was shut, so they hadn’t been able to see through to the stairs. At the time, Ginger and Pete had got up

to have a look. They even went upstairs searching for whoever it was, but came back again and said no

one was there.

They’d all laughed it off, saying they must have imagined it, or it was echoes from somewhere else

in the building. Ryan didn’t like to let on that it freaked him out. He tried to put a brave face on it, and

make sure he was never on his own anywhere in the pub. Save for his bedroom.

Which was why he was pleased Sammy was with him in the cellar now, even if his jitters were

making Ryan more nervous. “This place gives me the creeps,” Sammy muttered, hopping from foot to

foot. “And it’s always so bloody cold.”

Ryan was busy checking the beer barrels. He couldn’t believe the mess they were in. Someone had

connected them all wrong, leaving the caps unscrewed. At least three barrels were ruined, the gas

having escaped. The beer was so flat, whoever had done this must have done it last night. Scrubbing a

hand over his face, Ryan made mental notes of the amendments to his beer order. No point crying

about it, they’d just have to make the most of what they had for a couple of days. Maybe the drey man

would do them a favour and fit their order in earlier.

“Right, Sammy.” Ryan tried to get the boy’s attention. “I’ll show you how to connect the barrels,

are you watching?”

“Okay,” Sammy said absently. Ryan went ahead and did the best he could to rectify the mess. He

connected new barrels of Guinness and Hobgoblin, then insisted Sammy have a go himself. After a bit

of a bodge, Ryan helped him out and they got the third barrel connected. Sammy’s teeth were

chattering. “Can we g-go now?”

Ryan felt the chills running over his skin too. “S-sure,” he chattered back. “We’re d-done here.”

They raced each other up the stairs, back into the warmth of the bar.

Sammy shut and bolted the door. “I hate that place.”

Ryan didn’t care to comment. Rachel had sidled up to them and said, “I heard voices last time I was

down there. I know everyone says it’s only echoes from the street, but that’s bullshit. I know what I

heard.”

“What was it?” Sammy asked, as Ryan winced.

“It sounded like someone calling,” Rachel said in a low voice. “I stopped and listened, but it wasn’t

anyone I recognised. I heard another voice, kinda deep and manly. Then a little kid, laughing.”

Sammy snorted. “Laughing’s better than crying.”

“I’m sure it’s just from the street outside,” Ryan said, trying to convince himself as much as his

colleagues.

Rachel obviously disagreed. “I know what I heard. I’m never setting foot down there again.”

Suddenly loud, clomping footsteps sounded overheard. Someone was walking down the stairs, towards

the bar. Ryan tensed, then jumped in fright as Sammy grabbed onto him and shouted, “Oooga booga!”

“God, Sammy!” Ryan snapped, swatting him away. “Don’t do that.”

Sammy laughed heartily. Their boss, Pete, appeared. “All right, troops?”

“All right,” Ryan replied, heart still hammering. Rachel and Sammy soon forgot the ghost talk, and

began fussing over Pete. Rachel used any excuse to flirt with Pete, and Sammy used any excuse to talk

rather than work. Ryan sighed to himself, and reached for the coffee pot. He’d already cut out as much

caffeine as he could, but even that wasn’t helping his nerves.

By midday, the pub was prepped and ready to open. Rachel had already delivered the peanuts to

Matt upstairs, and managed to coax him out of his sulk much better than Ryan ever could. The nut

roast was fine, in the end. Rachel bravely took the first taste, and sat at the quiet bar eating her

vegetarian roast dinner. Sammy opted to eat a flimsy, cold sandwich from the café up the road, rather

than ask Matt for a roast.

“Just kiss and make up,” Rachel cajoled, cutting up her steaming food. She breathed in the smells

before taking another bite. “Mmm, yummy.”

Sammy gazed at her dinner forlornly, but he still refused to speak to Matt.

Ryan prayed the pub would get busy enough for Matt to stay upstairs cooking. If it was quiet, Matt

would end up sitting at the bar, and then it wouldn’t be long before him and Sammy started sniping at

each other again.

Ryan just didn’t think he could cope with any more crap today. He kept out of the way, busying

himself at the other end of the pub for a bit of peace and quiet. Sunday Slam was on later, and as

entertainments manager, it was Ryan’s job to get the venue ready.

The venue consisting of the back end of the pub where the toilets were, and a rickety stage built out

of empty beer crates. Spit and sawdust, in other words, but it was good enough for the local punk

bands.

Ryan sat on the edge of the stage, with a box of tangled up wires at his feet that he absently began

untangling. He found himself dangerously close to thinking about Ginger again. Luckily for him, two

of his band mates showed up. Dee and Glen strolled through the pub. They spotted Ryan and closed in

on him.

“Duuude!” Glen drawled.

“All right, duuude, how’s it goin’?” Dee’s attempt at an American accent was almost as bad as

Glen’s.

Ryan frowned at them. “Why are you talking like that?”

“We watched Dazed and Confused last night,” Dee explained.

“Yeah, man!” Glen was still trying for an American accent, then shouted, “Air raid, freshman!”

Ryan winced. “Please be quiet.”

“Have you seen it?” Dee asked.

“Yeah, I’ve seen it,” Ryan said. Dazed and Confused was one of Ginger’s favourite films.

“Dude, we totally need to cover Slow Ride.”

“Nuh uh,” Glen frowned at Dee. “Thought we were gonna cover Cherry Bomb? But Ash was gonna

sing it as Curry Bomb instead. Hur, hur.”

“Where is Ash?” Ryan interrupted. It wasn’t like their singer to stay home on a Sunday.

Dee shrugged. “He said to meet him here. We’ve come to eat off our hangovers.”

“Yeah.” Glen chuckled. “Speaking of food, how’s old moody chops?”

“Matt? He’s....well.” Ryan shrugged.

Dee and Glen shared a look. “Uh oh!” Glen laughed. “Like that, is it?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Shall we complain about his food again?” Dee suggested. “Entice the grumpy bear from his cave?”

“Please don’t.” Ryan dropped his wires and stood up. “Go sit, be quiet. I’ll bring your usual over.”

“Ooh, what service!” Dee and Glen hurried to a table and sat down.

Thirty minutes later, Ryan’s phone buzzed in his pocket. After looking at the screen, he answered,

“Hey, Ash.”

“Are those two dick-knobs in your pub?”

Ryan blinked, then glanced over at where Dee and Glen were sat their table. “Uh, yeah. They said

you were meeting them here.” Ryan heard Ash curse and huff. It sounded like he was walking.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Just up the road,” Ash said. “I told those idiots to come pick me up first. Should’ve known they’d

get it wrong. I’ll see you in a sec.” He hung up. Ryan shrugged, then put his phone away and carried on

stacking glasses.

Rachel was engaged in a crossword, and Sammy was currently engaging in his own cross words

with one of the customers. Ryan waited nearby in case things got heated. Or rather, when things got

heated. The trouble had started when the female customer had approached the bar with a view to

complain about what was written on the food menu. Under “tuna melt” was written in marker pen,

“All our tuna contains at least ten per cent dolphin!”

Evidently, the lady didn’t appreciate Sammy’s ad hoc humour. Sammy, still wearing his offensive

t-shirt, had told her, “Build a bridge and get over it, love.”