Last Orders

LAST ORDERS YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN YOUR TIME IS UP… MARIA FRANKLAND First published by Autonomy Press 2023 Copyright © 2023 by Maria Frankland All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. Maria Frankland asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. First edition For my fellow half-centurions JOIN MY ‘KEEP IN TOUCH’ LIST If you’d like to be kept in the loop about new books and special offers, join my ‘keep in touch list’ by visiting www.mariafrankland.co.uk You will receive a free novella as a thank you for joining! PROLOGUE We had some good times in this place. I can’t believe they’re going to demolish it. But apparently, what’s left is merely a shell. I scan the fencing around the perimeter, my eyes falling on a sign. Demolition Site KEEP OUT. I can’t imagine who could possibly want to go in there after what happened. Kids and ghouls perhaps - that’s about it. The inside has been totally gutted by all accounts. It’s eerie, standing here, staring at the boarded-up doors and windows, and the blackened brickwork. This pub was the centre of our world, our sanctuary, and for some of us, our second home. Being out in the sticks, it was too far from where we lived to walk, so a taxi was the norm. We’d pull up outside, anticipating the evening ahead as the exterior invited us in. It was your typical semi-rural pub, though larger than most. Log fires, lamplit windows and everyone knowing each other’s business. There’d be disco nights, quiz nights and lock-ins. Always a fund-raising event going on. The family who owned the place were great, we got really friendly with them - until everything turned sour. Really sour. One minute the husband was letting me in on the plans for their silver wedding, the next there was venom flying. Absolute ructions. Apparently the landlady had cheated and was planning to leave him. Personally, I felt sorry for their two kids, stuck in the middle of it all. Although they were practically grown up, it still hurts when your parents’ marriage is falling apart. Especially so publicly. But what came next, you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, let alone on two people starting out on their adult lives. Rumour has it that what happened on New Year’s Day wasn’t an accident. I’ll be attending the inquest to find out for sure. At first, there was speculation about whether a group of kids might have started it. Then gossip turned to whether it could have been an insurance job gone wrong, or something even more sinister. But surely what happened that day couldn’t have been intended by the people who lived there? They didn’t seem like those sorts of people. Though when that charred body was dragged out, I couldn’t help but recall the warning… Watch this space. I’ll give you all something to gossip about… PART I DEBRA 24 HOURS BEFORE DEBRA 4PM Reluctantly I slide my overnight bag from the seat beside me onto my lap. I’ve no choice really. The 16:03 from Leicester to Leeds is jam-packed. My bag’s probably occupying the only available seat. This must be the last train today, with it being New Year’s Eve. I’m so accustomed to driving everywhere that normally, I get really excited when travelling by train. But not today. It would probably be classier to get back home on a livestock transporter. At least the woman wanting the seat next to me doesn’t appear to be sozzled, unlike lots of other people in this carriage. Some of them have little chance of getting to midnight to see the New Year in, judging by the state of them. The last thing I need is some drunk sat beside me, regaling his or her sob story. Again. I must have one of those faces that says emotional dumping ground. This happened on the way down here. Two days ago. I ended up giving someone sat opposite us twenty quid after he told me someone had nicked his wallet. A fool and their money… I could almost hear Bryn’s voice. He never resists an opportunity to criticise me. It must improve his own self-esteem. Even the kids have commented on our constant bickering over Christmas, despite my best efforts to act normal. It’s been a relief to get away from him. But, I’d have worried about the young man on the train for the rest of day if I hadn’t helped him out. Lance had nudged me as I’d handed the money over. He wasn’t dissimilar to Lance; about the same age, with the same dark, floppy fringe. I’d like to think someone would look after my lad if he was worse for wear and had been parted from his wallet. This was also someone’s lad and I couldn’t have ignored him. These seats are barely big enough to take something out of your handbag without rupturing the spleen of the person next to you. I give the woman a sidewards glance, offering a weak smile as she assembles herself beside me. She looks as frazzled as I feel. She smiles back. Though perhaps I should have looked the other way - she might take me smiling as a sign I want to make conversation. When really, I’ve got that much on my mind it’s a wonder smoke isn’t billowing from my ears. I need to think. I really, really need to think. Work out how