by Fern Britton
Jess stayed where she was and waited to hear what he was going to tell her.
He came into the bathroom looking very uncomfortable.
‘Darling Jess, I’m sorry to do this to you, but would you mind leaving and going back to Granny’s Nook tonight?’
‘Why?’
He rubbed his hands through his hair, looking miserable. ‘It’s Red. She’s in the lobby. Very upset. I have to go to her.’
‘No you don’t.’
‘Please don’t make this difficult.’
‘Difficult? What’s difficult? Maybe Ryan’ll call in a minute and I’ll go off to see him. How would that make you feel?’
Ollie was looking utterly wretched now. ‘Darling, please. Let me just sort this out and we’ll talk tomorrow.’
*
Jess put her key in the lock of the ancient front door to Granny’s Nook. Brooke was sitting on the sofa with her hair in cling film, painting her toenails. She looked up in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’
39
‘Ican’t believe it! I thought Ollie had more backbone than to run back to Red the minute she clicks her fingers!’ Brooke was angrier than Jess. ‘After all that’s happened. How horrible she’s been. How great you two have been together. It’s unbelievable.’
Jess was more philosophical. ‘He’s a young man. Red’s a very sexy young girl. What can you do?’ She shrugged her shoulders and dipped her hand into the family-size bag of Twiglets.
‘What the bloody hell is she doing back in Trevay anyway?’
‘He’ll tell me tomorrow, he said.’
‘And you believe him?’
‘Well, he’s not going to do a runner, is he? And I can’t see Red hanging around here for too long.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’
*
After a fitful night’s sleep, Jess woke early and took the dogs down to the beach. What a year this had turned out to be. A hit TV show, getting engaged, saving a theatre, getting unengaged, acquiring a toyboy and now … What? She checked her phone. Nothing. She had made a promise to herself not to call Ollie.
As she stood at the top of the beach she saw a familiar figure with a small Jack Russell bounding in and out of the waves. Ethel and Elsie had seen them too and scooted off to say hello.
‘Mornin’,’ said Piran, his black curls dancing in the wind.
‘Good morning. The Pendruggan fête went well, didn’t it?’
‘Aye.’
For all his buccaneer good looks, Piran was a lousy conversationalist. Jess couldn’t help wondering how Helen put up with him.
She tried again. ‘How’s Helen? It was good of her to have the girls while I toured the stalls with “the team” yesterday.’
He grunted, picked up a stone and threw it into the sea for Jack to retrieve. The little terrier ignored him; his whiskered nose was busily sniffing Elsie’s posterior. Piran got his boot under Jack’s chest and lifted him out of the way. ‘She don’t want you sniffin’ round, boy.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Jess smiled. ‘A good-looking boy like Jack must have a lot of success with the ladies.’
‘Yeah, but ’e hasn’t the money to support any offspring.’
Jess laughed again. ‘But how sweet would they be?’
‘You sound like my Helen. Always wanting a happy ending with fluffy little bunnies. Life ain’t like that.’
His words stung Jess. The reality of losing Ryan and now Ollie hit her afresh. Not wanting this great oaf of a man to see the tears in her eyes, she turned her face to the wind and whistled up the girls. ‘Come on, girls. I need a cup of tea.’
She hoped that Piran would stay by the water’s edge playing with Jack, but instead he caught up with her and looked into her eyes.
‘I ’aven’t upset ’e, ’ave I, maid?’
‘Goodness me, no!’ Jess attempted a bright voice. ‘This wind is strong. It makes my eyes water, that’s all.’
He stood in front of her, blocking her path, and pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his jeans. ‘You might need this then.’
She took it and properly burst into tears.
Piran took her straight round to Gull’s Cry and the welcoming arms of Helen.
‘I found this poor maid on the beach. And before you say anything, I didn’t upset ’er.’ He turned to Jess. ‘Did I?’
She shook her head.
‘Well, that’ll be a first!’ Helen helped Jess to a bright patchwork chair by the fireplace in the sitting room. ‘I’ll get the kettle on and, if you want to talk, then feel free.’
Helen was a good listener. Without offering any advice, she managed to patch up Jess’s wobbling self-esteem.
‘My ex-husband was hopelessly unfaithful. I don’t know why I put up with it for so long. For the children’s sake, I suppose. But one day I woke up and became my own person. He couldn’t control me any longer. That’s how I came to be here in Cornwall. As soon as I’d made the break, my life changed dramatically. Piran and I have been together for a couple of years now, but I could never live with him. We’re both happy the way we are – he can do his thing, I can do mine. But we trust each other, which is amazing because, after my husband, I thought I could never trust anyone again.’
Jess blew her nose. ‘I’ve always trusted too much. First Ryan, now Ollie.’ She felt the phone in her pocket vibrate. ‘Oh, that’ll be him.’ She fished the phone out. ‘Hello, Ollie?’
Helen saw Jess’s face blanch.
‘Ryan? Why are you calling me? … Oh … I’ll get them to contact your agent … I wish you every happiness, but please … don’t call again.’ She hung up and put her phone back in her pocket.
‘Dare I ask what he wanted?’
‘He wants the name of my solicitors so that he can buy me out of our flat. He and Serena are going to use it as their London base.’
Piran, who’d been eavesdropping while reading the paper, said succinctly, ‘Arsehole.’
At that moment, Helen’s mobile rang.
‘Sorry Jess, I’d better get this.’
Penny seemed to be beside herself. ‘Have you seen the paper?’
‘No, not yet, Piran’s looking at it now.’
‘Quickly, turn to the centre pages and then call me back.’
Helen rang off. ‘Penny says turn to the middle.’
‘What the ’ell for?’
Grudgingly, while Helen and Jess looked over his shoulder, Piran did as he was asked.
The headline screamed out in bold letters:
CAFÉ AU LAIT CHIEF IN COCAINE SHOCKER!!
The three of them looked at each other in disbelief as they read the article.
‘Brooke has got to see this,’ said Jess.
*
Back at Granny’s Nook, with Jess by her side, Brooke read the article, barely able to keep the excitement out of her voice:
Café Au Lait Managing Director Rupert Heligan has been caught in an orgy of sex and cocaine by our intrepid undercover team. Preserving their anonymity behind the code names the Prince and the Pauper, our photographer and reporter have once again succeeded in uncovering something nasty at the heart of the establishment.
Rupert Heligan, who claims his company prides itself on wholesome family values, was discovered holed up in a hotel with two hookers and a pile of premium-grade cocaine. When challenged to provide an explanation, Heligan responded with a string of expletives and attempted to attack our courageous reporters …
And so it went on. Across the centre pages were photographs of Heligan, sitting on a sofa next to a topless woman with large breasts who was draping herself over him as he focused on the glass table in front of him, where he appeared to be arranging a pile of white powder into neat lines with a platinum credit card.
Last night, Heligan was unavailable for comment but a spokesperson for Café Au Lait gave us this statement:
“We will be carrying out a full and thorough investigation in the light of these allegations. We completely disasso
ciate ourselves from those whose activities would bring our name into disrepute and we will act rigorously and decisively if we discover evidence of wrongdoing by any employee.”
Brooke’s eyes were shining. ‘The Prince and the Pauper. That must be Louis. I just know it. He didn’t let me down.’
‘What now?’ asked Jess.
‘I think it might be time to pay a visit to a certain councillor.’
*
Ollie phoned later that afternoon as Brooke and Jess were setting off from Pendruggan to the theatre.
‘Ollie! Are you OK? What’s happening?’
‘It’s a bit complicated.’ Ollie was whispering. ‘Red’s in the loo. She’s very upset and can’t be left on her own. She’s coming into work with me tonight.’
‘Oh. So you want me to keep a low profile and stay out of your way?’
‘Would you?’
Jess hung up before she could give him both barrels.
*
To Jess it seemed that each new day brought a fresh kind of hell.
Red clung to Ollie like a limpet. He couldn’t go on stage without her standing in the wings and waiting for him. She allowed no one to get near him, least of all Jess.
On the second day of her appearance in Trevay, Red’s management team organised a press conference from the Starfish board room.
Jess, against her better judgement, had slipped into the back to watch as Red and Ollie were ushered into the room to take their places behind a long table. ‘God,’ thought Jess, ‘it’s just like a Crimewatch re-enactment.’
Red, looking pale and frail, began reading from a prepared script.
‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Unfortunately I have had to abandon the Far Eastern leg of my world tour because doctors have found nodules on my vocal cords. I shall have to undergo exploratory tests soon. This is clearly a very worrying time for me and my singing career as I have been told I may never sing again. I have also been diagnosed with severe exhaustion and I have come home to my partner Ollie Pinkerton for the love and care that only a boyfriend can give.’
A reporter shouted a question. ‘Are you still gay? What’s happened to your girlfriend?’
‘My “friendship” with a particular female comedienne was just that. She’s a great girl and we remain the best of friends. She is now busy pursuing her own dreams and we don’t have any plans to see each other in the near future.’
Red stopped talking for a moment. Choking back tears, she grasped Ollie’s hand. ‘I am beyond happy that Ollie trusts me and knows the truth and that our relationship is as strong as ever.’
Jess wanted to march to the front of the room and let everyone know what a charade this whole performance was, but Ollie saw her and pleaded silently with such loss in his eyes that she did nothing.
He was a big boy who had got himself into a big mess. She was not the one to get him out of it.
*
‘It took me a while to track them down, but I was lucky. Louise at the Starfish had kept in contact with Marc. He does seasonal work for her and comes and goes. He’s back in Exeter now, but he couldn’t have been more helpful when I contacted him.’
Brooke was sitting outside the council offices with Piran and Helen. In the light of the revelations about Rupert Heligan, she had decided to track down the photos that had been taken on the disastrous night she’d spent in the company of the men from Café Au Lait. She was in luck. Marc had the photos and was more than willing to allow her to use them:
‘No problem, girlfriend. I’d love to wipe the smiles off the faces of that bunch of toe-rags.’
Hence the decision to go head-to-head with Chris Bedford.
‘Come on, then,’ said Piran. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time. ’Ere’s our chance.’
The three of them were just getting out of the car when Chris Bedford came down the steps of the council offices, puffing on a cigarette. He had a hunted expression on his face. When he saw the three of them approaching, he visibly paled.
‘What do you want? I’m very busy, don’t have time to see you now – make an appointment through the usual channels.’
‘Busy, eh? We’ll see about that!’ growled Piran. ‘Let ’im ’ave it, Brooke.’
‘Perhaps I should go through the official channels, Mr Bedford?’ she said. ‘I’m sure your colleagues on the council would love to take a look at these.’
She thrust her iPhone in his face, displaying the image of Bedford and Heligan with white powder under their nostrils and a pile of the stuff on the table. Bedford was in the frame too, clearly the worse for wear, bleary-eyed and blotchy.
‘I’m sure this’ll go down a treat in the run-up to council elections in the autumn. Don’t you agree, Chris?’ Piran thrust his face close to Bedford, who was sweating and pulling at his tie.
‘Café Au Lait’s case is dead in the water. Heligan’s name is mud and I’m sure even you won’t be wanting to continue your association with that slimeball. Now, how about you just make sure that there’ll be no further bids, no court case and that the Pavilions remain protected, as they should have been all along?’
‘Wu-wu-well … I’m not sure …’
Brooke gave him her sweetest smile. ‘We’re relying on you, Chris. You won’t let us down, will you?’ She patted his cheek. He gulped.
‘We’ll be seeing you,’ added Piran, with menace.
Chris Bedford shot off to his car, almost tripping over himself in his hurry to get away.
‘Mission accomplished?’ asked Helen, who’d watched the exchange from the car …
‘Let’s hope so,’ replied Brooke.
Piran eyes were glinting. ‘He’s a bloody slippery eel, but this time, we’ve well and truly caught him in our nets.’
*
When troubles come, the most surprising people step forward to help. In Jess’s case that help came from Jonathan.
She had been walking the dogs on the beach in Trevay on a beautiful sunny August morning when she saw him waving from the harbour wall. As she got closer he called down, ‘Fancy a coffee?’ Over the days and weeks that followed they fell into a pattern of walks, swims, lunches and occasional matinees at the cinema in Wadebridge.
He was an erudite man who had studied Shakespeare as a young director. He would read the sonnets to her as they sipped their cappuccinos and together they’d analyse the wordplay and debate whether Shakespeare was indeed the author or whether there was merit in the argument that the sonnets had been penned by Marlowe or Bacon.
These conversations fed an undernourished hunger for knowledge in Jess and she was amazed that this clever man could be interested in her opinion. Ryan had never even read a book and was interested only in himself.
Jonathan was uncomplicated, unthreatening and the gay best friend every woman needs.
*
Ollie had to take a week off the show in order to accompany Red to the London clinic where a world-famous throat specialist performed an exploratory operation on her throat.
That week was a joy. Ollie’s understudy stepped up to the mark and the entire theatre company could breathe again. A Scrabble board appeared in the green room and a league soon formed. The wonky telly was showing football matches again and the sound of laughter filled the backstage areas.
Colonel Stick started a bridge school. Every day from noon till three he could be found in the green room teaching anyone who cared to join in.
Then Red came back. The tests on her throat found nothing more serious than a bit of a strain to her vocal cords. No further surgery required. No threat to her singing career. No centre of attention. She was furious. The atmosphere back at the Pavilions was ten times worse than before …
Until one marvellous night when at last the unshared, unspoken prayers of the entire company were answered and Red stormed out of Trevay. Her Twitter account revealed that it was all over between her and Ollie, who was ‘not the man he thinks he is’, declaring ‘Red is back on the road, people
!!!’
Ollie preferred not to speak about any of it. The whole subject of Red and the misery she’d caused was the elephant in the room. He looked thin and pale, but on the surface was as easygoing as ever, chatting to everyone and working hard on stage. But after the show he’d slip back to the hotel, barely saying goodbye to anybody.
Where Jess was concerned, Ollie was pleasant but impersonal, keeping her at arm’s length. She decided not to hassle him over it. He knew where she was if he wanted her. All the same, it made her sad. She still had strong feelings for him and couldn’t work out if it was because he’d been so kind to her after the whole Ryan disaster or whether it was just a summer romance or whether they could really have a second try.
*
One evening, not long after Red left town, Jonathan invited Jess out for a light supper. A new restaurant had opened overlooking Silver Beach, which was on the road to Newquay.
The evening was cool and the moon was hiding behind dense clouds as they climbed into the taxi waiting for them by the stage door. Jess was pleasantly surprised when she saw the restaurant. It was painted in soft eau de nil with silver chairs and twinkling lights, with a perfect view over the moonlit bay.
They ordered oysters followed by turbot, with sticky toffee pudding for dessert.
Jess had had a wonderful evening. Raising the final glass of Pinot Grigio, she toasted Jonathan: ‘You are the best gay friend a woman could ever have, and I love you.’
Jonathan leaned forward and said quietly, ‘That’s very sweet of you, Jess – but I’m not gay.’
‘Have I turned you?’ She giggled merrily.
‘No, darling. I have always been straight.’
‘Really?’ Jess was astonished then horrified. ‘Oh my God – I’m so sorry. What a terrible thing to say.’
‘It’s OK. You’re not the first. I’m definitely in touch with my feminine side.’
‘I should say. Fooled me. So … do you have a girlfriend?’
‘I’d like to.’
‘Anyone you’ve got your eye on?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ooooooh! Who?’
