Starlight on the Palace Pier

by Tracy Corbett

  Jodi’s face broke into a smile. ‘Nutter.’

  Becca pirouetted up to her and tapped her on the nose, making her laugh as she sang, ‘Sing it high…sing it low,’ switching to a deep voice.

  Jodi’s laughter only stopped when Tom appeared from the office.

  The sight of Tom’s confused expression undermined Becca’s composure and she bumped into the leaflet rack nearly toppling it over.

  There was a time when her daft antics would have made him laugh. Not anymore.

  Oh, well, it was no skin off her nose. Hooking her arm through Jodi’s, she led her cousin away from reception. ‘Some people have no sense of humour,’ she shouted over her shoulder, loud enough for him to hear.

  Jodi looked forlorn. ‘He’s been watching me like a hawk all day. Questioning everything I do, like he’s waiting for me to trip up. It’s exhausting.’

  Becca wanted to thump him. How dare he treat her cousin like that! ‘Don’t let him get to you. You’re doing a great job. Carolyn wouldn’t have left you in charge otherwise.’

  ‘Both of us, remember?’

  How could she forget? ‘And now it’s three. We’re like the Three Musketeers.’

  Jodi looked at her. ‘More like The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.’

  ‘Charming; which one am I? On second thoughts, don’t answer that.’ Becca squeezed her cousin’s arm. ‘Come on, it’s not that terrible.’

  Jodi raised an eyebrow. ‘Who’re you trying to convince, me or you?’

  ‘Both. Now come and have a drink. I need to revive my courage levels before my battle with Tom-the-Tyrant.’

  Jodi managed a smile. ‘Nice name.’

  ‘I thought so.’

  Leon was serving behind the bar. He smiled when he saw Jodi. The smile of a besotted man. Becca thought Jodi might need a gentle nudge in the right direction. Reassurance that she was worthy of a decent guy’s attention.

  Becca climbed onto a stool. ‘So, apart from dealing with the tyrant, is everything else okay?’

  Jodi sat next to her. ‘Not really. We received a letter today from the council about the community engagement grant. They weren’t impressed following their visit here a couple of weeks ago. They don’t feel enough is being done to meet the terms of the award.’

  Becca frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound good.’

  ‘It’s not. They’re asking for a report evidencing progress. They plan to revisit the playhouse in a few weeks’ time to reassess. If they’re not satisfied enough steps have been taken to rectify the situation the grant will have to be repaid.’

  ‘Oh, crap. Has Tom seen the letter?’

  Jodi nodded. ‘He’s written back asking for more time, explaining the owner’s receiving medical treatment and is indisposed.’

  ‘Do you think that’ll be enough to stall them?’

  Jodi shrugged. ‘Who knows? It’s not great as plans go. It feels like we’re letting Carolyn down by not taking action in her absence.’

  Becca nodded. ‘I agree. We can’t sit back and do nothing. Any ideas?’

  ‘Not yet, but I’m working on it.’

  ‘Good. I’ll put my thinking cap on too.’

  Leon finished serving and came over. ‘What can I get you both?’

  ‘Orange juice for me.’ Becca turned to her cousin. ‘Jodi?’

  ‘Glass of water, please. And a packet of crisps. I’m starving.’

  ‘Coming right up.’ Leon ambled off.

  Becca helped herself to a few bar nuts. ‘That reminds me, did you know Mum served readymade pizza for dinner last night? When I got home I thought Mrs Busby was going to pass out, she was so shocked. She said she’d never had pizza before.’

  Jodi stifled a yawn. ‘I wasn’t there, I had a shift at the restaurant last night.’

  ‘Oh, right. Do you think that’s odd? I mean, Mum usually cooks a homemade meal.’

  Leon placed their drinks down.

  ‘Thanks, Leon.’ Jodi gave him a shy nod. ‘Maybe Aunty Ruby was tired, or didn’t feel like cooking.’

  Becca sipped her orange juice. ‘Maybe. But I was thinking, if I can get Tom-the-Tyrant to agree to my tea dance idea, then I might persuade Mum to come along. Dancing is a proven way of lifting a person’s mood. It might cheer her up a bit. What do you think?’

  ‘It’s worth a shot. When are you going to speak to Tom?’

  ‘I suppose there’s no time like the present.’

  Leon appeared with a cheese toastie. ‘You need more than crisps,’ he said, handing Jodi the plate. ‘Cappuccino on its way.’

  Becca smiled. She was glad someone was looking out for her cousin. ‘Enjoy your toastie,’ she said, nudging Jodi in the ribs. ‘And don’t work too late. You do too many hours.’

  Jodi took a bite of toastie. Her expression indicated it was heavenly.

  Becca looked at Leon. ‘Tell her, will you?’

  He handed Jodi her cappuccino. ‘You know what they say, all work and no play.’

  Becca left her cousin in Leon’s capable hands, and went in search of the tyrant.

  He was in the office working on his computer. He didn’t look up when she entered.

  Taking a deep breath, she sat in the wingback chair, aiming for an air of nonchalance.

  He carried on typing. ‘Ever heard of knocking?’

  ‘Why would I knock? This is my office too, remember?’

  ‘How could I forget?’

  She swivelled in the chair, making it squeak.

  It had the desired effect. He stopped typing. ‘Did you want something? I’m busy.’

  ‘That’s okay, I’m happy to wait.’ She leant back in the chair, making it squeak louder.

  He turned to face her. ‘What?’

  She gave him her best fake smile. ‘I have an idea for increasing income.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Which is…?’

  ‘Weekly tea dances.’

  If she was expecting rapturous applause it didn’t happen. Why, she wasn’t sure. It was a great idea. It had come to her when she’d stopped to watch a brass quartet playing at the bandstand on the beach at the weekend. An elderly couple had got up to dance and she’d been struck by how charming it was.

  Tom remained unimpressed. ‘What’s it got to do with me? Dance classes are your department.’

  ‘I want to hold them in the grand ballroom.’

  He turned back to his laptop. ‘The ballroom’s out of action. The roof needs repairing.’ Negativity radiated off him like an electrical current.

  She began to fidget, crossing and uncrossing her legs. ‘I know, so we repair it.’

  ‘We can’t afford to.’

  ‘Maybe if we bodge it temporarily we could make it good enough to use.’ Her foot caught on a cable hanging down from the desk, making the desk lamp wobble. She reached out to catch it just as Tom-the-Tyrant turned to look at her.

  His eyes darted from the lamp to her. ‘Bodge it?’

  She pushed the lamp back onto the desk, annoyed that he made her flustered.

  ‘This is a stately home we’re talking about, not a garden shed. The repairs need to be carried out by a specialist roofer.’

  ‘We can’t afford a specialist roofer.’

  ‘I’m aware of that, which is why we can’t get the work done.’

  ‘But we wouldn’t need a specialist roofer if we bodge…err…temporarily fix it.’

  He looked agitated. ‘The Starlight Playhouse is over four hundred years old. Do you have any idea the damage a rogue builder could cause? Cost aside, this family have been patronising Walker Gibbs for fifty years. My mother would see it as disrespectful to terminate a long-standing relationship, simply because you’ve obtained a cheaper quote.’ He patted his pockets, searching for something. ‘It’s a matter of loyalty.’

  ‘It’s a matter of affordability.’ She adjusted the lopsided lampshade, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

  ‘Either way, we don’t have the money.’

  The lampshade dropped again. ‘B
ut unless we invest we’ll never be able to generate more income.’

  He sighed. ‘So use the dance studio for these…whatever they are.’

  ‘Tea dances.’ She lifted the lampshade again. ‘And it’s not big enough, or the right space. Ballroom dancing needs a suitable backdrop, and the right atmosphere. We could get a pianist in. It would be a real social event, something to bring people into the playhouse. It might even count towards the grant requirements.’

  He shot her a look.

  ‘Jodi told me about the letter.’ She sat back in the chair. ‘So what do you say?’

  He opened his briefcase. ‘No.’

  ‘Think of the publicity.’

  ‘No.’

  She looked at the man before her. Where was the playful, romantic, sweet seventeen-year-old boy who used to play love songs down the phone to her? He’d been replaced by a grumpy, arrogant, combative man. Tom Elliot might be gorgeous on the outside, but underneath he was a changed person, and not for the better. ‘Jodi thinks it’s a good idea, so that’s two votes against one.’

  ‘And yet my answer is still no.’ He removed an inhaler from his briefcase.

  ‘That’s not democratic.’

  ‘Tough.’ He administered his inhaler.

  She stood up, ignoring the fact that he was holding his breath while the drugs kicked in…or maybe relishing the fact that he couldn’t answer back for a few seconds.

  She leant on the desk, faking a confidence she didn’t feel. ‘You’re not the only one running the place, you know. And if you think being a bastard towards Jodi and trying to bully us into walking away will work, then think again. We made a promise to Carolyn to keep things going and that’s exactly what we intend to do. And that includes coming up with a plan to ensure we don’t have to repay the council grant.’

  It was a bold statement. One that might have had more impact if the lamp hadn’t chosen that moment to topple over. Unwilling to allow her clumsiness to ruin a dramatic exit, she marched over to the door – her anger tapered slightly by the realisation that he still suffered with asthma.

  ‘Becca…?’

  She turned back. ‘What?’

  ‘The answer’s still no.’

  And to think, for a second she’d almost started to feel sorry for him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thursday 12th October

  Tom was struggling to concentrate. The Starlight Playhouse was eerily quiet. Only a couple of visitors in the café kept the place from being completely deserted. There were no dance classes or art lessons taking place, nothing that required his attention, and yet his mind refused to stay focused on his pre-sentence report.

  He leant back in the office chair, stretching out his back. Jodi was sitting at the other desk, her face tense as her eyes darted from the receipts laid out in front of her to the spreadsheet on the computer. Unlike him, she didn’t seem to be struggling to concentrate.

  Which was a puzzle. The Jodi he’d known had been skittish and wired. The joker, who’d held court with her outrageous pranks, never knowing when to rein it in, or when to apply the brakes before plunging off a cliff at a hundred miles per hour.

  Looking at her now you’d never guess she was the same person. Even her appearance was contained. Her mass of hair was tamed into submission. Her clothes were grey and understated. She was no longer the court jester. Now it was like she craved invisibility.

  A rap on the door interrupted his thoughts.

  Vivienne marched in looking annoyed.

  Jodi didn’t notice. Or if she did, she chose to ignore her.

  Vivienne coughed loudly. ‘I received your note,’ she said, screwing up the Post-it-Note and throwing it in the waste paper bin. ‘You wanted to see me?’

  Jodi looked up. ‘I did, yes. I’m trying to make sense of the petty cash system.’

  Vivienne frowned. ‘Why? I look after the petty cash.’

  Jodi nodded. ‘I know, but it’s my job to reconcile the accounts. Carolyn said you run a float system?’

  Vivienne lifted her chin. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

  Jodi opened her notebook. ‘Where do you log the expenditure?’

  Vivienne rolled her eyes. ‘Petty cash is for incidentals. Stamps, stationery, consumables and such.’

  ‘All items that should be recorded in the accounts.’

  ‘Madam never—’

  ‘…required receipts. Yes, so you keep saying.’ Jodi handed Vivienne a receipt book. ‘From now on I’d like all expenditure recorded in this book and receipts kept.’

  Vivienne frowned. ‘I look after the petty cash system.’

  ‘And this is how I’d like you to manage the system going forwards.’

  Vivienne looked at Tom, hoping for an ally. ‘Master Thomas? Will you please explain to Ms Simmons that the current system is perfectly adequate.’

  He wasn’t sure it was. Keeping receipts didn’t sound like an unreasonable ask. The finances weren’t in great shape, which was why he’d recently engaged the services of an accountant. But maybe he needed to check with the professionals first before wading into the argument.

  ‘Carry on as you were, Vivienne. I’ll speak to the accountant and get back to you.’

  Vivienne relaxed. ‘Thank you, Master Thomas.’ She gave Jodi a smug look and left the office.

  He could feel Jodi’s stare boring into the side of his head. ‘I’m not about to piss off a long-standing member of staff just because you have a different way of doing things.’

  ‘So even though I’ve studied finance and I’m in regular contact with the accountant discussing these matters you still don’t trust my judgement?’

  He looked at her. ‘You want me to trust you?’

  The look on her face told him he’d struck a nerve.

  Tough. His mother might believe she’d changed, but as far as he was concerned the jury was still out.

  Talking of juries, he needed to get back to his pre-sentence report. He turned back to his laptop, but the door opened again.

  Petrit appeared holding a piece of paper. ‘What is this?’

  Jodi glanced up. ‘It’s a timesheet, Petrit.’

  ‘I already give you timesheet.’

  ‘There were errors on the previous one.’

  ‘What errors?’ His face darkened, contrasting with his chef whites.

  Jodi flipped through her notepad. ‘Monday 2nd October you arrived for work at eight-forty-five not eight a.m. as stated on your timesheet. Tuesday 3rd October you arrived at eight-fifty. Thursday 5th October it was nine-ten. I have them all listed. Shall I go on?’

  ‘You spy on me?’

  ‘I’m simply pointing out that the times listed on your previous timesheet weren’t correct.’ Jodi turned back to her computer. ‘When I receive a completed timesheet with the correct start times I’ll ensure your wages are paid into your account.’

  Tom wasn’t sure what Petrit would have done if he hadn’t been sitting there. As it was, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

  Jodi flinched.

  Tom could see she was unnerved. He wasn’t her biggest fan, but she didn’t deserve to be treated like that.

  He got up and left the office, closing the door behind him. He could do with a break.

  Part of him wanted to go after Petrit and have words. The other part of him wanted to stay well out of it. He had enough on his plate. He didn’t need the hassle of dealing with disgruntled staff too. But maybe that’s what he’d signed up for by taking over the place.

  Needing to clear his head, he went through the French doors into the sunshine. It was a gorgeous autumn day. The view down to the lake was stunning. The sun bounced off the reds and golds in the trees, creating a warm glow that reflected off the water.

  He continued down the pathway and under the stone arch. The gardens looked lush and green, the foliage turning in colour, not yet ready to tumble. The house might be in desperate need of repair, but the gardens weren’t. The pathway snaked th
rough the trees and down to the bridge. He stood on the brow and looked over the edge, hoping the sight of running water might ease the tightness in his chest.

  Why had he thought returning to the playhouse would make his life less stressful? If anything, it was making things worse.

  His first week had been riddled with problems. It had started when he’d dropped his mother off at the rehab centre and she’d told him it was time for him to make amends with his father. He hadn’t even known they were still in contact. It was a miracle he hadn’t crashed the car. Consequently, it hadn’t been the touching send-off he’d planned. He’d driven off angry, only regretting not saying a proper goodbye when he’d arrived back at the playhouse, grumpy and wheezing.

  And then Izzy had called. A tearful phone call telling him she hadn’t moved out of the flat and her parents had frozen her allowance again – something they regularly did when her partying got out of hand. He didn’t like the idea of making her homeless, but completion on the sale was due next week. When he’d pointed this out, he’d been accused of being unreasonable, selfish and uncaring. How the situation was his fault, he wasn’t sure. So, she was still in the flat, ignoring his calls, and refusing to move out.

  On top of this, his asthma was getting worse. Aggravated by trying to manage the damp playhouse and deal with two nemeses from his past. So much for reducing his stress levels. He was at breaking point.

  Seeing Becca again had caused a reaction like a flame being ignited. His temper, usually in check, had exploded, hurtling him into full-blown rage. His behaviour hadn’t been exactly gentlemanly and he was ashamed. But all the grief and guilt he’d repressed over the years had surfaced like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him. Seeing her again physically hurt, like someone had cracked open his chest with a tyre iron. And it wasn’t like he could walk away. He was forced to interact with her on a daily basis and pretend he was okay. Well, he wasn’t okay.

  He crossed the bridge and walked around the lake, searching for a sense of calm. He used to spend a lot of time out here as a kid. With no siblings, he was used to his own company, entertaining himself, except when his cousins had visited. He’d enjoyed riding his bike around the grounds, camping out under the stars, or staying in the treehouse.