Starlight on the Palace Pier

by Tracy Corbett

  He hadn’t made it.

  And then a cool hand touched his forehead. ‘Tom…? Can you hear me?’

  Was he hallucinating?

  ‘Sit up,’ the voice instructed. ‘Use your inhaler.’ Fingers helped him insert the inhaler into his mouth. ‘Breathe,’ the voice said. ‘And again.’ Another shot of Ventolin hit the back of his throat.

  The pain gripping his chest eased.

  ‘Relax,’ the voice said. ‘Lower your shoulders.’ Hands rubbed his arms. Fingers kneaded the tight muscles along his shoulders, soothing and gentle.

  Gradually the fog cleared. Light returned and the room drifted into focus.

  Becca was in front of him on her knees. She checked her watch and then put his inhaler in his mouth. ‘Again,’ she said, pressing the button. ‘Breathe in.’ She was timing the gaps between puffs. How had she remembered that?

  Trying to relax when you couldn’t breathe wasn’t easy. A lack of air induced panic. And panicking wasn’t conducive to overcoming an attack. Tensing up exacerbated the difficulties of trying to draw in air or to exhale.

  She checked her watch and gave him another puff of Ventolin. ‘Slow deep breaths,’ she said. ‘That’s it. You’re doing really well.’ Her smile was reassuring. ‘Squeeze my hand if you can hear me?’

  Her fingers closed around his and he gently squeezed them. She was crouched next to him, holding him steady. She smelt of strawberries. Her top was blue. Her lips were painted red.

  As his focus returned, he realised he was in his bedroom, slumped against the wall by the stairwell. He wondered how she felt about being up here? The room hadn’t changed since she’d last been here. Stacks of vinyl records sat on the floor. A single bed was pushed against the wall under the slanted ceiling. A poster of The Clash still clung to the wall, curled at the edges, faded and torn.

  She placed the inhaler in his mouth. ‘And again.’

  He sucked in another shot of Ventolin. His heart was racing, accelerated by the drug, but the pain in his chest was easing.

  ‘Lean forward,’ she said, easing him out of his suit jacket. She removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. She got up and walked across the room, pausing as if getting her bearings. Her hair was in a messy braid, the ends blue. Her tights were brightly patterned. She looked the same as she always had. Quirky, youthful, beautiful. She headed over to the chest of drawers and removed a hoodie. Bringing it over, she guided it over his arms and zipped it up. He hadn’t realised he’d been shaking.

  Another voice called up the stairs. ‘Becca?’

  He recognised Jodi’s voice.

  Becca went over to the stairwell.

  ‘How’s he doing?’ he heard Jodi say.

  ‘He’s over the worst. Did you get hold of the doctor?’

  ‘He’s on his way. He said we should call for the paramedics if his inhaler doesn’t work.’

  ‘It seems to be easing things,’ Becca said. ‘But I’ll keep an eye on it.’

  ‘The doctor said a warm drink might help relax his airways. I made tea. I’ll wait downstairs and bring the doctor up when he arrives.’

  ‘Thanks, Jodi… You okay?’

  Tom didn’t hear her reply. They’d both lowered their voices. He might not be able to hear what they were saying…but he could guess. Vivienne had accused Jodi of stealing. The money he’d withdrawn from the bank for the showcase had disappeared. It was a catastrophe.

  Vivienne had wanted to call the police. But if the safe door had been left open, it could have been anyone. A chancer. A burglar who’d cased the joint. But if the door was closed, then it could only be one of four people. Him. His mother. Vivienne or Jodi. The only people with the combination. And that’s why he hadn’t reacted. He needed to get his head around the situation. Ask a few more questions before making any accusations. But first, he needed to breathe.

  Becca reappeared holding a mug. She sat down next to him and handed him his inhaler. He administered it himself this time. Progress.

  She rubbed his shoulder. ‘You’re still too tense. Drop your shoulders.’

  He followed her instructions, amazed that she’d remembered how to handle an asthma attack. It’d happened a few times when they’d been together. Usually after a night dealing with his mother. She’d been the same then, caring and in control, even if she’d later admitted she’d been scared. Thank God she was here.

  ‘Drink some tea,’ she said, lifting the mug to his lips. ‘The doctor’s on his way.’

  The warm liquid was soothing and welcome.

  His chest felt like an elephant was standing on it, but his airways were loosening. He drank another few mouthfuls. ‘Thank you,’ he said, his voice croaky.

  ‘It’s Jodi you need to thank.’ She lowered the mug. ‘She’s the one who came and got me and said you needed help.’

  ‘That was good of her.’

  ‘I think so.’

  Especially as you’d just accused her of stealing.

  She didn’t say the words. She didn’t have to.

  The accusation hung in the air…right next to his guilt.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sunday 22nd October

  Jodi finished reconciling her aunty’s accounts and shut down the computer. It had taken most of yesterday and a couple of hours this morning, but it was done now. She hadn’t minded, she’d been glad of the distraction. Plus, it helped her aunty. The guest house finances were relatively straightforward compared to the Starlight Playhouse. But as to whether she’d be working at the playhouse anymore, she didn’t know.

  She got up from the desk and went over to the bay window. On a clear day, the view was like a picture postcard. Not today. The storm had subsided, but it was still grim outside. The sea looked foreboding, grey and dull. People were huddled under the sheltered seating on the promenade, their disposable ponchos flapping in the wind.

  She was glad to be in the warm, wearing her slipper socks and fleece onesie. Hardly the height of fashion. She didn’t care. She needed comfort today.

  She hadn’t heard from Tom since Friday’s incident. In truth, she hadn’t wanted to. He’d been in no fit state following his asthma attack, and she’d stayed away from the playhouse yesterday, figuring they both needed space. Maybe it was cowardly, but she couldn’t face everyone. Part of her wanted to fight this latest accusation, stand up for herself and prove that she wasn’t a thief. The other part of her wanted to crawl into bed and never face anyone again. Especially Leon. What must he think? Did he even know what had happened?

  Only a couple of hours before Vivienne’s accusation, she’d been floating on cloud nine having gone with Leon to the wholesalers to place an order for the showcase. They’d stopped off at The Lion & Lobster for lunch, and away from the playhouse the atmosphere between them had felt different. Like they could relax. They’d chatted about life in Brighton, his passion for writing songs, and her secret obsession with Love Island. He’d teased her, but had given himself away as a fan when he’d mentioned one of the contestant’s names. Joking with him had been hugely enjoyable.

  The conversation had moved on and they’d shared stories from their childhood. He’d admitted to hating school, which had allowed her to admit she’d struggled as a teenager too. She hadn’t divulged much, certainly nothing about her criminal activity. But it was the first time she’d been semi-honest with a guy and she hadn’t felt judged.

  When she’d arrived back at the playhouse, she’d relived the conversations in her head. And then Vivienne had burst into the office and accused her of stealing and her good mood had shattered into a thousand pieces.

  She climbed onto the padded window seat and tucked her feet under her, cuddling a cushion to her chest. Droplets of rain ran down the window, each one chasing the next.

  She hadn’t taken the money. But being innocent until proven guilty only applied if you didn’t have a criminal record. Once you’d crossed that line, you were never above suspicion again. There was always a question mark hanging over
you. If Tom decided to call the police, news of her conviction was bound to get out. She’d be questioned. Possibly arrested. Maybe even charged. And there was no way she was going back to prison.

  Most people assumed prison was a dangerous place where gang violence reigned and hardened criminals controlled the system, like in Orange is the New Black. But for her, prison had been… How could she describe it? Humiliating. Degrading. Inhumane.

  It was the small stuff she’d struggled with. Guards walking into her cell when she was on the toilet. Never being allowed to shower alone. Being supervised whilst drying her hair in case she held the dryer under the taps and electrocuted herself – as one inmate had done.

  One time, a pair of scissors had disappeared from the craft room and the whole prison had to be shut down until the implement was found. As she was the last prisoner to leave the craft room that day, she was prime suspect. She’d been body-searched, questioned and disbelieved when she’d denied taking the scissors. A thorough search of her cell had followed with her few personal belongings being tossed to the floor. The incident ended when the art teacher realised she’d miscounted and all the scissors were accounted for. There’d been no apology. No help to tidy her cell. As far as they were concerned, she was the only person who could have taken the scissors and therefore she was guilty by default.

  And now it was happening again.

  Her aunty backed into the study dragging the hoover. ‘How are you getting on, love?’

  ‘I’ve just finished.’

  ‘Oh, bless you.’ Her aunty stretched out her back. ‘Give me a complex sewing pattern and I’m fine, but put me in front of a spreadsheet and I break out in hives.’ Her smile was sunny…like her hair. ‘Not looking any better, is it?’ she said, noticing her niece’s upward glance.

  Jodi smiled. ‘It’s not that bad.’

  ‘Fibber. But if my ridiculous hair makes you smile, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. How are you feeling today?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Flat, I guess. Ashamed.’

  Her aunty frowned. ‘What have you got to be ashamed about? You didn’t take the money.’

  ‘No one believes that.’

  ‘I believe it.’ Her aunty came over. ‘You didn’t take that money.’

  ‘Vivienne thinks I did. Tom thinks so too.’

  Whose side would Leon take? she wondered. There was nothing in The Art of War about dealing with injustice.

  Her aunty tutted. ‘Tom Elliot is too judgemental for his own good. This isn’t the first time he’s jumped to the wrong conclusion.’

  ‘Last time wasn’t really his fault. He was put in a horrible situation.’

  ‘Nonetheless, he should’ve allowed Becca the opportunity to explain, instead of letting that opinionated father of his influence him. And anyway, why are you defending him? He hasn’t exactly been supportive of your efforts at the playhouse.’

  Jodi hugged the cushion closer. ‘I don’t know. He looked conflicted on Friday, as if he didn’t want to believe I’d taken the money.’

  ‘Then he should’ve said as much, instead of letting that awful woman accuse you. I’ve a good mind to go up there and set them both straight.’

  ‘Please don’t. It’ll only make things worse.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ her aunty said plumping up a cushion. ‘But if things escalate, they’ll have me to deal with. The woman with the yellow hair on the rampage.’ She kissed Jodi’s cheek, making her laugh.

  Becca’s head appeared around the door. ‘Ah, here you are. I’ve just got off the phone with Tom.’ She came into the room, looking stylish in her ripped jeans and leather jacket.

  Quite a contrast to Jodi’s snuggle-wear. ‘How is he?’

  ‘Better. He’s been on bed rest and his breathing’s much better. He asked me to thank you for what you did Friday night.’

  ‘I should think so to.’ Her aunty glanced from Becca’s trendy outfit to her own baggy ‘cleaning clothes’ as she called them. Her expression indicated she felt as frumpy as Jodi did.

  Becca dumped her leather bag on the floor. ‘Leon’s at the playhouse on his own today. I said I’d go in and help so Tom can rest up.’

  The mention of Leon made Jodi cringe. Did he think she was guilty?

  Her aunty shook out a duster. ‘I don’t know why you’re putting yourself out for that man.’

  Becca checked her phone. ‘I’m not doing it for Tom, I’m doing it for Jodi and Carolyn. Me too. I need the win. My self-esteem can’t take another failed career, even a temporary one.’

  ‘Did Tom say anything about the money?’ Although Jodi wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

  ‘Not much. I told him you didn’t take it. He doesn’t think you did either.’ Becca smiled encouragingly. ‘So that’s something.’

  ‘Then why didn’t he say that at the time?’ Aunty Ruby said wiping the desk. ‘Why did he let that dreadful woman accuse Jodi?’

  Becca shrugged. ‘He said he didn’t want to make any snap judgements, or inflame the situation until he’d had a chance to investigate.’

  ‘Shame he didn’t take that attitude twelve years ago.’

  Becca flinched.

  Jodi felt a change of topic was needed. ‘What about the showcase? He wasn’t keen before the theft. I can’t imagine he’ll allow it to go ahead now.’

  Becca pulled out a flyer from her bag. ‘I told him it was happening. No debate. The playhouse has already been added to the programme. See…?’ She handed the flyer to Jodi. ‘Tickets are selling fast and all the advertising is underway. If we pull out now it’ll be a reputational disaster. The showcase has to go ahead.’

  ‘But we have no money.’ Why was she using the word ‘we’? Jodi was no longer part of the team.

  ‘We’ll have to improvise. It’s not ideal, but it’s not impossible.’

  Jodi studied the leaflet. ‘What about the roof repairs?’

  Becca looked ponderous. ‘That’s the sticking point. I’m not sure what our options are. I’ll have a chat to Eddie about it. When’s he arriving?’

  ‘Sometime today.’

  Okay, I’ll talk to him later.’ Becca went over to Aunty Ruby. ‘Are you excited about having a new guest, Mummykins?’

  Becca was subjected to a look. ‘Ecstatic.’

  ‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Mother dear.’ Becca tickled her ribs. ‘Isn’t that what you used to tell us?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s do as I say, not as I do.’ She tried to escape her daughter’s tickling. ‘Stop that.’

  Becca stopped tormenting her mum. ‘See you later.’ She came over and hugged Jodi. ‘Stay strong. We have your back, okay? Tom says he’ll speak to you tomorrow.’

  Jodi startled. ‘He wants me in work?’

  ‘Of course he does.’ Becca picked up her bag. ‘The showcase isn’t happening without you.’

  ‘What did you do, beat him into submission?’

  Becca grinned. ‘It was a joint decision. The truth will always out.’

  That was what worried her.

  When the front door slammed, her aunty turned to her. ‘How’s she coping seeing Tom again? She hasn’t said much.’

  Jodi shrugged. ‘They fight. They disagree.’

  Her aunty frowned. ‘Why do I sense a but coming?’

  ‘The energy between them is palpable. They’re like magnets. Drawn to each other, even when they’re fighting.’ She wondered if Becca had noticed. ‘I’m not sure how it’ll end up, but there’s unresolved chemistry that’s for sure.’

  ‘Just what every mother doesn’t want to hear.’ Aunty Ruby switched on the hoover.

  Jodi let the noise of the vacuum wash over her.

  It was strange watching Becca and Tom together after so long apart. The friction between them had definitely shifted, but the tension remained. Would they ever bury the hatchet and become friends again? It was a tall order.

  And would she ever stop feeling responsible for their split? Unlikely.

>   Maude appeared in the study carrying a dead bird. At least, Jodi hoped it was dead.

  Her aunty let out a cry of annoyance and flicked off the hoover. ‘Not on my clean floor!’ Maude dropped the carcass by her feet, turned tail and sauntered out. ‘That’s right, leave me to clear it up.’ She bent down and scooped it up with a plastic bag, just as the front doorbell chimed. ‘If Dr Mortimer’s forgotten his flaming key again, I’ll wring his neck.’

  Only it wasn’t Dr Mortimer at the door. It was Eddie.

  Judging by the look on her aunty’s face, it might as well have been Charles Bronson standing there, looking like he’d just stepped off the set of The Dirty Dozen. Her scowl fell away and her jaw went slack.

  Eddie leant against the doorframe, his roguish brown eyes twinkling. ‘I hear you have a room available?’

  Jodi hid behind the study door, intrigued by the sight of her dumbstruck aunty.

  ‘You want to stay here?’ Aunty Ruby stared at him. ‘Are you sure?’

  He laughed. ‘Great sales pitch.’

  Her aunty’s blush clashed with her hair. ‘I’m so sorry. Of course, please come in. Mind the step.’ She stepped back into the hallway. ‘Do you have any luggage?’

  ‘In the car.’ He held out his hand. ‘Eddie Moriantez.’

  Her aunty extended her hand and then realised she was still holding the dead bird. ‘Oh, God!’ Her blush was replaced by a look of pure horror.

  Eddie turned his hand over, palm up. ‘Let me dispose of that for you.’

  ‘Oh…thank you.’

  He tipped the bagged bird into his hands.

  ‘It was my cat,’ her aunty said, as he headed towards the door, clearly feeling an explanation was needed.

  He glanced back. ‘Well, I’d hoped it wasn’t you.’

  As he disappeared through the front door, her aunty started fanning her face. ‘You could’ve warned me,’ she said, running over to check herself in the hall mirror.

  ‘Warned you about what?’ Jodi came into the hallway.

  ‘Why is it men improve with age, while woman simply…wilt,’ she said, raking her hands through her yellow hair. ‘Him upstairs has one sick sense of humour. I look like a complete fright. And I haven’t even changed out of these awful jogging bottoms.’ She pointed to the saggy knees. ‘How embarrassing.’