The Spouting Tap was a charming olde worlde village pub with low ceilings, beams, a fireplace and exposed brickwork. It hadn’t followed the trend of transforming itself into a Prosecco or gin palace as it was quietly confident of pulling in trade with its array of craft beers. The car park was empty but the pub itself quite full, indicating that it was a bar frequented by mostly locals. A woman descended on Pete and Laurie as soon as they walked in.
‘You ’ere for t’quiz?’
‘Er . . .’
She didn’t wait for an answer; instead she shoved a pencil and a piece of paper into Pete’s hand and accosted someone else with the same question.
‘Seems we are then,’ Pete said and Laurie sniggered. ‘What can I get you to drink?’
‘Oh, just a J20 please. Any flavour. I’ll go and grab that table in the corner.’
The table was at the side of the fireplace and would have been as cosy as apple pie on a dark night with logs burning in the grate, thought Laurie. She hoped Pete didn’t think she’d picked it for its intimate position: she was scared stiff of giving out ‘take me’ vibes after what had happened with Jefferson.
She let her eyes drift over the activity around the room. The harassed woman giving out the quiz sheets was having a few choice words with the young man behind the bar, who didn’t seem to be coping with the customers fast enough for her liking. There were a couple of old men sitting on stools chatting, drinking from dimpled glass tankards. They looked the type to have their own stored there, thought Laurie. There was a knot of young men in T-shirts that showed off their bulging muscles standing with their slim girlfriends, all from a similar mould of hair extensions, false eyelashes and shovelled-on make-up. Laurie loved places like this, but they were an anathema to Alex. He preferred trendy wine bars with noise and vivacity and prices as inflated as those girls’ lips. Her eyes came to rest on Pete, waiting for his order. He looked extra tall standing under the low roof and she saw one of the muscle-boys at his side give him the once over, an envious look perhaps that they could bulk up but they were stuck with their medium height. His back was broad and his jeans showed off a good chunk of bum. She pulled her eyes away. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually appraised another man. She hadn’t needed to because she had Alex, and he was all she wanted.
‘Sorry about that,’ said Pete, eventually arriving at the table. ‘There was a bit of a queue as the barman had just come in from his emergency vape-break. A modern-day catastrophe I think.’
Laurie smiled at that. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll get the next one.’ Oh blimey, that was inferring they’d stay for another. ‘If we . . . I mean . . .’
Pete cracked a smile. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘Forgive me. Ever since the thing with Alex’s best friend, I’ve been hypersensitive about what I say to the opposite sex.’
‘You and me both,’ said Pete and knocked his own J20 against Laurie’s. ‘Cheers. Here’s to being two fish out of water, united in our gawkiness.’
‘Cheers,’ said Laurie and took a sip before speaking again. ‘Funny lot aren’t they at the group? But lovely. I feel quite at home with them. I’m so glad I gave it another go.’
‘You’ve hit the nail on the head,’ replied Pete. ‘I still can’t believe I actually signed up to something like this. It’s not really my sort of thing. I’m more your stop being a wuss and getting on with it person. Until this year happened anyway.’
‘What was it that made you join in the end? I think you said there had been an incident at work, have I remembered that right?’
‘Yep. I lost it, simple as that, cutting someone out of a car. It was either get help or take sick leave. My boss has been brilliant. He’s swapped my shifts around so I could come to the sessions; I’m lucky I’m so well supported. It was one of the other firefighters who gave me Molly’s number. She’s known her for years. Didn’t you say that someone at the Daily Trumpet recommended her to you?’
‘Yes, the editor. His recommendation is gold.’
‘Really?’ said Pete, incredulously.
‘Alan Robertson is a man fighting a lion with a blade of grass. He wants the newspaper to succeed, but the only way it will is if it carries on as it is. The owner, Sir Basil Stamper, is on course for out-wealthing Richard Branson so Alan is forced to strive for damage limitation at best. And even if he is a journalist, he would never betray a confidence.’
‘Funny how you can be surrounded by family and friends and still feel that they’re too close to talk to, don’t you find?’ Pete put his glass down on the table and Laurie noticed how large and square his hands were. She wondered how many individuals those hands had rescued, saved.
‘I don’t really have many people close to me,’ Laurie admitted. ‘I’m an only child and my mum’s never been on the scene much. We’re very different. Never knew my dad. Neither did my mum so there’s a blank on my birth certificate. My best friend is great but she’s quite forceful in that I should concentrate on the future and not on dissecting the past, but I can’t help it. Until I can dissect the past and find answers, I won’t be able to move forward.’
She toyed absently with her necklace as she spoke. Pete’s attention was drawn to the small ring on the chain. The square diamond looked almost too big for it. Laurie traced his eyes to her neck.
‘Alex died with this ring in his pocket. He was going to propose to me that night. He’d bought a celebratory meal to cook for us, very typical Alex-style, but my mind is fixated on small details that he wouldn’t have missed.’
‘Like what?’ Pete asked.
‘You’ll think I’m mad.’
‘Try me, I bet I don’t.’
Laurie took a deep breath. ‘There was no champagne.’ She looked at Pete intently to gauge his reaction. She expected to see his eyes roll like Bella’s had when she told her, but his gaze never faltered.
‘You’d know him well enough to tell if that was unusual,’ Pete replied, after deliberating what answer to give.
‘I did.’ She breathed a long sigh of relief that he hadn’t dismissed the niggle as insubstantial, as something that didn’t merit further investigation. It inspired her to go on.
‘He’d chosen food I really liked. There was wine, because it was in the meal deal, but Alex would have bought champagne as well. And there would have been champagne in M and S. If, by any chance, they’d totally run out, which is highly unlikely, he would have bought something else special to toast us with. I know how he thought. And this . . .’ – she pulled the chain away from her neck to show him the ring – ‘. . . it’s too small. And much too small to be made larger and yet I know it’s for me from the inscription on the inside of it. They are words that mean something to me. To us.’
Pete was listening to her. He didn’t know Alex from Adam but he could understand why her brain would be caught up in a net of fine points that didn’t make sense.
‘I told you in the meeting that I’d fallen out with his parents – well, what I mean is they’ve fallen out with me – so it makes it difficult to ask them why a few months before Alex died, he started having his bank statements sent to their house. They posted them all through my letter box a couple of weeks ago. They show that every month, after all his direct debits had left his account, he drew out the balance in cash but I never saw him carry cash, so why would he do that? Unless he didn’t want me to see what he was spending his money on. I mean I didn’t go snooping, there was no need for him to hide his finances from me. I don’t even know why they brought them round; I wish they hadn’t.’
Yet as soon as Laurie had said this aloud, the answer came to her.
‘Actually, scrap that, Alex’s parents like to think they’re doing things by the book. They will have given them to me because despite what they think of me, it would be the right thing to do in their eyes. And’ – she might as well tell him everything – ‘he took out a Visa advance of one thousand pounds while he was on a work thing in Scotland the month before he died. He never took Visa advances out.’ She shook her head in annoyance at herself, realised she must sound half-deranged. ‘I think if I found out that he had white toast at that conference, I’d be fixated on why he didn’t have his usual brown. I’ve got everything out of perspective, trying to drill into these minutiae, but I know it’s important somehow. I know. Or do I? Is my inner compass so damaged that it’s leading me directly to Loonsville?’
She raised her eyes to his and he saw the anguish in them, dulling the light that usually sat there.
‘Before he died, there was a change, just subtle, but he was different. Last September, October, November he was snappy with me, blamed it on working too many long hours because he was preparing to go into business by himself and was busy building up a client base, all perfectly feasible but I didn’t quite believe it was just that. Then at Christmas he changed again, became extra-considerate, happier, bought me loads of beautiful presents and that should have made me feel better but it didn’t. Whenever I tried to talk to him about it, he fobbed me off and so I didn’t press it.’
Laurie glanced up, checked that Pete hadn’t nodded off or was looking at his watch; he was doing neither. ‘There was just something wrong and it scared me, he was holding me at arm’s length, I know he was. And then he died. But then again, he was going to propose to me. And he was planning a holiday for us, maybe our honeymoon, somewhere I’d always wanted to go. I worried we were drifting apart and it was only when he died that I found out that he wanted us to stay together forever. Or have I got it all wrong? But I can’t have, can I? I feel like I’m doing a jigsaw puzzle and all the pieces fit together but they don’t look anything like the picture that’s on the box.’ She realised that the words were rolling out of her like an avalanche and in danger of engulfing the kind, listening man at the other side of the bar table, but she couldn’t stop their flow. ‘I went to see a psychic and she picked up on the proposal and the holiday. That’s how screwed up I am. I’m so sorry, I don’t think I’d have told a priest half of this.’
She sat back then, all scooped out of secrets. There was nothing left to tell.
‘Don’t be silly apologising,’ Pete said. ‘That’s why we’re here, having this drink. To talk. Kind of extra time to the main event.’ He noted her guilt-ridden expression and he gave her what he hoped was a smile of encouragement. ‘To nick your compass reference, this grief lark is like a wilderness with a spinning north, isn’t it?’
Laurie nodded. ‘The dreams are the worst. You think sleep would give you some respite but they dredge everything up.’
‘You said you’d been to see a psychic?’
‘Do you want her number?’
‘Not for me, thanks. I’m not sure I believe in all that stuff. Not that I would judge anyone else who does,’ he added hurriedly. ‘My mum did and she told me that if she had something to tell me, then she’d find a way. Directly – not through a third person. So far . . . nothing.’ He might be more inclined to believe in the supernatural if a bowl of washing-up water suddenly threw itself over Cora, he thought to himself. ‘So tell me, how accurate did she get?’
‘Well, as I said, she saw the engagement, and the holiday and that I’d had a falling out with Alex’s mother who, she said, had the answers I was looking for. She told me that someone I knew had suggested that I get some therapy – although I suppose that bit you could just attribute to common sense. And she seemed to know that I’d tried it but not gone back and she said I should. Some things she didn’t quite get right: she thought Alex had died on an important birthday, which he didn’t, but the stuff she did get right more than made up for the misses. I mean, how could she have possibly known he had an M and S meal in the car when he crashed?’
‘How did you know he had?’
‘The policewoman who gave me his effects told me that it looked as if I was in for a special night. I think she was trying to give me some comfort. I fixated on what was in the carrier bag, to see if it matched up to the receipt.’ Laurie cringed visibly. ‘There was an itemised bill but I asked her to check for champagne, it was all I could think about. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I dread to think what she must have thought of me.’
‘I’m pretty sure that she put it down to you being shocked to the core and grief-stricken. She’ll have heard much stranger things,’ said Pete.
‘Thank you,’ said Laurie. ‘Thank you for making me feel less of a madwoman than I have for the past seven months.’
But Laurie wasn’t the only one with unanswered questions; Pete’s were butting against the inside of his head like angry bees.
‘My wife shouldn’t have been anywhere near where she was when she died. We spoke on the phone and she told me she was on the M1 coming back from Leeds, but she was miles away from there. I kept wondering if I’d misheard what she said, but I know I didn’t. And I didn’t know she was pregnant until after she died. I can’t remember if the doctor told me first or I found the pregnancy test in her handbag, it’s all muddled up.’
‘I’m so sorry you had to learn that way, Pete,’ said Laurie, seeing the shine of tears in his eyes before he turned his attention to his drink.
‘No one mentioned that one of the stages of grief that we had to go through was insanity, did they? I think I bought a jigsaw puzzle from the same shop that you did,’ he said and drained his glass.
‘I’ll get us a refill,’ said Laurie, deciding that he might need a minute alone to recover.
‘Thank you. I won’t say no.’
Pete twisted in his seat to look at how full the pub was now because it was certainly much noisier than when they had walked in. His eyes snagged on Laurie at the bar and he tried not to think that he was appraising her, even though he was. She looked slender as a reed sandwiched in between the young group of muscle men and the portly duo of pensioners sitting on stools. Slim blue jeans, cropped above the ankle, the type that women wore to look smart rather than fit like a second skin. Pink pumps, the same colour as her shirt which wasn’t tucked in and she unconsciously tugged it down as if to make sure it hadn’t ridden up. But it was her hair that fascinated him mostly, the colour of silver and gold melted together. He figured it was natural, she didn’t strike him as the sort of woman who would bleach her hair to within an inch of its life. He wondered what it would look like, released from the plait. He mentally replaced her with a picture of Tara at the bar, her long caramel and blonde-streaked hair loose, a statement. Her jeans would have been cinched in at the waist, tight, cut off at the perfect length to parade the ridiculous heels that she strutted around on as if she’d been born in them. Her shirt would have been unbuttoned just enough to give a tantalising glimpse of the boobs she’d bought herself for her twenty-fifth birthday. She would have been smiling in the sure and certain knowledge that eyes everywhere were raking up and down her, loving that they were.
No sooner had Laurie sat down than a man’s voice came over a PA system.
‘One-two, one-two. The quiz will be starting in a minute. And will consist of twenty questions. Please put all mobile phones away. Anyone seen using one or going to the toilet in order to look up answers will be immediately disqualified.’
Pete pulled a face. ‘How will they be able to tell if someone looks something up in there?’ he asked.
‘CCTV?’ Laurie answered.
‘Or PPTV,’ Pete replied, then wondered if that was a bit rude, but Laurie laughed.
‘Shall we have a go? It’s ages since I did a pub quiz,’ he said.
Laurie didn’t have anything to rush home for. ‘Why not,’ she replied. ‘What do we call ourselves?’ The quiz sheet called for a group name.
‘Er . . . Double something . . . Mixed Doubles, that work?’ said Pete, thinking quickly. It was better than a boring ‘Pete and Laurie’. He scribbled it down, having taken charge of the pencil.
‘Question one,’ said the quizmaster and the pub fell into silence. ‘In what film did George Lazenby play James Bond? Question two . . .’
‘Hang on, slow down, bloody hell,’ someone from around the corner shouted.
It was a question they both knew. After that, they became more and more obscure. Both Laurie and Pete reckoned they might have less than half of them right. At the end, they swapped their papers with the people at the next table.
‘Answer to question one. George Lazenby was in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service,’ said the quizmaster. Cheers and groans filled the air.
‘Answer to question two: on the periodic table La is the symbol for Lanthanum.’
‘Blimey, we have two right,’ said Pete. ‘I’m impressed.’ He felt a little guilty putting a cross next to the answer he was marking on The Four Horsemen of the Acropolis’s sheet – Llandudnium.
‘I have no idea where I remembered that from,’ said Laurie. ‘I hated chemistry at school.’
In the end they had twelve answers right, one more than the Four Horsemen. As soon as all the sheets were collected, people were permitted to go to the toilet.
‘We need to stay for the results,’ said Pete, getting up to go to the bar. ‘Same again? Nightcap? We might have won.’ He pulled a hopeful face and Laurie chortled.
‘Okay then, thank you.’
There was a mad rush at the bar now and to the toilet, so much so that there was a queue outside the gents.
Laurie relaxed against the back rest and tried to remember the last time she had gone out socially with Alex. He’d been so ridiculously busy the last few months. They’d been out with Naomi and Jefferson and his parents but as far as going out for a quiet date-night drink together – just the two of them – she couldn’t recall. Not that this was a date. She shuddered, thinking about the prospect of dating again one day. This drink with Pete was safe. Only a drink.
Pete had arrived back at the table just in time for the results to be announced.
‘Very poor scoring this week, very poor,’ said the quizmaster. ‘In fifth place with twelve was Mixed Doubles, but they get nowt for that.’
Pete and Laurie looked in amazement at each other.
‘What a result,’ said Pete, placing his hand over his heart. ‘I feel quite proud.’
‘In fourth place with thirteen, Penelope Pitstop and Dick Dastardly, you get nowt either except a do better next time. In third place with fourteen: Last of the Summer Homebrew, you get a voucher for four pints. In second place with fifteen: Les and Sonia, you get a bottle of Prosecco and a box of chocolates; and the winners with sixteen . . .’ People started to make drum-roll noises by tapping the table. ‘. . . The Three Amigos.’ No one heard what they’d won because the cheer was so loud. The quizmaster called for order. ‘Can a representative from the Three Amigos come up to try and answer the snowball question, the kitty of which currently stands at one hundred and sixty pounds,’ he announced, which resulted in a loud chorus of oohs.
‘I can’t believe we came so close to winning the four pints,’ said Pete, who appeared so genuinely crestfallen that Laurie let loose a hoot of laughter.
They sat without saying a single word for a few minutes, soaking in the convivial atmosphere, feeling inconspicuous and normal. Two people out of many, in a pub. No one here knew their history or anything about the muddle their heads were in.
‘Thank you for this,’ Laurie said then, suddenly overcome by a drench of appreciation.
Pete looked puzzled. ‘What?’
‘Sitting here while I offloaded stuff that I can’t say to anyone else and not making me feel as if I’m unhinged.’
Pete’s lips stretched into a smile. ‘You’re not unhinged. I’ve found it very difficult to talk to people and I have great mates, and a close family.’
‘That’s good . . . well, you know what I mean,’ replied Laurie. ‘Your brother looks friendly.’
‘He’s brilliant and he’d be really cut up to find out that I’m holding things back from him. He and his wife are trying to have a baby and they’re in the middle of all sorts of tests to find out what’s wrong.’
‘And you don’t want to add to all that?’ suggested Laurie.
‘Yep. I don’t want him worrying about me because stress won’t help them. He knows that I’m nowhere near a hundred per cent, but I play it down. I’ve become a good liar. So . . . talking to you has helped me too. I’ve felt recently as if all the goalposts in my life have been shifted and I can’t trust my own judgement as much as I used to.’
‘You mean the thing with your sister-in-law?’ asked Laurie.
‘Yes, that.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I hope I’ve got it wrong and – or – I hope it goes away.’
‘How’s your brother getting on with his new car?’
‘He’s like a kid with a new toy. It’s cheered him up no end.’
‘Order, order,’ called the quizmaster down the mike. ‘The representative from the Three Amigos has not answered the snowball question correctly so next week the kitty will stand at one hundred and seventy pounds. The question was, which is the only place name in Britain to have an exclamation mark after its name.’
‘Westward Ho!’ whispered Laurie and Pete to each other.
‘Westward Ho!’ said the quizmaster.
‘We would have smashed it,’ said Pete.
‘Totally,’ said Laurie. She lifted her glass and drank a long throatful of juice. It was time to go, before she got too comfortable.
‘Work in the morning?’ Pete asked her, taking his cue from her.
‘Yep, bright and early. You?’
‘I’m on nights tomorrow.’
Laurie finished her drink then stood, Pete followed and they pushed through the people to the door. A grateful couple dived straight onto the seats they had vacated.
In the car park, standing by their respective cars, they turned to each other.
‘See you next week,’ said Pete. ‘Unless you happen to have a Ferrari for sale going really cheap, in which case I may see you at the weekend.’
‘Sadly not. I’ll have a house for sale though if you’re interested.’
‘You’re selling up?’ He seemed shocked at that.
‘It was always too big for two, it feels extra enormous for one.’
‘It is pretty huge.’
‘Alex wanted to fill it with children.’ Laurie sighed, and smiled.
‘Well if you get anybody coming to view and you want a man around . . . you know, for security purposes . . . if your friend with the red hair and the black belt can’t be there, please give me a ring.’
‘Thank you,’ said Laurie. ‘Have a good week.’
‘You too.’
There was no awkwardness as they got into their cars, no how do we end this evening? because it wasn’t a date. At the exit to the car park Pete turned left and Laurie turned right. Both of them were exactly half a mile down the road when they realised that even if Laurie had needed his help, he hadn’t given her his contact details.