FortyDecember 2011
The Old Malthouse was not busy for a change. Wilf had liked the fact that as the weather grew colder, fewer revellers frequented his favourite watering hole. During the summer months, the bar area was crowded with youngsters, vying for position to be served. This was more to his liking. Half a dozen people sat around the room, as a roaring log fire dispersed its heat across the slate quarry tiles. He sat on his favourite stool, giving him a prime view of the snug bar. He liked how it looked and how it felt. It felt like home from home. Wilf sighed, his heart suddenly heavy.
“Hi, Wilf,” a female voice said.
“Oh. Hi, Jo. Quiet in here today.”
“It is. Which is not a bad thing sometimes. It gives me more time to do a few chores while I'm working.” She smiled at him, her
