Chapter 10
Dry white wine – crisp and no nonsense, with aromatic and tangy secondary notes. Hidden depths. Quaffable.
T he following day, after talking Brittany through how she saw the pub working and introducing her to the contactless payment system, and till, Livvy suggested they have a quick look around what their competitors in town were doing.
‘Lunch, or maybe several lunches, are on me,’ she offered with a grin.
She thought it would give her the ideal opportunity to get to know her new employee.
With Brittany bribed with a free lunch, they drove down the steep Harbour Hill to Lullbury Bay.
Livvy caught sight of a beautiful Victorian cottage charmingly called Christmas Tree Cottage.
It already had a huge tree erected outside, fully decorated and with an enormous white star on top.
She parked the van behind a row of yachts, dry moored for the winter, their halyards clinking in the stiff breeze coming off the sea.
‘This is the pub where the RNLI crew drink,’ Brittany drawled an explanation as she led Livvy to The Old Harbour Pub.
Livvy eyed the enormous Father Christmas figure lashed to the door frame. It appeared to be knitted and wobbled slightly in the wind whipping across the harbour. Odd thing to greet your customers with. Following Brittany to the bar she ordered drinks from the gruff man serving and sat down.
‘Is it a locals’ place?’ she asked, looking around at the intricate rope knots and framed pictures of the lifeboat hanging on the walls, all bedecked with red tinsel.
A Christmas tree stood in a corner near the wood burner, chaotically decorated in baubles and tinsel.
‘Santa Baby’ played jauntily in the background.
She could just about glimpse a pool table in the adjoining room.
It smelled of the sea in here, damp and salty and was, apart from themselves, completely empty.
‘Suppose.’ Brittany flicked back a long lock of blonde hair and took a sip of her white wine.
‘But it’s popular with the grocks in the summer.
Grockles. That’s local lingo for the tourists,’ she explained at Livvy’s blank look.
‘Super place to sit out in the sun and watch the weekenders get their 4x4s stuck as they try to tow their boats out of the mud at low tide. Great laugh.’ She grinned.
‘It was always the place to get a pint of cider when you were underage. Claude, that’s the landlord, turns a blind eye. ’
‘Risky. You could lose your licence.’
‘Don’t think old Claude is bothered. He’s been here donkeys. He’s pretty ancient. Heading into retirement any time.’
Livvy observed the man behind the bar who she assumed was Claude. White-haired, with a shaggy beard and an impressive handlebar moustache he looked quite a character. The place had all the feel of somewhere ticking over until its owner decided he’d had enough. ‘Do they serve food?’
Brittany shook her head. ‘Not really. Or not what I’d consider food.
Claude puts on sausage rolls and bacon baps and stuff but no more than that.
He’s good at doing food whenever there’s a fundraiser on, though.
Like the New Year’s Day Dip, or the Blessing of the Boats Ceremony.
On New Year’s Day everyone gets decked up in fancy dress and goes for a swim in the sea.
It’s to raise money for the lifeboat fund. ’
‘Sounds mad. Think I’d rather just bung them a cheque.’
Brittany laughed. ‘Yah. Probably is. It’s actually surprisingly good fun though. And everyone packs into here afterwards for a bacon roll and coffee. Trust me, you need it after swimming in the sea in January.’
‘I suppose wild water swimming is all the rage but that takes it to another level.’
‘Gosh yes, but I think it predates cold-water swimming. The tradition’s literally been going for yonks in Lullbury.’ Brittany pointed her glass at her. ‘You should give it a try. Clears the head awfully well from the night before.’
‘Maybe.’ Livvy wasn’t convinced. She pulled a face. ‘Not sure I’ve ever had a hangover bad enough to warrant swimming in sub-zero temperatures.’
Brittany giggled.
‘Tell me about the Blessing of the Boats Ceremony.’
‘Ar, that’s a good’un, that is.’ Claude appeared at their table. ‘Hello young Brittany. Haven’t seen you in here for a while.’
‘Hi, Claude. Yah, I’ve been away.’
‘Have you now. Where then? And anywhere compare with Lullbury Bay? Hard place to beat, is this town.’
‘Oh, Australia, Thailand, Dubai, you know.’ Brittany flashed a beseeching look at Livvy.
Livvy let the lie pass. A girl didn’t like the whole town knowing her failures.
‘I don’t know, my lovely. Never stepped foot out of Dorset, my girl. And who’s your friend here?’
‘I’m Livvy.’ Livvy extended a hand. ‘I’ve just taken over The Runaways, I mean The George as it’s now called.’
‘And very nice to meet you.’ He smoothed the points of his moustache. ‘Come in here to check out the competition?’
Claude obviously wasn’t as daft as he looked. Livvy smiled. ‘No harm in seeing what else is on offer in town. I’ve heard very good things about your bacon rolls.’
He grunted. ‘Just the thing on a cold day.’
‘And I hear you cater for the Blessing of the Boats too?’
He scratched his head. ‘Not sure I’d go as fancy as saying it’s catering , like, but it’s my contribution to the day.
It’s when the town gets together to give thanks for the boats that fish for us, give us our fun and sometimes saves us from the sea.
Vicar comes down, we has a sing-song and a prayer and then all pile in out of the wind. ’
Livvy was struck by the sincerity in his voice. ‘It sounds marvellous. I’ll make sure to attend. When does it happen?’
‘Not ’til May. Joke is, we waits until the weather’s better.’
‘And it’s absolutely freezing!’ Brittany butted in.
‘Tis that. But got to do it if you’m a seaside place. That sea out there is a pleasure and our supermarket but it’s a treacherous place if you don’t respect it.’
‘I’ve a lot to learn about living in a seaside town,’ Livvy said.
‘You’m come to the right place.’ Claude gave a wheezy grin, yellowing teeth just about visible beneath his whiskers.
‘Nowhere friendlier. We’ll have you part of the community in no time.
Pop next door to the lifeboat station while you’re down here and get a collection tin.
Stick it on your bar. Brings in a few pennies. ’
‘I will. And I couldn’t help notice your magnificent Father Christmas outside.’
‘Ar, we likes our Christmas, do us Lullbury folk.’
‘So I’ve heard. Is that something to do with the RNLI too?’
‘No, my lovely. That’s The Ninja Knitters.’
‘The who?’
Brittany spluttered with laughter. ‘The knit and natter group. They yarn bomb the town. Knitted hearts in the park for Valentine’s, giant yellow chicks for Easter.
They literally go all out for Christmas.
One year we had a full-sized nativity scene outside the church and knitted holly and ivy all along the promenade railings.
My sainted ma is a sometime member when she can be bothered.
They meet in The Sea Spray and knit and, well, natter. ’
Another form of community. Lullbury Bay seems good at it. ‘Sounds great,’ Livvy said. ‘I’m hopeless at that kind of thing but I’d love a Father Christmas for the pub.’
‘You would?’ Brittany looked appalled.
Livvy grinned at her. ‘If you can’t do tacky at Christmas, when can you?’
‘I know, darling, but there’s a limit.’
‘You won’t get no Father Christmas in time for this year,’ Claude said. ‘You has to put in a request months afore. Takes a deal of time. You might land a knitted holly wreath, I suppose.’
Livvy registered Brittany’s horrified look and smiled. ‘I’ll think about it. Thanks, Claude. And thanks for your hospitality.’
‘Off to The Ship now then, I reckon?’
‘No getting past you, Claude.’ Livvy tipped back her drink and rose. ‘I need to check out the rest of the competition. Are you coming, Brittany? I’ll stand you lunch, I hear the pies are good in The Ship.’
Brittany got to her feet. ‘Would rather a burger in the Toad, darling,’ she said, brooking no opposition.
As a compromise they ate burgers in the Toad and Flamingo, a pub which looked to be family-orientated, and popped into The Ship for coffee.
Livvy loved how it was hidden away along an alleyway off the main street.
She also enjoyed the feel of history shifting off the half-timbered walls.
She drank her coffee while Brittany flirted with two likely lads at the bar.
If she could train her up properly and instil any kind of work ethic, Brittany would be an asset.
When she forgot to maintain the cool, posh girl facade, there was a charm.
Combined with a no-nonsense brusqueness, it would serve her well behind a bar.
Looking around at The Ship’s interior Livvy thought this might be her closest rival.
A simple menu which showed they had confidence in their food; a convivial atmosphere; an enormous inglenook fireplace belting out welcome heat; what looked to be a thriving darts team judging from the cups displayed in a cabinet; and it clearly appealed to locals and tourists alike.
As she was making a note of what beers they had on tap, two burly blokes dragged in a Christmas tree.
Lenny, who she’d discovered was the landlord, resplendent in a Deep Purple T-shirt and faded Levis, supervised exactly where the tree went.
Fitting snugly into the alcove next to the open fire, it would look wonderful when dressed and twinkling with lights.
She put one on the list of things to order for her own place.
As they left, one of the lads at the bar called over. ‘Oi, Brit. Give us a snog.’ He grinned and gestured to the bunch of mistletoe hanging above their heads.
‘You should be so lucky, darling,’ Brittany shot back. ‘Whatever makes you think you can afford me?’
Livvy grinned and followed her out. She was right. With a guiding hand, Brittany would be a real asset to The George.
As they walked down Lullbury Bay’s steep main street to where she’d parked the van, a white sports car shot past. It was driven by a very chic blonde. And Mark was in the passenger seat.