Happiness is Pig Shaped

By Ann Hadingham

In this humourous book, meet Harry & Barbara, landlords of a rundown, Tudor, village pub. Share Harry's love affair with pigs as he deals with a wild boar, pig rustling and tries to avoid bankruptcy. Meet lovelorn Megan, the 'murderous' barmaid and Jason, the sneaky barman. Be entertained by the pub's 'characters', Mo, Old Jim and the Prof. Laugh at pretentious Carlotta, a very trying artist.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Hadingham
• Release date: May 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301765645

Book preview

Chapter 1 - Up Against It

‘If you kick that bucket one more time Harry Burton, I’ll … I’ll brain you with this,’ said his wife, Barbara, shaking a rolling pin.

Harry, landlord of The George, righted the bucket. ‘You don’t have to lose your rag, it’s not my fault the roof leaks.’

‘So what are we to do?’

‘Look, I’m as fed up as you. If I had the money, I’d get the thatch fixed tomorrow.’

‘It’s madness, I’ve got a modern kitchen spoilt by a bucket right where everyone walks. We’ve got five buckets dotted about the place and sooner or later someone is sure to have an accident by tripping over one of them. ’

‘Yeah, I know … I know ... I’ll think about it.’

‘You’ve been saying that forever and nothing gets done.’

‘OK you’ve made your point, now give over.’

‘Don’t get ratty with me!’

‘Ratty? Of course I’m ratty. The roof’s shedding rushes like leaves coming off in Autumn. I’ve lost my barmaid with no notice and I can’t get another. I haven’t had a proper day off in months. And I’ve got no money, what with the overdraft and loans.’ He didn’t tell her about the incomplete tax forms, VAT returns and unpaid invoices stuffed in the bureau. He went out slamming the kitchen door. Within minutes he was back, the scowl still engraved on his face. ‘I’ve just remembered, I had some woman on the phone wanting B & B for two nights.’

‘Single or double?’

‘Just her, on her own.’

The woman arrived the following day.

‘I recognise her. Don’t ask me the how or where,' said Harry.

'Really?’ replied Barbara, with a hint of sarcasm. ‘Mind the bucket!’

‘Ok, Ok, I’m just not good at faces … pig faces, yes … people no.’

'She was here the year before last. She was with that red headed chap.' Barbara remembered him well as she was a redhead too, the similarity ended there, he was tall and lanky and she was short and round.

Harry looked blank.

'They got engaged whilst they were here. I made them a cake to celebrate,' said Barbara.

'Where's the bloke then?'

'Don't know, but I've got a bad feeling. When I showed her to the room just now, she stood in the doorway and the tears just poured down her face.'

'She been dumped?'

'I don't think so. I think something must've happened to him.'

'Like what?'

'How do I know? It's not something you ask. I did say, was she all right and she said yes, so I left it at that.'

'Where's me ale?' asked Old Jim, poking his head round the kitchen door, his little jet black eyes twinkling. He was one of their regulars. He looked like a tortoise, with his bald wrinkly head and skinny dewlap. His too large, ancient overcoat looked like a carapace. 'I dunno,’ he shook his head and the skinny dew lap wobbled, ‘the service round ‘ere gets worse and worse.'

'We're a bit short handed Jim, since Brenda left. Where's Jason?' Harry looked at Barbara and then at the clock. Jason, their barman had a timekeeping problem.

Barbara shrugged.

'That boy is about as much use as tits on a boar,' said Harry.

'Harry!' Barbara shook her frizzy head.

'Well he is,' growled Harry, going into the bar, followed by Jim. 'Here you are Jim, your usual. Going elsewhere then, as our service is so slow? Like walking five mile or more into Beach. They say The Strand does a nice pint.'

'Ooo! Someone's touchy today! That Strand's turned into one o' them gastric pubs with all them yuppies, ' replied Jim with a loud slurp, which left him with a creamy moustache.

Barbara came into the bar carrying the specials board.

'How long's what’s-her-name staying then, Barb?' said Harry raising his bushy eyebrows. He was a big man with thinning hair. When he was angry the eyebrows met in a hairy, black, caterpillar line over his jutting nose.

'Two nights B & B and her name is Megan Price,' said Barbara.

'Who's staying two nights?' asked Jim.

'A young lady,' shouted Barbara as she hooked up the specials board.' The top special today is fisherman's pie. You having it Jim? Just your sort of pie, you being a retired fisherman. Made it fresh this morning.'

'You don't have to shout, I'm not deaf you know,' said Jim.

'You bloody are,' whispered Jason, who'd just sidled into the bar. Harry looked at the clock and glared.

'What's in the pie then?' Jim enquired. He only had three teeth so he had to be careful with his choices.

'Salmon, smoked cod, a bit of haddock and prawns,' said Barbara.

'Mmm ... I'll ’ave a small bit. Did I ever tell you about that giant skate I caught? It was like ‘aulin’ in a grand piano.'

'Oh, no! Not the sodding skate story!' groaned Jason.

'Watch your language!' said Barbara, as she went through the door into the kitchen. Both Harry and Barbara would've liked to see the back of Jason but with Brenda leaving without giving notice, they were short staffed.

'What you say?' said Jim.

'Nothing, Grandad!' shouted Jason.

'Not so much of the Grandad! I allus 'as soft stuff, cos of me teeth,' said Jim.

'Why don't you get your teeth fixed? Get a denture,' said Harry.

'Can't afford it, 'sides, Butcher Smith did for me in the fifties.'

'Didn't do a good job did he? You're still around.' whispered Jason.

'Eh?' said Jim.

'Take no notice of him,' said Harry. 'Jason, you're needed at the other end of the bar, get a shift on.'

'Yeah, Butcher Smith were a dentist over in Beach. I ‘ad this abscess thing and that bugger dug it out. No 'jections, nuffin’. Gawd, I nearly went frew the roof. Never been near a dentist since.'

'If you had false teeth you could get them stuck into a nice bit of steak.'

'No, I'm a fish man. Can't beat a nice bit of cod and chips … '

Chapter 2 – A New Barmaid

Megan gripped the box containing the ashes so tightly her knuckles were white. I must do this, I must. When Charlie died, she went into a state of numbness as if she'd been plunged into a freezer. She couldn't cry, not until today, when she saw the room they’d shared. She went dry eyed to his funeral. So few people there, just her and some of his mates from his ship, HMS Taunton. He had no close relatives. He was an orphan like her. He was her family. She’d held onto his ashes for nearly two years, unable to let go. Two weeks ago she had a dream, she dreamt of this place and Charlie. She felt that this was where he’d want to rest. Her room, their room, had a sloping ceiling and a window you had to stoop down to. You could see the sea on a fine day. The floor sloped too and Charlie said it was like being on board ship. The Tudor oak beams were riddled with worm holes. The pub was a mile from the sea in an old Devon village. It had a thatched roof in a parlous state and tall fancy chimneys. A painting on the wall of the pub showed the village a hundred and fifty years ago, little had changed.

There was a knock on the door, it was Liz the cleaner, and she was wearing sun glasses indoors, how odd, ‘sorry dear, ’she said, ‘I’ll come back later, I forgot to dust.’

‘It’s OK, I’m just going out.’

Megan put on her sun glasses because she didn't want anyone to see her puffy, red eyes.

‘Ere ‘Arry, a bit of a girl's put a key on the bar,' said Old Jim.

The girl was tall and slight with a neat blonde bob. She was dressed in a grey skirt and jumper.

Harry turned to see Megan Price making for the door. She was carrying a small round box.

'Who's that then?' asked Jim.

'It's our B & B'er.'

'Not much of a looker is she,' sniffed Jason.

It was a beautiful spring day, but Megan didn’t notice. She made her way down a narrow lane, a shortcut to the sea. She was going to a spit of land the locals called The Point. She remembered how Charlie had picked some honeysuckle and twined it in her hair. The tears blinded her. That summer, pink dog rose petals had showered down on them, now thorns

snagged her skirt. She stood under the tree where Charlie had proposed. I must do it, I must … but how can I bear to let him go?

All right Miss?’ said Harry, when she returned and asked for her key. She was still clutching the box. 'How about a spot of dinner? The missus's fish pie is the best, not even T.V.’s Mr Gordon Blue, could better it.'

Megan realised how hungry she was. 'Yes, that would be lovely.'

'What'll you have meanwhile?'

'A white wine spritzer would be nice, thanks.' She sat at a table for two and watched. She was good at that. Jason the barman was young and very spotty. He was a flash dresser or thought he was. He had his hair gelled up into a stiff quiff today, sometimes it was gelled flat over his eyes. He had narrow trousers which made his feet look big. His shoes were like a jester's, long, with a truncated point. He kept looking at her. She was in the lounge half of the bar, it had French doors leading to the garden at the back; the other curved part was the public bar. Off the public part there was a snooker and darts room. Not quite separating the two bar areas was a shoulder height brick wall. A huge Tudor fireplace dominated one end of the lounge area which had a log fire in winter. The floor was a mixture of weathered, eroded flag stones and worn red carpet. The ceilings were heavily beamed and low. Copper and brass items overflowed every surface. They must be a nightmare to keep clean, she thought. There was too much of it, she could see her face reflected and distorted in a myriad of items. At the mullioned windows there were heavy red velvet curtains, bleached in places by the sun. It was a handsome, cosy room, verging on the shabby. At the bar sat the regulars, Old Jim, who sat where he could see what was going on in both bar areas. Mo, a huge, shaggy, scruffy farmer; The Prof, a skinny, stick insect of a man who kept busy in his retirement writing a book on Existentialism. They were the triumvirate – every day, lunch time and evening, and what a disparate lot, united in loneliness. Less regular was Badger, an ex-army mechanic with a streak of white in his black hair and tattoos up his forearms.

Barbara came out of the kitchen, looking frazzled, carrying Megan's dinner. 'Here you are love,' she said.

'Thanks,' said Megan, 'This is such a lovely, old pub. How old is it?'

‘We reckon 1526. There's a carved plaque up near the roof line with that date on it.'

'Wow.'

'Yes and I feel about that age too! Our barmaid left unexpectedly and I need more help in the kitchen. It's all hell at the moment. Before I disappear is there anything else I can get you? Would you like another drink?'

'Please, another white wine spritzer would be great.'

'Harry, Miss Price would like another white wine.'

'All right Miss?' said Harry as he placed the glass on the table. He was chomping on a Scotch egg. She didn't like to say that she wanted a spritzer not straight wine.

'Yes, thanks, I'm beginning to thaw out. I didn't realise it was so late when I got back. I got quite cold.'

'Well, if I may say so, you're looking a lot better now you’ve warmed up a bit.'

Harry was right, she did feel better and it wasn't just the food and wine. She felt lighter but tired, so tired. I’ll do it tomorrow she thought.

But she didn’t and this was her last chance. She clutched the conker shaped box to her chest. Charlie bought it for her, because she liked it. She was not used to people buying her presents.

Frankie, her flat mate, said she was obsessed … it was the shrine that did it. She’d set it up in the corner of her room in London, candles and photos with the box of ashes in the centre. It was two years now.

She heard voices outside.

‘How do Harry. Fine morning, spring’s my favourite time of year.’ It was Perce next-door; he was sweeping the pavement outside his delicatessen. Perce was a small man who looked a bit like one of the ferrets he kept. He was an ex-butcher.

She heard Harry mumble a reply.

‘What’s up with you?’ said Perce.

‘I’ve just spent more money trying to get a new bar person, that’s what’s up. Brenda should’ve given me notice. I tell you it’s costing me a small fortune in advertising. No one wants it. I really need a part-timer as well. They’d rather be on the social, lazy buggers.’ She heard the trickle of water; Harry was watering the newly planted hanging baskets. ‘I hate ladders,’ he said.

‘You should get one of them automatic watering systems. They got one outside my bank. I thought it was raining when it turned on.’

‘It all cost money, which I haven’t got,’ said Harry.

‘Where did busty Brenda go then?’

‘Got a job in that gastro pub in town.’

‘What’s a gastro pub?’

‘Dunno really … I think it’s one of those pubs that’s done out all modern … you know … chrome everywhere, uncomfortable chairs, with horse piss beer. Where they serve up tea plate size grub, bang on a fancy name and charge a fortune.’

‘You should try it, if it brings in the dosh.’

‘Perce, I had enough trouble getting Barb to do a curry night once a week … ‘sides, I’ve got no money to alter this place and that’s if I wanted to, which I don’t.’

‘Mornin’ Miss,’ said Perce to the young woman clutching a box as if it was a lifebelt. She came out of the pub door behind Harry’s back.

‘Good morning,’ she said and scurried off.

‘Who’s that then?’ asked Perce.

‘A paying customer, she’s got two night’s B & B.’

‘What, on ‘er own?’

‘Yeah, Barb found out that her fiancé died and she’s come to scatter his ashes. Apparently they stayed here when they got engaged. I don’t remember it but Barb does. Sad innit?’

‘What did he die of?’

‘Brain haemorrhage … only twenty six. He’s been gone two years but she couldn’t bring herself to scatter his ashes ‘til now. She keeps going out, but can’t bring herself to do it.’

‘Bloody tragic I call it. By the way, I’ve got four brace of pheasants I could let you have cheap.’

‘Are they Kosher?’

‘Fell off a fence.’

‘You’ll get done one of these days, Perce.’

‘Yeah, well I’m off rabbiting later, it’s time my ferrets had some exercise, they’re getting fat.’

Chapter 3 – A Change of Direction

Megan Price pushed her way down the narrow lane. Brambles scratched her legs and May blossom tangled in her hair. The blossom was falling like confetti. I will do it, she thought, I must. She had to scatter the ashes today, it was her last day. She stood by the rock where Charlie had proposed. She smiled when she remembered what he’d said,

‘Hurry up Meg and say yes, ‘cos my trousers are getting wet, kneeling here like a plonker. People’ll think I’m incontinent.’

The tide came in so quickly that day.

Charlie would love it by the sea at the Point. She couldn’t decide whether to put his ashes in the sea or bury them? An incoming, racing tide decided it. She dug a small hole in the sand, under the nearby tree where they’d sat two years ago, and put the box with the ashes in the hole. She covered the box with more sand and placed a sprig of May on top of the small mound, her tears watering the flowers.

She sat by the tree, thinking, until her stomach rumbled. She was at a watershed, what if she stayed? If she did she could come here every day.

It was opening time and Harry was getting ready for customers.

‘Mr Burton, have you got a minute?’ Megan asked.

‘Yeah, what can I do for you?’ said Harry.

‘Well I need a change of direction and I was wondering…’

‘Mmm …’

‘If you would consider me for the post of barmaid ... um … bar person?’

Harry’s caterpillar eyebrows almost met his hairline, or where his hairline should be. ‘You want the job?’

‘Yes.’

‘What experience have you got?’ He looked her up and down. She was dressed like a school girl in a knee length grey skirt and cardigan; with her silver blonde hair and pale face, she looked like a ghost.

‘Um … as a barmaid? … none. I trained as an accountant.’

Harry perked up … um … that might come in useful. VAT and tax returns were a nightmare. Perhaps giving her the job wasn’t such a mad idea.

‘I’m a quick learner …please … I need a break.’

‘I can’t think why you’d want to chuck in a well-paid job for this.’ He gestured towards the bar.

‘I can’t explain ... I know I won’t get anything like the money, but that’s not everything and I … I’ve had enough of accountancy. I just feel this is the right thing to do. Please give me a chance.’

Harry hated it when women cried. Lucky for him Old Jim shuffled in through the door, in his army surplus overcoat, the three hairs on his head waving like antennae.

‘Mmm … I’ll have a word with Barb and let you know. OK?’

‘What do you ‘ave to do to get a pint round ‘ere?’ said Old Jim, who expected instant service.

Megan ran out of the bar.

‘What she want then?’ said Jim.

Harry ignored the question, pulled Jim’s pint and went into the kitchen to talk to Barbara. She was racketing round the kitchen like a ball in a pinball machine, sieve in one hand and ladle in the other, trying to avoid the bucket put out for the roof leak.

‘When are you going to do something about the roof?’

‘When we’ve got some money.’

‘Hmm … this year, next year, sometime never … it’s all pay out.

‘That girl …’

‘What girl?’

‘Miss Price.’

‘Megan Price?’

‘Yeah, well you’ll never guess …’

‘Harry, stop messing about I’m under pressure here, the veg man was late again and Joan had to do overtime because of it.’ Joan was their other cleaner who also stayed on to do the veg.

‘Well, I’ll be quick. She wants the job.’

‘Who does?’

‘She does, Megan Price, she wants the bar job.’

Barbara stopped gyrating and gawped at him. ‘Never,’ she said. ‘What experience has she got?’

‘None.’

‘Well that’s a no-no then.’

‘Look Barb, we’re desperate. I think we should give it a go. She’s an accountant and that could be useful with the books and all.’

‘She won’t last five minutes, but it’s up to you, you’ll have to do the training. Now let me get on.’

He knocked on Megan’s door. ‘Hello.’

She opened it.

‘The missus says yes. When can you start?’

He was so desperate that he even offered her live-in accommodation at a knock down price, which she gratefully accepted. And, if she lived in, maybe he and Barb could get away for a break, or at least a night off together.

Jason the bar person wasn’t impressed. ‘She’s goin’ to be a bloody liability. I just know it. No experience, so who’s goin’ to do the training then? As well as everything else?’

‘Quit moaning and give us another,’ said Old Jim.

‘You knocked the first one back a bit quick.’

‘Listening to you makes a man thirsty.’

‘She dresses like a bloody nun. Harry must be desperate. What we need is a proper barmaid with a nice big pair of Bristols and short skirts. ’

‘Only if she’s got good legs. Brenda’s legs were ‘orrible, like ‘ams with snaky veins crawlin’ up ‘em. Me Mum’s were the same,’ said Old Jim.

‘Brenda was a slag,’ said Jason.

‘’Ere, watch it, she’s my third cousin,’ said Mo, his great boots shedding flakes of mud on the flag stones.

‘Everyone’s your cousin, Mo … bloody rabbits, your family.’

‘Whatcha mean?’

Chapter 4 – Tinker Talbot

Megan’s period of notice was soon over. The staff at Gilchrist, Gilchrist and Dymchurch thought she was mad to throw in a well-paid job to go and work as a barmaid, but Megan was sure it was the right thing to do.

Megan’s room was at the back of the pub in the attic. The low beams were a torment and she bumped her head daily. ‘Ow! That hurt! They must’ve been midgets, in the Middle Ages.’ Tenderly she fingered her head. The beam had drawn blood. She fingered the beam for traces of blood and detected a name carved in the ancient oak. Talbot she traced, ‘Talbot,’ she said out loud, as if calling up the dead. A door banged and she jumped, momentarily startled.

When she went into the lounge bar Harry was checking the optic measure on the spirit bottles.

‘This gin’s always playing up,’ he said, moving a bottle of Crème de Menthe to get at it. A shaft of sunlight caught the viridian green of the Creme. ‘Poison should be this colour,’ he said.

‘I like it. A satin ball gown in that colour would be something,’ said Megan, who favoured greens. She was looking at her notebook. She kept it to hand and was always jotting down new things. Initially she got the ales muddled up, there were so many of them - pale mild, dark mild, pale ale, brown ale …

Harry scrutinised her, ‘You’ve got blood on your collar.’

She put the notebook to one side.

‘Cut yourself shaving,’ piped up Jason.

Megan bridled, ‘Actually, I hit my head on the beam in my room.’

Megan looked in the mirrored glass behind the bar. ‘Bother, it was clean on this morning. I’ll have to go and change. Harry, there’s a name carved on the beam. I think it says Talbot. Who’s Talbot?’

‘Our ghost!’

‘What!’ said Megan.

‘Our ghost! He was a highwayman that got hanged. You’re in his room.’

Megan paled. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah, he used to hole up here when the pub was called The Blackamoor.’ Corse, that’s not politically correct now, so we changed it to The George. Pity really. It was The Blackamoor for centuries. Old Tinker Talbot used to sweeten the innkeeper with a few stolen trinkets in exchange for board and lodgings.’

‘You’re not frightened of ghosts are you Megs? With all your education,’ sneered Jason.

‘No, I’m not,’ retorted Megan, without conviction, ‘and don’t call me Megs.’

‘Anyone ever seen this ghost then?’ asked Jason.

‘Old Jim claims to have seen him,’ replied Harry.

‘Oh yeah! … Old Jim tells more lies ... than ...than,’ said Jason.

‘Than you ... but his are funnier,’ snapped Megan. ‘Harry, I’m off to change, I’ll be back in a flash.’

Jason scowled, ‘Let’s hope she changes into a proper barmaid. Saint Teresa gets you down. She’s been working here three weeks and it seems like forever.’ When no one was looking Jason threw Megan’s notebook in the bin and covered it with some paper towels. At the end of his stint he’d retrieve it and throw it in the