Sue waved from one of the tables. She was clad in a white sweater and denim skirt, which emphasised her considerable curves. Kate had never seen her out of uniform before. Sue was accompanied by a very tall, well-built dark-haired woman in a scarlet sweater and jeans. She reeked of cigarettes.
‘This is my friend Sandra,’ Sue said.
Sandra nodded and said, ‘You all right?’ which Kate had begun to accept as a standard greeting among many of the Cornish.
‘Fine,’ Kate replied. ‘Nice to meet you. This is my sister, Angie,’ she added as Angie appeared with the drinks.
‘Sandra and her husband own The Atlantic Hotel,’ Sue informed them. ‘And we’ve been given Table Four.’
So this was the famous Sandra Miller! I should surely be able to suss her out a little this evening, Kate thought.
They found Table Four, where they deposited their drinks and which, true to form, rocked precariously until Sandra worked out which table leg required the beer mat.
Kate studied Sandra as she got back into her seat, sweeping her long black hair away from her face to reveal an aquiline nose and two large, beady brown eyes. She was one of those rare women who tapered downwards from her heavy shoulders and ample bust to a slim waist and hips and skinny legs encased in skinny jeans. There was something slightly disconcerting about her, Kate thought. Even if she hadn’t already heard about her ability to knock a rival senseless, she could see that Sandra Miller wasn’t someone you’d wish to upset. She noticed a slight rash on Sandra’s fingers and Kate remembered – from reading Sandra’s medical notes – that she was allergic to latex. Plainly she’d encountered it recently; not unusual for someone working in hospitality.
‘Who wants to write the answers?’ Sandra slid the notepad across the table in Kate’s direction.
‘Yes, OK, I’ll do it,’ Kate agreed hastily.
A thin leathery old man was dropping bits of paper all over the place on the platform at the far end of the bar.
‘Oh my God, it’s Joey Baintree reading out the questions!’ Sandra sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘You can never make out a bloody word he says.’
‘This should be fun,’ Angie muttered, tackling her gin with gusto.
‘Why?’ asked Kate. ‘What’s his problem?’
‘His problem is that he’s three-quarters pissed before he starts, isn’t he, Sue?’
Sue nodded. ‘Last time I saw him he fell off the stage.’
‘Why do they let him do it then?’ Angie asked.
‘Because he’s the landlord’s brother-in-law, that’s why, and he’s put a lot of money into this place,’ Sandra replied. ‘And anyway, no one else will do it.’ She knocked back a good half of the pint of cider in front of her.
In spite of his failings, Joey Baintree had managed to pick up the papers he’d dropped, and called out, ‘Good evenin’, ladeesh an’ gentlemen! Not that there’s many gentlemen around, ha ha!’ He winked at no one in particular and paused, waiting for laughter. None came. ‘Sh’pose it’s time we got started.’
‘Get on with it then, Joey!’ someone in the far corner yelled.
‘Right-o,’ said Joey, consulting his list. ‘Firsht section is about geog…’ He squinted at the list.
‘Geophysics, is it, Joey?’ someone else called out, followed by some raucous laughter.
‘Nah,’ said Joey, composing himself. ‘Geography. Can you all ’ear me?’
‘Yeah, yeah, get on with it.’
‘Next queshtion – do everyone know where the toilets is? For them what don’t know they’s through that door over there, and turn right.’
‘Only if you’re a bloke,’ a woman shouted out. ‘The ladies is on the left.’
‘Is that the first geography question, Joey?’ asked someone on Table Seven.
There were some snorts of laughter before the hapless Joey cleared his throat and said, ‘Queshtion one – wot is the capital of Alashka?’
‘Where?’ asked a chorus of people.
He hiccupped. ‘Alashka.’
‘Oh, Alaska,’ someone translated.
Everyone then huddled together with whispers and arguments as to what that could be.
‘Anchorage?’ Kate whispered hopefully.
‘No,’ Sue whispered back, ‘I’ve got a feeling it’s Fairbanks.’
‘Fairbanks? Where did you get that from?’ asked Sandra. ‘Doesn’t sound very Alaskan.’
‘It’s Juneau,’ said Angie firmly.
‘Never heard of it,’ Kate muttered.
‘Juneau,’ Angie repeated. ‘Write it down.’
Kate did.
They then ploughed their way through obscure mountain ranges, unheard-of rivers and capital cities. Only Angie knew that the capital of Eritrea was Asmara, and that lithosphere was a layer of the earth’s crust. Kate stared at her sister in amazement. How did she know stuff like that? Was it the gin?
‘I just read a lot,’ Angie said. ‘And I like geography.’
‘You can come again,’ Sue said, ‘can’t she, Sandra?’
Sandra, who was draining the last of her cider, was glaring at someone at the next table. She stood up suddenly and shouted at Joey, ‘Dora Wally’s cheating! She’s on her mobile under the table googling answers!’
Dora Wally, a buxom blonde with strange black eyebrows, yelled back, ‘I am not! I was only texting my lad to tell him his dinner’s in the oven, so mind your own business, Sandra Miller!’
‘No, you bloody weren’t!’ Sandra shouted back. ‘You were looking up answers, just like you did that night at Boscastle!’
‘Are you calling me a liar?’
‘Yes, I am,’ Sandra snapped, pushing back her chair.
‘This is getting interesting,’ Angie murmured to Kate. ‘I’m ever so glad I came.’
‘Ladeesh, ladeesh!’ Joey could barely make himself heard over the babble of conversation. He sat down and wiped his brow. Finally, Roger Finn, the landlord, who’d been blessed with a voice like a foghorn, got up on the platform and called out, ‘Settle down, everyone, please! Thank you, Joey, but I’ll take over now. Put away your phone, Mrs Wally! No phones allowed; you know the rules! Sit down, ladies, we don’t want any trouble in here!’
Giving each other a final glare, both women were eventually persuaded
