Chapter 12
? Failing family business
As I entered The Star twenty years after that infamous mystery
shopping night, I was greeted by the sight of an unrecognisable
establishment.
The layout was exactly the same as I remembered, but gone were the scruffy carpets, sticky Marmite-brown tables and flashing quiz machines, and in their place were beautifully restored parquet floors, mismatched shabby-chic furniture and filament bulbs as far as the eye could see.
An ironic Queen Vic-esque bust took pride of place at the end of the bar, a Santa hat perched atop her head and tinsel around her neck.
It was like being in one of South East London’s gentrified ex-working men’s clubs – old-school but on-trend.
I loved it, and felt immediately at home.
I wandered up to the fairy-lit bar and cleared my throat to get the attention of the bartender.
‘Hi, I’ve got a dinner reservation for Allister at six? It’s, uh, a table for one…’
A head suddenly appeared out of the kitchen behind the bar. ‘Oh my God, Milly, it is you!’ It was Carly – Ryan’s now-wife, which I still couldn’t get my head around. I’d forgotten how insular a place Scarnbrook was.
‘Oh, um, Carly, isn’t it? I had no idea you worked here! Yes, that’s me, though I go by Mally these days so…’
‘Yeah, Ryan said something about that. Wasn’t that Elle’s weird little pet name for you at school?’
‘That’s the one, yeah.’
‘How funny! Oh, we haven’t seen you in years . What are you doing back here? Alone? And on pub quiz night?!’
Pub quiz? Oh God. This wasn’t part of the plan.
‘I’m staying nearby. For a work thing. Needed a bite to eat, so…’
‘So you booked a table for one at six o’clock on a Monday night in Scarnbrook? Hilarious!’
I opened my mouth to explain that it hadn’t actually been me who’d made the booking, but realised that would just sound even stranger.
‘Ha, yeah, I suppose it is. Just used to busy pubs in London, I guess.’
‘Oh my God, I have to tell Becky you’re here. Becky! I was right! Look, it is Milly!’
Carly’s identical twin appeared from the kitchen.
Becky and I had always got on well, especially in primary school, but had drifted apart as we’d grown up. We hugged warmly.
‘Milly! It’s so, so good to see you. But why the hell are you here?’
Becky never had been one to beat around the bush. But she was also one of those people who I could instantly feel at ease around, even after so many years apart.
‘Ah, just a random work thing. You both work here, then?’
‘We co-manage the place!’ Carly replied. ‘The old brewery pulled out about, what was it, Becky – eight years ago now?’
‘Yeah, I reckon so. They had some horrible plan to sell it to this twat of a developer called Christian Woods, who wanted to convert it into flats. And after what he did with the allotments we couldn’t let that happen – just too many good memories from back in the day.
Plus, the rest of the pubs in Scarnbrook had gone by then, believe it or not.
So, a bunch of us got together and launched a campaign to save it, and we now run it as a community pub. ’
The name Christian Woods sounded familiar but the pub’s phone interrupted my chain of thought before I could put my finger on why. Becky went off to answer it while Carly kept talking.
‘Ryan said you bumped into Tom last night – something about your car?’
‘Yes, I had no idea the two of you were married! Anyway, I thought driving to Scarnbrook would save me the hassle of a public transport mission, but I seem to attract hassle regardless.’
Carly cocked her head to the side. ‘We’ve got a Bristol postcode, Milly, we’re not exactly hard to get to!’
Oh God, had I offended her in the same way I’d put my foot in it with Tom last night?
My mind started to race as I tried to figure out a way to make it clear that I absolutely did not think Scarnbrook was the arse end of nowhere, but before I could formulate the words, Carly’s warm hand squeezed mine for a brief moment before she kept talking.
‘Milly Allister, I refuse to let you spend the evening here alone. Ryan’s already on his way from work, but let me see who else I can gather together. It’s rollover night on the pub quiz, too. You’re a clever-clogs – join the right team and you could be in for a big win!’
Every part of me wanted to do a runner. But the bingo sheets had imprinted themselves on my mind.
Maybe an impromptu school reunion would give me some more material for the article.
Hell, maybe it would give me enough material, and then I could hide myself away and write the damn thing until my car was fixed.
‘I mean, don’t go to any trouble or anything – I was just going to have a quick dinner before heading back…’
Carly’s palm appeared disconcertingly close to my face.
‘Enough. Let me handle this. You just go and sit at any table you like and I’ll bring you a glass of fizz on the house.
I’ll get the kitchen to rustle you up one of our legendary Christmas dinners with all the trimmings.
Unless… you’re not vegan like your brother, are you? ’
I made a mental note that Carly was aware of Josh’s online profile.
If she knew he’d started to veer into conspiracy theory territory, everyone probably did.
It made me sad to think that the people here might presume that all the Allisters had lost their minds since we’d left. That said, perhaps we had.
‘No, no – all good. Sounds perfect.’
‘Great. Oh, it’s just so good to see you, Milly!’
I opened my mouth to correct her, but closed it. It was kind of nice to be called Milly again.
Over the next forty-five minutes or so I somehow managed to polish off most of a bottle of Prosecco by myself while savouring my delicious dinner.
Despite the slate tiles instead of regular plates, it was genuinely one of the tastiest pub meals I’d ever had.
Becky came out from behind the bar as often as she could, and in snatches of conversation I learnt more about her and Carly’s pub venture.
‘Basically, me and Carly get paid to manage it as a job-share – we take it in turns to be here – but strictly speaking we’re not the landlords. Instead, anyone in the community can buy a membership to get a share of the profits, and all the members also get an equal say in how we run the place.’
‘Oh wow, so all the other staff here co-own the pub?’
‘Mostly, yeah. We’ve got some paid employees – mainly in the kitchen – but we rely on member volunteers for pretty much every shift.’
‘What an amazing story. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a community pub before – not knowingly, anyway.’
‘It got quite a bit of publicity at the time. We made the front page of the Western Daily Press !’
‘I’ve got to say, Becky, you’ve worked wonders. I never came in here much before, but you and Carly have turned it into such a cosy and welcoming place. You should be really proud of yourselves.’
‘Argh, you know I’ve never been good at taking compliments. But thanks – it means a lot you saying that. Especially at the moment.’
‘What do you mean?’
Becky let out a long sigh and took a look over her shoulder before continuing quietly.
‘Well, everything was going great here for the first few years, but then the pandemic kicked off, the bottom dropped out of the business and we started to get approached by that developer again – the same one who tried to close the pub down before we took over.’
‘This Christian Woods bloke?’ I asked. I still couldn’t pinpoint where I’d heard that name before.
‘Yes! Total twat. Over the last few months, he’s crawled back out of the woodwork and seems hell-bent on getting his grubby little mittens on the pub again.
It’s as if he’s some kind of parasite sucking all the community spirit out of Scarnbrook and we’re the only independently owned business left for him to conquer.
And his latest trick has been to launch a hate campaign against us. ’
‘In what way?’ I asked.
‘Oh, you know, the usual: complaining to the council about non-existent lock-ins and writing horrific online reviews about us on Google and Tripadvisor to put off any potential customers.’
‘That’s awful! Can’t you report him to someone?’
‘We’ve got no proof. But we know it’s him.
He even comes in for a meal or a drink now and then, leaving vastly inflated tips for the staff so they greet him like a celebrity whenever he’s here.
The pub members are even starting to turn against us themselves given how much quieter the place has been this Christmas.
His strategy is blatantly to run us into the ground, gaslight at least two-thirds of the members into siding with him and make a vastly underinflated offer that, one day, we’ll be brow-beaten enough to accept. I can’t tell you how much I hate him.’
‘I’m not surprised. He sounds like a total arsehole. I’m going to look him up – his name sounds so familiar but I can’t figure out why.’
I tapped his name into Google accompanied by the word ‘Scarnbrook’. Countless results popped up, including his social media accounts. I opened his LinkedIn page and zoomed in on his photo. Everything clicked into place.
‘Aha,’ I said.
‘You recognise him? I’m not surprised, to be honest – he’s something of a local figurehead with all these connections in high places. I swear that’s how he ended up getting permission to flatten the allotments even though there was so much local opposition.’
‘Yeah, he was in my brother’s football team. His name rang a bell as I think he quite often comments on my brother’s social media posts.’
‘Huh. Small world.’
I was fast realising just how small. I put my phone away, but made a mental note to do some more digging on Christian Woods later since a ‘local scoundrel’ would come in handy for my article – especially one who appeared to be hell-bent on destroying a family-run business.