"One for the road?"
The young barman pointed at her empty wine glass and Eleanor was sorely tempted but the shindig at the hall was set to start at 6.30 and it was already quarter past.
"Better not. But I'll see you later for sure!"
By the looks of things the entire village was going to be at the carol evening and the Crab was seething with people quaffing a pint or two before facing what could be a long, alcohol-restricted evening. Eleanor still needed to fetch her jacket from her room and use the loo. It was annoying that whenever she had a couple of drinks these days, it just seemed to go straight through her.
As she ascended the stairs she realised the wine had given her quite a buzz, or maybe it was the shot of house whisky she'd been persuaded to try. Bert it seemed, had hit on a successful recipe and now distilled his own and, she had to admit, it was good. Immediately she began to scheme how she could get some of it over to Spain, but the thought of wheeling and dealing with Bert didn't appeal to her one bit. She'd heard that he haggled until it made your head spin and that you would always come away feeling that somehow you'd been shafted but you couldn't quite work out why.
After freshening up, she slipped into her quilted jacket and went to stand in front of the long mirror. A loud sigh escaped her lips as she tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. She was looking older, no doubt about it, but as the saying went, and it was one she endorsed wholeheartedly: "you are only as old as you feel" and most days, she felt as if she were still thirty-something, easily able to party or run her bar well into the small hours. But more frequently now, there were days when she felt as old as she looked and the minute the smile left her face, it added another ten years to her appearance.
It was after recently bewailing this fact to her close friend Esperanza, that she, in her intense and fervent way, had brought her a special herbal tonic created by her 'health and wellness' guru at a spa she attended regularly.
It's designed for 'women of a certain age', she'd enthused; it was guaranteed to give one a new lease on life. Mucho Ánimo! It would boost the energy, revitalise the skin and hair and revive a flagging libido, not that her amiga Eleanor had a problem in that quarter, but a little boost wouldn't do any harm, si? Eleanor liked the idea of all the touted benefits of the tonic, but what she needed it for most was the energy boost it promised. She didn't seem to get the same benefits from the tonic she'd been taking for years and some days she just felt so sapped and today was turning out to be one of them. She wondered if she should take a drop or two of the new one now, but then thought better of it. She was already running late.
The hall, when she finally got inside, was filling up and only a few spaces were left in the rows of plastic chairs and benches that had been set out. Boney M's Little Drummer Boy was almost drowned out by the chatter and the shrieks of children as they excitedly clustered around the Christmas tree, their frazzled and cheerless minders trying to prevent bodily harm from being inflicted by flailing elbows and oblivious adults stepping on toes.
The distinct odour of wet rain gear and perfume filled the air as Eleanor threaded her way between small groups of people standing chatting. She was annoyed to find that the Ellinghams weren't anywhere to be seen. She'd been hoping to sit next to James, a hope that had a downside because it also meant sitting near to his miserable father. Maybe Martin would refuse to come and she would be spared his contemptuous and haughty scrutiny. His abhorrence of social gatherings such as this was well known, so maybe a miracle might still happen.
"Eleanor Glasson! What brings you to Portwenn?"
The plummy tones sounded familiar and she turned to find the Reverend Counter squinting at her. He still favoured a cream coloured jacket, which was just as crumpled and worn looking as it had always been but there was something different about him now and it was only after he spoke again that Eleanor realised it was because he was sober. It seemed to give him an aura of authority that he'd lacked back when she still lived in Portwenn. She wondered if his long suffering wife had stuck it out.
"Spain not to your liking anymore?" He stared pointedly at her, which was quite disconcerting because one eye found its target while the other stared over her shoulder. Eleanor sensed a large measure of censure in the remark.
"Just visiting. Come to see my grandson...and Louisa."
"How lovely for you...after, what...four years now?"
Eleanor felt the unmistakable sting of rebuke and her mouth thinned as she bit back a scathing retort.
"Not quite. Louisa spent some time with me a while back...after that husband of hers treated her so badly."
The reverend shook his head patronisingly, as if to remind her that she was deliberately omitting a large part of the truth. Eleanor felt resentful so she lashed out.
"Not that you would know anything about that...you not being very involved in the community and all."
Eleanor stalked off without waiting for a reply. The judgmental git. How dare he make her feel like the one that had abandoned Louisa and James. He'd abandoned an entire parish when he'd been too drunk to care for them. Feeling pleasantly self-righteous but still annoyed, she wandered over to where Roger Fenn was adjusting a microphone stand.
"Allo Roger. Still Portwenn's favourite rock star?" She chuckled but quickly noted that Roger wasn't amused.
"Well If it isn't Eleanor Glasson. Still Andalusia's favourite Cornish fugitive? Or are you back for good?"
Eleanor had always had trouble understanding Roger's caustic wit. She didn't quite know if that was meant to be an insult, so she chose not to respond. Roger himself had left north Cornwall in search of that ultimate of dreams: to play in a band and see the world. She'd fancied him once, even though he was a year or so younger than her. He'd had a bit of an attitude back in the day. A little arrogant, a little restless and with a swagger that all young aspiring rock musicians seem to adopt. But then he'd come back to Portwenn, not with a No. 1 album but with a bloody teaching degree and he'd settled for being a music teacher at the local school. Married young too.
"Nah. Just a visit." If anyone would understand her desire to leave Portwenn it would be Roger. "I don't think I could take this weather for longer than a few days - got the sunshine in my blood now, you know."
He looked up, batting the hair out of his face before letting his eyes flick over her.
"Seems to have made your skin age though - too much sunshine in the blood."
Eleanor's jaw dropped. Had he just said she looked old?
"Well, thanks for the compliment Roger bloody Fenn!" She was just about to return the favour when he shoved past her to pick up another microphone stand.
"You'll have to get out of the way now. I have things to do here."
Eleanor was flabbergasted. How rude. His comment had stung, because it only served to reinforce what she'd seen in the mirror earlier. She was looking old. She backed away then tried to squeeze past a young family who were filing into a row of seats. The children were whining and kept wanting to change places and the parents were trying to shush them. When she finally got past them she heard a loud voice above the general hubbub and looked up to see Sally Tishell almost airborne as she leapt over some benches. It looked as if she were doing the 100 metre hurdles. For a woman her age Eleanor was quite impressed and she wondered if Sally took any special supplements in order to achieve this agility. On closer scrutiny though, Sally looked as if she were about to have some sort of fit. Her eyes were almost popping out of her head and her mouth was open wide as she emitted a high pitched wail. "Doc-torrrr Ellingggg-hammmmm."
Eleanor twisted around to see the object of Sally's manic attention sitting a few feet away, ramrod straight, his eyes wide and his expression decidedly horrified. Approaching him equally rapidly, as if in a perfect pincer movement, was a tall, dark woman who was also calling out his name, but her face was wreathed in a smile. She sounded foreign to Eleanor. American maybe.
Martin stood up hastily and, taking James by the hand, dashed off in the direction of the men's toilets. Eleanor was pleased that she'd found where the family was sitting and she quickly headed over to claim a seat. Sally and the other woman reached the chairs at the same time and for a moment all three glared at one another, observed by a highly amused Ruth.
"Eleanor. Fancy you being here. I didn't think family activities were your thing."
Eleanor chose to ignore the well aimed barb and turned her attention to the two glowering women. Sally's face looked like she'd sucked on a lemon as she rounded on the tall one.
"Why are you here? Don't you have family to celebrate Christmas with in A-mer-i-ca?"
"I do - but I decided to experience a Cornish Christmas for a change - it's where my ancestors come from. Not that it's any of your business."
Oooh. Shots fired, thought Eleanor.
Sally squared her shoulders. "Well you can't sit here."
"Says who?"
"Says me. Doctor Ellingham has reserved a space for me - as a fellow medical practitioner." The smug look was instantly wiped from her face when Ruth said, "No he hasn't. The seats are for his wife and son."
"And for me, because I am James's Grandma." Eleanor smiled brightly at the pair who then frantically began searching for chairs nearby.
Roger Fenn's voice boomed from the PA system. "Evening folks. Please take your seats. We would like to begin before next Christmas comes around - if possible!"
Louisa appeared in the aisle. "Where are Martin and James?"
Ruth gave a wry smile. "They have escaped to the Gents."
"Escaped? Why? Is everything alright?"
"I suppose so - if you consider being accosted by two women being alright."
"What do you mean 'accosted'?"
She was craning her neck searching for her husband and son when the music started and drowned out Ruth's answer. The lights dimmed and she hastily took a seat.
A moment later Eleanor spotted Martin's tall figure approaching down the side aisle. He had to squeeze past her to get to his seat and he scowled down at her. Eleanor glared back. She wasn't going to let him intimidate her. Louisa moved up so that James could sit next to Eleanor but the boy wanted his daddy and another round of musical chairs ensued before they finally settled down to watch the show.
An hour and fifteen minutes later, Eleanor was gasping for a cigarette and a drink. The only other person in the room who looked more sour than she felt was Martin whose expression was like a thundercloud. She got up ready to shuffle out and head for the refreshment tables, when Martin blocked her path. He stared haughtily down at her, his penetrating gaze hostile.
"You smoked in front of James. How dare you." His tone was frosty. "What in God's name makes you think that it's acceptable to expose a child to your disgusting second hand smoke? If you ever do that again, I will ensure that you have nothing further to do with him."
Eleanor at first was taken aback but then she rallied.
"Oh - get you, Mr High and Mighty! You'd think I'd given him his own cigarette to smoke the way you carry on."
There was no mistaking the contempt on Martin's face.
"Secondary smoke inhalation is just as hazardous, especially in children, so please don't try to downplay your reckless behaviour. If you smoke anywhere near my son again, there will be consequences. Do I make myself clear?" He glared at her fiercely, his one eyebrow raised. Then he turned and stalked off.
Eleanor stared after his retreating back, her heart pounding and her eyes flashing. The man was such an arrogant tosser. How dare he speak to her that way. You would think she'd given James a mind altering drug or something. Yes the boy had been with her, but she hadn't blown smoke in his face for goodness sake. Martin was, as usual, making a mountain out of a bloody mole hill, just like he'd done with the tonic she'd put in James's bottle when he was a baby. He hadn't half banged on about that too. She looked up to see Ruth staring at her with narrowed eyes.
"I sincerely hope that Martin's warning makes you think twice about smoking in front of James again."
Not her too! Eleanor felt her temper rising.
"He's making a bigger thing out of it than need be."
"Oh I don't think he is. It's very serious. If you want to destroy your health, that's one thing, but putting young children at risk is quite another."
Eleanor had heard about as much on the subject as she could take. Louisa at least hadn't been so pernickety - she'd just moved on once she had her say. Eleanor turned her back on Ruth and went to stand next to Louisa.
"Can't say much for the Christmas spirit here." she grumbled. "The most miserable bunch I've come across since we ran out of beer at my bar during the last world cup final. What a disaster that was." Eleanor cackled with laughter. "My Barmy Army guests were literally cryin' but I gave them free sangria shots and everyone calmed down. Turned into quite a party, that did."
Louisa didn't look as if she found it very amusing and Eleanor sighed in frustration. She'd go so far as to say Louisa looked downright annoyed.
"What's wrong with you? You look like you've stepped in a pile of doggy do. Honestly Lou-Lou, lighten up for goodness sake. This place is like a black hole. Sucks the joy right out of a person, it does."
"Oh it's not like that at all. You grew up here, you should know."
Eleanor crowed with laughter. "That's why I couldn't get away fast enough. In Spain, it's sunny and happy. In Portwenn it's like someone forgot to switch the lights on and left the shower running. Makes people downright miserable. And unfriendly."
Her tone sounded petulant.
"And people have been so unfriendly towards me Lou-Lou. They have! Passing comments about me living in Spain all the time as if it's the worst thing in the world." She shook her head. "Downright nasty, that's what it is."
Louisa's expression was almost deadpan as she leaned closer.
"And what were you expecting mother - mmm? The red carpet? Everyone in the village knows you ran off to Spain to be with Javier - leaving me behind to fend for myself. All these so-called 'unfriendly' villagers you talk about stayed here and they looked out for me. Not you or Dad. So don't whine about how people are now being nasty."
Eleanor's mouth opened and closed a number of times before she spoke.
"Well I didn't know your father would end up in the nick, did I? Stupid git. He was supposed to look after you - not this glum lot." She waved her hand in the air. "No wonder you also don't know how to have fun. And that husband of yours doesn't help! Now there's a man who has never had a day's fun in his life. He makes a wet weekend look exciting."
Louisa drew herself up.
"Now who's being nasty mother? Martin is a good man. A steadfast and caring man. Not the superficial, thrill-seeking type you seem to idolise. I am perfectly happy with him the way he is, thank you!" She huffed out an exasperated breath. "I'm going to find Martin and James."
Eleanor watched as she walked away. Fancy talking to your mother like that! No respect. And a short memory too it would seem. Not so long ago, she'd come to Spain crying because she couldn't understand her own husband, and couldn't get him to open up to her. He wouldn't talk, wouldn't show affection, wouldn't do this, that or the other and now all of a sudden he was some kind of knight in shining armour and she, Eleanor was the pariah. She didn't often feel resentment, but she felt it welling up now. Her own daughter making her feel as if she should feel guilty about wanting a better life for herself, and Martin threatening to cut her off from her grandson.
She shuffled between the chairs into the aisle. What she needed was a smoke, to get out of the cloying atmosphere of the hall and away from the morose, judgmental energy that all seemed aimed at her. On her way to the door she spied the drinks table where Bert stood stirring the punch. She felt parched so she stopped.
"Stand in line my Lovers. You'll be served drekkly."
"Gawd I hope you've put some of your whisky in that!" she said when she eventually got to the front of the queue.
"Can't do that or I'd have Mr Plod breathing down my neck in no time." He held up the ladle. "Still want some?"
"Yeah, go on then."
Bert ladled a tot into a glass and handed it to her. It was very fruity and very sweet but better than nothing she supposed. She stood for a moment watching as people came forward. One familiar face stood out. It was Phil Pratt. Now he'd aged well.
"Hello Phil. Been a while, eh?"
He looked up at her and his hands went to his hips and his eyes narrowed, but it was a while before he answered.
"And whose fault is that, eh? Greener pastures don't come supplied with phones these days?"
The younger man at his side looked curiously from one to the other. Eleanor was shocked at Phil's vitriol and she looked up to see Bert smirking as he witnessed the awkward exchange. She recoiled from Phil's hostile glare. Yet another unwelcoming encounter and that from a man she'd known since primary school. She stepped back and let him and his friend pass.
Eleanor tried to find one adult whom she could talk to who at least looked like they were having fun, but all she saw were frazzled parents and morose old codgers milling about. The children were the only ones who showed any semblance of happiness, but then again, she probably didn't look too happy herself after being on the receiving end of Martin's threats and Louisa's little lecture. In fact the more she thought about it, she'd had nothing but snarky comments all evening. She sighed and felt in her handbag for her cigarettes. A smoke would calm her down a bit. As she rummaged around for her lighter, her hand encountered the bottle of tonic her friend Esperanza had given her. A few drops in her punch wouldn't do any harm either, she thought as she made her way outside and round the side of the building.
It was freezing cold but she sheltered in her 'semi-enclosed' space and lit up. With her cigarette dangling between her lips and her eyes narrowed against the smoke, she felt for the bottle of tonic and squeezed a couple of drops into her punch. While she smoked, she drank the lot and it wasn't long before she began to feel a rush of warmth. It enveloped her in a cloud of euphoria and made her feel ten feet tall, able to take on an army of ill-mannered Roger Fenns or vitriolic Phil Pratts and even arrogant, high and mighty Martin Ellinghams. It felt wonderful!
She ground out her cigarette stub on the step and floated towards the entrance of the hall. She still wanted to see her grandson before he left with his family and maybe find some nice young thing to chat to - someone who wouldn't know how she had ended up in Spain and who wouldn't make nasty comments. That friend of Phil's looked like he was a bit of alright. With a spring in her step and a smile on her face, Eleanor headed back to the drinks table in the hope that he would not be far away. Things were looking up!