‘Which is why I’ve appointed a deputy.’
‘I know Vivienne’s loyal, but she’s not up to taking on the playhouse.’
She sighed. ‘It’s not Vivienne.’
‘Who, then?’
‘Look, all you need to know is that the playhouse is in safe hands. So, thank you for the offer, but it’s not necessary.’ She walked out of the study.
What the hell was going on? He followed her. ‘Why are you being so cagey?’
‘I’m not.’
‘Yes, you are. Who is this safe pair of hands?’
‘There’s two of them actually.’
‘Okay, so what are their names?’ He caught up with her by the bust of Uncle Henry. ‘Mum, please. If you’re not here, then I need to know who I’m dealing with. Supposing something happens? An emergency?’
She stopped walking. ‘Fine. I’m leaving the running of the playhouse to Becca Roberts and Jodi Simmons.’ Having dropped her little bombshell, she hurried down the staircase, leaving him too shocked to move.
So, it had been her.
And then his brain caught up with his ears. ‘You’re leaving them to run the playhouse?’
He followed his mother to reception. ‘I’ll be in my office, if anyone needs me, Vivienne.’
‘Of course, madam.’ Vivienne looked a little stunned when her boss slammed the office door.
‘Mother, wait up. We’re not done.’ He ran across reception.
‘Is everything okay, Master Thomas?’ Vivienne gave him a quizzical look.
‘No, it isn’t.’
‘I take it you’ve heard the news.’ She lowered her voice, checking no one could overhear. ‘I think madam is under some sort of voodoo spell. She’s been brainwashed by that dark girl into handing over the playhouse. You have to make her see reason, Master Thomas.’
As much as the idea of Becca and Jodi running the playhouse filled him with horror, his objections were based on historical fact, not the colour of Jodi’s skin. Voodoo spell? Christ, the woman was ignorant. ‘Thank you, Vivienne. I’ll handle this.’
He entered the office to find his mother rummaging through the desk drawer. ‘Where are my spare keys?’
‘Mum, will you please talk to me.’ He closed the door, preventing Vivienne from eavesdropping. ‘How the hell are Becca and Jodi involved with the playhouse?’
‘Becca teaches dance here.’ She unearthed the contents of the drawer. ‘She moved back to Brighton to recuperate from an injury. I offered her a job.’
He tried not to conjure up an image of Becca dancing. He didn’t need the distraction. ‘Right. And Jodi?’
‘She’s my new business manager.’ She sifted through the wastepaper bin, emptying the contents onto the desk. ‘Where are those keys?’
‘You gave the job to Jodi Simmons? Did you know she has a criminal record?’
She didn’t look up. ‘Yes, she told me.’
‘And you think that makes her a suitable candidate to take charge of the playhouse, do you? To look after the finances and handle money?’
His mother stopped searching and pinned him with a disappointed look. ‘Since when did you become so judgemental? I thought I’d raised you better than that.’
‘This isn’t a judgement. It’s a fact. She was jailed for theft.’
‘Yes, and since then she’s turned her life around. She’s obtained a business degree and proved herself to be trustworthy.’
He seriously doubted that.
‘I don’t know how I managed without her,’ she said. ‘I fully intend to offer her a permanent position when our finances improve.’
‘They won’t improve with those two in charge.’
‘You’re being childish.’
He stepped closer. ‘And you’re being taken for a fool. Please reconsider, I’m begging you. This is a huge mistake.’
She gave him a steely glare. ‘I’ve offered Becca and Jodi joint running of the place for the next eight weeks and I’m not about to retract my offer. No matter what you say.’
‘Fine. Have it your way, but at least give me an equal say. I’ve come here intending to stay for the duration of your treatment. I have a vested interest in the playhouse too. This is my family home. And besides, the Starlight Playhouse is your dream. Please let me co-manage it with them, for my sake, if not for your own.’
She sighed, no doubt worn down by arguing. ‘Fine.’
‘Thank you.’ He needed to save her from herself. She wasn’t thinking clearly.
‘But don’t take over and make all the decisions. You may not trust them, but I do. They’ve brought more positive change in the last month than I’ve managed in twenty years, so listen to their ideas and respect their opinions. Okay?’ She held out her hand, forcing him to cement their agreement with a handshake. ‘Thank you… Ah, here they are!’ She found the keys under the desk. ‘Now, I need to finish packing. Jodi has gone to the bank to withdraw funds—’
‘Is that wise?’
She folded her arms across her chest.
He held up his hands in surrender. ‘Fine, whatever.’
‘If you’re staying, you’ll need to make up one of the guest suites.’
‘I’ll stay in my old room.’
She looked incredulous. ‘It’s freezing up there.’
‘The fresh air will do me good.’
Wasn’t that an understatement.
He marched outside, his chest tightening with every breath. So much for reducing his stress levels. He felt like he was about to explode. The world was conspiring against him. His father, Izzy, and now his mother, forcing him to relive a time in his life he’d rather forget.
He rested his hands on his knees, trying to draw in deep breaths. His bloody inhaler was in the car. A car that was currently covered in white paint. White paint that had been thrown by Becca Roberts. ‘Damn it.’
He closed his eyes. His mother had no idea what she’d done.
He could still remember with clarity the night his life had started to unravel. They’d been at one of those house parties where adults were absent and trouble escalated as word spread that a good time was to be had. Booze, drugs. Never his scene, but a factor whenever Jodi Simmons was present. The party had got out of hand. The neighbours had called the police, complaining of noise and the smell of cannabis. The sound of sirens had sent the kids running before the police arrived. But a drunken and drug-fuelled Jodi had tied the back of his scooter to the garage door in an attempt to be ‘funny’. When he’d driven off with Becca riding pillion, the scooter had flipped and they’d ended up in an ambulance being treated for cuts and bruises. When his dad had arrived at A&E to collect him, he’d had a fit. Tom had been grounded for weeks, despite not having actually done anything wrong.
And that was the thing about Becca and Jodi: they’d dragged him into their antics. Maybe not Becca so much, but in the end, even she’d had a brush with the law. It was trouble he could do without.
Rubbing his chest, he continued walking, aiming for the back of the playhouse where his paint-splattered car was parked. He heard running water before he turned the corner. The sight stopped him in his tracks. Becca Roberts was washing his car.
For a moment, he just stared. It was like he’d been transported back in time. She was wearing white overalls and pink Converse trainers, her blonde hair had blue ends, tied into bunches that swung about as she rubbed paint away from his windscreen. She was holding a hose in one hand, a sponge in the other, making more mess than she’d created. A surge of something filled his gut – he had no idea what. Dread, probably.
When she dropped the sponge, picked it up and resumed rubbing, his temper flared. ‘For crying out loud!’
His yell startled her. She turned, still holding the hose…and sprayed him with water.
Cold hit him like a hammer blow, sucking the air from his lungs.
He couldn’t move; his body had gone into shock.
Becca tried to redirect the hose, tripped over the bucket an
d soaked him again.
Self-preservation kicked in. He ran over to the wall and turned off the outside tap. He was drenched. His suit, his shoes, his hair. Wet clothes clung to his skin, uncomfortable and cold. He turned to glare at her. ‘You did that on purpose.’
Becca was on the ground where she’d fallen, water dripping from the end of the hose. ‘Of course I didn’t. You startled me. What were you thinking, shouting at me?’
‘Because you dropped the sponge and didn’t rinse it out.’
‘So?’ She clambered to her feet, favouring one leg.
‘The ground is covered in grit. You’ve probably scratched my paintwork.’
She threw her hands in the air. ‘Oh, pardon me for trying to do you a favour.’
He marched over, his blood boiling. ‘A favour? You were the one who threw paint over it in the first place.’
She looked up at him. Her wide blue eyes, pink lips and cute nose forever imprinted on his brain. ‘It was an accident, you arsehole. You seriously think I’d stoop so low as to chuck paint over your car?’
‘Where you’re concerned, anything’s possible.’
She jabbed his chest with a finger. ‘Don’t you dare presume to know me. You haven’t seen me for twelve years.’
‘No, but you’re still capable of causing mayhem, by the looks of it.’
‘You arrogant arse.’ She smacked him in the face with the sponge.
It didn’t hurt, but he was shocked nonetheless. Too stunned to speak, he stood there, watery paint trickling down his face and onto his suit jacket. When he found his voice, he said, ‘Expect a dry-cleaning bill.’
‘Do what you like. As long you piss off back to London, I don’t care.’ She turned, kicking the gravel, dirtying her pink trainers.
‘Believe me, I’d love to, but I’m stuck here babysitting you and your bloody cousin for the next eight weeks.’
She stilled. It was like someone had electrocuted her. Even her blue bunches stopped swaying. She turned slowly to face him. ‘What did you say?’
‘That’s right. I’ve come back to manage the playhouse while Mum’s in rehab. Imagine my surprise when she told me she’d put you and your cousin in charge. I don’t know what your game is, but if you’re planning anything dodgy think again. Because I’ll also be here co-managing with you, and I won’t be as easy to impress.’
The colour drained from her face.
He knew the feeling.
Chapter Twelve
Wednesday 11th October
Becca tried to hold her hand steady, which was hard when she was laughing. Even more so, as she didn’t want her pupils to know she was laughing. ‘Okay, cut!’ She lowered her phone, wiping a tear from her eye.
‘Are you laughing?’ Miriam leant against the ballet barre, trying to catch her breath. The barre held firm, a testament to Eddie’s workmanship.
Becca realised they could see her. Damned mirrors. ‘Sorry, but I’m laughing with you not at you, I promise.’ She hoped that was a suitably diplomatic response. ‘It’s looking really good, honestly.’
Wanda pulled a face. ‘Honey, you’re a terrible liar.’
‘I’m not lying. We just need to give the routine more energy.’
‘More energy? I’m dying here.’ Miriam was bright red in the face, the same colour as her tights.
Everyone had been asked to wear red for the evening’s class. Their outfits ranged from Wanda’s blood-red wrap-dress to Cassie’s muted burgundy cardigan. Nick had on a red sports hoodie, and Mi-Sun wore a beautiful traditional Korean Hanbok made of pure silk. The idea of matching outfits had been to promote ‘The Playhouse Tappers’ in a showreel. With such contrasting shades and styles, her master plan had fallen a little short, but they certainly looked colourful.
‘Shall we try again?’ Becca looked at her tappers, none of whom looked particularly enthusiastic about being filmed.
‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Nick had his arm around Cassie. ‘Will people be impressed by us lot prancing about?’
‘Are you kidding me?’ Becca smiled encouragingly. ‘They’re going to be blown away by you guys.’
‘But we keep making mistakes,’ Cassie said.
‘It doesn’t matter, I can edit the clips later. I’m not planning on showing the whole routine, just a few seconds of dancing with captions to advertise the classes. It’s purely for promotion. I won’t use anything that doesn’t show you at your best. I promise.’
‘And where will this video be shown?’ Miriam’s breathing had returned to normal.
‘Various social media sites. We’re trying to build a following and encourage more people to join the classes.’
‘Who’s we?’ Wanda looked suspicious.
‘My cousin Jodi’s helping me. She’s great with marketing ideas.’ Becca went over to her amp. ‘Shall we try another take?’
The group nodded reluctantly and took up their starting positions.
‘Now, remember. The camera flattens everything so you need to give it ten times more effort to make it look good on film. Don’t worry if it’s not perfect. The key is to smile and look like you’re having fun.’
She was about to press play, when the doors to the dance studio opened and in walked Tom Elliot. He stopped abruptly when he realised a class was in progress.
All eyes turned to look at him. Wanda let out a low whistle.
Becca couldn’t blame her. He made quite an impact standing there dressed in dark suit trousers, no jacket, just a waistcoat over a baby-blue shirt that magnified the colour of his eyes. Eyes that had once transfixed her.
Wanda beckoned him in. ‘Well, don’t just stand there, honey. Come in and join the class.’
Becca didn’t believe for a second he was there to tap-dance. More likely he was checking up on her. She’d managed to avoid him since her altercation with him last week when she’d dropped paint on his car and soaked him with the hosepipe, but she knew her luck was running out.
Co-managing the playhouse was a daunting enough prospect without the added pressure of dealing with Tom Elliot. The man who’d betrayed her. Who’d succumbed to pressure from his dad and ended their relationship when she’d needed him the most. She’d switched from being hopelessly in love, happy and adored – to feeling broken-hearted and utterly miserable. But she was older now and a lot wiser. And no longer under his spell.
She matched his frown. ‘Did you want something? Only we’re in the middle of class.’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing that can’t wait. Apologies for interrupting.’
‘You can interrupt me anytime, honey.’ Wanda’s big laugh filled the room.
‘Wanda, really.’ Miriam shoved her friend. ‘The man’s half your age.’
Wanda grinned. ‘That’s how I like ’em.’
Tom didn’t leave. Why, Becca had no idea. He was a distraction she could do without.
Turning back to the class, she pressed play on her phone. One Republic’s Counting Stars burst from the speakers. ‘Wait for my count…and five, six, seven, eight…step, step, shimmy, shimmy…’
Reflected in the mirrors she could see Tom watching the routine, his frown unrelenting. Seeing him again had caused a host of memories to surface. Her brain had been flooded with images, good and bad. Dragging her from ecstasy to torment, filling her with both resentment and deep-rooted longing. It’d taken her years to get over him. Maybe if she’d met someone else who’d made her feel the way he had, the wound would have healed. But no one had ever come close. And that didn’t make seeing him again any easier.
After a minute of watching her pupils step on each other’s feet and crash into each other, he left the dance studio. Good. She didn’t need him interfering.
‘That’s great, everyone…heel tap…kick ball change…to the left, Mi-Sun…to the left!’ Only Cassie seemed to be coping with the step combination. Becca zoomed in on her feet, hoping for some decent footage. ‘Brilliant! Now, big finish…and cut!’
Five exhausted d
ancers slumped onto their seats.
Miriam fanned her face. ‘That’s me done.’
Becca went over. ‘That was so much better. I’ve got enough material to make a showreel. Thanks, everyone. See you all next week.’
A good deal of puffing and grunting followed as they packed up and left. She’d have to work on their stamina if they were going to manage a routine that lasted longer than thirty seconds, but she was pleased with their progress.
She changed out of her tap shoes and laced up her rainbow boots, tying her dance hoodie around her middle. After flicking off the lights, she locked the doors behind her.
Despite being eight p.m. on a Wednesday evening, she was unsurprised to find Jodi still working – or to discover her locked in battle with the front-of-house manager.
‘I’m not being unreasonable,’ her cousin said, looking flustered. ‘Leaving personal information on view in reception breaches data protection regulations.’
‘Madam never mentioned any regulations to me.’ Vivienne was being her usual helpful self. ‘You probably made them up.’
‘I assure you, I haven’t made anything up. You’re welcome to read through the regulations yourself. I’ll email you a link to the government website.’
Vivienne looked appalled. ‘I don’t use email.’
‘Then I’ll print off a copy. But from now on, please don’t leave staff contact details lying around in reception. Okay?’
The Woman-in-Black didn’t look happy. She picked up her bag. ‘Goodnight, Ms Simmons. I’ll leave you to lock up. No doubt you’ll do a better job than me.’
Jodi sighed. ‘Not at all, Vivienne. I’m very grateful for your help—’
But the woman had marched out the door, her black coat flapping behind her like bat wings.
Jodi looked dejected. She slumped against the reception desk, her mass of hair twisted into a tight bun. Her gorgeous hair looked better loose, but she was trying to appear more businesslike.
Deciding her cousin needed cheering up, Becca dropped her bag and started singing ‘Ding-dong the witch is dead’ in a high-pitched voice. She danced around the foyer, hopping and twirling, wiggling her bottom.
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