Chapter Twenty-Four
It was with regret that I said goodbye to Linda, but it was a relief to get away from Milo.
‘Lovely to meet you, Tilly,’ Linda called after me. ‘Come back and see me soon.’
‘Take care, Dilly,’ Milo yodelled. ‘Especially in that racy little car of yours.’
Evidently, he wasn’t going to forgive me any time soon for calling him Mr Moron – or nearly running him over. No doubt he was thrilled to bits that his parting comment would wind me up.
I tried and failed to come up with an icy retort just for Milo. One that went right over Linda’s head but landed in Milo’s nether regions – and preferably delivered frostbite to his testicles.
I had a sudden vision of Milo in bed with Linda and Polly the barmaid, and the three of them peering woefully at his damaged meat and veg. A case of two birds and one stone.
Blimey, where had that thought come from? I shook it away and headed off to Octavia. Moments later, the goods from the Strawberry Shed were in her boot.
Mum, I’m starving.
‘You and me both,’ I said. ‘Come on. Let’s go and check out the pub. I’ll order bangers and mash and share the sausages with you.’
Apart from anything else, I was curious about young Polly – the barmaid who apparently lusted after Milo. Not that I cared. I was simply being a nosy parker. Because, well, I had nothing else to do right now. Lisa was away. My parents were in Cornwall. I had no one else with whom to spend the rest of the day – other than my beloved Cindy.
Together, we walked along the lane. The Starlight Arms eventually came into view. It was, like all the buildings around here, quaint and pretty. The pub’s exterior showcased several hanging baskets filled with winter pansies and trailing ivy.
To one side of the pub was a beer garden. In summer it would be picture perfect. Right now, it featured trestle tables not dissimilar to those inside the Strawberry Shed. Several planters were scattered about, their flowering shrubs adding a splash of colour.
A rustic sign shaped like a pointed arrow was engraved with a message to visiting patrons:
A warm welcome to all our customers!
For the umpteenth time I found myself wishing that I lived in this village. For one tiny moment I allowed myself a little daydream. That I’d taken a short stroll from Starlight Cottage to the Starlight Arms, darling Cindy at side. One woman and her dog. On a sausage mission.
As we stepped over the threshold, my senses reeled. The aroma of roast beef hung in the air. It mixed perfectly with the smell of ale, furniture polish, and kindling.
The pub boasted a quarry-tiled floor, overhead beams, and recessed lighting. The bar area sported a highly polished oak counter. It ran almost the length of the entire area. Tables and chairs were dotted about inviting visitors to huddle and talk privately. Several were already occupied with hungry patrons tucking into mouthwatering dishes.
My eyes flicked over the diners’ plates. Shepherd’s pie… mac cheese… pork chops and apple sauce… a full English… a roast with golden puffs of Yorkshire puds. Ooh, yummy.
To the left was a feature fireplace. A vast inglenook housed a wood burner. Logs filled the space around the stove, which was currently burning brightly. The glow was both visually and physically warming. And – yippee! – there was an empty table right by the fire. I mentally marked it, then headed over to the bar.
A pretty brunette, somewhere in her twenties, gave me a welcoming smile.
‘Can I help you?’
Ah, this must be Polly the dolly. Or should I say dollybird?
That’s a bit bitchy, Mum.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that.’
Polly’s smile wavered.
‘Mean what?’
‘Oops.’ I gave a tinkly laugh. ‘I’m on the phone.’ I tapped the side of my head, apparently touching a Bluetooth earpiece which Polly couldn’t see on account of my long hair.
Oh, Muuum, Cindy sighed. I wish you wouldn’t do things like this. It’s so obvious you’re blagging. You don’t have a microphone.
I pulled my hair forward, so it was almost covering my mouth.
‘Yes… yes… that’s fine… okay… bye-eeeee,’ I trilled through my tresses.
I cleared my throat. Gazed at Polly. She was looking at me like I was a couple of Yorkshires short of a roast.
‘I’d like bangers and mash, please. Can I order a couple of extra sausages? They’re for my dog.’
The pub was starting to fill up. A flurry of people came through the main door. They were rubbing warmth into their hands and stamping their feet. I looked at them with interest. First, an old boy and his wife. Next, three men wearing woolly hats. Bits of straw hung off them. I wondered if they worked at Fern Farm. Bringing up the rear was a large group of walkers. The latter were chattering and laughing. No doubt everyone was looking to fill their bellies with hot food. I was glad I’d placed my order before them, and avoided a long wait.
‘Anything to drink?’ asked Polly.
‘A pot of tea, please. Can I be cheeky and ask for a bowl of water for my dog?’
‘Of course,’ Polly smiled.
She pressed various buttons on the cash till’s touchscreen. As she rang up the amount, I surreptitiously studied her. She was certainly very attractive with her bee-stung lips, swishy hair and lustrous eyelashes. Were they real? I wondered whether eyelash extensions might suit me. Did she really fancy Milo? If so, I couldn’t begin to compete with the likes of her.
And why would you want to compete with her, Mum? Surely you don’t, ahem, fancy Mr Fancies-Himself-Rotten, do you?
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I muttered. Polly’s head shot up. ‘Phone,’ I mouthed, tapping my ear again.
Oh dear. Wrong ear. Perhaps I could make out I was wearing two earpieces. I pressed my hand against my head, as if making an adjustment.
‘Yeah… yeah… that’s great. Okay, bye.’ I looked at Polly. ‘Sorry about that.’ I made a tutting sound. ‘It’s gone a bit crazy today.’
‘Something certainly has,’ she muttered.
‘Sorry?’
‘Nothing.’ She flashed a quick smile. ‘Take a seat. I’ll bring everything over shortly.’
‘Thanks,’ I said.
I began to make my way over to the table I’d earmarked, then stopped dead in my tracks. Sitting there, for all the world as if he owned not just the table but the entire pub too, was Milo Soren.