Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

By the time they pulled up in The Jolly Sailors' car park, they were ten minutes late thanks to Jasmine's babysitter.

‘I can't bloomin' believe it. The one night I'm actually ready on time and not covered from head to toe in edible glitter and icing sugar, the flippin' babysitter can't get her backside into gear and get here on time,' she'd said when Florrie had knocked on her door. ‘And it's not as if I could ask my mum to cover for her now she's come down with a stomach bug.'

As well as working part-time at Seaside Bakery and as a cleaner for Stella's mum's cleaning company, Jasmine had a side hustle making celebration cakes which had taken off beyond her wildest expectations, and she was now inundated with orders. Her dream was to give up her other jobs and focus solely on her cakes but thus far, being a single mum had meant she'd been too afraid to risk giving up her regular employment.

‘Anyroad, are you going to tell me why I've had to book out the seventeenth for me and the kids?' Jasmine had asked as she buckled her seat belt in the back of the car. ‘I haven't mentioned owt to the monsters or they'd be hounding the living daylights out of me to find out about it. But I have to say, I'm dying to know myself.'

‘Nope, 'fraid I'm not in a position to share just yet,' Florrie had said, giving a mysterious smile.

‘Really?'

‘Yep, really.'

‘Spoilsport!' Jasmine had reached forward and prodded Florrie in the shoulder, making her giggle. ‘Don't suppose I can tempt you to share, can I, Stells?' she'd asked, turning to Stella who Florrie and Ed had scooped up before calling for Jasmine.

‘Nope,' Stella had said with a smile.

‘Well, as long as it doesn't involve taking a dip with the Goosebump Gals, I won't mind what the surprise is.' The Goosebump Gals were a group of women who went sea swimming each weekend, with Stella's mum Alice being a recent recruit. ‘Gives me goosebumps just thinking about it.' Jasmine had chuckled.

When they'd arrived in Old Micklewick, Ed had taken a detour, heading down Smugglers Row where Lark's tiny home, Seashell Cottage, was tucked away in amongst the rows of higgledy-piggledy dwellings. He'd stopped the car on the road outside and beeped the horn. Seconds later, Lark had hurried out, her long, blonde locks covered by a brightly coloured trapper hat. She'd quickly jumped into the back alongside Jasmine. ‘Thanks for this, Ed. I usually love the snow, but not when I'm heading for a night out with the lasses. I don't fancy having my clothes steaming away while I'm sitting by the fire.'

‘I can see why that wouldn't appeal.' Ed had chuckled.

‘Have fun, ladies,' he said as he pulled up in the Jolly's car park. The four of them scrambled out of the car, calling goodbyes over their shoulders and scurried off, hoods pulled up and heads bowed against the driving sleet. To Florrie, it felt like hundreds of icy needles were driving relentlessly at her skin.

They hurried along the snow-covered path, waves crashing angrily against the shore in the background. Jasmine let out an ear-splitting yelp as she almost came a cropper, her feet sliding every which way. Luckily for her, Lark and Stella had acted quickly, catching her just in time. ‘Blimey, thanks, lasses! I knew I shouldn't have worn these bloomin' boots, they're lethal.'

Her glasses dappled with snow, Florrie couldn't help but giggle at the sight of Jasmine being frogmarched by their friends. ‘Come on, Jazz, let's get you in here where you won't run the risk of ending up on your bum.' Stella's voice was whipped from her mouth by the wind that was blasting in from the sea.

Florrie opened the pub door and was instantly met by a welcome rush of warmth. It was quickly followed by a burst of chatter and a lively blast of fiddle music. The four of them tumbled inside, Florrie battling with the wind as she pushed the door firmly closed behind them, her aching muscles grumbling. She was glad to leave the wintry night behind her for the next few hours while she relaxed and had a catch up with her friends. It felt like an age since last Friday when they'd had a proper chance to put the world and Micklewick Bay to rights. She savoured her nights at the Jolly with her pals. Despite their very different personalities, they all shared the same values and they were all women's women through and through, their friendship growing stronger over the years, the experiences they'd lived through and shared galvanising their bond. After one of their catch-ups, Florrie's spirits always felt thoroughly restored, her worries put into perspective. It was a feeling echoed by each of them. It took something serious for one of them to miss their Friday night get-together.

Florrie gave a quick scan of the cosy bar area as she pushed the hood of her duffle coat down. She was pleased to see the change in the weather hadn't deterred the regulars from turning out for their Friday night session. But then again, Mother Nature could do her worst, and the Jolly would still be packed to the rafters. There was something about its old, wonky walls that tempted folk back. The room was looking suitably festive, a Christmas tree, trimmed with copious bushy lengths of tinsel, stood against the back wall, Christmas cards were stuck to the stout, dark oak beams and a miniature blackboard sat on the bar advertising glasses of warm mulled wine or spiced cider.

‘Flippin' 'eck, I'm nithered and we were only out there a few minutes.' Jasmine rubbed her hands vigorously together, sleet glistening in the tuft of vibrant red fringe that was peeking from the edge of her woolly hat.

‘Tell me about it,' said Lark, giving a shiver as she unwound her scarf.

‘A glass of vino'll soon fettle that, lasses.' Stella gave a smile, pushing back the hood of her olive-green sheepskin maxicoat. No matter what the weather, she always managed to look effortlessly stylish.

‘Ooh, Mags is already here.' Florrie stuffed her gloves into the pockets of her coat as she headed across the bar to their usual table that landlady, Mandy, reserved for them every Friday evening. She was pleased to see a fire blazing beside it in the dog grate of the huge inglenook fireplace.

Maggie looked up as the four women approached, her face breaking out into a smile. ‘Now then, lasses. You finally made it.' She was wearing a fluffy jumper in a cheerful shade of tangerine that stretched snugly over her baby bump, a contrasting navy-blue scarf tied around her neck, while her dark waves hung loose around her shoulders. ‘Ooh, and I see you've all been decorated with a dusting of snowflakes. Must be getting worse out there.'

‘Yep, the snow's definitely got a bit heavier,' said Lark as a flurry of apologies for their lateness followed.

‘It's my fault, as ever,' said Jasmine, sliding onto the settle next to Maggie. ‘Well, that's not strictly true. I was ready but the babysitter was late. How typical is that?'

‘Not to worry, Jazz, you're here now, and I haven't been here long myself. But, ooh, blimey, brrr! I can feel the cold air hanging on you.' Maggie gave a mock shiver.

‘That's cos it's bloomin' freezing out there.' Jasmine grinned at her, chattering her teeth as if to demonstrate.

‘Nutter,' said Maggie, giggling.

‘You're looking positively radiant, Mags,' Florrie said, as she shuffled up the settle opposite her, taking in her friend's glowing skin and glossy mane of hair. Lark slipped in beside her while Stella took the seat at the head of the table.

Maggie beamed. ‘Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself, flower.'

‘Thanks for getting the wine in, Mags,' Stella said, lifting the bottle out of the chiller and filling the four empty glasses. She'd folded her coat over the back of her seat and was looking casually chic in a pair of skinny black jeans and a beige turtleneck sweater. Her hair was fastened into a loose bun at the back of her head, blonde tendrils falling gently around her face. ‘You okay with your lemonade or are you ready for a top up?' She hitched an enquiring eyebrow at Maggie.

‘I'm fine, thanks. I'm having to watch my liquid consumption since Baby Marsay here has decided to perch him or herself right on top of my bladder. I've been running to the loo every five minutes. I tell you, my step count is off the scale – or should I say, my "waddle count"?' Maggie chortled.

‘Oh, blimey.' Stella pulled an amused face that teetered on the edge of concern. ‘In that case, please do watch how much you guzzle. I don't fancy mopping up any puddles, especially that sort.'

‘Stells, since when have you ever mopped up puddles of any sort?' Jasmine gave a hearty laugh. ‘In fact, I'd be amazed if you even knew what a mop looked like.' The others joined in with her laughter, including Stella herself. She would be the first to admit to her lack of domestic prowess.

‘Jazz does have a point, Stells.' Maggie grinned. ‘Mind, you flourishing a mop wouldn't half be a sight worth seeing. I reckon some folk would pay good money to get a glimpse of that.'

‘I'll have you know, I think there's a mop in my apartment,' Stella said, adopting a faux offended air.

‘Note the use of the word " think ",' said Jasmine, making them all laugh some more.

Stella responded by poking her tongue out at her friend before succumbing to giggles herself.

Florrie sat back, releasing a relaxed sigh. She loved this part of the week, getting together with her best friends, loved how the light-hearted banter bounced around them seamlessly. How they could rib one another mercilessly without the risk of anyone taking offence.

Beside her, Lark pulled off her hat and unbuttoned her coat, wriggling out of it. ‘Ooh, that's better,' she said, flicking her long, golden waves, woven with tiny plaits, over her shoulders and making her armful of bracelets play a jangly tune.

Florrie took a sip of her wine, her eyes roving around the room, soaking up the atmosphere. The old pub oozed character with its low, heavily beamed ceiling and thick, uneven walls, imbued with centuries of history and hints of intrigue thanks to its smuggling heritage – something Jack had used to great effect in his novel. Heavy curtains were pulled across the stout mullioned windows, keeping the wintry night at bay, while repurposed hurricane lamps and wrought iron wall lights cast a warm glow, creating an achingly cosy air. An old ship's bell, hung above the chunky oak bar, gleamed alongside the highly polished beer pumps. While at the far end stood a salvaged ship's figurehead in the form of a bare-breasted woman. It had been washed up on the beach in front of the pub several years ago, and the landlord then had reclaimed it, declaring it would make a good talking point for the hostelry. He hadn't been wrong; it had proved to be the source of many conversations, with local fisherman, grizzle-faced Lobster Harry, hanging his mariner's cap from one of its nipples to indicate his presence in the pub.

‘So,' said Jasmine, setting her glass down and sweeping her gaze around the group. ‘What's the goss, lasses?' Her jade-green jumper emphasised her vibrant red hair and bright green eyes, the crop of freckles that danced across her nose and the apples of her cheeks lending her a youthful air. ‘What have you all been up to since I last saw you?'

All eyes swung round to Florrie.