Episode Eight

The locals have their say...

The door to the bar swung open and a few heads turned to see who was arriving. When Arthur Downs walked in there was a flurry of nudging and whispering. He was rather confused by this. Normally when he walked into the pub people said ‘oh, it’s only Arthur’ and carried on their conversations. Tonight, everyone stared and stopped talking. Instinctively he looked behind him for the more interesting person who had obviously followed him in but he seemed to be alone. He walked up to the bar, all eyes following him. He checked his trousers but the flies seemed to be secure. His mouth felt dry and he croaked when he ordered his usual. Bob Templeton poured the beer, took his money and waited for Arthur to speak again. He took a long pull from his beer and spoke far louder than he had intended.

“Have I got summat on me face?”

Bob’s friendly face broke into a broad grin and Arthur relaxed a little, sipping his beer slowly.

“No, Arthur, not at all. Sorry if we worried you. You see, we’ve been trying to work out who the young lady at The Cedars is and you’re the perfect person to ask, what with your Tilly working there.”

Arthur stopped sipping, peered over the rim of the glass, his nose almost touching the top. He placed the glass carefully on the bar and considered his options. Arthur Downs was a man of limited intellect, nobody ever mistook him for a deep thinker or asked his opinion on matters of local or national interest. But he was most skilled at spotting an opportunity. Being the focus of everyone’s attention was certainly an opportunity and he was keen to exploit it to the fullest.

“Well, Bob, I really shouldn’t say. Whatever Tilly knows, well, she doesn’t let on much you see.”

His eyes scanned the bar. Everyone was watching and listening, keen to find out all the gossip. He had the whole pub hanging on his every word. Arthur carefully picked up his beer, drank it down in one and smiled.

“I’d best be off, Bob. Busy day tomorrow, things to do, people to see. You know how it is.” He moved slightly towards the door and Evan Lewis rested a huge paw on his sleeve.

“Now Arthur, don’t be so hasty. Give Arthur another beer would you, Bob. So, what has Tilly said about goings on at The Cedars?’

By the time Bob called last orders Arthur Downs could hardly see straight. The more beer they bought him, the more he seemed to remember Tilly saying about the young woman. By closing time he’d remembered that her name was Liza or Lizzie or maybe Sarah; she came from Lincoln or Leicester or that other place with a big church; she was married, divorced, twice widowed or single; her heart was broken, she was a vamp or an actress who gobbled men up; she was Mrs Howard’s daughter or cousin or mother. The locals were enjoying the tall tales but Marie Templeton was frustrated that she’d learned nothing useful to pass on at the Mother’s Union meeting. As the last customers staggered out, Arthur slung between Edwin and Edgar Wright she slapped her husband’s arm and frowned at him.

“Bloody state of him, Bob. Sibyll will be over here first thing calling me out for letting him get like that. And all that twaddle he came out with, he knows no more than that stool about what goes on at the big house. His Tilly don’t get her afternoon off until Thursday so he won’t have seen her, will he? Men; no more sense than a day old chick.” She lifted the hatch, turned off the lights and left her husband standing in the dark with his mouth open.