Maggie Sullivan - Snow on the Cobbles

Suddenly a loud voice was calling for hush and Hilda, remembering where she was, saw that her new boss, Bob Bennett, was banging on an empty pint mug with a spoon. He had come on stage wearing a top hat that looked as old as his master-of-ceremonies outfit and was perched uncomfortably on the top of his head, but as he began to speak he took the hat off and stood it upside down on a chair by the microphone.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, if I could take a few minutes of your time,’ Bob began. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to shout while they’re still playing about with the electrics back there, so I hope you can all hear me.’

There were shouts of, ‘Get on with it before the lights go out,’ and ‘Anyone got a spare bob for the meter?’ but Bob was not a stranger to projecting his voice.

‘It might seem strange to be celebrating the reopening of our lovely new pub on a Wednesday night,’ Bob continued, ‘but then as you know this is no ordinary Wednesday night.’ He paused while he scanned the room, taking in the large crowd. Then he lifted the tankard and shouted, ‘This is Valentine’s night.’

‘I’ll drink to that!’ someone called out.

‘Indeed!’ said Bob, raising his pint pot in the air once more. ‘So let’s have a toast to all our brave soldiers, especially to our absent loved ones to let them know we’re missing them and waiting for them to come safely home.’ Then he turned his head in different directions as he mouthed the words, ‘and we’re keeping the bed warm’ with an exaggerated wink, and several individual cheers went up. ‘And let’s have another toast,’ Bob went on, ‘to all those who’ve made it here today, on this very special, romantic night. Let’s raise our glasses to Saint Valentine.’ He turned towards Lizzie as he lifted his glass.

‘To Saint Valentine!’ everyone in the room responded.

‘To the end of the war!’ someone else called out and a rousing cheer went up again. As the room quietened, Hilda could hear Ron Bakewell muttering to his wife about possible delays to the war ending because of Dresden and the RAF bombers and Phyllis passed the news on like the Chinese whispers game they used to play in school. But Hilda had set her mind on the thought that the war was ending and that Stan would be home soon and she didn’t want to hear anything to the contrary, so she stood up and began edging her way towards the other end of the counter where she could see Lizzie was still swapping vouchers for free drinks.

‘All we want now,’ Bob was speaking again, ‘is for the war to end sooner than they’ve been forecasting recently.’

For a moment Hilda paused as people cheered and banged their fists on the tables.

‘For when that happens, an even greater celebration will be in order,’ he said.

‘How about a free jar every night of the week?’ a voice called out, and it took some time for the ripples of laughter to die down.

Bob raised his hand for silence. ‘I can’t promise free booze, but I can guarantee that having fun is what this pub is all about.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘And that’s what makes it different from any other pub in the area. So just make sure you don’t get them confused. “Any excuse for a knees-up” is our motto, because you must admit fun has been in rather short supply of late.’

Hilda had finally reached Lizzie and she leaned over the counter. ‘From where I’m standing, Bob Bennett looks like’s never been short of having a bit of fun,’ she said quietly, then she pursed her lips.

‘I’m sure that’s true,’ Lizzie said with a grin.

‘No, I didn’t mean it like that,’ Hilda said. ‘Every time I look at him he seems to have his hand on someone’s backside. And I’m just making sure it isn’t mine.’

Lizzie raised her eyebrows.

‘And he never gets within spitting distance of you that he isn’t putting his arm round you and giving you a quick squeeze. Don’t think I haven’t noticed,’ Hilda added wagging her finger at Lizzie.

Now Lizzie laughed. ‘I can’t say as I’ve noticed, Hilda, honestly, I’ve been that busy, but I’m sure he means no harm.’

‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Hilda said, ‘though I’m not surprised tonight when you’ve got that really pretty frock on. It’s far too nice for work. But I can tell you now I’ll have something to say if he lays one finger on me.’

‘I don’t know how he’s resisted that tonight, Hilda,’ Lizzie said. Hilda turned to look at her sharply, not sure what to make of the remark. ‘In fact, you’ll have to look out for all the men. No, I mean it,’ Lizzie said when Hilda protested. ‘I’ve not seen you dressed up like that before and I’ve been wanting to tell you since you first came in, that you look lovely. I love the way you’ve brushed out your hair too,’ Lizzie said. ‘It’s very in vogue, and it really suits you. It’s good to see what’s been hidden underneath your headscarf all this time. I can see I’ll have to persuade you to leave off with your curlers more often.’

Hilda smiled coyly now. ‘Ta very much.’ She chuckled, her face suffused bright pink, and she had to turn her head away so that Lizzie wouldn’t see her eyes glistening. ‘That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,’ she said, her voice unsteady. ‘Though it won’t be me as wins the prize tonight.’

Bob’s welcome speech was going down well, for everyone was smiling now and seemed in cheerful mood. Hilda kept hearing grunts of ‘hear, hear’ and saw nods of agreement all around as Bob continued speaking.

‘So, are we ready for the fun and entertainment that’s about to begin right here and right now?’ Bob leaned forward. He cupped his hand behind one ear and waited until the crowd had shouted, ‘Yes!’

‘OK, then first things first,’ Bob said. ‘As you may have noticed, our staff have made a special effort to dress up for you tonight and don’t they all look splendid?’ He paused while a cheer went up and there was a round of applause. ‘Well, we promised a prize for the best dressed and I’m sure you’ll all agree that that prize must go to our terrific barmaid – Miss Lizzie Doyle! A round of applause ladies and gentlemen, please.’

Lizzie was surprised and pleased when her name was called and there were approving shouts and wolf whistles from the crowd as Bob pulled her up onto the stage and then handed her a bottle of gin.

‘Congratulations and well done to Lizzie,’ Bob said, putting his arm round her shoulders and pulling her towards him in a flamboyant embrace. ‘I’m sure I’m speaking for everyone here when I say that we look forward to seeing you dressed up every night,’ he said, then he gave her a clumsy embrace and Lizzie was aware once more that she would need to keep her eye on him as he held on to her for several moments longer than was necessary while his hands slid down her dress to cup her backside and give it a pinch. She turned her head sharply when she realized he was going to kiss her, and his lips landed on her cheek but he recovered quickly and didn’t let his smile drop. He patted Lizzie playfully. ‘Now, please enjoy the rest of the evening,’ Bob said. ‘The first drink, as you all know, is on the house.’

‘Been watering down the beer already?’ some wag shouted and everyone laughed again, more loudly this time.

‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,’ was Bob’s response when he could make himself heard once more, and his tone was still jocular.

Hilda frowned. ‘There’s many a truth in jest, as my mother used to say, so I’ll definitely be keeping an eye out for that one,’ she muttered, though no one heard her for Bob was still talking.

‘All I can say is that the Rovers Return must be deserted tonight,’ Bob said with a broad grin. ‘And that’s how I hope it’ll remain every night from now on. Remember, Saturday nights are cabaret nights and only the best will do for the Pride of Weatherfield. We’ll be providing you with top-class singers and the funniest comics this side of the Pennines. And of course, at any time there could be the odd bit of magic thrown in.’ As he said that, he turned over the top hat that he’d parked on the chair and shook it vigorously before showing it to the crowd. People leaned forward, straining to see what was inside, and they looked disappointed when they saw nothing more than a black lining. So a genuine gasp went up when Bob reached inside and, with nothing more than a flick of his wrist, began producing a seemingly endless stream of brightly coloured silk scarves. When the flow of fresh scarves had stopped and he had dropped them all on to the stage, he stooped to pick them up and began knotting them together, giving one end of the string to a member of the audience to hold and stretching out the whole string for everyone to see. He bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the spontaneous rumble of applause.