the Whispering Gallery,’ he told her and she nodded. She had forgotten all about it until he said but now she could hear the echoes of a foreign language as another couple shared their messages into the architectural phenomenon. Fergus kissed her gently and then walked around to the other side of the gallery.
Some children appeared and proceeded to share obscenities around the walls until their parents emerged at the top of the steps and intervened. The walls echoed with the sound of their stifled giggles. Carly was glad of the sit-down and so were her feet. She so wanted to take off her shoes but she dare not remove them in case she couldn’t get them back on.
Eventually the gallery was silent. Fergus sat on the far side of the dome. Carly felt her heart rate quicken and she took a deep breath. Fergus gave her a little wave and she saw him put his face to the wall. This was it. She closed her eyes and listened to his melodic Irish accent magically emanating from the wall behind her.
‘I love you, Carly Wilson,’ he said and she felt a tear form. ‘And to prove it to you … I’m taking you away for a magical weekend in a treehouse.’
There was a very long pause. Carly didn’t want to open her eyes. She played the words around her head again but it didn’t matter – whatever she did, that was definitely not a proposal of marriage. She opened her eyes to see Fergus giving her a thumbs-up from the other side.
‘You utter tosser,’ she said with feeling into the wall and, for the first time, she was grateful that Fergus was deaf.
It was early evening and Leo was gently purring in his sleep. Beth looked around the small room with its ancient wardrobe, candlewick bedspreads and plastic framed scenic pictures on the wall. Jean was lovely but staying here was slowly draining the life from her. She needed a plan and she needed to take action. Perhaps a trip to the pub was exactly what she needed.
Jean was more than happy to babysit Leo and seemed thrilled that Beth was taking her advice, so Beth slung her bag on her shoulder and headed out. There was a breeze but it wasn’t cold. The sun was setting and Beth stopped for a moment to take it in. The colours were majestic; the soft orange hues melding with a deep yellow glow as the sun slowly melted into the silhouetted countryside. The only sounds were the light wind rippling through the trees and a few birds squabbling over where to roost for the night.
The scary pub sign was creaking gently and Beth pulled her eyes away. As she reached the pub, she could hear the welcoming chatter inside. She truly hoped it wouldn’t stop as soon as she entered like it did in all good horror films. The heavy old door took a bit of shoving and unbeknownst to her a large man inside the pub had seen her approaching and had got up to give it a pull just as she gave one more hard push. The door opened swiftly and as it disappeared from beneath her touch Beth stumbled inside with a clatter of heels on wooden floor but thankfully she managed to stay upright and avoided falling to her knees. The large man was awfully apologetic, as was Beth who had almost landed in his lap. Beth recovered quickly and realized that nobody was really watching, they were all thankfully engrossed in chatter.
‘You okay?’ asked the smiling barmaid nodding at the door.
‘I feel a bit of an idiot. Otherwise, I’m fine, thanks.’
‘I’m Petra, landlady,’ she said in a soft, but indistinguishable, Eastern European accent as she offered a hand across the bar. ‘What can I get you?’
‘I’m Beth. Gin and tonic, please. What gin do you have?’
‘Ah, just the standard, I’m afraid. Nothing fancy here.’ She pointed to the optic.
‘That’s fine,’ said Beth, trying to look like she meant it.
‘You’re in time to join a team, quiz is about to start.’ She pointed to a bald man with a rather large belly who was blowing into a microphone.
‘No, really, I’m fine, thanks. I’ll observe.’
Petra shook her head. ‘Jack, here’s your fifth team member,’ she called and Jack turned round from his position on a nearby stool. Beth was sure there had been a smile on his face a split second before he’d realized who his fifth member was going to be. He stood up and beckoned her over, his expression resigned.
Three rather more friendly faces greeted her and budged up to make room on the bench seat as they machine-gunned their names at her – Melvyn and Audrey, who were clearly a couple, and Simon who was very smiley and whose ginger hair had receded back to his ears. As she glanced around she could see this was by far the youngest group in the pub and, apart from her and Jack, none of the others were under forty.
‘I’m Beth,’ she said, with a self-deprecating smile.
‘Eyes down, look in,’ bellowed the tubby man who clearly didn’t need a microphone. Beth felt her blood run cold. Not bloody bingo, she thought. ‘Noooo, only joking!’ There was the equivalent of human canned laughter before it went silent and he carried on. ‘Welcome to the Bleeding Bear Pub Quiz. Round one: the nineteen sixties. Are you ready? Question one …’
Oh, terrific, thought Beth, I wasn’t even born in the sixties or the seventies and didn’t spend very long in the eighties for that matter!
She was as much help with the answers as she expected she would be, which was no help at all, and it made her feel quite the simpleton. Thankfully it was Melvyn and Audrey’s era so, as a team, they had something written down for each answer. Not for the first time, Beth was missing her job. It had been pressured and demanding but she was good at it and valued by her boss. Here, she was a dunce, who, when the question was Who was famously assassinated in Dallas? she said – J.R. Ewing. At least it got Jack laughing. There was a brief pause at the end of round one and everyone started to chatter again.
‘What’s this I hear about you bribing the locals with cake?’ asked Jack, avoiding eye contact and taking a sip from a near full pint of Guinness which gave him a milky moustache.
Beth frowned for a second. ‘Oh, you mean Ernie. I thought I should at least try to get to know the man who is virtually living in my willow tree.’
‘How’s the cottage coming along?’
‘Well, it’s not. The quote I had was sky high. I mean I’m sure it was accurate it’s just that so much needs doing to it.’
‘It can’t be that bad,’ said Jack.
‘It is.’ She resisted the urge to sulk.
‘But Wilf was living there up until he had the heart attack, so I don’t see why you can’t live in it while you do it up yourself a bit at a time.’ Jack was blunt.
‘Maybe Wilf and I have different views on what constitutes liveable.’ Beth could feel she was starting to get grumpy. She finished her drink. She decided now might be a good time to leave but as if to thwart her plans Petra appeared at the table and replaced her empty glass with a full one.
‘On the house. You deserve it if you’re putting up with this lot,’ said Petra. ‘Welcome to Dumbleford.’ She couldn’t leave now.
Round two was no better as it was naming the national anthems of various countries, and round three was sport, but thankfully Simon on their team knew everything there was to know about football and cricket so they were covered. As round four approached Beth was losing the will to live.
‘Round four is countries’ internet name extensions.’
