Page 18 of The Village Inn of Secret Dream

She flicked a silver lock of hair behind her and nodded at her reflection appreciatively. ‘Can’t believe I can still fit into it,’ she said, with a smug smile. ‘That Abba appreciation weekend was years ago.’

Uncle Mick appeared at the top of the cellar stairs with a puff. He was wearing some kind of 1920s suit, which was entirely suitable for bootlegging, given the dodgy bottles of liqueur he was holding.

‘You look like a right Super Trouper,’ said Uncle Mick, giving his wife’s bottom a pinch as he walked past.

Aunty Angie giggled and Belle was left wondering whether her uncle had been drinking his own home-made punch.

The punch was legendary in its alcoholic levels. Only one year ago, it had almost caused a riot in the inn. Belle could barely remember the evening, only that she, Amber and Molly had been extremely drunk. And that the power of speech had been hard to hold on to. It was something that, once tried, was definitely to be avoided a second time.

But at least her aunt and uncle appeared happier than they had done for a while. Their financial woes had been a constant worry for the past few years, so it was nice to see them relax a bit to celebrate the birthday that evening.

Belle walked out into the bar just as her friends arrived, where she found herself smiling for the first time since the inn had gone up for sale.

Amber was dressed as a Pink Lady fromGrease, Lucy as a hippie from the 1970s and Molly was some kind of Disney princess.

‘You all look great,’ she said, as they laughed at each other.

‘I still think we should have made you up as a flapper girl,’ said Lucy to Belle, giving her black costume a once-over. ‘You could have totally pulled off that green fringed dress of mine.’

Belle shook her head. ‘No way. Besides, this way I can still cast a spell over any of you if you make any trouble,’ she said.

‘And disappear into the background as normal,’ added Amber.

Belle blushed and made busy pouring out everyone’s drinks to avoid any more questions. She knew she should make more of an effort, but sometimes it was just easier to avoid any attention.

Soon the dodgy punch was flowing, accompanied by some raucous laughter. Mainly from Aunty Angie, who was in great spirits. Belle was just hoping that she didn’t take over the karaoke and break into a medley of Abba hits. She could still remember the horror from two years ago when her aunt had decided that Celine Dion was worthy of a go.

At least everyone appeared to be having a good time. She could just about see Pete and his family over the other side of the crowded room. Pete had found a Dracula outfit from somewhere, although his suntan was still a bit too glowing for the Count’s normal pale skin. Josh appeared to be dressed as a pirate and Belle wasn’t surprised to see that Grandma Tilly had arrived, as promised, dressed as punk rocker, the large spiky wig adding at least another foot to her tiny stature.

As she listened to the sound of laughter fill the air, Belle suddenly realised that this might be one of the last parties that they would hold at the inn with their friends and fellow villagers. That everything was coming to an end, including her life at The Black Swan.

She had spent the previous evening chatting with her aunt and uncle about their possible futures when the inn had been sold. They still seemed determined to travel to another country and perhaps settle somewhere cheaper like Spain to make the best of their limited funds.

Belle had tried to nod along enthusiastically when they explained what kind of work the three of them could find out there, but her heart was breaking at the thought of leaving Cranbridge. She still couldn’t believe it.

She ignored her previous experience and poured herself a glass of Uncle Mick’s punch before taking a large gulp. But, if anything, it heightened her emotions rather than smothering them, as had been her intention.

Beginning to blink back the unexpected tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks, she murmured some kind of excuse to her uncle and headed towards the ladies’ toilet. But she kept walking past the cloakrooms and pushed open the door to the inn garden. She looked around, almost expecting somebody to be out there, but thankfully there was nobody in the darkness. She shivered in the cool air but made no effort to turn around and head back into the warmth. It was too painful to be around her friends and family. The Black Swan had been her sanctuary for so long and now, well, now she didn’t know where she was going to end up.

She raised her eyes up to the golden harvest moon which was just above the tree line and found herself sending up a silent wish.Please let me stay in Cranbridge, she pleaded.

It was a ridiculous thing to do, she thought. Besides, dreams never came true, did they? That much she had learned.

9

Pete had enjoyed the birthday party in the inn so far. He’d reused his Dracula outfit from a Halloween party he had attended years ago and it had been quite fun laughing with the family about their various costumes. Grandma Tilly in particular looked spectacular that evening, although his mum dressed up as a cowgirl was a close second.

Unfortunately, the main topic of conversation amongst the villagers was the inn going up for sale. Everyone had seen the For Sale sign outside as they had headed inside.

He frowned to himself. Belle hadn’t said anything about the inn being up for sale when he had seen her a couple of nights ago. But then again, he hadn’t asked. But this was the last thing he had been expecting. The Black Swan, for all its many faults, had been part of the village for as long as he could remember. His dad had frequented the place almost every night, from what he could remember.

Surely if the shop was doing so well profit-wise, the inn would benefit? But looking around the place now, it was as run-down as always.

He wondered how upset Belle really was by the inn going up for sale, but there was no way of talking to her privately when the place was so crowded.

Her aunt and uncle appeared to be taking it in their stride. Mick was serving everyone’s drinks asking, ‘Anything else? Peanuts? Crisps? I’ve got a nice cheap inn for sale!’

A few people were talking about a ‘save our inn’ campaign, but that would take serious money and nobody in the village had that.