Meet Me at the Lighthouse

by Mary Jayne Baker

  I frowned. “What the hell’s he doing at this dive?”

  “Exactly. Not a place you’d bring a date, is it?” Jess said, looking smug.

  “Unless you wanted to take them somewhere you wouldn’t be spotted. Only tourists are dumb enough to come to Tuxedo’s.”

  “He probably knows the barman or something. Look, I’m going to be late. Can we go home now?”

  “No…” I let my gaze dwell on the flashing bow tie in glaring yellow neon above the club. “No, I’m going in. You go back.”

  She pressed my shoulder. “You sure, Bobs? Don’t like leaving you here on your own. Not again.”

  “I’ll be fine. Ross is in there somewhere. He’ll see me home… if it’s all ok.”

  “It will be.”

  “I think so too.” I narrowed my eyes. “But I have to know. See you later, Jess. I’ll text you.”

  ***

  When I’d finally followed the snaking queue to the door of the club, a burly skinhead in black tie and neck tattoos stepped out to confront me.

  “Any ID, love?”

  “Nope. What you going to do about it, you fat bastard?”

  The man glared at me. Then he broke into a broad grin and flung himself forward to envelop me in a muscly hug, to the surprised mutterings of the mob queued up behind. Probably wondering if this was the kind of place where it was obligatory to let the bouncer cop a feel before you could get in.

  “Hiya, Gary,” I said through a mouthful of dinner jacket. “Missed you too.”

  “Nice to have you back, Bobbie. Been a while since you came to see me.”

  “Sorry, been busy. Got a lighthouse.”

  “So you said, you mental cow.”

  “That’s me.” I untangled myself from the hug. “Look, Gary – do you know a lad called Ross Mason?”

  “What, the musician guy? Yeah. Good bloke, always shakes my hand on the way in. What’s it to you?”

  Always shook his hand?

  I tried to sound nonchalant. “Just wondered if he was in tonight, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, he’s in.” Gary lowered his voice. “Hey, if you want to see him I can sort you a VIP token, get you in free.”

  I smiled gratefully. “Cheers, Gary.”

  “All right, here,” he said, surreptitiously pressing a gold disc like a poker chip into my hand. “And if anyone asks where you got it you never heard of me, ok?”

  “I won’t grass, no worries. You’re a good mate, Gaz.” I turned to head into the club.

  “Er, Gary…” I said over my shoulder. “Did you see Ross with anyone tonight? Ginger lass, big boobs, sort of pretty?”

  His brow furrowed into a puzzled frown. “Well, no.”

  “Ta, love. See you later.” I nodded goodbye and strode into the club.

  Tuxedo’s was the same hive of mirrorballs, peacock feathers and sweat, full of tourists looking for the traditional cheesy seaside night out.

  An illuminated semi-circular bar studded with diamante curved around the back of the room. In front of it, about 30 round tables were laid out for groups of six. A stage was backed by a black curtain dotted with little white lights, another huge neon bow tie, in blue this time, over the top.

  Tonight there seemed to be some sort of Elvis tribute on, which meant a big crowd of middle-aged women in. The bloke was currently belting out his version of Love Me Tender while he wiggled his hips: typical end-of-the-pier stuff. Still, he wasn’t as dire as a lot of the variety acts that passed for entertainment in Tuxedo’s. Chuck in a few dirty jokes for his between-song patter and he could probably even make it to the dizzy heights of Southport.

  I scanned the club, and felt my stomach lurch horribly when I spotted Claire. She was tarted up to the nines in a little black dress with cleavage practically touching her chin, sitting on her own at a corner table. Well, not on her own, or at least only temporarily. A man’s grey jacket was draped over the chair opposite, and there were two glasses of wine on the table. Red wine. Ross’s drink.

  “Right, like that is it?” I muttered. “Ok, Mrs Mason, let’s do this.” I marched over to the table to confront her, face blazing with anger and humiliation.

  But as I got closer, the only thing stronger than pure stomach-churning rage started to take over – good old-fashioned British awkwardness. By the time I’d weaved my way through the crowded tables, my march had turned into an embarrassed shuffle.

  “Er, hi,” I said to Claire, not making eye contact.

  “Oh. Hello, Bobbie,” she said, looking up from her wine in surprise.

  “Look, I just came to – is Ross here?” I blurted out, my cheeks the colour of her drink.

  She frowned. “Well yes, you know he is.”

  Oh God, humiliation overload. Could he really have done an Alex on me? Had I been duped by the kind of love rat who’d lure his ex to a club on the pretence his girlfriend knew all about it?

  No, he couldn’t, surely. Not Ross.

  “Bobbie,” a man’s voice behind me said. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”

  I spun to face him, shock written all over my face. It wasn’t Ross. It was bloody Alex.

  “Alex, why’re you… you’re here too?”

  “Clearly.” He flushed to the roots of his blonde mop. “I’ve been trying to call you for weeks, you know.”

  “I know you have. I didn’t want to talk to you.”

  “Look, about the festival. I’d had too much to drink or I never would’ve… I mean I never meant –”

  But I’d already turned away from him to Claire. “So would you like to tell me what the hell’s going on?”

  “We’re on a date,” she said. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

  I blinked in surprise. “What, you two? Why?”

  She shrugged. “Why does anyone? He asked, I said yes.”

  “We met at your music festival,” Alex said, sinking back into his seat. “I meant to tell you. You wouldn’t take my calls.”

  I curled my lip. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You turned up at the festival, told me you loved me then asked out my boyfriend’s wife?”

  He flushed. “No. Other way round.”

  “My ex-boyfriend and my boyfriend’s ex.” I shook my head. “There is something seriously wrong with you.”

  Claire’s eyes had widened in shock. “You’re her ex?” she said to Alex.

  “What, you didn’t tell her?” I said.

  He fumbled nervously with his wine glass. “I thought she might change her mind.”

  “Well you were right,” Claire snapped. “Jesus, Alex!”

  “And you brought her to Tuxedo’s,” I said. “Classy, mate, proper fucking classy. Look, have either of you seen Ross? I know he’s here, I saw him come in.”

  Alex let out a shocked laugh. “You’re joking.”

  “What?”

  “Honestly, Bobs, you must be joking. You don’t know where he is?”

  “Well, no, or I wouldn’t ask, would I?”

  “God, do you really not know?” Claire said.

  I was starting to feel dizzy now. I leaned against the back of an empty chair for support.

  “Don’t you start. Come on, where is he?”

  “Up there.”

  She pointed towards the stage. I gasped, actually staggering backwards as I looked more closely at the Elvis impersonator gyrating his pelvis for the appreciative crowd.

  It was Ross.

  Chapter 29

  I mean, Ross Mason, my boyfriend Ross, playing his guitar right there on stage dressed as fucking Elvis Presley. Rhinestone suit, quiffed wig, medallion: the works.

  Quickly I lowered my gaze, but it was too late. His eyes flickered over the crowd to me, looking uber-conspicuous in my scruffiest clothes, and he flinched with recognition. His face flushed scarlet as he struggled manfully on with Let Me Be Your Teddy Bear.

  “You honestly didn’t know?” Claire said.

  “No, I… he never told me.” I shook my head, trying t
o free it of the mist filling it. The whole thing felt like a dream.

  “You!” I said, spinning round to Alex. “God, that’s pathetic.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  I lowered my voice to an angry hiss. “That’s why you brought her here, isn’t it? To humiliate him. You petty, sad little bastard.”

  Claire stared at him. “Is that true?”

  Alex flushed and looked down into his drink.

  “Oh God,” Claire whispered. “Did you even really like me? Or was this always about Ross?”

  For a moment there was silence.

  “Look, he deserved it, ok?” Alex burst out at last. “He’s not good enough for her. And he’s been lying to her too, see?”

  “That’s hardly something for you to get on your high horse about, is it?” I said.

  “No,” he mumbled. “But I told you, Bobbie, I’ve changed.”

  “And I told you I think that’s bollocks.”

  “You can’t deny he’s a liar though, can you?” He nodded to Ross on stage. “Did he tell you about this?”

  I hesitated. “No,” I said finally. “But that doesn’t mean –”

  “And God knows what else he’s been hiding from you. Ok, so I brought his ex here on a date to wind him up after she told me where he worked. I’m human, and I was jealous. But I’m still right.” He brought his gaze to mine. “Think about it.”

  “He’s never cheated on me. He’d never hurt me,” I said, glaring back defiantly.

  “You really believe that?”

  “I really do.”

  He scanned my far from club-ready hoodie and jeans. “Then why are you here checking up on him?”

  I flushed. I didn’t have any answer to that.

  “You know, there’re still bruises on my arm,” I said.

  Claire stared at him. “Why would there be bruises on her arm?”

  Alex looked down into his wine. “It was an accident,” he muttered.

  “It bloody wasn’t.” I turned to Claire. “At the festival, after you’d gone. He grabbed me and wouldn’t let go.”

  “I was drunk, ok?” Alex said. “You know that’s not really me, Bobs.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think I know anything about you any more. Not sure I ever did, not really.”

  “You did that to her?” Claire regarded him with undisguised disgust. “God, you’re a piece of work, aren’t you? Tell you what, Alex.” She picked up her wine and threw it in his face. “Drink up, love. You’ve pulled.”

  He jumped to his feet, spluttering.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Claire laughed. “Suits you.” She stood and came over to take my arm. “Come on, Bobbie, let’s get out of here. This date’s over.”

  She led me to the exit, leaving Alex dripping and seething at their table.

  ***

  Outside, Claire nodded to one of the wrought-iron benches that dotted the pier.

  “Want to sit for a bit? I think we could do with a chat.”

  “Yeah, I’ll join you in a minute. Just need a word with the bouncer.”

  Claire left me and I approached Gary, who was by the door doing his no trainers routine.

  “Thanks for that, Gaz,” I said, handing back the token he’d given me.

  “No problem.” He squinted into my face. “Everything all right? You kind of look like crap, no offence.”

  “Ta very much, mate.” I managed a smile. “I’ll be ok, just got a bit upset. Hey, fancy doing me a favour if I promise you’ll enjoy it?”

  “What?”

  “Can you throw someone out for me?”

  He frowned. “Well not without a good reason. Won’t make me very popular with the management if I start chucking customers out all over the place.”

  “He’s dripping red wine all over your starched tablecloths, if that’s a good reason. It’s Alex.”

  His scowl deepened. “What, that dickhead who was knobbing around on you?”

  “That’s him.”

  “Right.” He rolled his sleeves up. “That’s a plenty good enough reason. Back in a minute.”

  “Cheers, Gaz,” I said, giving his tree-trunk arm a squeeze. “I’ll just be on the bench over there. Have fun.”

  Smirking, I walked away to join Claire.

  “You’ll enjoy this,” I said as I sat down. “Watch the door.”

  Two minutes later, Gary’s huge frame emerged holding an obviously protesting Alex by his wine-stained collar. “Now bugger off, mate: you’re barred,” I heard him say. “And we’ll be sending you a bill for that tablecloth as well, you little prick.” He shoved Alex roughly out onto the pier.

  “Ha!” Claire said. “You’re right, I did enjoy that.”

  I turned to face her. “So. I guess we need to talk.”

  She sighed. “I owe you an apology first. I’m sorry, Bobbie, I’ve been a right bitch. It wasn’t fair.”

  “Then why do it?”

  “I think you know.”

  I glanced down at the ring glittering on her third finger. She followed my gaze and smiled sadly.

  “Well, you’re right. High time I took this old thing off.” She twisted it from her finger and tucked it safely into her handbag.

  “So did you come to get him back?” I asked.

  “Sort of,” she said, wincing. “I told myself I just wanted to see him, but the truth was our separation period was nearly up and I’d started feeling panicky about it being finally over.”

  “And you thought he might change his mind?”

  “I thought he might want to give it one last shot before we closed the door on us for good,” she admitted. “And then when I saw the two of you so close, everything I’d lost – God, it hurt.”

  “Bet it did.” I reached over to press her hand. “I’m sorry too, I’ve been a selfish cow. I knew it was wrong, getting involved with him before the two of you were divorced. But he was so certain it was ok, that there was no one to get hurt… it was only when I saw you together I realised you still loved him.” I smiled. “We’re neither of us perfect, eh? Trust a lad to get us acting like a pair of hormonal teenagers.”

  “I was worse though.” She sighed. “And I don’t know if I am, really. In love with him. I thought I was, when I came. Then there was Uncle Charlie’s funeral, and when we hugged, it sort of felt like – something else. I hated to see him upset, but…” She gave her head an angsty shake. “God, it’s confusing. I don’t know what I’m feeling these days.”

  “Did you love him when you separated? He told me it was a mutual decision.”

  “No… well, yes. But it was a more friendly sort of love, we both knew it.”

  “So what changed?”

  “I did, I suppose. All on my own suddenly in the city where it’d always been me and him. Oh, it felt great at first, all this new-found freedom and independence. The novelty of having my own place, dating again.” She laughed. “I felt like Sheffield’s answer to Carrie Bradshaw for a while. When me and Ross bumped into each other occasionally on nights out, it just felt nice to catch up. But then he moved back here.”

  “Why should that make a difference?”

  “I’m not sure really. I suppose I always knew he was close by in Sheffield, even though we weren’t seeing much of each other – there if I needed him, you know? As soon as he was gone for good, I just couldn’t stop missing him. Then I noticed when he rang me about the flat my stomach flipped, like it was the highlight of my bloody life just to hear his voice.”

  I gave her hand a sympathetic pat. Poor lass. Maybe she had more in common with Corinne than I’d realised.

  “When I was down a few months ago, we got laughing and chatting like old times, and I started thinking maybe we’d made a big mistake.” She swallowed. “Then I came back, saw how he only had eyes for you, and that made it worse than ever, knowing it was too late. Except after the funeral, I wondered…”

  “What did you wonder?”

  “If I really was in love with him o
r if I just, you know, loved him. If I was missing those early days when we were two young people with all the future ahead of us, rather than Ross himself. Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I get it. What did you decide?”

  “I still haven’t. But it doesn’t matter.” She turned to me with an odd expression of mingled wistfulness, resignation and a gladness of sorts. “He’s yours now, Bobbie. And I’m happy he’s happy, even if it hurts to let go.”

  I fixed my gaze on a discarded chip wrapper, flapping about from its prison under one leg of the bench. “If I haven’t gone and ruined it.”

  “Trust me, he doesn’t give up that easily.” Claire’s hand reached for mine and gave it a squeeze. “You thought he was here with me tonight. Didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “Or I was afraid of it. He’s been so evasive recently, I didn’t know what to think.” I nodded to the club. “How did you find out about this, the night job?”

  “He told me last time I was in town. Thought it’d give me a laugh.”

  I shook my head. “Can’t believe he’s been lying to me. Why would he do that?”

  Claire shrugged. “Embarrassed, probably. Bit of a weird one, with the costume and everything. Do you mind?”

  “It is weird. But… no. I don’t care what he does so long as he’s him. I just wish he’d been honest.”

  “You must know he’d never cheat on you though. Ross isn’t like that.”

  “That’s what my family kept telling me. God, I’ve been so stupid. There was something that happened, when I was with Alex…” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Well, you might as well have the story, while we’re doing the bonding thing.”

  “What story?”

  I pointed to the right of Tuxedo’s, down the narrow ginnel between the nightclub and the novelty rock shop. “See that passage?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “About a year ago, some bloke tried to drag me down there and rape me.”

  Her eyes widened in horror. “Fuck! Were you ok?”

  “Physically. Took me a while to recover from the shock though.”

  “God, Bobbie… and you were still with Alex then?”

  “Living together. But apparently his libido wasn’t able to cope with a girlfriend struggling to get her head together after an attempted sex attack. That’s when he started putting it about behind my back.”