The Collectors - I

Pattersby was a small town. It sat in front of its own portion of the sea. Every house, every shop, every glistening little window stared out at the water. An audience seemingly intrigued by the splashes, the ripples, the foam.

     The shop signs swung, the seagulls circled, windows opened and shut. The town was in blissful harmony.

     Mr Peters rode past on his bicycle. He looked over at the sea with a smile as contented as the buildings. Such a lovely view, he thought, I could never leave this place.

     He rode past the promenade shops. The Fish and Chip shop’s shutters were down at this time in the morning. The Baker’s had been up for a long while. Mr Peters waved in at Johnny Goodle, the baker.

     The grocer, Ella Trisnet, waved up from her cabbage display. Peters kept on cycling. The dress-maker, Stella Findale, returned a disgruntled countenance to Mr Peters’ wave from her shop window.

     Mr Peters skidded and moved aside from the pavement as Mr Evans walked by with his dog.

     “Good morning!” Evans called out, with a self-satisfied grin.

     “Morning!” replied Mr Peters. He kept on cycling.

     He passed the hairdressers, the sweetshop, the antique shop, and the pub…

     The pub?

     Mr Peters’ bike wheel squeaked as he stopped abruptly outside The Trout’s Tail.

     Yesterday, the place had been boarded-up, unused. The Trout’s Tail had been shut since its owners had moved away.

     Pattersby had had no pub for two months, but that did not bother any of them. Not really.

     The Trout’s Tail had only ever been good for its food. Almost everyone in Pattersby had children, and so drinking had never much been a hobby of theirs. The restaurant, though, had proved a nice place for an enjoyable evening meal or a luscious lunch. Mr Peters had once gone in there for a bountiful breakfast with his family.

     But since its previous owners, the pub had stood alone and unwanted. An eyesore in the perfect town.

The townspeople had no friends outside of Pattersby, and Pattersby never really had any visitors. So it wasn’t much of a surprise to find there was no one to take over the pub.

     Mr Peters now stood in front of The Trout’s Tail.

     The windows were open, sparkling and board-less. The sign hanging above the door had been resurrected, a greyish trout suspended in mid-air, its name written along its body. The door was wide open, and the smell of ale-stained wood reached Mr Peters nostrils.

     “You alright there?” Said a small, plump woman who had just appeared in the doorway.

     “I didn’t know this place was opening again.” Mr Peters was still staring at the building.

     “Well yeah, I think you’re the first in the town to find out!” Peters saw her smile in the darkness, and walk over. The light slid over her face as she moved outside, highlighting a greying bun on top of a pie of a face, her eyes set as deep as her wrinkles. “We only moved in last night! But everything’s set up; I think we’re just about ready for customers.”

     Mr Peters vacantly shook the hand that was offered to him.

     “I’m Edna Varsh, my husband and daughter are inside.”

     Mr Peters finally snapped out of his drastic-change-in-the-early-morning shock, and smiled kindly at the woman.

     “Hello. David Peters. Nice to meet you.”

     “So, will you be coming tonight? Restaurant opening? Free pint with every adult meal.” She gave him a sort of awkward wink.

     “Er…” Mr Peters looked back up at the building, “I don’t think I’ll manage it. My wife and kids might show up, though.”

     “Oh lovely!” Edna cried, “Well I do hope they enjoy themselves.” She grinned a toothy grin. “Nice to meet you, David.” She said, before disappearing back into the darkness of the doorway.

     “Yeah… Bye.” Mr Peters stared after her for a little while, before pushing his foot back onto the pedal and slowly riding away.