The Lavender Bay Collection. Sarah Bennett

sight.

      Not making any attempt to disguise what he was doing, his dad waved his pen in the direction of an open folder on the other side of the table. ‘Is there a problem?’

      Sam started leafing through the paperwork. ‘I’m not sure, I ordered some new wine but it’s missing from the delivery.’

      Paul capped his pen. ‘Oh, I cancelled that. People don’t want to waste their money on over-priced plonk. This isn’t your fancy restaurant where customers will pay over the odds for a pretty label.’

      ‘Jesus Christ.’ Sam rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the headache he could feel brewing. ‘And it didn’t occur to you to mention that to me?’

      ‘Mind your tone. It’s still my name above the door to this place. And no, it didn’t occur to me to tell you I’d cancelled it any more than it occurred to you to run the idea past me in the first place.’

      Ouch. He had a point, but still… ‘I talked to Mum about organising a gourmet evening, something a bit different to draw people in while it’s quiet. When I saw the deal, it seemed like an ideal chance to get some decent wine in. I was going to plan the menu around it.’

      ‘Hello?’ A shout came from down below, cutting off whatever response his dad might have made.

      ‘Shit. I left the drayman, hang on a minute.’ Still seething with frustration, Sam ran back downstairs to apologise for the mix-up and sign off the delivery. He waved the man off, then secured the tall metal gates protecting the rear yard.

      The stacks of cans, bottles and casks of beer seemed to mock him when he turned to face them. He should go upstairs and have it out with his dad, but in the mood they were both in, one or other of them was likely to say something they’d regret. A bit of manual labour would help him work off the edge of his temper. Unhooking the keys from his belt, Sam unlocked the double doors to the cellar and began to transfer the new stock down the short flight of steps.

      He’d just about finished when the side door next to the rear gates opened and his mum came bustling through, a number of empty carrier bags folded in her hands. ‘Well that’s Beth’s freezer all stocked up. Good idea of yours to give her some of our leftovers, there was only half a lump of cheese and some tomatoes in her fridge. Some homecooked food will do her the power of good. She’s making really good progress next door, I’m so proud of how well she’s coping. Everything all right with you, love?’ She beamed at him on her way inside, then suddenly drew to a stop. ‘No, you’re not all right if that thundercloud lurking on your brow is anything to go by.’

      Sam couldn’t help but smile. His mum had always had a funny term of phrase, and he hadn’t heard that one for years. ‘Just a misunderstanding with the stock, nothing to worry about.’

      Annie picked up the manifest from the top of the last remaining stack. ‘Did the brewery make a cock-up? That’s not like them.’

      Hefting a couple of the trays, Sam shook his head. ‘Dad cancelled that new wine I talked to you about.’

      ‘Oh. I see.’ The edge of the manifest crumpled in her fist. ‘Stubborn old fool.’

      Arms aching, Sam put the trays back down then moved to give her a quick hug. ‘It’s okay. I should have talked to him about it.’

      Annie patted his back. ‘And he needs to recognise how much you’ve given up to help us, darling.’ She looked up at him, the lines of strain on her cheeks clear at such proximity. ‘I don’t tell you often enough how much I appreciate it. How much we both appreciate it. I’ll have a talk with him, okay?’

      Sam nodded. ‘We’ve been doing crisis management for what, six months now? There’s too many blurred lines. I know he’s finding it hard to deal with taking a back seat, but it’s like he doesn’t trust me to do anything.’ And now he sounded like a whining child. He puffed out a breath. ‘It’ll be fine, Mum. I’ll admit I was looking forward to playing around in the kitchen again, but it’s no big deal. Don’t say anything to Dad, yet.’

      ‘Well, if you’re sure…’Annie didn’t sound convinced.

      ‘I am. Let me have a think about things and then we can all sit down when tempers aren’t running hot.’

      ‘Okay, but not too long. I don’t like seeing you unhappy.’ She cupped his cheek. ‘Please try and remember than none of this is about you. Your dad is so proud of you, and he’s always been your biggest fan. We’ll talk him around.’

      Not feeling as confident as her about that, Sam made himself smile. ‘Sure thing, Mum. I’ll get the last of this stock sorted and then make a start in the bar.’

      ‘Good boy.’

      He shook his head. ‘You’re still going to be calling me that when I’m fifty, aren’t you?’

      Annie laughed. ‘Of course. You and Eliza will always be my babies, even if I have to stand on a chair to look you in the eye these days.’ She patted his hand before turning towards the back door. ‘I’ll fetch you a cup of tea in a bit.’

      She was never going to stop fussing, so why fight it? ‘Cheers, Mum.’

      Although she’d promised not to say anything, it was clear from the sheepish looks his dad was casting him from his seat next to Pops that Annie had bent his ear. It was a quiet lunchtime, a few locals scattered around the place. Mind turning over how to tackle the problem with his dad, Sam polished a few glasses, one ear on the latest gossip being passed back and forth.

      Things continued to move apace at the emporium, giving the locals plenty of gossip fodder. The latest talking point was the apparently shocking decision by Beth to repaint the emporium’s window frames and front door in scarlet red. A new sign had been ordered, according to Pops, who’d heard it from one of his pals up at Baycrest whose nephew was a carpenter and joiner.

      ‘I hear she’s replacing the canopy as well.’ Hester Bradshaw sniffed to show him what she thought of that as she and the Major waited for him to pour their usual gin and dubonnet and half an ale. ‘I admit the place was looking very shabby, but I’m not sure red is quite the thing for Lavender Bay, do you, Ronnie?’

      The Major harrumphed and stroked his fingers over his moustache. ‘Not the thing at all. It’ll look like a bloody stick of rock.’

      ‘Or a tube of toothpaste,’ she added through lips so tightly pursed they reminded Sam of a dog’s rear-end. Giving her a non-committal smile, he wondered what she said out of earshot about the pub sign swinging over The Siren’s front door. It had been commissioned by Pops, way back in the day, and if the namesake mermaid it featured didn’t draw sailors to their doom with her beautiful voice, her generous boobs would certainly draw them off course.

      His mum wandered in from the back to join him, lifting the tea towel from where it was draped over his shoulder and began to polish the already-spotless glasses waiting on the rack beneath the bar. ‘Evening Hester, Ronnie, how are you this evening?’

      ‘Mustn’t grumble.’ The Major raised his half-pint in salute and sucked the foam through his thick moustache.

      ‘I was just telling your son about the new colour scheme next door.’ Mrs Bradshaw whispered the two words as though she was saying something obscene.

      Annie flicked her tea towel at a non-existent spot of dust, the gesture dismissive. ‘Well, I for one think it looks wonderful. I’m delighted to see Beth making a few changes around the place. Hopefully her efforts will spur a few others into having a spruce up.’ She turned to Sam. ‘Speaking of which. It’s about time our front had a makeover. I’m bored of that white everywhere. What do you say?’

      He stroked his chin, pretending to give the matter serious consideration while he tried to disguise the grin tugging at his lips. His mum could be a right wind-up merchant when she got in the mood, and the sparkle in her eyes told him what she thought the Major and his interfering wife could go and do. ‘I think you might be right, Mum. Something vibrant—a