glass walls on three sides would solve the light problem. If he put in a kitchen, he could offer simple meals and snacks.
Garden room. Kitchen. He was talking about a major project. Suddenly it seemed daunting. If he and Emma were still together, he could have talked it over with her. She was great with practical stuff. And she had excellent color sense. Darcy couldn’t afford an interior decorator but Emma would know how to match carpet shades with seat covers.
“What do you think of the decor in here, Kirsty?”
She shrugged. “It’s cozy, warm. It’s a pub.”
If he changed the atmosphere to attract new customers, would he lose the ones he had? Hell, he was already losing them. He couldn’t sit still and do nothing while the wine bar stole his business.
If he did do major renovations, he would have to take out a sizable loan. Could he afford to do that?
Could he afford not to? Going into debt was a gamble, but if he didn’t do something he was in danger of going under, maybe not this year but possibly next. But possibly the wine bar really would be a novelty that would wear off. When people got tired of the red velvet couches they would come back to his pub.
What if they didn’t? The wine bar had been open nearly four months now and was busier than ever.
He’d been complacent, secure in the knowledge that his was the only bar in town. Circumstances had changed. Now he had to try harder. Maybe he should be grateful to Wayne for forcing him to lift his game. If he was going to go bankrupt, he might as well go out in style.
The pub was his livelihood, his home away from home, the place where the people he cared about hung out. He’d lost his wife and daughter. He’d lost his interest in Latin dancing and football. Since he’d split up with Emma the pub had become the center of his life. Hell, it had become his whole life. He lived in the upstairs apartment and worked every day behind the bar. All he had left was the pub. It represented everything that was important to him—his connection to family, friends and the community. If he lost it, he didn’t know what would happen to him.
He didn’t want to find out.
* * *
EMMA STRUGGLED TO fit the tubing onto the intake nozzle of the breast pump. Who made these stupid tubes so small? Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink and on the counter. Her dishwasher had broken and she hadn’t cleaned up in days. Her cold had worsened in the night and she longed to crawl into bed. But she was on duty at the hospital this morning and she wanted to be there when Roy went in to surgery. First she needed to try to pump enough milk for Billy to take to day care.
The phone rang.
“Perfect.” She put the tubing down and fished among the clutter for her phone. “Hello.”
“Hello, darling. How’s everything?”
“Hi, Mum.” Emma forced a cheery note into her voice. “I’m good. Where are you?”
“At a roadhouse in some tiny town in the outback of Western Australia. Your dad’s tanking up the car and I’m waiting for our food order. How’s my gorgeous little man?”
Emma glanced over at Billy, strapped into his car seat. He was quiet for once, playing with the plastic keys dangling above him. At times like these she felt the best about him, that is to say, neutral.
“He’s smiling. And holding his head up. He’s definitely going to have dark hair, although I think his eyes might be blue-green like mine.”
“You can’t tell at this stage. They won’t be set for months yet.”
“Mum, I’ve only got a few minutes. I’m getting ready for work.” Emma tucked the phone between her chin and shoulder and picked up the breast pump to have another attempt at assembling the pieces.
“That’s okay. I just wanted to say hi. I wish we weren’t on this big long trip when you had the baby.”
“You were here for the first two weeks.” There, was that right? Emma gave an experimental tug on the tubing. It came off in her hands.
After the birth her parents had flown home. During their stay Billy had been a model baby, sleeping most of the day and only waking at night to be fed and have his diaper changed. Emma had blithely urged her parents to resume their trip. A week after they’d left,