Scarborough Ball (Scarborough Fair Book 2)

by Margarita Morris

  Dan explored the whole of the ground floor, including the ballroom where hotel staff were laying the tables ready for this evening’s Bingo, but couldn’t find the motorcyclist anywhere. There was a grand, sweeping staircase, but Dan didn’t think it was worth going upstairs. The hotel was just too big - three hundred and sixty five rooms if Dan remembered correctly from a local history project they’d done at primary school. Feeling dejected and not a little out of place amongst the hordes of Bingo-playing pensioners, he went back outside to where he had left his bike.The motorcyclist had eluded him once again.

  ~~~

  Scarlett followed her godfather into room 703. The circular space had been partitioned into three separate areas: a bedroom, a sitting room and a bathroom. The curved, sloping walls and round windows reminded Scarlett of Bilbo Baggins’s house from The Hobbit. The sitting room overlooked the South Bay, the harbour and, in the distance, the castle on the headland.

  “So, how’s my favourite goddaughter?” asked Max, taking one of the armchairs. He was thinner than she remembered him and the bronze tan he usually sported had faded to an unhealthy looking beige. He no longer wore a gold medallion around his neck. The only thing that remained unchanged was the tattoo MAX on the knuckles of his right hand.

  “I’m good,” said Scarlett.

  “Help yourself to a drink from the mini-bar.” Max indicated a small refrigerator under the desk.

  “Thanks.” Scarlett helped herself to a Coke. “So what are you doing here?” She indicated the room with a wave of her hand.

  Max lit a cigarette with a gold lighter and scowled. “I’m a bloody fugitive, aren’t I? Holed up in here. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to your dad for giving me a place to stay but a guy can go crazy staring at the same four walls every hour of the day. Can’t show my face around town without risk of being arrested. You heard about the yacht capsizing?”

  Scarlett nodded. She’d loved that boat and it was a tragedy that it was now sunk at the bottom of the North Sea. She didn’t understand why Rose and Dan had been on it before it sank, but it was a pity Rose hadn’t sunk with it.

  “How did you survive?” asked Scarlett.

  Max gave a bitter laugh. “Swam to shore.”

  “No kidding.” Scarlett was impressed.

  “Nearly didn’t make it.” He took a long drag on his cigarette. “But I don’t give up. That’s not how I operate. I hid till it was dark then came here. Your dad’s always been a good mate.”

  “So what are you going to do now?” asked Scarlett wide-eyed.

  Max stubbed out his cigarette. “Just need to sort out a few business deals, get my funds organised, and then I’ll be off to Spain. You can come and visit me there. It’ll be warmer than Scarborough.”

  “Sounds super.”

  There was a knock at the door. Three quick taps followed by two longer raps, like a secret code. Max went to open it. A motorcyclist in black leathers and carrying a black helmet under one arm entered the room. He stopped abruptly when he saw Scarlett. “You’ve got company,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ll come back later.”

  “No need to do that,” said Max. “You two should get to know each other. This is my goddaughter, Scarlett. Scarlett, this is Chris. He’s working for me.”

  The motorcyclist pulled off his leather gloves and nodded in Scarlett’s direction.

  “Hi,” she said, trying not to stare but failing miserably. Tall with dark blond hair, ice-blue eyes and two days’ worth of designer stubble, the motorcyclist was hot. Girls would kill to go out with someone like that. She gave him her best smile.

  “So, Chris,” said Max, sitting back down. “What have you got for me?”

  Chris glanced at Scarlett, but Max waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry about Scarlett. She’s discreet. She won’t breathe a word of this to anyone, will you sweetheart?”

  “Of course not, Uncle Max,” said Scarlett sweetly.

  “So, go on then, “ said Max. “What’s the lowdown?”

  Chris cleared his throat. “Ryan’s out of the way, locked up in prison. The wife goes out to work every day at eight and doesn’t get home until six. The boy, Dan, is out all day at school.”

  At the mention of Dan’s name, Scarlett’s ears pricked up.

  Max nodded. “That’s good. So do you think you can do the job?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Scarlett sipped her Coke and smiled to herself. Max was planning something, maybe some sort of revenge for what had happened over the summer. She’d promised Max she wouldn’t breathe a word of this and she meant it. Whatever Max was planning to do, it would serve Dan right for treating her like dirt.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Mr Franklin soon became something of a permanent fixture in the cinema. He would stride around the foyer, dressed as always in an immaculate suit, as if he owned the place, which I suppose he did if he was investing his own money in it. He spent hours closeted in the office with Mr Thompson, discussing business, I presumed. The aroma of cigar smoke pervaded the foyer whenever the office door opened. He asked Billy to show him how the equipment in the projection room worked. Billy was always rather stiff and diffident in Mr Franklin’s presence but I could tell he enjoyed explaining the mechanics of the projector and how the lens focused the image onto the screen. But Billy told me in private he didn’t trust Mr Franklin’s motives; said he didn’t understand why Mr Franklin was interested in having a stake in a cinema in a small English seaside town; he thought someone of Mr Franklin’s status would have set his sights on something bigger and better. I thought Billy was being a little unfair to Mr Franklin. After all, the Futurist in Scarborough was supposed to be one of the largest cinemas in the country.

  Mr Franklin was also gaining quite a reputation in the town. A dashing American in a motor car was bound to attract attention in a place the size of Scarborough, particularly in the winter when most of the holidaymakers had gone home. In shops I often overheard people discussing that dashing American chap and speculating as to what his business here might be. There was talk of him turning Scarborough into a British Chicago with bootlegged liquor and jazz clubs. Billy told me, with some amusement, that the congregation at his mother’s church disapproved wholeheartedly of such an idea and would object most vociferously if any such proposals were put forward. I laughed and said that if Mr Franklin was intending to sell boot-legged liquor then he would hardly ask the council for permission.

  There were other, more plausible, rumours flying around that he was going to shoot a film starring local talent. This was the opinion amongst people who took a more enthusiastic view of his presence, including Mother and Aunt Ellie. The pair of them even came to see a movie one day in the hope of meeting the great man himself. Dressed in her Sunday best, Mother waited patiently beside the box office after the show until Mr Franklin appeared. He charmed her at once by telling her that he didn’t know I had a sister.

  “Get away with you!” she laughed, swatting him playfully on the arm with her gloved hand. “You must need spectacles if you think we’re sisters instead of mother and daughter.” But I could see she was thrilled with the compliment he had paid her. I cringed to see her flirting with Mr Franklin and it was a relief when Aunt Ellie dragged her away saying it was time for them to go and get tea ready.

  If I was in the box office then I always tried to look busy when I saw him wandering about, but that didn’t deter him from coming to speak to me. At quiet times he liked to lean on the counter and probe me with questions. At first it was just things like, did I enjoy working there? Had I been there long? I gave him brief, conventional answers. Yes, I liked it there very much; I’d worked there since the summer. Then he started to pry more into my personal life. What were my plans for the future? Would I like to go to America? I indicated that Billy and I planned to marry once he had sorted out his future prospects. Mr Franklin looked faintly amused by this, as if he found the idea of Billy and I marrying terribly quaint. Wh
en he asked if I wanted to go to America, I wasn’t sure if he meant it as an invitation or just a general question, something that I might do at some point in the future if the opportunity arose. I said that, yes, I would like to visit, but in truth I found the idea absurd. He might as well have asked me if I’d like to go to the moon. He looked at me intently then and I found myself blushing under his gaze. I was glad when Mr Thompson called him back into the office.

  I was still rattled by Mr Franklin’s questions when Billy came downstairs, obviously very excited. He told me to make sure I was ready to leave on time as soon as the film had finished because he had some news to tell me. I didn’t watch the whole of the film that day but left five minutes before the end. It was a rather dull drama and I could see how the story was going to end. I went back to the box office, tidied up and was ready and waiting when Billy came downstairs. We walked outside into the cold wintry sunshine and started walking arm-in-arm along the promenade towards the spa buildings at the far end of the South Bay.

  “So what have you got to tell me?” I prompted him.

  Billy waited for a mother with a perambulator and another small child in tow to walk past. Then he said, “Remember those films we took in Peasholm Park, and the one of us on Oliver’s Mount? Well I sent them off to British Pathé in London a few days ago.” He was grinning. “And I got a letter back from them this morning. They were impressed with my filming and they’ve invited me down to London for an interview in January, straight after the New Year.”

  I stopped walking and turned to face him. “That’s wonderful news,” I said. I could see the happiness in his eyes. “I knew they’d want to see you.”

  “I just hope I impress them enough in the interview.”

  “Of course you will.”

  “And you’re still happy to come to London with me? If they offer me a job?”

  “Billy,” I said, “I’ll follow you to the ends of the Earth.”

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you too.” I was thrilled for him. It seemed that all our plans for the future were falling into place. We were engaged, Billy had got his interview. I was sure they would offer him a job. Suddenly the prospect of moving to London seemed real and exciting, not at all fanciful like Mr Franklin’s idea of going to America. I put my hands either side of his face, drew him towards me and kissed him on the lips, not caring who saw us.

  ~~~

  Christmas fell on a Tuesday that year. The weather was grey and miserable, the sort of British dampness that penetrates your skin and chills you to the bone. On Christmas Eve I helped Ruby carry her bags to the train station. She was going to visit her family in Leeds. It was the only time in the year she made the journey.

  “It’ll be awful,” she said. “I wish I could spend Christmas with you and your mother and aunt.” Her parents and younger brother lived in a back-to-back terrace in a rundown part of Leeds. From her description of the endless rows of smoke-blackened houses, the filthy back alleys and the stinking outside lavatories, I could understand why she was less than keen to return home. I wished her a Merry Christmas nonetheless. She pulled a face. “As soon as Christmas is over I’m coming straight back. I still need to make those alterations to your dress for the New Year’s Eve ball.” We embraced and she climbed aboard the train as the guard blew his whistle.

  Later that evening I met Billy for a quick drink at the Three Mariners and we exchanged our gifts. On Christmas Day itself Billy would be expected to accompany his mother to the Methodist church and then spend the rest of the day playing board games. I had bought him a new tie, anticipating his interview in London. He gave me a gold locket on a chain.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said. “I shall put a picture of you in it.”

  On Christmas morning I accompanied Mother and Aunt Ellie to a service at St Mary’s Church up on the headland. It was where Mother and Father had married twenty-four years ago and where both Frank and I had been baptised. The building was freezing cold but we did our best to join in the singing of Hark the Herald Angels Sing and O Come All Ye Faithful. Father and Frank had both had resounding baritone voices and it was at times like this that I missed them most of all.

  Back home in the cottage we warmed ourselves around the kitchen stove and gave each other our presents. I had bought Mother and Aunt Ellie a silk scarf each from the shop where Ruby worked. Ruby had helped me choose them and I could see from the looks of delight on their faces that she had chosen well.

  Mother and Aunt Ellie gave me a box wrapped in layers of cream tissue paper. Inside was a jewellery box, made of shiny, brown Bakelite, smooth to the touch.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, gently lifting the lid. “Thank you.” Inside were velvet-lined compartments for storing necklaces, bracelets and earrings.

  “It’s double-layered,” said Aunt Ellie, excitedly. “Look, you can lift out the interior and there’s more space underneath. Isn’t that clever? Like a secret compartment.”

  “Somewhere to keep my deepest, darkest secrets,” I said, laughing. Of course, I didn’t think then that I would ever have any deep, dark secrets to keep from the world.

  CHAPTER NINE

  On Saturday Dan stayed in bed until lunchtime when hunger forced him to get up. He was not looking forward to today. The previous evening he’d had a row with his mum about visiting his dad in prison. Fiona had said he should go but, conveniently for her, she couldn’t go herself because she had to attend a training course on aromatherapy massage or something equally weird-sounding.

  It wasn’t the thought of the prison that freaked him out so much as the idea of having to face his dad in such humiliating circumstances. Dan couldn’t think of anything he’d rather be doing less, except perhaps clothes shopping which was what Rose and Sophie had said they were going to do today. They were off to buy new outfits for Scarlett’s party. That was another thing that Dan really didn’t want to do - go to Scarlett’s party. As he stood in the shower, letting the water run down his face, he wondered if there was any legitimate excuse he could come up with to get out of going to the party. A sudden case of man-flu perhaps?

  He went downstairs in search of food. Now that his dad was locked up in Full Sutton prison, eleven miles outside of York, the house felt eerily quiet. He rummaged in the cupboard and refrigerator and managed to find a cereal bar and a strawberry yoghurt, two days past its sell-by date. Dan sniffed it and decided it smelt okay. A cereal bar and a yoghurt was hardly enough though. He’d have to get a bag of chips from the shop round the corner.

  Dan walked to the train station munching chips doused with vinegar and ketchup. At least he wasn’t hungry anymore but he still felt an aversion to the idea of going to the prison. With any luck the train would break down en-route or there’d be maintenance works on the line and he’d have a legitimate excuse for bailing out. But for once in its life the train ran on the dot and he was in York precisely forty-eight minutes after leaving Scarborough.

  Determined now to just get this visit over and done with, he caught the number ten bus outside the train station. The single-decker bus was packed with Saturday shoppers when it departed from the city centre, but the number of passengers dwindled as it rode into the suburbs and then out into the countryside. By the time the bus arrived in Full Sutton the only people left on board were Dan and three others: an old lady with a tartan shopping trolley on wheels and a younger woman with a small boy, aged about six or seven. Dan peered out of the window. Full Sutton looked like the dullest place on earth, just a handful of red-brick houses surrounded by miles of farmland. The bus came to a halt and the driver turned off the engine. This was obviously the end of the line, in more ways than one. Dan followed the other passengers off the bus and looked around, not sure where to go. The old woman with the shopping trolley walked off towards a row of houses, but the young mum pulled a tissue from her pocket and knelt down in front of the kid.

  “Can’t go and see yer dad with chocolate all over yer face,” she said,
not unkindly. She was wearing a fur-trimmed jacket, low-slung jeans that barely covered her bottom when she crouched down and a pair of pink trainers. Her blond hair was scraped back in a tight ponytail, the roots showing dark. She straightened up and saw Dan watching her. “If you’re looking for the prison, it’s that way. I should know, we’ve been ’ere often enough, ’aven’t we Callum?”

  Callum nodded silently and eyed Dan with suspicion.

  “Yes, I am looking for the prison,” said Dan.

  “Better come with us then,” said the woman. She lit a cigarette, took Callum by the hand and strode off along the path.

  “Thanks,” said Dan.

  “We’re visiting ’is dad,” she said between puffs of smoke. “Stupid bugger can’t keep ’imself out of trouble. First it was burglary and then it was drink driving. This time it was grievous bodily harm. He weren’t the one what started it but ’cos he’s got such a bad reputation the judge decided to lock ’im up for another nine months so me and Callum ’ave to make do on social security and that’s a bleeding joke that is.”

  “Right,” said Dan, not sure how to respond to this outpouring of personal information.

  There was no pavement so they walked along the grass verge. The woman, who said she was called Tracy, continued to berate her partner, Ted, saying what an idiot he was and how during the last five years he’d spent more time in prison than out of it. Dan wondered why she stuck with him if he was such a first-class moron.

  “So who are you visiting?” she asked when she’d exhausted Ted’s list of misdemeanours.

  The question took Dan unawares. Tracy had spent so much time talking about her own troubles that he hadn’t expected her to ask him about his. “My dad,” he said in a strangled voice. It hurt to have to admit that his dad was locked up in prison with losers like Ted.