Starlight on the Palace Pier

by Tracy Corbett

  ‘Hello, darling.’ Her forlorn expression switched to calculating when she spotted Becca. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m Tom’s girlfriend.’

  ‘Ex-girlfriend,’ he said, feeling as poleaxed as Becca looked. He offered Becca his hand and carefully pulled her to her feet. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ He kept hold of her. He didn’t want her running off.

  Izzy gave Becca the once-over. ‘What an unusual outfit. Are you some sort of hired entertainer?’

  Becca’s cheeks flushed.

  ‘Let me get you upstairs,’ he said to Becca, ignoring Izzy. ‘You need to ice your knee.’

  Izzy feigned concern. ‘Oh dear, are you hurt?’ She swished her long hair over one shoulder. ‘Must be all that rolling around on the floor.’

  Tom shot her a look. ‘Pack it in, Izzy.’

  ‘Have I said something wrong?’ She attempted a butter-wouldn’t-melt look.

  Becca shook her head. ‘I think it’s best if I go home.’

  The weight of disappointment settled in his chest. ‘There’s no need. Izzy’s not staying.’

  Izzy faked a concerned smile. ‘The taxi’s still outside if you need to go somewhere. I didn’t have enough cash to pay the driver so I asked him to wait.’ She removed her camel-coloured coat and placed it on the suitcase by her feet. A not-so-subtle hint that she intended to stay. ‘Be a love and settle up for me, darling.’

  Becca’s eyes drifted to the suitcase. ‘I’ll leave you to finish locking up.’

  Every fibre in Tom’s body wanted to hold on to her. There was so much he wanted to say. But the moment had gone. Ruined by his ex. ‘I’ll see you out.’

  She held him at arm’s length. ‘No need.’

  He dug out his wallet. ‘Let me give you some money.’

  ‘Twenty-five quid, plus tip.’ Izzy smoothed down the front of her fitted black dress. ‘It’s double fare after midnight.’

  He handed Becca fifty quid. The money he was supposed to be giving the cleaner in the morning. ‘Text me when you get home. I need to know you’re okay.’

  She gave him an incredulous look. ‘Go and deal with your girlfriend.’

  ‘Ex-girl—’

  ‘Whatever.’ She sighed. ‘I’m tired. I’m going home to bed.’

  Izzy gave her a little wave. ‘That’s probably for the best.’

  Tom focused on Becca. ‘Let me help you out to the taxi.’

  ‘I can manage.’ She hobbled away.

  ‘Nice meeting you,’ Izzy called after her.

  Tom waited a beat before storming over. ‘Quit with the sarcasm. Why are you here, Izzy?’

  She touched his chest. ‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’

  ‘No.’

  She baulked at his answer, but he knew her well enough to realise it was an act. He watched her face morph from shock, to hurt, to upset. How had he been so blind to her manipulations for so long?

  ‘Let’s go upstairs and talk,’ she said, sliding her arm through his, no doubt hoping Becca would see before she disappeared.

  He unhooked his arm. ‘I’m not in the mood for your games. Why are you here?’

  She looked around. ‘What a great place. It’s a shame you’ve never brought me here before. I like it. Can I have the full guided tour?’

  ‘No. Answer the question.’

  ‘You’re bleeding?’ She touched his cheek. ‘Let me tend to that for you.’

  He stepped away. ‘Why are you here, Izzy?’

  ‘Why don’t you fix us a drink and then we can chat.’

  ‘Answer the bloody question!’

  The smile fell from her lips. ‘Fine. I need a place to stay until Harry gets back from New York.’

  Who the hell was Harry? Maybe he was the guy who’d turned up at the flat with her? Tom no longer cared. He just wanted her gone. ‘Why didn’t you stay at the Travelodge?’

  ‘I didn’t like it there. I was lonely.’ She sounded sulky.

  ‘Can’t you stay with your parents?’

  ‘Daddy’s stopped my allowance. He says I need to get a job.’ She made it sound like this was the most ridiculous suggestion ever. ‘It’s just a couple of days. Surely you can put me up for two days? You owe me that much.’

  He ran his hands through his hair. ‘You’re unreal.’

  ‘Oh, come on. It’s not a huge ask. Two days…three max.’ She batted her eyelashes.

  ‘Izzy, you’re not staying here.’

  Her bottom lip wobbled. ‘I have nowhere else to go.’

  ‘That’s not my problem. And you had somewhere to stay. A place I was paying for.’ A fact that irked more now he knew she was seeing another bloke. Why wasn’t he paying for Izzy’s accommodation?

  Tears ran down her face. ‘It’s because you have another woman, isn’t it? You’ve no idea how much it hurts to see you with someone else. I still love you.’ She moved towards him. ‘I want us to be together. I always have.’

  He wasn’t falling for that old chestnut. ‘No, you don’t, Izzy. You just don’t want anyone else to have me.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Yes, it is. You want me on hand to bail you out, to pick you up when your life spirals out of control. That’s not love. It’s need.’

  Her hands went to her hips. ‘So, I need you. What’s wrong with that?’

  He had a flashback of Becca standing in the office adopting the same stance in her Harley Quinn outfit. A sense of yearning engulfed him. He wanted her so much.

  In fact, he’d never wanted a woman more.

  But Becca’s ‘hero’ accusation had struck a nerve. He’d thought of little else all week. He’d realised she’d been right. But his need to ‘rescue’ people didn’t come from a sense of bravery or heroism. It stemmed from guilt. He felt guilty for breaking Becca’s heart twelve years ago. Guilty that he hadn’t been able to save his mother from alcoholism. And guilty for pursuing his own career while his mother struggled to run the playhouse.

  If he’d been able to rescue Izzy, then it might have eased the torment of letting everyone else down. Izzy was constantly yo-yoing between drugs, alcohol and partying. She hadn’t wanted him when her life was good, but relied on him when she crashed and burned. And he’d tolerated it because he felt guilty.

  It was time to rectify that mistake.

  He faced his ex-girlfriend. ‘Our relationship is over, Izzy. You can’t keep relying on me. It isn’t healthy. Or fair. On me, or you. You keep saying it’s one last time, but it never is. I thought things would change when we split up, but they haven’t. You need to do as your father suggests and sort your life out, and without me there to keep bailing you out. We need to make a clean break so we can both move on with our lives.’

  Her expression hardened. ‘So you’re going to throw me out on the streets?’ She shoved him in the chest. ‘Callous bastard.’

  He wouldn’t do that, it was gone one a.m. ‘You can stay for tonight.’

  Her anger disappeared, replaced by a seductive smirk. ‘Thanks, baby. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’

  He stepped away when she tried to touch him. ‘But in the morning, I’ll drive you back to London.’ He picked up her suitcase. ‘And then I never want to see you again.’

  Doubt crept into her smile when she saw his resolute expression. ‘You…you don’t mean that.’

  He held her questioning gaze. ‘Yes, Izzy. This time, I do.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Thursday 23rd November

  Becca winced when feedback from the headset penetrated her ear. She removed her earpiece, waiting until the noise ceased. Eddie was in the lighting booth, showing the students from the Brighton Music Institution how to plot the effects board. It was slow progress. But as they were providing their expertise free of charge she wasn’t about to complain.

  She took the opportunity of a lull in proceedings to go over to her mum, who was seated in the stalls making a few last-minute alterations to Phoebe’s costume.

/>   ‘I think Eddie’s got his work cut out with the students,’ she said, plonking herself down on one of the theatre’s fold-up seats.

  Her mum focused on threading a needle. ‘I’m sure he’ll manage. He’s a very resourceful man.’ Her cheeks had coloured, which thankfully no longer clashed with her hair.

  Becca laughed. ‘Resourceful?’

  Her mum glanced up. ‘Less than a day after mentioning I needed to find a surveyor to provide quotes for the guest house renovations, one turned up.’ She dug the needle into the chiffon. ‘He’s already checked out what planning permission I’d need, and spoken to the water company about moving sewerage pipes.’

  ‘Don’t you want his help?’

  ‘It’s not that. I’m grateful. Really I am, but it’s all moving a little too fast.’

  Becca glanced into the wings, checking her ballet kids were behaving themselves. ‘So ask him to slow down. Say you need time to adjust to the changes.’

  ‘It’s not me I’m worried about.’

  Becca turned to her mum, puzzled by her concerned expression. ‘You’re not worried about me, are you? I’m the one who suggested it, remember?’

  ‘I know, but you’ve always been so adamant about holding on to Daddy’s dream. This change is going to be hard for us all. And you’ve looked so dejected this last week. I wondered if you were regretting the suggestion?’

  It was true that the guest house renovations had opened an old wound. The idea of seeing her dad’s handiwork being knocked down was gut-wrenching, but it wasn’t the sole cause of her sombre mood.

  Her mum took her hand. ‘The relationship you had with your dad won’t be affected by any changes we make. You know that, right?’

  Becca shrugged. ‘I guess. It still makes me sad that he died believing I’d broken the law. I hated disappointing him.’

  Her mum looked shocked. ‘Oh, sweetheart. Your dad knew you hadn’t taken that stuff.’

  Becca frowned. ‘He did?’

  ‘Well, not straight away. But once the dust settled, he realised you were covering for Jodi. You were far too honest to steal anything.’

  Time seemed to slow. ‘But…why didn’t he tell me?’

  ‘He could see you were troubled by something. We both could. He figured you’d tell us the truth when you were ready.’

  But she’d never got the chance. He’d died before she could confess.

  Her mum took her hand. ‘I’m sorry, love.’

  ‘But when Jodi left prison and confessed all, why didn’t you admit you already knew?’

  ‘Goodness, I’m not sure. It was a long time ago. I was probably too focused on supporting Jodi’s efforts to turn her life around. I feel terrible now. I’m sorry, love.’

  Becca was too relieved to be angry. ‘It’s okay. At least I know now.’

  Her mum shoved her sewing to one side. ‘Your dad was really proud of you, and don’t ever think otherwise.’ She was pulled into a tight hug. ‘Come here.’

  Tears threatened. Her dad knew she was innocent? It was too much to get her head around. She pulled away and wiped her eyes. If she let go now, she’d collapse completely. ‘As for the renovations, don’t hold back on my account, okay? I’m fine with it. Really.’ She glanced up at Eddie in the lighting booth. ‘And it would be a shame not to utilise the services of someone so resourceful.’

  Her mum gave a sheepish smile. ‘He’s asked me to go on a cruise with him. Can you believe that?’

  ‘I hope you said yes.’

  Her mum looked shocked. ‘I hardly know the man.’

  ‘So get to know him. Ask him on a date.’

  ‘That’s what your cousin said.’ Her mum picked up her sewing. ‘I haven’t dated anyone since your father.’

  ‘Then it’s about time you got back out there. You deserve to be happy, Mum. And Eddie’s a catch.’

  Her mum resumed sewing. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Good. Because we all need to move on.’ And wasn’t that the truth.

  She kissed her mum’s cheek, flinching when her headset crackled. A tentative voice announced a one-minute cue for the ballet routine. With her mind still whirling over the news that her dad had known the truth about the theft, she stood up and gave the nervous student a thumbs-up. Turning to the stage, she clapped her hands. ‘Okay, kids. Places, please.’ She had to shout to be heard.

  With a bit of prompting from the stage crew, the kids ran onstage. They looked cute in their costumes, silver leotards with pale pink chiffon tutus. Ben had been given silver shorts to wear, much to his relief. Her mum had done a sterling job.

  ‘You’re opening the showcase, remember,’ she called from the stalls. ‘You’ll need to be in your starting positions behind the curtains before the music starts.’ They ignored her. ‘Are you listening to me?’

  Amongst excited chatter a few of the kids nodded. Most weren’t paying attention.

  Consequently, when the music started panic ensued.

  What should have been a beautiful and heartfelt ballet routine turned into a cattle charge as the kids thundered across the stage trying to pick up where they should be. It didn’t help that one of the kids was missing with a tummy upset and Phoebe’s substitute skirt kept tripping her up.

  It might be funny if they didn’t have a paid audience watching in forty-eight hours’ time – or the council visiting to pass their judgement.

  ‘You’re behind the music,’ she shouted, trying to be heard over Sia’s ‘Chandelier’. ‘You need to move quicker!’

  The second half of the routine improved. The kids grew in confidence, moving almost in harmony. The end arabesque went reasonably well, although the spacing was wrong. She’d have to work on that.

  When they finished, she clapped loudly. ‘Well done!’

  They rushed to the edge of the stage, eager to hear her thoughts.

  ‘Brilliant job. You did really well. We have to finish now as the tech team need to plot the next number. We’ll go over the spacing again on Saturday morning, but it’s looking good.’ She gave them an encouraging smile. ‘Please be here by ten a.m. at the latest for the dress run. And don’t forget your costumes,’ she yelled as they ran offstage, already losing focus.

  ‘God help us,’ she said, returning to her mum.

  ‘It wasn’t that bad. The costumes looked nice.’

  ‘Thanks to you.’ Becca dragged her sweatshirt over her head and stripped down to her costume. ‘And now it’s my turn.’ Her knee wasn’t up to a full-throttle run-through of her routine, but she planned to mark out the number so the tech team could plot the lighting and gauge the timing of her performance.

  ‘Are you worried your knee won’t hold up?’ Her mum spotted the heavy strapping on her leg, a contrast to her floaty lilac stretch-dress with jagged hem.

  She hadn’t mentioned re-injuring it on Saturday. ‘It doesn’t feel great, if I’m honest.’

  ‘Is something else bothering you?’

  Becca frowned. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I’ve seen you dance through injury before – you’re normally so stoic. What’s different this time?’

  A lump formed in Becca’s throat. Trust her mum to see through her bluster. ‘I’m worried I’ve lost my spark. I’ve never doubted myself before, but now the thought of going onstage terrifies me. What if the council retracts their funding because of me? I’ll never forgive myself.’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart. Sit down a moment.’ Becca obeyed, landing with a heavy thud on the seat. ‘Now listen to me. You’re still grieving for the loss of your career. Of course, it’s going to be painful. And yes, it’s natural to have doubts. But you’re never going to know whether you can still do it unless you try. The spark comes from in here…’ she placed her hand over Becca’s heart ‘…and that can’t be eradicated by injury. And as for the council, one performance isn’t going to be the difference between them sticking with the playhouse, or pulling the plug.’

  Her mum was right, as usual. ‘I’m being a w
uss.’

  ‘You’re certainly being too hard on yourself. Now, get on that stage. You don’t have to push it. There’s no audience, so it doesn’t matter if it’s not perfect. See how you get on, okay?’

  Becca nodded and made her way onto the stage. She took up her starting position in the centre and waited for her cue. The view from the stage was familiar. Footlights glared casting the empty seating into shadows. The glitter-ball above spun slowly creating twinkling lights. In her periphery, she could see movement in the wings as the backstage crew silently worked away.

  Eventually, the lights dimmed and Ed Sheeran began to sing ‘Perfect’.

  She’d switched song choice after last Saturday night. Since dancing with Tom her emotions had been in turmoil. A confusing mixture of embarrassment, desire and heartache.

  Maybe that’s why she’d chosen this song. She didn’t have to dig deep to produce the emotion required to convey the intent behind the moves. It was there, scratching under the surface, waiting to drive her across the stage and elevate her jumps.

  When the spotlight hit her, she began to move. Her knee felt stiff and heavy…like her heart. Her rationale had been clouded by Hunch Punch, lust, and a longing to re-create the past. Physically, she wanted Tom with an urgency that clawed at her insides. Emotionally, she’d known it would end in calamity.

  He had a girlfriend. Current, or ex. It didn’t matter. He was entangled with someone else. She’d been a fool to believe they could turn back the clock and pick up where they’d left off.

  Sadness killed any vibrancy in her dancing – injured knee aside. Her moves felt laboured and awkward. The ache in her knee was almost welcome. It gave her something tangible to hold on to. Punishment for letting herself fall for Tom Elliot…again.

  The music ended.

  The lights lifted and she glanced around the empty stage.

  Her mum jumped up and started clapping. ‘That was beautiful,’ she shouted from the stalls. It wasn’t, but Becca was grateful nonetheless.

  She headed offstage to change. Her limp was getting more pronounced. If she wanted to dance on Saturday she needed rest and ice. With so much organising to do that might prove impossible.