‘Well, I’ll have to think about it. No promises, though. Are you really involved with that pub?’
They both looked over their shoulders at the unlovely single-storey building with two of its windows boarded over.
‘It used to be called the Lord Harville, you know,’ he said with a weak grin.
‘Not any more.’ The faded sign swinging from a post in the car park proclaimed it to be the Stan Bowyer.
‘No, but I have some interest in the land, so I still have a foothold in the area. Just about.’ His smile had a fixed quality. ‘But we must do something about your car. Let me ring a chap I know.’
‘Oh, would you? That would save my life.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ he said, but he seemed pleased with the idea, flipping out his phone and putting it to his ear.
‘I can’t believe you got all dressed up to go to the Accident and Emergency,’ said Jenna, using the old nickname for the pub that had prevailed in her schooldays.
Lawrence winked and was about to reply, but somebody answered his phone and he fell instead into a curt description of Jenna’s plight.
‘He should be here within twenty minutes,’ he said, snapping his phone case shut. ‘Perhaps we might wait in the bar?’
‘Are you sure?’ Jenna looked dubiously at the pub.
‘Oh, it’s not open yet. It’ll just be us and Tommy. He’ll sort us out with coffee.’
‘OK.’
The interior of the pub didn’t seem to have changed much since Jenna’s days of sitting in the ‘family room’ with a bag of crisps and bottle of Coke. The carpet was still sticky and, despite a smoking ban of many years’ standing, it still reeked of wet cigarette butts.
‘Tommy,’ hailed Lawrence, and Jenna recognised the landlord as Tommy Ross, who had joined the army at sixteen and come home from Bosnia with a bald head and arms full of tattoos. He was only a few years older than her, but you wouldn’t have known it.
‘Thought we were sorted?’ said Tommy with a frown.
‘I bumped into this young lady and rendered her a service,’ said Lawrence, smoothly. ‘Would you mind making us a coffee while we wait for somebody to come and fix her tyres?’
Tommy put down the bar towel he had been folding and disappeared without a word.
‘Perhaps he might have an idea who did it?’ suggested Jenna, but Lawrence shook his head.
‘I doubt it’s pub regulars – it’ll be kids.’
‘Kids of people who come here, though. When I used to live here, everybody knew everybody. You couldn’t get away with anything.’
‘Times change,’ said Lawrence lightly.
‘Not for the better, around here.’ She gave him a curious look. ‘I really am surprised to see you here. I thought your business interests were all in Nottingham these days.’
‘I still own property in Bledburn. Anyway, what are you doing here?’
Jenna almost replied that it was her home. The shock of it made her catch her breath.
‘Do you know, I was about to say, “I live here.” How quickly the years fall away when you come back to your childhood haunts. It’s extraordinary.’
Tommy came in with the tray, set it on the table in front of them, and went back to cleaning up the bar area.
‘Actually, I was visiting the youth club. Thought I’d like to get involved with it, you know, as a patron or something.’
‘Very public-spirited of you,’ said Lawrence, pouring cream into his cup. When he offered it to Jenna she declined.
‘Not really. I was one of these kids, running wild around the estate, once. Though I never stole anyone’s tyres! I suppose I’m doing it to help children like me, which isn’t that noble really.’