I stamp the bulk of the snow from my legs and feet, push down the hood of my parka and pull off my bobble hat, it’s like a furnace in here. And I haven’t missed last orders at all; in fact, from the number of full pints lined up on the bar, I’d say ‘drinking up time’ has only just begun. The windows all have heavy velvet blackout curtains blocking the light from the numerous candles dotted around the tables, which explains why the pub looked closed from the other side of the village green, and the source of the heat is an enormous real log fire with crimson, blue-tinged flames crackling and wheezing in the ceiling-height inglenook fireplace to my right.
I smile tentatively and scan behind the bar, but Cher isn’t here.
‘Well, don’t just sit there. Give the girl a hand,’ a chunky woman wearing a woolly poncho (handknitted) bellows to the extremely tall, robust-looking man sitting beside her, before elbowing him sharply in the ribs.
‘Will you turn it in, woman?’ he pretends to chastise her as he shoos her hand away. ‘I was just getting my bearings.’ There’s a collective good-natured laugh from the crowd as the man downs his pint in one and then steadies himself on the table before hauling himself into an upright position.
‘That suitcase looks heavy enough to house a body,’ the woman continues. Oh God, don’t say that! They’re already eyeing me suspiciously – probably thinking I’m some kind of crazeee looper on the loose, come to their village to strangle them all in their beds as they sleep.
The man strides towards me and hauls the suitcase up over his shoulder in one swift movement. He extends his free hand.
‘I’m Cooper.’ He nods firmly, as if to punctuate the point. Ah, yes, I remember, the butcher with the hog roast.
‘Pleased to meet you.’ I quickly pull a woolly mitten off with my teeth and shake his hand. ‘I’m Sybs,’ I finish quietly, but he’s already dropped my hand and turned his back to go in search of a suitable spot in which to deposit the suitcase.
‘Now, where do you want this?’ he yells back over his shoulder.
‘Oh, well, I’ve come to visit Cher, so behind the bar perhaps, for now?’ I suggest, quickly going after him, scanning again and thinking where is she? This is really awkward. They are all still staring at me – and the only sound comes from the pop and whizz of the log fire. I spot the crate next to the bar, stacked high with an assortment of torches and flashlights and deposit my borrowed one on top of the pile.
‘SONNNNYYYYY!’ Jesus, that was right in my ear. Cooper sure has a big, booming voice. And Basil has obviously heard him from outside as he’s now barking like a mad dog – woofing over and over and over. Another guy jumps up.
‘That’ll be the cocker from the country club,’ he says to nobody in particular. ‘Perishing thing is always getting free and roaming around the village like it’s lord of the manor. I’ll herd it up and take it back.’ He heads towards the door with a determined look on his ruddy weather-beaten farmer’s face.
‘Oh, well actually, that could be my Scottie, Basil. He’s tied up securely though,’ I say, shrinking a little inside as they clearly don’t approve of dogs barking late at night. I wouldn’t usually risk leaving Basil on his own outside, certainly not in London where he could get kidnapped in the twinkling of an eye, but I’d figured he was probably safe until I found Cher and could get him upstairs out of the way. Besides, I thought the villagers would all be in bed asleep – I mean, don’t they all have to be up at the crack of dawn to milk cows or something? Obviously not, they’re all in the Duck & Puddle – the shepherd’s second home, theirs too by the looks of it! I glance at the wall clock and see that it’s after eleven. The farmer guy stares at me like I’ve just sprouted another head.
‘Why would you do that?’
‘Pardon?’ I blink, wondering what he’s going on about.
‘Leave your dog outside?’ he says, frowning and giving me an up-and-down look.
‘But, I thought—’
‘Get him in quick before he wakes up Mark.’ Who’s Mark? ‘And put him by the fire – he must be freezing half to death, the poor thing.’ Oh God, now they think I’m cruel to animals. He points to a dog bowl brimming with water next to a tartan blanket by a log basket at the corner of the tiled hearth.
‘Oh, that would be lovely. Thank you.’ There’s a little ricochet of chuckles as I dash back outside. How was I supposed to know that dogs were actually allowed inside the pub? And with special provisions too – blanket, refreshments, cosy log fire to bask beside – Basil is going to be in his element.
‘Did someone bellow?’ Clive has appeared behind the bar when I return with Basil. ‘Sybs! Hello darling. What a nice surprise,’ he beams on spotting me. ‘And Cher will be made up to see you.’ He lifts the hatch and motions for me to come through. I smile with relief at seeing a familiar face, and then, as if by magic, everyone starts chatting and laughing amongst themselves, doing normal pub banter – just like a scene from Emmerdale in the Woolpack Inn when the director has just yelled ‘action’. How strange … I feel as if I’ve passed some kind of initiation ritual and that they’ve all relaxed and gone back to whatever it was they were doing before I burst through the door of their local, a stranger in their midst, but it’s all OK – now Clive has verified me, that is.
I take off Basil’s snowy wet coat and settle him in the designated spot by the fire (he instantly looks right at home, sprawled out on the blanket and he’s practically comatose already as he relishes the intense heat) before I head towards Clive. Cooper follows behind, dumping my suitcase in the hall next to a mountain of boxes containing cheese and onion crisps.
‘Thanks, Cooper,’ says Clive.
‘No problem, Sonny.’ And he strides off through to the other side of the bar.
Clive gives me a hug and then steers me through to a cosy private lounge out the back. Once the door is closed and I’m satisfied that the locals can’t overhear us, I give Clive a quizzical look.
‘Er, why is he calling you Sonny?’ I ask in a hushed voice, creasing my forehead. Clive smiles and shakes his head in amusement.
‘Because I’m Cher’s boyfriend.’ Clive shrugs as if it’s the most obvious reason ever, and then he explains. ‘On our first day here, one of the regulars said it for a laugh, you know, as in, “so if our new landlady is called Cher and you’re her fella, then you must be Sonny” and it’s stuck. Now everyone in Tindledale calls me Sonny, as in Sonny and Cher.’ And he belts out a line from their iconic song, ‘I Got You Babe’.
‘Ha ha, of course they do,’ I laugh and give him another hug. ‘And my second question – who is Mark?’ I shake my head.
‘Oh! He’s the local bobby – lives in the police house next door to Dr Darcy who’s the village GP. Mark gets upset if he’s woken up in the middle of the night, hence Pete wanting to get Basil inside quickly,’ Clive explains in a matter-of-fact way.
‘But Mark is OK about you having a lock-in?’ I ask, lifting my eyebrows. I’m surprised; it’s not something Cher usually goes for.
‘Weeeeell …’ He gives me a shifty look and shoves his hands into his jeans’ pockets. ‘Cher isn’t actually here. She’s on a course at Brewery HQ. A last-minute space came up after one of the others dropped out so she jumped at the chance
