Page 69 of When We Were Young

Stan had an hour left on his shift. He was looking forward to going home.

His wife was cooking lamb chops tonight.

He loved living by the sea. He could afford to retire, but he hated sitting at home, so he took a few shifts at the pub by the local beauty spot.

It kept him busy, and he enjoyed chatting with the tourists.

The pub had been empty all day; it wasn’t the weather for coastal clifftop walks.

The clouds were so dark and heavy it was as if night would never relinquish the sky to the day.

The first customer came in from the rain, bedraggled, his longish hair stuck to his face.

He ordered whiskey and took it to a seat by the fireplace.

Stan tried to remember his training. All the staff had been taught to recognise the signs.

Perhaps this young fella had simply got caught out by the rain and was drying off before heading home.

A couple came in, laughing as they shook off the rain.

They ordered a G he wasn’t going anywhere.

Stan went down to the cellar and changed the barrel quicker than he’d ever done before.

But when he returned, the fella was gone.

His glass was empty, the cardboard coaster ripped to pieces and scattered across the table. Stan cursed himself. He should have talked to him first, the Fosters could have waited.

‘Did you see which way he went?’ he asked the Geordie couple. ‘That bloke, when he left, did he go left or right?’

‘He went left,’ said the man.

Left was the wrong direction. There was nothing that way but cliffs and sea. And a stunning view, invisible on a day like today.

Outside, the driving rain obscured the view in all directions.

Stan darted back inside, making straight for the telephone. He dialled the number they kept pinned on the wall.

‘Didn’t he pay?’ asked the lady.

But the call connected before he could answer. ‘It’s Stan from the Queen’s Head… Yes, a few minutes ago… Male, twenties… Sorry, I was keeping an eye on him, but I missed him leaving… See you in a minute.’

Blue lights flashed around the pub, glinting on the glasses and the polished brass of the pumps. Melanie, the local bobby, came in.

Stan looked at her expectantly, but she shook her head. ‘He left his stuff by the edge.’

Stan brought a trembling hand to his mouth.

This was the third time he’d called that number, but the first time he’d been too late.