Page 3 of The Village of Lost and Found

‘Good evening, all,’ he announced as he walked across towards the bar.

Thanks to the light summer drizzle outside, the usual half-dozen or so customers were inside rather than in the far prettier pub garden.

They all looked up at him expectantly with worried faces.

‘The good news is that Frank is going to be all right,’ he told them. ‘I’ve just heard from him. Apart from a small break in his foot, it was nothing too serious, thankfully. So he’ll be back home within a day or so.’

Everyone gave a sigh of happy relief.

‘That’s great news,’ said Josh, Tom’s best friend, who was seated on a stool by the bar. ‘The place isn’t the same without him.’

‘I agree,’ said Josh’s girlfriend, Amber, who was sitting with her friends nearby around a small table. ‘But it’ll be strange not seeing him chatting with Stanley on the veranda as usual tomorrow morning.’

Josh and Amber ran The Cranbridge Stores, the corner shop on Riverside Lane. Usually, Frank could be found having a takeaway coffee and chatting to his old friend Stanley on one of the benches outside.

‘Thank goodness he’s OK,’ said Molly, who was sitting next to Amber and looking tearily relieved. ‘I’ve been so worried. It’s so awful to think of him in hospital.’ Molly was the receptionist and office assistant for the newspaper. She was terribly sweet, only in her early twenties and revelling in the fact that this was her first ever full-time job.

Tom was hoping she might still have a job by the end of the summer, but he wasn’t holding his breath, given the rocky state of the newspaper.

For almost 100 years, there had been a weekly printed edition ofThe Cranbridge Times. In recent years, though, the newspaper had been struggling trying to keep its head above water in an extremely challenging market. There was still a weekly print run to be sold and distributed, but the reality was that hardly anyone was buying the newspaper these days. The online edition wasn’t doing any better unfortunately. The truth was that readers were turning away from local newspapers and that trend wasn’t likely to change.

Belle, who was sitting on the opposite side, rolled her eyes at Molly’s tears before giving her friend a quick squeeze around the shoulders. ‘Remember that it’s good news, so let’s hold back the waterworks for once,’ she told her. ‘Frank’s going to be fine. I’ll get us all a drink.’

‘Next round’s on me!’ announced Tom, in a cheery fashion. ‘To celebrate and raise a glass to Frank.’

Belle was the barmaid and stood up to head behind the bar. ‘Does that include staff?’ she asked, with a smile.

‘Of course,’ said Tom, beaming at her.

‘Thank goodness you don’t drink anywhere else then,’ said Belle, with a wink.

‘First of all, it’s the only pub in this village,’ said Tom. ‘Second, I’d be hard-pushed to find all this glamour anywhere else.’ He waved a hand around the shabby room in the equally shabby pub, but he felt at home there. The Black Swan had pretty fireplaces and oak beams but, best of all, it was full of people that liked him, and that included Belle, whose bark was far worse than her bite. She was an attractive brunette but kept everyone at arm’s-length. ‘Please whisper those three little words that would make my day,’ asked Tom.

‘Here’s your pint,’ said Belle, handing him the full glass.

‘That’s the winning answer,’ he told her.

Belle gave him a small smile at his lame joke. He knew he acted the clown and hated himself for it. But he couldn’t stop. He would do anything to prevent anyone thinking that he was miserable to be around. After all, it had been his quips and joking that had helped bring his mum out of the gloom that had surrounded her when his dad had walked out early on in Tom’s life. Together, Tom and his mum had made a strong team and he had always been the one to put a smile on her face.

But now it was Tom who was struggling to find some cheer after losing his mum six months previously. His heart was broken for the second time in two years and he wasn’t sure that it would ever be whole again. But he didn’t want to show it. He didn’t want anyone’s worry, or worse, their pity.

‘Do you know, I’m starving. Shall I push the boat out and try one of those steak pies?’ said Tom.

Belle gave him a stern look. ‘Are you sure? That would mean slaving over a hot microwave again.’

‘Why not?’ he said, with a smile. ‘It can’t taste any worse than the chicken one.’

‘That’s what you think,’ replied Belle.

She was probably right, but Tom couldn’t be bothered to cook dinner for just himself these days. Unfortunately, that meant that the only other cooked food available in the village was in the pub. Whilst he loved everything about the pub, its food was the one thing that he didn’t.

Belle’s Aunt Angie was the co-owner of The Black Swan and insisted on doing all the cooking, although the term cooking was perhaps a bit of a stretch. Sadly, her culinary skills were so awful that most meals were delivered with the whine of the smoke alarm in the background.

But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and after the drama of today he was just happy to be in the pub and not having to think about making his own meal.

There were a pile of newspapers on the bar and Tom picked up the latest copy ofThe Daily Mailto stare at the two photographs on the front page. One was of that media tycoon, Jamie Watkins, who’d been caught cheating on his wife with some Z-list celebrity. No surprise there, thought Tom. The man was a renowned cheat to his long-suffering wife and the other woman appeared to be desperate for publicity as befitted her former wild child status. The other photograph showed his own ex-wife, Andrea, standing next to the head of the TV station who was rumoured to be her lover.

His hand automatically strayed to touch the bare third finger of his left hand. He snatched it away, annoyed with himself that it still felt weird without his wedding ring on there.