Starlight on the Palace Pier

by Tracy Corbett

  His father tilted his head to one side. ‘So who took the money?’

  Good question. ‘It’s under investigation.’

  ‘Are the police involved?’ It was asked in such an innocent way that it was obvious he already knew the answer.

  ‘Not yet. I didn’t want a scandal to ruin the showcase event we have planned.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the showcase.’ His father brushed a piece of lint from his jacket lapel. ‘I understand from Vivienne the missing five thousand pounds was to finance the event? Without the money, doesn’t that rather foil your plans?’

  Bloody Vivienne again.

  Of course, it did. But he wasn’t about to admit as much. Despite Becca and Jodi’s best efforts, he was realistic enough to know an event that big needed financing. He’d been racking his brain trying to find a solution. He would have financed the show himself if the flat sale hadn’t wiped him out. There hadn’t been much equity in the property, and what little there was had been used up clearing the secured loan taken out to cover Izzy’s debts. His income was currently lower than it had been, and he’d just forked out for Izzy’s second week at the Travelodge to prevent her from becoming homeless. He was skint.

  So he’d done the only thing he could think of. He’d applied for a personal loan to finance the showcase and get the roof fixed. Maybe he was crazy, but he couldn’t cope with the idea of letting his mother…or Becca…down. But with no security in the form of a property or fixed income, there was no guarantee his application would be successful.

  His father’s voice broke into his thoughts. ‘After all this time, she still has a hold over you.’

  Tom feigned ignorance. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘The Roberts girl. A schoolboy crush is one thing, but allowing her to distract you from your career and risk all you’ve worked for? Is she really worth it?’ His father was a clever sod. The question was typical of a seasoned QC, loaded with a series of hidden insinuations that made it impossible for the defendant to answer a straight ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

  Tom’s answer should be ‘no’. They hadn’t been involved for twelve years. They’d both moved on. And yet, he still felt a connection.

  He hadn’t ended the relationship because he’d fallen out of love with her. He’d been persuaded to walk away. He hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to her about what had happened, or explain face-to-face why he was ending it, so there’d been no…closure. One day they were together, the next they weren’t.

  In her eyes, he’d betrayed her. He’d believed the worst and hadn’t stood by her, hadn’t resisted pressure from his father to break up with her. And she was right. But he’d been confused. He’d been unwilling to believe her capable of theft, but presented with the evidence, how could he think otherwise? And if Becca was heading for the same path as her cousin, then his father had been right: it could have affected his chances of becoming a barrister.

  It was only months later that doubt had started to creep in. Becca had never been dishonest. She’d once insisted they return to a café when she’d realised they hadn’t charged her for her second juice. It was difficult to believe her capable of shoplifting. So in that sense the answer was ‘yes’. She did still have a hold over him.

  ‘No one’s distracting me from my career,’ he said, staring down at the unopened copies of Justice Weekly lying on the desk. No doubt his father had spotted them too.

  ‘That’s not what Arthur Watson tells me.’ His father tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. ‘Apparently, you’ve hardly been in chambers of late. Your trial rate has reduced to a fraction of what it was. If you’re trying to commit career suicide, then you’re going in the right direction.’

  ‘Quit with the career advice, Dad. I’m not interested.’

  ‘Well, you should be. Don’t you want to make Silk?’

  Tom rubbed his chest. ‘Achieving Silk is your dream, not mine.’

  ‘Surely it’s what every barrister wants? And you have an advantage – someone willing to make it happen. Why would you reject that? For the sake of your pride?’

  How could he explain that he’d become disillusioned with the profession? He wasn’t sure he wanted to be a barrister anymore, let alone a QC.

  He’d been so chuffed to be called to the Bar and declared an ‘utter barrister’. To be allowed to practise and call himself learned and wear a wig and gown. It had been so exciting. And now he was thinking of walking away. The reality of dealing with petty criminals, speeding motorists and those posing a nuisance to their community depressed the hell out of him. He’d wanted to make a difference. And he wasn’t doing that.

  ‘When it comes to career decisions, I’ll decide what’s best for me.’ Tom leant against the desk, needing another puff of Ventolin, but unwilling to show any weakness in front of his father. ‘I’m sorry if that disappoints you, but I stopped looking for your approval when you walked out on Mum.’

  ‘So you’re prepared to give up years of study to work at a rundown arts centre?’

  ‘That’s the bit you don’t understand.’

  ‘Then enlighten me.’ His father opened his hands, a show of how reasonable he was being.

  ‘This place means everything to Mum. She’d be devastated to see it close. Unlike you, I’m not about to let her down. So if that means taking time out to support her and keep things going while she seeks help for her addiction, then it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.’

  ‘Even if it damages your career?’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’

  There was no need to explain that he had no intention of ruining his career. His days as a defence barrister might be numbered, but he’d do something else law-related – he just wasn’t sure what. His father would never understand, so there was no point discussing it.

  ‘How is your mother?’ His father uncrossed his legs.

  Oh, so now he was showing an interest in his mother? ‘No idea. She’s not allowed visitors.’

  ‘When will she be released?’

  Jesus. ‘She’s not in prison.’

  His father sighed. ‘I meant, when is she coming home?’

  ‘Not for another few weeks.’ He pushed away from the desk. ‘Now, unless there’s something else, I think it’s better if you left.’

  His father stayed seated. ‘I was hoping you’d join me for lunch?’

  Was he for real? Tom rubbed his chest. ‘Not going to happen.’

  His father stood. ‘I really do want to make amends.’

  ‘Great. You can start by going downstairs and publicly apologising to Becca and Jodi for humiliating them earlier.’

  His father didn’t reply.

  ‘Yep, just as I thought.’ Tom walked over to the door and opened it. ‘Have a safe trip back to London, Dad.’ When his father reluctantly left, he shut the door behind him.

  Tom lay down on the sofa and took two shots of Ventolin, trying to slow his breathing. He focused on the swirl of the blue damask patterning on the curtain pelmet and listened to the grandfather clock. He wanted to check on Becca and Jodi, but arguing with his father had used up all his breath.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sunday 29th October

  Jodi handed Aunty Ruby a wodge of cotton wool. ‘You’re dribbling,’ she said, guiding her hand to where the dye was running down her cheek. ‘Hold that, I’m nearly done.’ She continued to paste on the dye, watching the colour darken and worrying whether her aunty had picked the right shade. She looked at the instructions again.

  ‘Everything all right, love?’

  ‘I think so.’ Jodi turned the box over. ‘What colour did you say this was?’

  ‘Dark brown. Has it covered the yellow?’

  Jodi looked at her aunty’s hair. The mixture had been beige on application, but over the last ten minutes had rapidly darkened to a flat black. It didn’t bode well. ‘It’s definitely covered the yellow,’ she said, omitting to mention it’d also absorbed all the light in the room. Maybe it would wash out a ligh
ter shade? She could only hope. She checked her watch. ‘Another fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Excellent. Cup of tea?’ Her aunty climbed off the breakfast stool.

  ‘Stay where you are, I’ll do it. You’ll drip dye all over the floor.’ Checking the towel was firmly secured around her aunty’s neck, Jodi went over to fill the kettle.

  ‘And pop some bread in the toaster while you’re at it. You haven’t had any breakfast.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’ Jodi’s stomach was so knotted she could barely tolerate fluids, let alone food.

  ‘You’ve got to eat, love. You need to keep up your strength.’

  ‘What’s the point?’ Jodi unhooked two mugs from the stand, knowing she was being morose, but unable to shake it off. ‘Nothing I do makes a difference. I don’t know why I bother even trying.’

  ‘You don’t mean that.’ Her aunty’s consoling tone only made her feel worse.

  ‘It was bad enough before Harvey Elliot showed up. Now it’ll be impossible. Everyone knows about my criminal record. They’ll never trust me.’ She went over to the fridge, swallowing back the lump in her throat.

  There was a brief pause before her aunty spoke. ‘Have you considered this might be a good thing?’

  She turned to her aunty. ‘Are you kidding me? In what way?’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, what’s happened is awful and I could brain that bloody man for what he did. But the worst has happened now. Everyone knows about your past. It’s out in the open.’

  ‘I don’t see how that’s a good thing.’ It felt like the end of the world.

  ‘Living with a secret is exhausting. You spend the whole time looking over your shoulder, waiting for someone to discover the truth. Well, they know now. Big deal. You’ve been punished, served your time and more than made amends. They no longer have a hold over you.’

  ‘Nice theory, but reality doesn’t work that way.’ She blinked away tears. ‘God only knows what Vivienne will do with this information. She’s been itching to call the police all week. I’m amazed they haven’t shown up here this morning to arrest me. And she’s bound to tell Petrit.’

  ‘Dealing with those two is going to be tricky, I grant you…’ Her aunty shifted on the stool. ‘If you don’t stop stirring that tea, love, there’ll be nothing left in the mugs.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Jodi fetched a cloth from the sink. ‘I’m a little distracted.’

  Her aunty fanned her face, trying to disperse the potent fumes radiating off the dye. ‘What about the rest of the staff? How did they react?’

  ‘Eddie didn’t say much at the time, but he found me later and gave me a hug. He said his opinion hadn’t changed and he knows I didn’t take the money.’

  ‘That was nice of him.’

  ‘He’s a nice man.’ She mopped up the spill, noticing her aunty’s pink-cheeked reaction to the mention of their latest houseguest.

  ‘And what about the lad who gave you the book?’

  Jodi stilled. ‘Leon.’

  ‘What was his response?’

  Jodi averted her gaze, suddenly fascinated by the cherry patterning on the side of the mugs. ‘I don’t know, I ran out without looking at him.’ She hadn’t wanted to see the look of disgust on his face.

  It wasn’t like things between them hadn’t already changed. Ever since the money had disappeared a week ago he’d been cool with her. Nothing major, no accusations, or visible hatred like Petrit and Vivienne, but there’d been no gifts, no hot drinks made to cheer her up and get her through the day. Whatever connection they might have experienced during their lunch out, it had evaporated the moment news of the theft broke. And she was sadder than she could have imagined. More fool her for believing a lovely, kind and decent bloke like Leon would be interested in a damaged, untrustworthy girl like her. Would she never learn?

  ‘Give him time. I’m sure once he knows the facts, he’ll come around.’

  Jodi doubted it. She’d blown it with Leon. Once again, her past was affecting her future. She brought the mugs over to the table. ‘Would you like a biscuit?’

  ‘Not for me.’ Aunty Ruby pushed the barrel towards her. ‘But you have one. You need to eat something.’

  Jodi sat at the kitchen table.

  Her aunty unearthed a Penguin and unwrapped it. ‘I know this is hard, and life feels cruel at times, but this is all part of moving forwards.’ She handed Jodi the biscuit. ‘This is your first proper job. You’re being tested, just as everyone is when they start work. I know your situation’s a little different, but workplace issues are commonplace. I had an awful time when I first started teaching. I had to deal with disgruntled parents, unruly children and a head teacher who didn’t think I was up to the job.’

  Jodi nibbled the biscuit. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘For the first month, I cried myself to sleep every night.’ Her aunty tilted her head, causing the dye running down her forehead to change direction. ‘During the second month I thought about quitting and trying something different, like working in a flower shop.’

  Jodi reached across and dabbed the leakage with cotton wool. ‘What stopped you?’

  ‘The realisation that being a florist wasn’t an easy job either. Early starts, long days, and cold weather? I hate being cold. I’d have made a terrible florist. My point is, whatever job you do, there’s always an induction period to get through. A bumpy road before things get smoother. Your situation might be more extreme than most, but it’s not unusual.’

  ‘As Tom Jones would say.’

  She laughed. ‘Exactly. And he’s a man worth paying attention to.’

  Jodi nibbled her biscuit. ‘So you’re saying I should suck it up and not quit.’

  ‘The truth is, wherever you go you’re going to have to get over the same hurdle.’

  God, what a depressing thought. But her aunty was right. She couldn’t change her past. She was stuck with it. She discarded the Penguin, no longer hungry.

  Aunty Ruby patted her hand. ‘Like I said, the worst is over. It’s out in the open now. Dig deep, keep your head down and work hard. Prove to everyone they’re lucky to have you. Okay?’

  She nodded. ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘I know you will.’ Her aunty sipped her tea. ‘Lovely cuppa.’

  Jodi checked her watch. ‘Unfortunately, it’s time to rinse off the dye.’

  ‘Oh, well, it’s probably a good thing. I’m getting high from the ammonia.’

  Jodi followed her aunty upstairs, mulling over her advice. Maybe there was something to be said for not having to worry about her secret getting out anymore. She was dreading going into work tomorrow, even though Tom had assured her it would be business as usual. He’d phoned last night and apologised for his father’s behaviour, assuring her he would personally deal with any attempts to undermine her authority. She’d just have to hope he stuck to his promise.

  ‘How are things going with Eddie?’ Jodi unhooked the showerhead in her aunty’s en suite, glad to focus on something other than work troubles. ‘Is having an extra houseguest making things harder or easier for you?’

  ‘Both.’ Her aunty leaned over the bathtub.

  ‘I noticed he mended the hinge on the freezer door.’ She rinsed off the dye, trying to ignore the stream of black circling the plughole. ‘It must be nice having someone to help with that kind of stuff.’

  ‘Oh, it is. If something needs fixing, he mends it. If the bins need putting out, he takes them out. If I’ve put a casserole dish into soak, he washes it up. Whatever needs doing, it’s done before I have a chance to think about it, let alone do it. Last night he replaced the shower screen in Becca’s bathroom.’

  Jodi laughed. ‘He’s certainly very attentive. So what’s the downside?’ When her aunty didn’t respond, she prompted her. ‘Come on, share. What awful habit have you uncovered? Does he pick his teeth? Wear women’s underwear?’

  ‘Can you imagine!’ Her aunty’s laughter morphed into a coughing fit.

  Jodi handed her a flannel. �
��Am I drowning you?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Her aunty wiped her face. ‘I had a visual of Eddie wearing stockings and suspenders. It gave me quite a shock.’

  It wasn’t an image Jodi wanted to entertain. ‘So what’s his crime?’

  ‘When he’s around I get…flustered, and hot. I drop things and trip up the stairs. He always seems to catch me making a…what is it you girls say? A complete tit out of myself… Is that the right phrase?’

  Jodi laughed. ‘Sounds to me like you have a crush.’

  ‘More likely the menopause.’

  She soaped up her aunty’s hair. Even the shampoo turned grey as she lathered it through to the ends. Not a good sign. ‘Why don’t you tell him how you feel?’

  ‘Goodness, no.’

  ‘Stop shaking your head, you’re spraying the tiles.’ She rinsed her aunty’s hair and covered it in a healthy dose of conditioner, hoping it might soften the intensity of the colour. ‘Only a couple of weeks ago you were telling me you wanted some excitement in your life. You said running the guest house was hard work on your own. Well, now you have a hot bloke helping you out. The fact that he makes you feel all gooey is a bonus. Why wouldn’t you want to embrace that?’

  Her aunty had gone quiet.

  ‘You know I’m right.’ She massaged her aunty’s hair. ‘Eddie’s old-school, a proper gent, so he’s never going to make a move. If you want things to progress you’re going to have to take a risk.’

  ‘But what if he’s not interested? I’ll make a fool of myself and lose his DIY skills. I couldn’t bear that.’

  Jodi laughed. ‘Trust me, the man’s smitten. Nothing you could do will ruin that.’ She rinsed off the conditioner. ‘But if you’re worried, start with something low-key. Ask him to lunch, or say there’s a film you want to see. Better still, come along to the next tea dance. He’s promised to be there on Friday, and you know Becca would love it if you came, so what have you got to lose?’

  ‘I would say my dignity, but I think I lost that years ago.’

  Jodi reached for a clean towel. ‘I promise you, if you ask Eddie out, he won’t say no.’ She rubbed her aunty’s hair, hoping the cream towel wouldn’t turn black. ‘And if you were honest with yourself and stopped focusing on the negatives, you’d realise only a love-struck man would voluntarily take the bins out.’