Chapter Ten

‘ A nd the winning team is...' Richie lowered the microphone and shuffled through the answer sheets scattered on the bar in front of him before picking up the microphone once more. ‘Drumroll please...'

The pub filled with the dull thuds of people tapping on the tables.

‘The winning team is... The Bakery Family Team. Come on down to collect your prize!' Turning off the microphone, Richie placed it back down on the bar and joined in the applause.

‘Yay!' Diane cheered.

‘Woo-hoo, let this be the beginning of another winning streak!' Wendy grinned as she clapped.

With the pub filling with yelps of ‘congratulations', Debbie smiled. This small community really knew how to enjoy themselves.

‘Ah, is someone else okay to get our free cocktails? I've been run off my feet all day, what with the bakery being busy and then having to play tag with the kids in the park after work.' Teresa slumped back in her chair and pushed the empty cocktail pitcher into the middle of the table.

‘Debbie will. Won't you, Debbie?' Wendy nudged her and raised her eyebrows before lowering her voice. ‘It'll give you a chance to talk to Richie. I've seen the way you've been staring at him all evening.'

Debbie opened her mouth to reply before closing it again. She hadn't realised she'd been so easy to read, but, yes, she'd hardly been able to keep her eyes off him. She stood up. ‘Okay, I'm happy to.'

‘Great, thanks.' Leaning forward, Teresa pulled the pitcher towards her again and picked it up to pass to Debbie.

‘Have fun.' Wendy winked as Debbie took the pitcher.

‘Haha, I have no idea what you're referring to.' Debbie laughed as the warm glow of embarrassment flushed across her face.

‘No, of course not.' Laughing back at her, Wendy stood up and pushed her chair back, giving her room to pass.

‘Thanks.' Once free from the table, Debbie gripped the empty pitcher in both hands as she made her way towards the bar and joined the crowd of people, all eager for a refill now that the quiz had finished.

While waiting to be served, she noticed the jukebox in the corner of the pub, its bright orange lights flashing as a couple scrolled through the long list of songs, trying to decide what to play. She smiled. Every weekend of the holidays when she'd stayed with her nan, her parents had journeyed to the bay to spend time with them before travelling back for work on Sunday evening.

Each Sunday before they'd left, they'd all had a Sunday roast at the pub. Sometimes her aunt, uncle and cousin had joined them too and she and her Bertie had been allowed to play outside in the courtyard on their own after they'd finished their pudding. Every Sunday before they'd left the pub to wave her parents back off to work, her dad had taken her hand and led her to the jukebox, letting her choose which song to play. She'd felt so grown-up, so sophisticated, being allowed to make such a decision, choosing which song everybody sitting in the pub would listen to for the next three or four minutes.

After the first few times, it had become a tradition of her and her dad's. Even when she'd become a teenager, the summer before her life changed, she'd enjoyed choosing the song and going back to the table to sing along with her parents and nan.

‘Debbie?' Richie's voice pierced through her thoughts.

Jerking her head towards him, she stepped towards the bar. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.'

‘No problem.' Richie grinned. ‘Have you come for your team's prize?'

‘I have, yes. And to thank you again for yesterday.'

‘There's no need to thank me.' Richie nodded towards the pitcher. ‘Same again?'

‘Uh, yes, I guess so.' She shrugged. She hadn't thought to ask what everyone wanted, but she assumed the same again would be okay.

‘Coming right up.' Turning, Richie laid out four clean pitchers and began making the cocktail, expertly pouring drink after drink into each one and stirring them before placing them on a couple of trays. Turning as the other bartender called across to him, he looked at Debbie. ‘Sorry, one second.'

Debbie nodded and watched as he hurried through the door at the back of the bar. A few moments later, he reappeared and filled the space between the pitchers on the trays with packets of crisps and peanuts. He then placed an orange juice on the tray. ‘For Diane. I'll help you carry them over.'

Debbie watched as he glanced towards a group of people filtering in from outside. ‘Don't worry. I'll come back and grab it.'

‘Are you sure? Sorry.' He grimaced.

‘Of course. Thanks for the drinks.'

‘Congratulations on winning.' As Debbie looked down at the trays, he called her name, ‘Debbie, don't leave without saying bye, will you?'

‘No, course not.' As she picked up the first tray, it took her a second to distribute the weight of the pitchers evenly, and then she weaved her way back towards the table.

‘Ooh, wow. I think you can go to the bar and collect our prize next week too if we win.' Teresa began unloading the pitchers and packets onto the table. ‘We don't usually get all these snacks.'

‘There's more coming. I'll grab the other tray.' Debbie nodded towards the bar.

‘Other tray?' Diane widened her eyes. ‘Do you mean we get more snacks? Good job Gerald's not here!'

‘Yep. And two more pitchers of cocktail.' Debbie laughed as she left the table once more.