A silence descended on the bar as they walked in. There was a nod of acknowledgement to Emma from Dave, the landlord, and then eight pairs of eyes passed over Emma to settle on the imposter behind her.

‘Everything okay there, Emma?’ It was as though Dave was checking all was legitimate with this guy on her tail, and that she was safe and happy.

‘Yes, fine thanks, Dave. You okay?’

‘Sure, pet. Right as rain. Well then, what can I get you?’ That was the signal for the regulars to start chatting again.

‘Ah, a glass of white wine, please. Max?’

‘I’ll try a real ale. Do you do a pale?’

‘There’s a nice blonde.’ Dave gave a chuckle at that. ‘Tyneside Blonde … pint of?’

‘Yep, I’ll give that a try. Thanks.’

They got their drinks, Max insisting on paying, and Emma led them across to a table in the far corner. If they were going to hit the village grapevine soon, she didn’t want every last word of their conversation repeated too.

The pub must hardly have changed since the fishermen came in centuries ago, with its low ceiling, dark-wood bar, slate floor, wooden tables and chairs – but at least some of the chairs had comfy seat pads now and a real fire was lit at each end of the room. They had opened out a new area for eating some years ago, which had lovely views out over the bay, and in the summer months there was a beer garden where you could enjoy fish and chips or crab sandwiches whilst you watched the boats bobbing in the harbour.

Old sepia photos on the walls showed the weathered fisherfolk of years gone by. The nets, the cobles, the smoking house for the kippers. There were only a few working boats and fishermen left now.

Max sat down in an old-fashioned spindle-backed wooden chair beside a small round table with a beaten copper top. ‘Was it just me, or were everybody’s eyes following us then?’

‘Hah, yes. They were sussing you out. It’s a small village. And they probably haven’t seen me with a man in here before.’

‘Ah, really? I thought they’d be queueing up.’ He grinned.

‘Not quite.’ She tried to keep her tone light. ‘I’ve kept myself to myself for a while.’ That was as much as she intended saying on that particular matter. ‘Anyway, by tomorrow the Warkton-by-the-Sea grapevine will be in full swing. And they’ll be checking you out while you’re here, too. You put a foot wrong and I daren’t think what will happen!’ She wasn’t joking either. It was like having your own personal team of minders, or sometimes snoopers. The community spirit was great here, but at times it could feel a little overwhelming.

‘I could be attacked with a draughts board or anything,’ Max joked.