Chapter 23
Gingerbread latte – strongly brewed coffee, warmed milk, added spices and whipped cream. Perfect for warming up chilly guests. Serve with Christmas shortbread.
T he letter arrived two days later, enfolded inside an imposing, embossed Christmas card. The card featured a carriage and four horses snorting outside a snow-covered coaching inn. A woman in a Victorian-looking coat and hat, her hands hidden in an enormous fur muff, stood expectantly.
It made Livvy laugh as it reminded her how her mother was always ready for any journey a good twenty minutes too early. She would then stand around nagging her father into a panic-induced fluster.
Livvy added the card to the growing collection hung above the bar, making sure it had a prominent central position. She knew her mother would check.
As she unfolded the letter, she thought how typical it was of her parents to write a formal message when a phone call or text would do.
Livvy questioned whether they actually knew when their business life ended and family life began.
At least they hadn’t put it through the office franking system: it bore a proper Christmas stamp with a cheeky red-breasted robin.
She tore it off the envelope and popped it in the pot on the bar.
The George, along with its support for the RNLI, was collecting used stamps for the hospice in Bridport.
The letter confirmed her parents would be staying the following week before driving over to Southampton to join their cruise. With their usual high-handedness, they hadn’t asked, just presumed.
‘Well, Dad, if you’re staying, you can put in a shift behind the bar,’ Livvy murmured.
Whatever her mother’s feelings on Livvy running an ordinary local pub, she knew her father would love it.
It would take him back to when he began in the business.
She read the rest of the letter without a great deal of interest, it mostly concerned the state of the hospitality industry, the expensive repairs on their house in France and their inability to keep a decent cleaner for their pile in the Cotswolds.
Then her eye landed on something written nearly at the bottom, just before they’d signed off.
Oh, and we thought you’d like to know we’re thinking of letting the Gates go.
This was news. The Olde Gates, the last remaining hotel owned by the family, was going to be sold.
Livvy frowned. Her parents were only in their mid-fifties, it seemed far too young to give up the one thing that gave them so much fulfilment.
She wondered what they’d find to do with their time.
There were only so many cruises you could go on.
Looking around at the pub bar she doubted she’d ever feel like giving The George up.
It felt like home now, even though she had to share it with strangers a lot of the time.
Scanning the letter again, she supposed, on reflection, it was no surprise to hear her parents were considering retiring.
The last few years had been a challenging time for the hospitality trade; a hell of an understatement. Still, it would take some adjusting to.
She pictured the rooms upstairs, trying to decide which one to put her parents in.
There were a number of bedrooms but none had been refurbished yet.
The only other en suite one would have to do; her mother would baulk at creeping along a cold corridor in search of a loo in the middle of the night.
It was a functional but chilly looking room, with white walls, black beams and smear of damp damage on the ceiling.
It needed a repaint and some colourful bedding.
She didn’t have time to repaint, but she could chuck a brightly patterned throw over the bed. It would just have to do.
She wondered what her parents would make of Lullbury Bay. Her father would happily make do but her mother would struggle to find any excitement in a little seaside town in December. What on earth would she do with her? Giggling, Livvy couldn’t see her putting in a stint behind the bar.
Banishing her concerns, she went upstairs to check on bedding and have another look at which bedroom to put them in.
She’d have to pay Candice some extra shifts to get upstairs looking half decent.
Like most pubs, the emphasis and the money was spent on the public rooms and this was certainly the case with The George.
Refurbishing the bedrooms was at the very end of a long to-do list.
There was a glowering darkness outside, even though it was ten in the morning.
Glancing through the window on the half landing, she could see ominous heavy clouds rolling in over a greeny-grey churning sea.
It was one thing which fascinated her about living on the coast; the ever-changing seascape and the fact you could predict the weather by looking out and seeing what would be heading landwards in about five minutes.
She stood for a minute watching the clouds roll in and the wind get up.
The tree palms in the beer garden began to thrash about.
The garden was yet another project but one which would have to wait for better weather.
The smokers would have to put up with the ramshackle wooden pergola for the time being.
The beer garden would be a real asset though, when landscaped.
It commanded magnificent views across the bay and who didn’t like sipping a cool white wine outside on a balmy summer’s evening?
As the first hit of sleet hurled itself at the window, Livvy shivered.
A hot summer seemed a long way off. It was just as well they all had Christmas to look forward to; it was such a dark time of the year.
Her phone buzzed. It was Mark asking her if she was still up for Late Night Shopping that evening. The ensuing conversation warmed her up and completely made her forget all about her parents’ impending visit and the horrible weather.