?’
‘Only that he’s been hired to convert it from a pub into a house. I don’t know anything more than you do.’
‘It’ll be knocked down and turned into some ghastly modern mansion,’ Wilma says grimly.
‘Mark my words. That’s what these rich city-types do – they buy up our heritage and destroy it.
Losing the pub was bad enough, but to turn it into a private house that gives no benefit to the village and brings no tourists… ’
‘Maybe the owner will turn out to be a hot celebrity who will have legions of fans wanting to visit. You see it all the time,’ Madge says knowingly. ‘These big, fancy celebs trying to escape the limelight and hide away in tiny villages where no one would think to look for them.’
‘And you couldn’t get much more hidden than the Kingfisher Arms if you didn’t want to be found, could you?’ Lettie guffaws and knocks her arm against mine, causing the shopping basket to clang against the table leg as I choke on the forkful of cake I’d just put into my mouth.
‘Beyoncé and Jay-Z are buying a house in the Cotswolds,’ Wilma says. ‘Why shouldn’t a big celeb want to move to a place like this?’
She’s quite possibly the least likely person I’d have expected to know who Beyoncé and Jay-Z are, much less their real estate plans.
‘Ooh, it might be that handsome Jake Gyllenhaal,’ Madge says excitedly. ‘I wouldn’t mind him as a neighbour. I could sculpt a statue of him. Naked. Accurate for posterity, of course. We could display it on the roundabout on the way into the village.’
I laugh harder than I meant to. If their new neighbour is Jake Gyllenhaal, I think he might swiftly reconsider his relocation choices.
They regale me with tales of the pub while I finish my cake, and tell me about much-loved quiz nights that used to be the talk of the village before the pub was closed down, and as they get caught up in stories of quiz teams past, I take it as an opportunity to flee.
I thank them for the tea and cake and manage to escape with a promise to visit again soon.
Lettie finishes her tea and walks with me back across the green to her shop.
She lets me do the rest of my shopping in peace, and when my basket is full, she surreptitiously examines every item as she runs it through the checkout, and I have no doubt that everything I’ve bought will be meticulously reported back to the others, including the fact that I can’t eat four pastries by myself.
I pay for everything, wondering if the police are monitoring my bank account and tracking my card, and leave with another impassioned reminder that I must tell the ladies immediately if I hear any juicy gossip.
The walk back up to the Kingfisher Arms feels longer than the walk down, partly because I’m carrying heavy bags and partly because my head’s spinning with everything I’ve learned.
A village without a tearoom. Private property.
A mysterious owner who’s bought the pub and won’t show his face.
A community desperate for information about what’s happening to the heart of their village.
And Reece, who apparently won’t tell anyone what he’s really doing or who he’s working for.
By the time I reach the campervan, I’m starting to wonder if I’ve stumbled into more than I bargained for here. Why didn’t Reece mention it was private property? Why did he let me think it was perfectly fine to camp there? And what exactly is my buoyant new neighbour hiding?