aye, I recall that well enough,’ said Huby grimly.
‘Yes. I fear it must have been something of a disappointment to you.’
‘Disappointment, Mr Goodenough? No, I’d not say that,’ said Huby lifting up the bar flap and coming to the public side of the bar. ‘I’d not say that. It was her brass, to do with as she liked. And she didn’t forget me; no, she didn’t forget me. And I’ll not forget her, you can be sure of that!’
He had walked across to the fireplace, and as he spoke these last words with great vehemence, to Goodenough’s horror he raised his right leg and delivered a vicious and powerful kick at the sleeping dog. The force of it drove the animal against the brickwork with a sickening thud.
‘For Christ’s sake, man!’ cried the animal protectionist, then his protest faded as he realized the dog, though now on its back, still retained its sleeping posture.
‘Can I introduce you to Gruff-of-sodding-Greendale?’ snarled Huby. ‘I were going to stick it on the fire at first, but then I thought: No, I’ll keep the thing. It’ll lie there as a lesson to me not to waste time being friendly to those who don’t know the meaning of gratitude or family loyalty. Now, what can I do for you, Mr Goodenough? It’s not the welfare of Gruff here that’s brought you all this way, is it?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Goodenough. ‘Could we talk in private?’
‘Instead of in this crowded bar, you mean? Ruby, you look after things in here when the rush starts, will you? Come through, Mr Goodenough.’
The living quarters behind the bar proved to be distinctly more comfortable than the public area, though the same air of antiquity reigned.
‘Been in the family a long time, has it?’ said Goodenough.
‘Long enough. It were me grandad’s to start with.’
‘Yes. I was talking to Mrs Windibanks in London and she gave me something of the family history.’
This was enough to shatter any barrier of reticence.
‘Old Windypants? What’s she know about owt? Nose stuck in the air when it weren’t stuck up the old girl’s bum! Well, she got as little for her pains as me, so that’s some consolation. But you don’t want to pay any heed to owt she says about the Hubys. Listen. I’ll tell you how it really was.’
He settled down in his chair and Goodenough followed suit, like the unlucky wedding guest. Though, in fact he was not incurious to hear Huby’s version of the background to this old business.
The landlord began to speak.
‘This place were the cottage belonging to the mill that stood behind it, alongside the river. Well, it’s long gone now and it were pretty much a ruin even when my grandad got the cottage. He were just a farm lad, but he had his head screwed on, and he set up an ale house here with his sister to keep house for him. Lomas’s were a small brewery then, just starting, and their eldest lad come round to try to get Grandad to sell his beer. Well, Lomas had no luck selling the beer, but Grandad’s sister, Dot, took his fancy and off he went with her instead! Grandad weren’t best pleased by all accounts, but there was nowt the poor devil could do except get himself married so he’d have someone to help around the place. And this is what he did, and him and Grandma had twin sons, John, my dad, and Sam.’
He paused not in anticipation of any challenge to this interesting view of marriage, but to fill and light an ancient and malodorous pipe.
‘Come 1914 and they both upped and offed to the war,’ he resumed. ‘What’s more, they both came back unscathed, which was more than most families could claim. Grandma had died early on, and Grandad went too in 1919. The pub was left between ’em, but Uncle Sam had been left all restless by the war, so he took his share in cash and left Dad with the pub. Sam disappeared for a year doing God knows what. Then one day he came back, stony broke. He turned up here, asking my dad for a sub till he got on his feet again. Now Dad were a fair man, but he weren’t soft. He’d got married by then and he was just about making ends meet, but only just. So he told his brother he were welcome to his supper and a bed for the night, but after that he’d have to make his own way. That sounds fair enough to me, wouldn’t you say? Sam had made his bed and now he had to lie on it.’
Goodenough nodded agreement. The consequences of dispute were not to be lightly provoked. Besides, he had some real sympathy for the viewpoint.
‘And what was Sam’s response?’
‘Well, he were a hard man too,’ said Huby, not without admiration. ‘He told Dad to shove his supper and wedge the bed in after it, and went right back to town the same night. Next thing Dad heard, Sam had sweet-talked Auntie Dot into making Lomas give him a job as a salesman for the brewery. That did it. Grandad would’ve turned in his grave. He never made it up with Dot. Always felt she gave herself airs. Well, that’s what mixing with them bloody Lomases does to you, I’ve seen it for myself. Still, Grandad would probably have had a laugh at what happened next.’
‘And what was that?’ inquired Goodenough, recognizing the straight-man’s cue.
‘Well, Sam did well at his job, he had the gift of the gab, it seems. And not just for selling ale either. Lomas had a daughter, Gwen. Big plans for her, evidently. He’d made a pile of brass, bought Troy House in Greendale, and was in a fair way to setting himself up as a gentleman though he were no better than my grandad to start with. Gwen was going to marry a real gentleman, that was the idea. Then it happened. Her poor cousin Sam put her in the club!’
Huby chortled at the family memory.
‘And that’s how Sam came to marry into the Lomases?’ said Goodenough.
‘Aye, that was it. Lucky for them he did, too! Everyone says Lomas’s would’ve gone under in the depression if it hadn’t been for Sam. He kept ’em going and when things got better, he was the boss of the whole shooting match. By the end of the Second War they were booming and they amalgamated with one of the really big firms and went national, though they kept the name. That’s what sticks in my throat! All that so-called Lomas money, it’s Huby money really. They’d have been in the sodding workhouse if it hadn’t been for Sam.’
‘Didn’t he try to put any of it his brother’s way, when he was doing so well?’
‘Oh aye. He came round once when he were coining it. Offered to make things up. Fancy clothes, fancy car, fancy wife, he had the lot, and Dad was still just keeping things together here. Never had the money, you see. That’s what this place needs. Capital. Brass breeds brass, that’s the way of it.’
He stared gloomily towards the window where the beginning of the extension stood silent in the evening sunshine.
‘And your father’s response?’
‘What do you think?’ snarled Huby. ‘He told him to sod off again. What else could he say? Well, that did it!’
‘I suppose it would,’ said Goodenough. ‘Now, about your uncle’s son, your cousin, the missing heir …’
‘Missing?’ exclaimed Huby. ‘Bugger’s as dead as Gruff-of-sodding-Greendale, and everyone knows it. She knew it too, I reckon, only her conscience wouldn’t let her believe it.’
‘Conscience?’ said Goodenough,
