Starlight on the Palace Pier

by Tracy Corbett

  The idea of stopping teaching filled Becca with sorrow. How crazy was that? She hadn’t even wanted the job in the first place. And now she didn’t want to stop. She was making progress, albeit slowly. She was learning too, mostly by her mistakes, but at least she was taking ownership of her failings and trying to improve. And now it was under threat, all because Vivienne wanted to be top dog.

  Carolyn continued. ‘I know this appointment might not be to everyone’s satisfaction, but I have to follow my heart and go with who I feel has the best credentials.’ Carolyn smiled at Vivienne, whose returning smile was more of a self-satisfied sneer. ‘Which is why I’ve decided to leave the running of the Starlight Playhouse to Jodi and Becca.’

  What? Becca’s shock was overridden by Vivienne’s strangled cry and Petrit’s grunt, which was so loud it made her jump.

  ‘This is outrageous.’ Vivienne stood up, sending the office chair rolling backwards.

  ‘My mind is made up, Vivienne.’

  ‘But they’ve barely been here a month. You don’t know them. You can’t trust them.’

  ‘They’ve more than proved their trustworthiness.’ Carolyn gestured to Jodi, who looked as shocked as Becca felt. ‘Which is why I’ve entrusted Jodi with the combination for the safe and added her as a bank signatory.’

  Vivienne looked like she was about to combust. It was the most animated Becca had ever seen her. ‘Madam, I urge you to reconsider. You’re placing the future of the playhouse in the hands of two people who have no vested interest in its continuation. I’ve served this place for years, I’ve served you for years, always doing my utmost to protect the interests of the Elliot-Wentworth family.’

  ‘And I’m very grateful, Vivienne. Really, I am.’ Carolyn placed her hand over her heart. ‘Your loyalty means the world to me.’

  ‘Then why are you favouring them…’ Vivienne pointed at Becca and Jodi ‘…over a long-standing member of staff?’

  Carolyn looked momentarily lost for words.

  Eddie came to her rescue. ‘I think it’s a great appointment, Carolyn. Becca and Jodi will do a fine job. They have my full support.’ He raised his hand as if voting them in.

  ‘Mine too.’ Leon glanced at Jodi.

  ‘And we all know why that is, don’t we?’ Vivienne snapped at Leon, sounding like a spiteful schoolgirl. ‘We’ve all seen the way you look at her. No prizes for guessing your agenda.’

  Becca’s mind was being dragged from one shocking announcement to another. Leon had the hots for her cousin? How did she not know this? Had Jodi noticed? Or was she keeping quiet? Too many questions. Now wasn’t the time to dwell.

  ‘My mind is made up,’ Carolyn said, seeming to summon her last drop of strength. ‘It’s a decision I’ve not come to lightly, but I feel it’s the right one. As a favour to me, and as a show of loyalty to the playhouse, I would be grateful if everyone could support this appointment and do their best to make Becca’s and Jodi’s task as easy as possible. Will you do that for me?’

  Eddie and Leon nodded.

  Petrit barged past Becca and exited the office, mumbling in Romanian.

  ‘Vivienne?’ Carolyn looked at the Woman-in-Black, whose angry face matched her dark red lipstick.

  ‘I’m not happy about the situation, but as you’re refusing to see sense, I have no alternative but to accept.’ Vivienne walked over to the door, her chin lifted. ‘I just hope madam doesn’t regret the decision.’ And with that, she was gone.

  Carolyn smiled at Becca. ‘I hope it wasn’t too impertinent of me to appoint you both without discussing it with you first?’

  Becca glanced at Jodi, who still looked a little poleaxed. ‘I’m honoured you think we’re up to the job.’ Bloody hell, was she up to the job? She had no idea. ‘I mean, I know Jodi is; she has a business degree. But as for me, well…what I mean is, I’ll do my best.’

  ‘I know you will. Your creativity combined with Jodi’s business acumen is the perfect combination. You’ll make a great team.’

  Jodi stood up. ‘Thank you, Carolyn. You have no idea what this means to me. I won’t let you down.’

  ‘I know you won’t, darling girl.’ She took hold of Jodi’s hand. ‘I have every faith in you.’

  ‘Me too,’ Leon added, his eyes fixated on her cousin.

  Definitely smitten.

  ‘And me.’ Eddie gave Jodi a thumbs-up.

  Carolyn smiled. ‘Thank you, I’m lucky to have you all. Vivienne will calm down eventually.’

  Becca wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like a private word with Jodi.’

  Becca exchanged glances with her cousin. Boy, did they have a lot to chat about later. They’d be running the playhouse together? It was too much for her head to compute.

  Becca followed Eddie and Leon out of the office, still dazed, responding on autopilot as they congratulated her and patted her on the back. And to think she’d thought Carolyn had called the meeting to sack Jodi.

  Unsure what to do with herself, she went into the dance studio and finished painting the radiator. There was no effort required in painting. The upward strokes of the brush helped to occupy her hands, whilst her brain continued to spin. How did she feel? Excited? Scared? She wasn’t sure. This was another challenge. A test of her mettle. But unlike dancing this had more to do with her mind than her body. A dodgy knee wasn’t going to stop her. A couple of disgruntled staff members, on the other hand, might.

  Wiping excess paint from the brush, she wrapped it in a cloth. She rolled up the dustsheet and stood back to admire her handiwork. The studio looked much better. It was a masking job, rather than a full refurb, but with white walls and brighter flooring, it already looked more inviting.

  Picking up the remaining paint, water bucket and roller tray, she carried them outside onto the fire escape.

  The thought of line-managing Vivienne and Petrit didn’t fill her with joy. She was confident Eddie and Leon would cooperate, but the other two? Not so much. Despite this, she couldn’t deny the frisson of excitement she felt. It was another possibility. Another path to walk down and see where it led. And to think, only a month ago she was jobless, homeless, and with no idea what her future held. Now, she was teaching and about to co-manage an arts centre.

  It was heady stuff. But then she remembered it was a failing arts centre. The Starlight Playhouse wasn’t a thriving hub of creativity; it was a neglected manor house in dire need of refurbishment. Still, they could turn things around and build on its reputation. Reverse its fortunes and repay Carolyn’s faith in them…except there was no budget for investment. However she looked at it, the tablecloth wasn’t big enough to cover the table.

  She leant over the railing and shook out the cloth, emptying dried Polyfilla into the skip below.

  The main thing was she wasn’t doing it alone. She’d have Jodi. Together they would overcome adversity. They were a team. Wonder Women united. And if this opportunity led to a permanent position for her cousin then it was worth the hassle.

  She stepped back, not realising the roller tray was behind her. Her foot slipped on the paint almost sending her over the railing onto the concrete below. In her effort to stay upright, she knocked over the water bucket and paint tin, sending the contents flying.

  As if in slow motion, the airborne paint descended like a snowstorm, landing on a black BMW that had just screeched into the service yard below. As the white paint hit the front window obscuring the view, the driver hit the brakes, sending the car into a spin. It clipped the corner of the recycling bin before coming to a halt.

  There was a moment’s silence before the driver’s door flew open and a man appeared. ‘You’ve got to be frickin’ kidding me!’

  Time slowed.

  Becca’s heart rate sped up.

  A buzzing noise filled her head.

  She clutched the railing, trying not to fall.

  His hair was still blond – but gone was the indie-grunge mess of his teens. Now it was styled
in that designer ‘just got out of bed’ look that only the naturally blessed could get away with. Gone was the long parker coat, DM boots and jeans with zips sewn into them. He was dressed in a light grey suit with a darker grey waistcoat and no tie. The top button of his white shirt was undone. He looked slightly dishevelled and sexy as hell. But this was nothing compared to the startling blue eyes framed by long spidery lashes that were currently darting about like laser weaponry looking for the person who’d covered his car in white paint.

  And then he looked up.

  Oh, shit.

  She did the only thing she could think of.

  She ran.

  Chapter Eleven

  …continued

  One moment the woman was standing there; the next she was gone. Tom blinked. Had she been an apparition? He turned back to his car, wondering if he was hallucinating. It was almost as if…? No, it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be her. He looked back up at the fire exit. No one was there.

  His mind was playing tricks on him. He was tired and stressed. He hadn’t slept much over the past week, thanks to Izzy refusing to sign the flat sale contracts, claiming she was ‘having second thoughts’ about selling. An emotional exchange of words had followed with him trying to convince her that selling was the right thing, and her pleading to ‘give them another go’. By the time they’d finally exchanged contracts he was exhausted.

  What with the added pressure of trying to juggle court cases and manage his mother’s affairs, sleep had become an impossibility. His asthma was bad too, to the point where he’d been prescribed Clenil Modulite to reduce the inflammation in his lungs and prevent a full-blown attack. He’d been advised to reduce his stress levels, which was laughable.

  He looked at his car. The windscreen and bonnet were covered in white paint and there was a dent in his front wing. He kicked the rear tyre. ‘Shit.’

  He wasn’t about to start cleaning up the mess wearing his suit. He had a change of clothes in the boot along with a few personal belongings. The rest of his stuff was in storage. The decision regarding where to live following the flat sale had been decided when he’d received a voice message from his mother telling him she was off to rehab. The Starlight Playhouse would be his home for the next eight weeks.

  He glanced up at the fire door one last time, just to check the paint-thrower hadn’t reappeared. She hadn’t. Whoever it was, she wouldn’t get far. And when he found her, he’d give her a piece of his mind – whether she was a dead ringer for his childhood sweetheart, or not.

  He walked around to the front of the building. The grounds stretched ahead of him looking impressive. Eddie had kept on top of things, which was one less problem to worry about. He didn’t visit the playhouse often. For the most part he could manage his mother’s affairs remotely. But the news that she was off to rehab meant staying in London was no longer an option. Not at the moment, anyway.

  The reception area hadn’t changed. Neither had the woman behind the front desk. She was a scary apparition, her black apparel a reflection of her sombre personality. Vivienne was old-school. Her father had served the family at a time when the Starlight Playhouse was still a manor house and she’d been brought up to revere the aristocracy. She believed in the hierarchy of position within a household and didn’t take kindly to those of lower rank ‘acting above their station’. But she was fiercely loyal to his mother, so he could forgive her occasional snobbery. ‘Hi, Vivienne. Is my mother around?’

  ‘Master Thomas, what an unexpected surprise.’ She smoothed down the front of her black dress. ‘Madam will be so thrilled to see you. As am I. You couldn’t have called at a more opportune moment.’ She lowered her voice. ‘There have been some developments concerning the playhouse. I don’t want to alarm you, but I fear madam is not thinking rationally.’

  His mother’s actions were rarely rational, so this wasn’t ground-breaking news. However, he wasn’t about to start gossiping about his mother’s mental state. ‘Is she in the office?’

  ‘Madam is upstairs packing. Has she mentioned her…trip?’

  She made it sound like his mother was heading off to Venice for the weekend. ‘She has. Thank you, Vivienne. I’ll head up and see her.’

  ‘I hope this means you’ll be taking over management of the playhouse in her absence, Master Thomas?’

  He glanced back. ‘That’s the plan.’

  Vivienne smiled. The kind of smile a snake would inflict upon a defenceless mouse before devouring it.

  He climbed over the rope cordoning off the private quarters and headed up the grand staircase, patting the bust of Uncle Henry as he passed by. Large oil paintings hung from the walls, depicting his ancestors in stately attire, from full battle regalia, to women wearing elaborate gowns and bored expressions. His mother had descended from a titled family, but his paternal family came from Billericay, diluting his blue blood somewhat. And he was fine with that.

  The manor house was spread over three floors. The basement wasn’t used anymore. It mainly stored heirlooms, paintings and furniture, moved down there when the ground floor had been converted into an arts centre. The east tower wasn’t used either, other than by him. He was the only person who’d preferred the solitude of the tower to the drama below, spending his teenage years trying to escape his father’s temper and his mother’s drunkenness.

  The galley corridor was unchanged, as were three of the original bed chambers. Dark wooden panelling covered the walls, adorned with shields and spears and rich fabric tapestries. The furniture was chunky, ornate and uncomfortable. During the renovations, four of the bed chambers had been converted into a living area, and his mother’s private study was also up here. Now the place looked tired, dusty and smelt of damp.

  He found his mother in her study, flicking through old photos. He leant against the doorframe and watched her. He was glad she’d booked herself into rehab. But he wondered what had changed her mind. She’d always resisted when he’d suggested it before. ‘Hi, Mum.’

  Her face broke into a smile. ‘Tom, darling!’ She moved around the desk to greet him.

  He met her halfway, pulling her into an embrace. She smelt of coconut, which was a massive improvement on day-old gin. She’d lost weight and he could feel her ribs. But she was sober and didn’t appear hungover, so they might be able to have a sensible conversation. ‘So, big news, I hear?’

  She drew back and looked at him, her eyes scanning his face. ‘I’m sorry I left a message. I should’ve spoken to you in person, but I didn’t want an interrogation. I needed time to adjust to my decision.’

  He frowned. ‘When have I ever interrogated you?’

  ‘Oh, darling, you do it all the time. And it’s okay, I deserve it. I know it’s because you care.’ She turned back to the desk and picked up a brochure. ‘The programme lasts eight weeks. Here are the details.’

  He took the brochure, still smarting over her accusation. ‘How did you find this place? Have they been recommended? Do they have a good reputation?’

  She gave him one of her looks.

  ‘What? This isn’t an interrogation, this is a concerned son asking his mother what research she’s done to ensure this is the best place to get help.’

  She tilted her head to one side, flecks of grey visible in her blonde hair. ‘The place was recommended by my GP. It has an excellent reputation.’

  ‘Good.’ He read the blurb on the front. ‘The Sunrise Rehabilitation Centre boasts a safe and nurturing environment, offering personalised treatment plans and twenty-four-hour care.’

  ‘I visited the place on Friday. I’ll have my own room, daily one-to-one counselling and group therapy sessions.’ She sounded like she was describing a fancy spa retreat.

  He tried to mask his hurt. ‘Why didn’t you ask me to come with you?’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Because you would’ve taken over, and this was something I needed to do on my own.’

  Wow. A sober Carolyn Elliot-Wentworth was a lot more assertive than her pi
ssed counterpart.

  ‘They also have music and art therapy, and offer yoga and meditation, which helps with the detox process. That’s the worst bit, apparently.’ She turned away, busying herself with papers on the desk. ‘Detox can take between seven to ten days, but I’ll be supported throughout.’

  He wasn’t about to let her struggle alone. ‘You’ll have me too, so you won’t be on your own.’

  She turned to look at him. ‘No visitors, I’m afraid.’

  He frowned. ‘For how long?’

  ‘The duration of the programme.’

  ‘They can’t ban your son from visiting.’

  ‘I’ve signed a contract. I’ve agreed to the terms.’

  He flicked through the brochure. ‘Where’s the number? I’ll call them.’

  She removed her glasses. ‘I know you mean well, but you need to let go. Just as I have to.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  She paused, as if trying to assimilate her thoughts. ‘I’m trapped in a vicious cycle of shame and guilt. The only way of maintaining long-term abstinence is to face the root cause of my addiction, which will be painful and no doubt humiliating. Until I’ve faced my demons, I won’t be able to move forwards. And that will be impossible to do if I know my son will be there to witness my collapse.’ She cupped his cheek. ‘Family will be invited to a meeting once the programme is complete to discuss supporting me on the road to recovery. I would love for you to come to that.’

  He swallowed back the lump in his throat. ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Thank you, darling.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Now, let me finish packing and then we can grab a coffee before you head back to London.’

  ‘I’m not going back to London. I’m staying here.’

  She seemed confused. ‘Why?’

  ‘To manage the playhouse, of course. If you’re going to be away for eight weeks, then someone needs to run the place.’