The Lavender Bay Collection: including Spring at Lavender Bay, Summer at Lavender Bay and Snowflakes at Lavender Bay

‘I can’t say I blame you, but you’ll have to tell her at some point.’

Beth nodded. ‘I haven’t even told her I quit my job.’ She lifted her face to meet Libby’s sympathetic gaze. ‘You know what she’s like.’ Her stomach churned as she pictured her mother’s reaction. Beth could explain her reasons until she was blue in the face and Linda would see it as a failure; would put the blame on Beth the same way she had when she found out Charlie had broken up with her. It would have to be done at some point, but not yet. Not until she was sure she was actually going to stay.

Libby winced. ‘Me and my big mouth. I’m sorry, B, forget I even mentioned it.’ She fiddled with the dial until she found a station full of the latest hits. ‘That’s more like it.’ Libby shook her hips hard enough to give Beyoncé a run for a money as she brandished the feather duster.

The loud music was nothing Eleanor would’ve stood for more than two minutes. Beth swallowed away the lump in her throat. Trying to keep everything the way her old friend had had it would only make things worse. If she was going to think about running the place—even for a little while— she would have to put her own stamp on things. With the music blaring away, they set to on the floor and windows singing and laughing at the tops of their voices. As the dust cleared and the happy atmosphere settled, the old ghosts receded to their dark corners. For now.

Chapter Seven (#u8be2e51c-489a-586d-bf3e-0f8634823a14)

‘Where’s the rest of the wine?’ Sam frowned as the drayman from the brewery unloaded the last of the stock into the rear yard. ‘I ordered two-dozen from the new quality range featured in the latest promotion.’

The man dumped a tray of soft drinks on top of the nearest stack then pushed back the cap on his head to scratch at his fringe. ‘Didn’t see nothing other than the usual wines on the manifest. Let me fetch it from the cab.’

‘All right. I’ll be back in sec.’ With a lurking sense of suspicion Sam jogged inside and up the stairs. ‘Dad, have you seen the orders folder?’ He stuck his head around the corner of the kitchen door to find Paul sorting through the previous night’s takings—the takings Sam had already tallied, checked and made up ready to pay in later. His gut tightened in annoyance at the sight.

Not making any attempt to disguise what he was doing, his dad waved his pen in the direction of an open folder on the other side of the table. ‘Is there a problem?’

Sam started leafing through the paperwork. ‘I’m not sure, I ordered some new wine but it’s missing from the delivery.’

Paul capped his pen. ‘Oh, I cancelled that. People don’t want to waste their money on over-priced plonk. This isn’t your fancy restaurant where customers will pay over the odds for a pretty label.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Sam rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the headache he could feel brewing. ‘And it didn’t occur to you to mention that to me?’

‘Mind your tone. It’s still my name above the door to this place. And no, it didn’t occur to me to tell you I’d cancelled it any more than it occurred to you to run the idea past me in the first place.’

Ouch. He had a point, but still… ‘I talked to Mum about organising a gourmet evening, something a bit different to draw people in while it’s quiet. When I saw the deal, it seemed like an ideal chance to get some decent wine in. I was going to plan the menu around it.’

‘Hello?’ A shout came from down below, cutting off whatever response his dad might have made.

‘Shit. I left the drayman, hang on a minute.’ Still seething with frustration, Sam ran back downstairs to apologise for the mix-up and sign off the delivery. He waved the man off, then secured the tall metal gates protecting the rear yard.

The stacks of cans, bottles and casks of beer seemed to mock him when he turned to face them. He should go upstairs and have it out with his dad, but in the mood they were both in, one or other of them was likely to say something they’d regret. A bit of manual labour would help him work off the edge of his temper. Unhooking the keys from his belt, Sam unlocked the double doors to the cellar and began to transfer the new stock down the short flight of steps.

He’d just about finished when the side door next to the rear gates opened and his mum came bustling through, a number of empty carrier bags folded in her hands. ‘Well that’s Beth’s freezer all stocked up. Good idea of yours to give her some of our leftovers, there was only half a lump of cheese and some tomatoes in her fridge. Some homecooked food will do her the power of good. She’s making really good progress next door, I’m so proud of how well she’s coping. Everything all right with you, love?’ She beamed at him on her way inside, then suddenly drew to a stop. ‘No, you’re not all right if that thundercloud lurking on your brow is anything to go by.’

Sam couldn’t help but smile. His mum had always had a funny term of phrase, and he hadn’t heard that one for years. ‘Just a misunderstanding with the stock, nothing to worry about.’

Annie picked up the manifest from the top of the last remaining stack. ‘Did the brewery make a cock-up? That’s not like them.’

Hefting a couple of the trays, Sam shook his head. ‘Dad cancelled that new wine I talked to you about.’

‘Oh. I see.’ The edge of the manifest crumpled in her fist. ‘Stubborn old fool.’

Arms aching, Sam put the trays back down then moved to give her a quick hug. ‘It’s okay. I should have talked to him about it.’

Annie patted his back. ‘And he needs to recognise how much you’ve given up to help us, darling.’ She looked up at him, the lines of strain on her cheeks clear at such proximity. ‘I don’t tell you often enough how much I appreciate it. How much we both appreciate it. I’ll have a talk with him, okay?’

Sam nodded. ‘We’ve been doing crisis management for what, six months now? There’s too many blurred lines. I know he’s finding it hard to deal with taking a back seat, but it’s like he doesn’t trust me to do anything.’ And now he sounded like a whining child. He puffed out a breath. ‘It’ll be fine, Mum. I’ll admit I was looking forward to playing around in the kitchen again, but it’s no big deal. Don’t say anything to Dad, yet.’

‘Well, if you’re sure…’Annie didn’t sound convinced.

‘I am. Let me have a think about things and then we can all sit down when tempers aren’t running hot.’

‘Okay, but not too long. I don’t like seeing you unhappy.’ She cupped his cheek. ‘Please try and remember than none of this is about you. Your dad is so proud of you, and he’s always been your biggest fan. We’ll talk him around.’

Not feeling as confident as her about that, Sam made himself smile. ‘Sure thing, Mum. I’ll get the last of this stock sorted and then make a start in the bar.’

‘Good boy.’

He shook his head. ‘You’re still going to be calling me that when I’m fifty, aren’t you?’

Annie laughed. ‘Of course. You and Eliza will always be my babies, even if I have to stand on a chair to look you in the eye these days.’ She patted his hand before turning towards the back door. ‘I’ll fetch you a cup of tea in a bit.’

She was never going to stop fussing, so why fight it? ‘Cheers, Mum.’

Although she’d promised not to say anything, it was clear from the sheepish looks his dad was casting him from his seat next to Pops that Annie had bent his ear. It was a quiet lunchtime, a few locals scattered around the place. Mind turning over how to tackle the problem with his dad, Sam polished a few glasses, one ear on the latest gossip being passed back and forth.

Things continued to move apace at the emporium, giving the locals plenty of gossip fodder. The latest talking point was the apparently shocking decision by Beth to repaint the emporium’s window frames and front door in scarlet red. A new sign had been ordered, according to Pops, who’d heard it from one of his pals up at Baycrest whose nephew was a carpenter and joiner.

‘I hear she’s replacing the canopy as well.’ Hester Bradshaw sniffed to show him what she thought of that as she and the Major waited for him to pour their usual gin and dubonnet and half an ale. ‘I admit the place was looking very shabby, but I’m not sure red is quite the thing for Lavender Bay, do you, Ronnie?’

The Major harrumphed and stroked his fingers over his moustache. ‘Not the thing at all. It’ll look like a bloody stick of rock.’

‘Or a tube of toothpaste,’ she added through lips so tightly pursed they reminded Sam of a dog’s rear-end. Giving her a non-committal smile, he wondered what she said out of earshot about the pub sign swinging over The Siren’s front door. It had been commissioned by Pops, way back in the day, and if the namesake mermaid it featured didn’t draw sailors to their doom with her beautiful voice, her generous boobs would certainly draw them off course.

His mum wandered in from the back to join him, lifting the tea towel from where it was draped over his shoulder and began to polish the already-spotless glasses waiting on the rack beneath the bar. ‘Evening Hester, Ronnie, how are you this evening?’

‘Mustn’t grumble.’ The Major raised his half-pint in salute and sucked the foam through his thick moustache.

‘I was just telling your son about the new colour scheme next door.’ Mrs Bradshaw whispered the two words as though she was saying something obscene.

Annie flicked her tea towel at a non-existent spot of dust, the gesture dismissive. ‘Well, I for one think it looks wonderful. I’m delighted to see Beth making a few changes around the place. Hopefully her efforts will spur a few others into having a spruce up.’ She turned to Sam. ‘Speaking of which. It’s about time our front had a makeover. I’m bored of that white everywhere. What do you say?’

He stroked his chin, pretending to give the matter serious consideration while he tried to disguise the grin tugging at his lips. His mum could be a right wind-up merchant when she got in the mood, and the sparkle in her eyes told him what she thought the Major and his interfering wife could go and do. ‘I think you might be right, Mum. Something vibrant—a nice sunny yellow, perhaps? Or something bolder like an azure blue.’ He glanced towards Hester whose cheeks had turned an alarming shade. ‘Puce, perhaps?’

His mum covered a laugh with a cough, giving him a nudge with her elbow as she leaned past him to grab another already-clean glass. ‘Mmm…yellow. You could be onto something there, Sammy. I’ll have to have a chat with Emma up at Bunches and see about redesigning the baskets and pots. Lots of orange marigolds…’

Sam bit the inside of his cheek. The cascading floral display outside the pub was his mum’s pride and joy. She spent hours planning the designs with her friend from the florist’s and they were always subtle hues of lilac, pink and blue. If Hester stopped and thought about it for a moment, she would know Annie was pulling her leg. But that would require a sense of humour, something the woman sadly lacked.

The Major tucked his hand under his wife’s elbow and steered her away from the bar before she had an apoplexy. She was still chuntering away about tasteful design and calling an emergency meeting of the improvement society, but Sam let it drift into the background. It seemed like everyone in town had an opinion on the changes Beth was making, perhaps it was time he checked it out for himself.

He turned to his mum. ‘Will you be all right here for a bit on your own?’

She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything more than, ‘Yes, love.’

On a whim, he took a detour upstairs to dig around in the freezer. His hand closed on a Tupperware box and he withdrew the delicate pistachio macarons he’d made a few weeks previously. Sam pushed against the wooden gate in the fence surrounding the rear of the emporium and was stopped short by the resisting lock. Pausing to rub his shoulder, he stared up at the back of the building. Eleanor had never kept the gate bolted, but he should have thought that Beth might do so. The first-floor sash window had been pushed up and the strains of a radio competed with a metallic bang and the kind of language even Pops might blush at.

The swearing paused, and Sam cupped his free hand to his mouth and called out. ‘Hey, Beth, are you there?’ It was a stupid question. Of course she was there, for there was no mistaking the slight husk in the stream of invective that followed.