The cross was a towering limestone and cast iron edifice in what had once been the market square but was now a bottleneck cursed by lorry drivers. Mal arrived there with a few minutes to spare, out of breath because he'd been held up at work by another round of recriminations from Marcia Stenhouse. He was in no mood for a lecture on punctuality so was relieved to see no sign of Betty's parrot hair.
He had four custodians, two of whom only worked weekends and so he rarely saw them. The museum was closed on Monday, giving him the place to himself, in theory, so he could catch up on paperwork though the librarians often demanded his time, but for the rest of the week he enjoyed the company of Betty and Sharon, who worked a complex pattern of mornings and afternoons that they swapped around between themselves. Sharon was older than Betty, with a teenaged daughter and a huge enthusiasm for local history. Betty looked pure art college though she had gone to Hereford Tech, then worked at her auntie's hairdressing salon, until they had fallen out over a matter of highlights. Betty had talked her way into the job at the museum in the hope of getting more young people to attend.
"Some pigging hope round here," she said. "If it doesn't run on batteries, the little tossers don't want to know."
She'd had him pegged as gay within the space of two hours’ acquaintance and was refreshingly matter-of-fact about it.
"I'm sorry to say you won't find much in the way of nightlife round here," she'd said. "But there are some places that are more welcoming than others."
She'd reeled off a list but Mal had forgotten it. The Pemberland Centre for Heritage and Culture, once the Town Museum, was in the middle of a big readjustment. Not only had they lost a lot of space to the library but the previous curator had left in order to care for her ailing sister. With a mountain of paperwork, cataloguing and conservation projects, Mal felt he had earned a night out. All work and no play ...
"There you are!" Betty appeared at his elbow and grabbed his arm. "Let's go the long way round the square so I can show you off. You're not bad looking, in a geeky sort of way, and I want as many people as possible to see you."
"Betty," Mal fell into step with her as they circumnavigated a tub of tatty windblown petunias, "you aren't forgetting something are you?"
"That you don't do girls? Nope. But they don't know that, do they?" She tilted her head towards a Range Rover parked beside the old market hall and the three women, two in the car, one outside with a sit up and beg bicycle with an honest to God basket on the front, who were staring at them. Betty raised her hand and gave them a wave.
"Oh! That's Mrs Gaskell driving." Mal said, raising his hand when the three women waved back.
"Bella Farriner, on the bike, is Chair of the Ladies Circle, sort of an up-market version of the WI only they don't make jam and shit. In fact, I don't think they do anything much apart from wear hats and turn up at events. The other one in the car is Veronica Garth but she'll make you call her Ronnie. She's a hoot. Used to date Mick Jagger, or was it Keith Moon? Anyhow, she's more fun than the other two."
"Well, I expect they have their uses." Mal said. "Is it much further? Because it's coming on to rain."
"Oh my God, you're such a wimp. The Coach and Horses is just down here." Betty hurried him along the pavement to a street running off the square and down the hill. Another fifty yards or so and he spotted the stone arch of the entrance to a stable yard and a long rather low building beyond it. The timbered upper floor overhung the lower one by half a metre supported by heavily plastered beams. Above the door swung a battered sign with a shadowy picture that Mal quite couldn't make out.
"Here we go," Betty said reaching to open the door. "Mind your head, it's a bit low."
The Coach and Horses was definitely the oldest building Mal had been in since coming to Pemberland. Inside the beams were more obvious and the stone flagged floor was worn in dips and hollows from the passage of feet over time. Tudor, Mal guessed, at the very latest.
"It's not much," Betty said, "but they do the best curry in town."
Mal looked around at the mismatched tables and the wooden chairs whose legs had worn down against the stone floors, and the noticeboard scattered with posters and handwritten adverts. He took a breath, filling his lungs with the fumes of beer and lager and a brilliant dash of spice. It couldn't be more different from the plush yet sterile bars he had gone to in Bristol. This was real. Suddenly Mal wanted more than anything to be a 'local', to become a regular and get a welcoming grin from the barman, who would pull him his pint without having to ask his preference.
"It looks great," Mal said. "What do we do now?"
"Get us a table and I'll get menus," Betty suggested. "What do you drink? I know, I'll surprise you. No, you're not buying the first round. What is this? The fifties? You can put it down to me currying favour with the boss if you like. G'wan, go sit down."
The curry when it came, was spiced to a mild heat, filled with succulent pieces of lamb, and served on a bed of rice with puffy sweet-flavoured naan on the side. The beer was full bodied and dark. Mal sipped and ate, and sighed with happiness.
"I could get used to this," he said. "Is the rest of the menu as good?"
"Fish and chips to die for." Betty mopped up the last of her curry sauce with a scrap of naan. "And the steak pies are good or fabulous depending who makes them. One of the chefs is better than the other at pastry. But hey - it makes it interesting. Don't you like your beer?"
Mal drained his glass with a happy gulp and got out of his seat. Betty's glass was empty and he could take a hint. "It was great. Do you want another pint or are you ready for a gin?"
"For shame, trying to lead a girl astray. And you my boss 'n' all. Gin, please, and if you're still up for it we could go through to the snug for a game of pool."
They got their drinks and Betty led Mal through a door beside the bar - he had to duck to get under the lintel - across a quarry tiled corridor and into another bar.
"Oh look out, it's Peaches. Aye-aye, what can we do you for, darlin'?" The voice was familiar, and so was the bright grin.
"Piss off, Rob," Betty said. "Me an' my boss want the table when you're done. Hallo, Sion, Gary."
Other voices chimed in with greetings but Mal was exchanging measuring glances with Rob, who had swapped his hard hat, coveralls and high vis jacket for jeans and a long-sleeved tee that fitted in all the right places.
"Well, well," Rob said. "Didn't think I'd be seeing you again so soon, Mr Archaeologist."
Mal took him in with a sigh of appreciation. Outdoorsman tan, scruffy black curls, the sort of body you got from working bloody hard in the open air, with just a little hint of a beer belly from playing equally hard in the evenings. Or maybe he was relaxed because he knew he didn't have to try too hard? Either way, Betty was right, those eyes were wonderful. Almost as nice as the welcoming smile.
"Neither did I," Mal admitted. "Um, I'm Betty's boss, Malcolm Bright."
"Oh, so you're Captain Tightpants." Their hands met in a grip that went on for that extra moment that could mean something good. "Peaches has told us all about you."
"Shuddup, Rob." Betty gave him a shove. "I could tell a few home truths about you."
"Aww you wouldn't. So, Mal, let me and Sion finish our game then how's about you and Betty play us two?"
Mal's "If you like" clashed with Betty's "Not a chance". She set her glass down with a click and added, "Or, at least, we're not going to make it more interesting with a bet. Mal, trust me, never bet against anything with these three. They'll have the shirt off your back."
"That I'd like to see," Rob murmured then nodded to the other two men in the room. "Mal, this is Sion."
Sion was about five feet four, rectangular in build and none of it seemed to be fat. He had neatly cropped black hair and a warmth to his skin colour that made Mal wonder a bit at the Welsh name.
Sion reached across the corner of the pool table to shake Mal's hand. "Sion Thapa Rai," he said. "Da was in the Gurkhas till he met Mum. He's the chef here now. Welcome to Pemberland. I hope you're liking it."
"So far so good, thank you." Mal grinned at Sion. "Didn't I see you on the building site too?"
"Yeah, we both work for Gary's dad."
They all turned to the silent figure in the corner. "Hello, Gary?"
Gary eyed him for a second then shifted forward and began to stand. There was a continental shelf feel to the bulk of him. Rob was big but Gary was massive. His shoulders strained his plaid shirt and his thighs strained his jeans, Mal was sure that if he straightened up fully he'd strain the ceiling. His broad face showed signs of wear, a broken nose, a scar through one eyebrow, and his shaven head was adorned with a spider web tattoo. "'Lo," he said then he flushed a brilliant pink and muttered, "Hello, Betty."
"Hello, Gary," she said, reaching for a cue. "Come on then, boys, are you playing or not?"
At a bit of a loss, Mal rounded the table and stumbled over something that yielded under foot then darted away with a bass rumble.
"Dear God, what's that?" he asked, watching the enormous shaggy black beast sit by Gary's chair and lean against his knees. It gave him a reproachful stare then yawned to display teeth like a timber wolf
"Awww, did you tread on Morris?" Betty said. "You're lucky he didn't rip your leg off."
"It's a dog?"
"Sorta," Rob replied. He leaned over the table and lined up his shot, back arching just so. Mal was so entranced by the tight fit of Rob's jeans that he missed what Rob added.
Mal waited until the stripe thudded into the pocket before saying, "Sorry, I didn't catch that."
"I said ... " Rob moved round the table and took his next shot. "Ahhh, bollocks. Your turn, Sion. I said that Morris is part Rottweiler and part husky, that we know about, but he's probably got a bit of pit pony in there too."
"N'awww. Don't be rude about Morris." Betty scowled at him.
"Morris is pedigree," Gary said. Both his hands buried in the black ruff around Morris's neck and Morris gave a low rumbling groan of bliss. "His mum and his dad."
"And that's more'n some can say," Sion said.
Gary turned to Betty and for a moment Mal thought he might speak again but he flushed and went back to stroking the massive beast leaning against his knees. He didn't take his eyes off Betty. Mal wondered if Betty knew she had an admirer, then gave himself a mental kick. This was Betty. Of course she knew, and was being kind and keeping her distance.
"So, um, what do you do, Gary?" he asked, just trying to make conversation.
"Security," Gary replied. "Me and Morris. Night-watchman sometimes. Sometimes I do bouncing."
"An' he can bounce 'em ever so far, can't you, Gazza?" Sion paused in lining up his shot to give Gary a proud smile. "Best bouncer in the business."
"Wouldn't need to bounce if twats like you didn't start fights," Gary said sadly. "But sometimes it's fun." He gestured to his throat. "I like black tie best. People tip."
"You've got a tux?" Betty looked at Gary directly for the first time. "Now, that I've got to see."
Gary went pink again. "Next time I got to wear it I'll let you know."
Rob's yowl of disgust drew Mal's attention back to the table which was now devoid of spots.
"You got magnets in your balls or something," Rob accused, glaring at Sion.
"Yep, s'why I jingle when I walk."
The banter was familiar, throwing Mal back in memory to his student days so he made the 'bah-dum-chhhh' sound of a punchline rim-shot and held up a hand so Sion could high five it. Sion did, grinning at Rob with a cocky lift of the eyebrows.
"I bet you're just as bad, Mal." Rob grinned. "Are you good at ball games?"
There were a number of answers Mal could have given to that but he opted for taking the question at face value. "Oh God, no, I'm rubbish," he admitted. "But with loads of practice I might improve. Are Betty and I playing you two, or are you having a go, Gary?"
"I'm banned," Gary said. He grinned and shrugged. "I ripped the baize. Twice. Don't know my own strength, see."
"I'll play you at darts, just as soon as I've seen off these tossers," Betty promised, chalking her cue.
"Like to see you do it, Peaches," Rob said.
And they almost did. Mal had enjoyed pool in his previous local and hadn't quite forgotten how to set up a shot and Betty played with a ruthless dash that suggested a lot of very serious practice. They lost but not by much and Sion challenged Mal to another go while Betty fulfilled her promise to Gary, and Rob went in search of a basket of chips.
"What?" He patted his belly when he noticed Betty giving it a critical stare. "I worked hard today. I earned it. But for that you're not having one. I'll share with Mal though. Want a chip, Malcolm?"
"Don't mind if I do," Mal said reaching for the basket - and wasn't completely surprised when Rob moved it so he'd have to come a bit closer to get one.
"Here you go," Rob said, taking one of the salty ketchuppy morsels. He offered it to Mal's lips and when Mal hesitated he grinned and ate it himself. "Playin' hard to get. I like that in a man."
"No, you don't," Betty scoffed and threw a double top.
Mal couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed an evening so much. Rob's frank appreciation, and that it was ignored by the others apart from a few gibes at Rob's expense, had filled Mal with a sense of confidence he didn't normally enjoy and he played his pool with a flair that surprised him and made Betty nod approvingly. He had even held his own when the banter became more general.
"I'm not letting you upset Betty," he'd said after an innocent question about her 'Peaches' nickname prompted a story about a house party when they were sixteen and Betty's karaoke performance after a pint of peach-flavoured schnapps.
"Knight in shinin' armour, is it?" Sion said.
"No, I have to work with her tomorrow. Besides, don't some of the rest of you have nicknames? Dirty Rob, isn't it?"
There was one of those tense and silent moments. It can't have lasted more than a second, but it felt much longer and quite a lot happened. Rob's lips thinned, Sion glared at Betty who flushed a very ugly pink, and Morris emitted an anxious whine. Mal realised he had said absolutely the wrong thing.
"I - um - was called Rainbow in school," he said. "Rainbow Brite? Like the cartoon."
"We used to watch that." Gary grinned. "Didn't we, Rob?"
"Dammit, Gary!" Rob's tone was aggrieved but his lips were easing into a smile. "Never out me as a Rainbow Brite fan, lapsed, when I'm trying to impress an attractive bloke."
There was no doubt who Rob was referring to but Mal didn't even take a moment to bask in the glow. "I'm sure it worked. Sion, do you feel impressed?"
Sion let out a hoot of laughter and this time he offered his hand to high five.
Betty rolled her eyes. "That's it, boss. I think you've had enough."
Since it was closing time and they all had empty glasses anyway, Mal took her arm without arguing and offered to walk her home.
"We'll do that," Rob offered once they were on the pavement. "Wouldn't want to take you out of your way. Not on a first date anyhow."
"First date?"
"Hell, yeah. We're doing this again. We play pool every Thursday."
"Darts night Tuesdays," Sion added.
"Dominoes Wednesdays." Gary had the last of Rob's chips in a napkin and was sharing them with his dog.
"And the rest of the time they just drink," Betty warned Mal.
"Yeah, right, but the point is," Rob said, reaching out and giving Mal a gentle poke in the lapel of his jacket, "the point is that you're welcome to join us."
They took their leave, moving off along the pavement with Gary and the hulking Morris bringing up the rear. Mal smiled as he heard Rob grunt and Betty laugh. Mal suspected she had elbowed him.
Then he too went home and didn't think he should be blamed if his last thought before sleep was of Rob's strong hands around the pool cue and how they might feel up close and personal.