Page 146 of In at the Deep End

Warmth spread through Owen when he realised he couldn’t wait to hear every one of them.

The road climbed gently, and the sea appeared on the horizon, a strip of almost Mediterranean deep blue beneath an endless summer sky.

Matt gave an appreciative whistle over the intercom. “Oh.”

Owen smiled.

“We haven’t got to the really good bit yet.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Military Road was as Owen remembered, only with more bits of it edging closer to the sea. The car park at Compton Bay was still half its previous size thanks to its collapse several years ago, and the road was lined with vehicles that couldn’t find space there.

They left the white chalk cliffs of Freshwater behind them, glowing in the sunlight. Ahead, he spied white tents and a colourful bouncy slide, the sunlight glinting on hundreds of cars parked in adjacent fields.

The Chale Show. Every few miles, Owen had seen the orange signposts advertising the two-day event. Not that they were going to attend. Ben had often argued it had long since become less about local interests and more about businesses coming over from the mainland.

Then he caught sight of the Union flags fluttering in the breeze atop two tall gate posts, and smiled.

“We’re here.”

He turned left onto the long gravel driveway. Cars were parked along its length, spilling out from the main space, and music grew louder as they drew closer to the pub. Children played on swings, and blue picnic tables covered the expanse of grass in front of the building, virtually every one occupied.

“Popular place,” Matt observed as they came to a stop by the wooden railings.

Owen switched off the engine and removed his helmet. “It always was.” He opened the top box to take out their small bags and stow the helmets and gloves.

Matt gazed at the inn with its white-framed windows across the front, all of them open to give access to the patio. “When was the last time you were here?”

“It’s been about six years.”

Too long.

“My parents brought me here when I was a kid.” Owen smiled. “It’s changed a bit inside, but not out.” He headed for the wooden gate on the left. “This way.”

Matt followed him up the path bordered by flowers and shrubs, until they reached the slope.

“We could’ve parked around the front,” Owen told him, “but this is the best view.” He stopped and turned. “I mean, look at that.”

The late afternoon sun sparkled on the sea, and in the distance were the white cliffs of Freshwater and beyond. Boats sailed past, their spinnakers fluttering in the wind.

Matt drew in a deep breath. “It’s a beautiful spot. Remind me to thank Callum next time I see him.”

Owen stepped across the threshold onto warm brown stone flags. People lined up at the long bar, and the air was filled with the buzz of conversation and laughter. Waiters dressed in black, the Sleepy Dormouse logo on their shirts, moved briskly between the numerous tables, delivering food, clearing plates.

On the right was a cosy nook filled with two brown leather couches. Two men sat there facing each other, one with a gorgeous dog lying on the floor beside him, his nose between his paws, totally content.

Matt grinned. “That has to be Robbie.”

The dog’s owner turned his head in Matt’s direction. “Yes, this is Robbie.” He reached into a plastic bag on the low table in front of him, and removed a piece of carrot.

Matt jerked his head in Owen’s direction. “We forgot to bring carrots!” He stretched out his hand towards Robbie, then paused. “Is it okay to stroke him?”

The man smiled. “Thanks for asking. And yeah, he’s very friendly.”

Matt crouched beside Robbie and scritched between his ears.

“Especially if you bring carrots,” the other man said, his eyes twinkling.