I drink some wine, try to gather my story.

‘Er, no,’ I say, the alcohol stinging my gullet. ‘It was a … a friend who recommended it.’

‘A friend?’ he says, his eyes burning into me. ‘From round here?’

I shake my head.

‘Then how did they know about it?’ he says, frowning. ‘Thing about Harrowby is that when it comes to the leisure and tourism websites, there are basically three things featured: my pub, the woodland, which has just been bought by the National Trust, and Ken’s pie shop up by the park – and that’s only been mentioned recently cos some magazine editor got lost on her way to the Lakes and popped in for directions. Ken managed to flog her half-a-dozen steak and ales and she ended up writing a feature on them, saying they’d give Duchy Originals a run for their money.’

He pauses to drink, then continues.

‘Anyway, what I’m saying is that this place is so small we get to know everything, and I mean everything.’

He stares and I look down at the table.

‘And being in the hospitality industry, I keep an eye on all those websites,’ he says, his face softening. ‘Your Trip Advisors, your Last Minute, all that. And I have never come across this place advertised as a holiday home. I mean, look at it. It’s falling apart. Who the hell would rent it out like this?’ He throws his hands in the air and laughs. I smile at him, while in my head scrambling around for some way of changing the subject.

‘So you grew up here then?’ I say. ‘In the village?’

‘Nah,’ he says, shaking his head vigorously. ‘I’ve lived here for six years now but I’m a city boy, born and bred in Leeds. Though the pub trade is in my blood. My folks ran a bar in the centre.’

‘So how did you end up here?’

‘Hmm, long story,’ he says, rolling his eyes. ‘But let’s just say that after a pretty messy break-up I was looking for a change of scene. I’d worked as a bar manager in Headingley for a couple of years after leaving school and, well, it didn’t help that my ex continued to drink in there with her new man. I wanted a fresh start, really. And I’d always fancied running a country pub. When I saw the leasehold for my place advertised online I thought, bugger it, what have I got to lose, so I went for it.’

‘It must have been a shock to the system, moving from the city to somewhere as remote as this.’

‘Oh yeah, big time,’ he says, scratching the top of his head. ‘And you’d know that, coming here from London. But then I’m a chatty sod, always have been. I’ll talk to anyone so after a few weeks I’d made friends, settled in, and what with the locals and the ramblers I do a decent trade so I can’t complain. Not that it was ever my life’s dream to live in Harrowby I hasten to add, but it’s all right for now. And it’s done me good, after all that shit with the ex. No one gives a toss about you in the city, you may as well be a speck of dirt on the bottom of their shoe. It’s different here. People look out for you. They watch your back.’