She held out her hand. ‘I’d like the key to the ballroom, please.’
His baby-blues dipped to her hand and then up to her face. ‘I don’t have it.’
‘But you can get it. So ask Vivienne to hand it over.’ She leant on the desk, feigning an assertiveness she didn’t feel. ‘This is the easy way, in case you hadn’t realised.’
He sighed. ‘Be reasonable.’
‘I’m being perfectly reasonable.’ She straightened. ‘If there was a valid reason why we couldn’t use the ballroom then I wouldn’t be pushing this. But the surveyor reported that structurally the room is safe. If the weather was bad and the roof was leaking, I’d be the first to agree we couldn’t use it, but it hasn’t rained for days. So can you please ask Vivienne to unlock the room.’
‘And what happens next week if it rains?’
‘Then we relocate to the dance studio. But for today I’d like to use the ballroom. That way I can take photos and promote the event, which will hopefully increase attendance and enable us to raise the money necessary to fix the roof. As you agreed.’
Jodi made an odd noise, like a stifled laugh.
If Tom noticed, he chose to ignore it. ‘Technically, I didn’t agree. You stormed off before we’d finished arguing.’
‘But you did agree to the idea of fundraising?’ She gave him a questioning look. ‘And we can’t increase income unless we bring in—’
‘—more users, yeah, I get it.’ He made her wait a good few seconds. ‘Fine.’
Fine? He was agreeing? ‘Right. Well, good. That wasn’t so hard, was it?’
Jodi mumbled, ‘Quit while you’re ahead.’
She had a point…but Becca wasn’t done.
She perched on the edge of the desk, causing him to raise an eyebrow. ‘Was there something else?’
‘I have an idea about how we can improve community engagement.’
He closed his eyes. ‘Oh, joy.’
She ignored his sarcasm. ‘Are you aware there’s an arts festival taking place in Brighton at the end of next month?’
He shook his head. ‘No, should I?’
‘There are posters all over town. It looks like a massive event. I think we should take part.’ Her declaration wasn’t met with the immediate enthusiasm she’d hoped for.
He leant back in his chair. ‘Take part how exactly?’
She hopped off the desk, needing to express herself. ‘Think about it. The Starlight Playhouse would be the perfect backdrop for displaying local artists’ work. Not to mention a great way to promote the venue. We could host a few exhibitions and use the theatre to put on a dance showcase. It would give my pupils a goal to work towards, and show the council we’re committed to meeting the terms of the grant. What do you say?’
He gave her a loaded look. ‘How much will it cost?’
Killjoy. ‘Well…I don’t know. I’ve only just had the idea.’
He rested his arms on the desk. ‘So you want us to commit to putting on a huge event, incorporating all areas of the playhouse, with no idea of the costs involved?’
Smartarse. She turned to her cousin. ‘I’m sure Jodi will help me draw up a proposal.’
‘Well, until she does, the answer’s no. Anything else?’
Her face felt hot. ‘No.’
‘Good. I’ll ask Vivienne to unlock the ballroom.’ He got up and walked over to the door. ‘Coming?’
She wasn’t sure who’d won the battle.
When he tapped his watch, and said, ‘I haven’t got all day,’ she followed him out.
So much for not behaving like an obedient puppy.
Chapter Fifteen
Saturday 14th October
There were some days when Jodi wished she’d stayed in bed. Today was one of them. It had started this morning when a mother and toddler group had descended on the café. One of the baby’s nappies had failed to contain its load and another child spilled sticky orange juice everywhere. Petrit had refused to help, stating he was ‘on a break’, and disappeared outside for a smoke, leaving Jodi to clean up the mess herself. When she’d returned the mop and bucket to the kitchen, he’d emptied the contents into the sink before she’d had a chance to move away, and bleach had splashed all over her black suede shoes.
Lunchtime had provided the next challenge. The sandwich she’d made had mysteriously disappeared from the fridge. She’d later found it dumped in the bin. No doubt it was retribution for asking Petrit to refrain from smoking outside the front of the building. It could equally have been Vivienne – who was still sulking because Jodi had pointed out that using a fire extinguisher to prop open an emergency exit breached health and safety regulations.
Life did test her at times.
She’d retreated to the relative sanctuary of the office, where she could work on a budget for Becca’s showcase without further confrontation. Her cousin’s brief was clear. The event needed to be an extravaganza…but without costing a shedload of money. Not a tall order at all.
Even discounting publicity costs, they’d need additional staff and security to man the event, not to mention catering, bar stock, tickets and programmes. She hadn’t even started costing staging requirements, props and costumes. Keeping expenditure at a minimum was proving a challenge.
But she wasn’t about to let her cousin down. It was a great idea and one she felt Carolyn would approve of. It would also go some way to meeting the grant conditions. Realisation that her salary was funded by the grant had only fuelled her determination to come up with a workable plan. Petrit and Vivienne could humiliate her all they liked, she was not about to quit.
She’d been working for several hours when Tom entered the office wearing his usual formal suit, complete with permanent frown. He was followed by Vivienne, who was playing the role of his shadow, her black attire adding to the eerie effect. But Vivienne King was no Peter Pan. She was more Captain Hook.
Tom cleared his throat. ‘It’s been brought to my attention that the balance in the playhouse bank account is considerably lower than it was a week ago.’
‘Twenty thousand pounds lower,’ Vivienne chipped in. ‘And I haven’t made any withdrawals.’
Tom shot the Woman-in-Black a look. ‘Thank you, Vivienne. I’ll deal with this.’
Vivienne bowed her head. ‘Apologies, Master Thomas. You know what this place means to me. I’d hate for madam’s dream to be destroyed by skulduggery.’
Skulduggery? Jesus.
‘Like I said, I’ll handle this.’ The firmness in Tom’s voice shut Vivienne up. ‘I’m assuming there’s an explanation?’ Unlike Vivienne, he wasn’t starting off with an accusation – even if the tone of his question reeked of suspicion.
Jodi stood up. Their ‘superior’ act was intimidating enough. ‘I opened two new accounts earlier this week with higher interest rates,’ she said, reaching for the paperwork. ‘Twenty grand was transferred to the new accounts.’ She pointed to the relevant transfers. ‘As you can see, there’s been no…skulduggery.’
Tom studied the paperwork. ‘You didn’t think to run this by anyone first?’
‘Too big for her own boots,’ Vivienne said, eager to back up the ‘master’.
‘I’m acting on the accountant’s recommendations,’ Jodi said, sick of being forced to justify her actions. ‘He said failure to implement a suitable reserves policy wasn’t good business practice. I was going to circulate the draft procedure this afternoon for your approval.’ She handed Tom the document. ‘Restricted reserves have been set aside to cover business closure costs and staff redundancies should the playhouse fall into receivership. The balance of the council grant has been transferred to non-restricted reserves, which can be used to cover ongoing repairs and maintenance, plus one-off expenditure like the showcase event.’
That got Vivienne’s attention. ‘What showcase event?’
Tom ignored her. ‘I haven’t approved the showcase.’
‘But you did agree to consider a proposal.’ He couldn’t deny it; J
odi had been in the room.
‘What showcase event?’ repeated Vivienne.
‘Consider a proposal, yes. But judging by the lack of available funds it’s unlikely I’ll be signing off on any significant non-essential expenditure.’ He was using his ‘I’m in charge’ voice. The one she imagined he used in court.
But Jodi hadn’t spent years studying for a business degree to be dismissed as though she knew nothing. ‘The reserves have been slowly reducing over the years, without enough adequate income to replenish them. You don’t need me to tell you this can’t continue. The playhouse will fall into receivership within a year unless further funding can be sourced. Sooner, if we have to return the grant.’
Vivienne looked alarmed.
Tom’s frown deepened.
Jodi continued, ‘Reducing our expenditure isn’t viable. We’re already running at baseline, so that only leaves income generation as a means of saving the playhouse.’ She waited for the gravity of her words to hit home. ‘Which is why Becca and I are actively trying to formulate a plan.’
Tom handed back the paperwork. ‘I’m not making any decisions until I read the reserves policy and proposal for the showcase.’
‘You’ll have them by Monday.’ She sat down at her desk, aiming for an ‘I’m busy and need to get on with my work’ vibe.
Tom took the hint and left.
Vivienne followed him out. ‘What showcase event?’ she said, unhappy at being kept out of the loop. ‘Why wasn’t I consulted, Master Thomas?’
Jodi sighed. There’d been no apology for wrongly accusing her of ‘skulduggery’. No thanks for the work she was doing to secure the playhouse’s finances. Just continued distrust.
Boggin’ hell, she hoped all this would be worth it.
Her stomach rumbled. She needed a drink. She also needed to chase Petrit for his timesheet. The café stopped serving food at four – not that she wanted to eat anything made by Petrit, he’d probably sprinkle arsenic over it. But a bag of crisps from the bar would keep her going. Plus, the thought of seeing Leon cheered her a little.
Not that she was interested. Yeah, right.
Leon was behind the bar cleaning glasses in preparation for a busy Saturday night, which for the playhouse meant more than five people at any one time. It was a shame. The setting was great, the beer was good, and the barman was cute as hell…
Stop it, she told her traitorous brain.
Leon came over. ‘Hey, there. Having a good day?’
‘I’ve had better.’
His smile faded. ‘Petrit or Vivienne?’
Both. ‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ she lied. ‘Any chance of a packet of crisps? I’m famished.’
‘Sure.’ He fetched the basket. ‘No lunch today?’
‘I ran out of time.’ It sounded less pathetic than saying ‘some nasty bully binned my sandwich’. ‘I’m heading home soon. I’ll eat later.’
He didn’t look convinced. ‘Sea salt and balsamic vinegar?’
‘Perfect. Can you add it to my tab?’
‘It’s on the house.’ His smile was back.
God, he had a lovely smile. She mentally kicked herself. Stop ogling! ‘Thanks, but I’d rather pay. I don’t want to give anyone a reason to question my integrity.’
He leant on the bar. ‘They wouldn’t succeed. You’re one of the most hardworking and honest people I know.’
Oh, if only he knew… Thank God he didn’t know. She shuddered at the thought.
Thanking him for the crisps, she headed into the kitchen, ready for what she hoped would be her last battle of the day.
Petrit was scraping the dregs of what looked like a tomato sauce from the bottom of a large pan. ‘Work finished. I go home,’ he said, without looking up.
‘I need your replacement timesheet.’
‘On side,’ he barked, turning so sharply he sprayed her with tomato sauce.
Wet sauce trickled down Jodi’s cheek. Her Primark shirt and skirt were splattered with red splodges. Had he done that on purpose? She wasn’t sure. Either way, he didn’t look particularly apologetic.
She picked up the timesheet. Swallowing back tears, she grabbed a handful of kitchen towels and left.
Leon was serving a customer. He did a double-take when he saw her, looking alarmed until he realised she wasn’t covered in blood. His expression darkened. His eyes shifted to the kitchen door and then back to her. ‘Are you okay?’ he mouthed.
No, she wasn’t. But she nodded, faked a smile and headed outside. She couldn’t deal with Leon’s kindness. It was too much. She felt too exposed.
The gardens provided a refuge. She ducked behind the hedgerow away from prying eyes. The earlier sun had lost its intensity. The breeze had picked up. She wiped tomato sauce from her clothes and face.
She didn’t hear Eddie approach, and jumped when he said, ‘What happened to you?’ His smile faded when he saw she was crying.
The next thing she knew, she was in his arms. ‘It was an accident. I’m fine.’
‘I don’t believe that for a second.’ He rubbed her back. ‘Another run-in with Petrit?’
She pulled away, embarrassed. ‘It’s nothing, really.’
‘Say the word and I’ll speak to him, okay? He shouldn’t get away with this.’ He looked at her with such concern it made her heart pinch.
She suddenly understood why the bullied kids from school hadn’t wanted their parents ‘telling teacher’. She’d been a tough-nut at school; nobody messed with her. Now look at her. She was a quivering wreck.
Pulling herself together, she accepted Eddie’s offer of his handkerchief and dried her eyes. ‘Thanks. I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.’
‘You work too many hours. Go home and have a restful weekend.’
If only. She had a shift at the restaurant tomorrow. But Eddie was right: she’d more than done her hours. Heading home was the sensible course of action. ‘Thanks, Eddie. I’ll do that… Any luck finding a place to live?’
He scratched his stubbly chin. ‘I thought I’d found somewhere, but the landlord didn’t seem eager to address the condensation problem. I decided to give it a miss.’
‘Where will you stay?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ll find a B&B somewhere.’
She was struck by an idea. ‘There’s a spare room at my aunty’s guest house. You could always stay with us until you find somewhere permanent. I’m sure it would be okay.’
He seemed to mull it over. ‘I wouldn’t want to impose.’
‘You wouldn’t be, and I can vouch for you. You’re trustworthy and clean up after yourself.’
He laughed. ‘I know who to come to for a reference. Let me have a think about it. Now, why don’t you head off.’
‘I’ll do that.’ She gave him an awkward hug. ‘Thanks, Eddie.’ After the day she’d had, his kindness meant a lot.
She headed inside, leaving Eddie to continue pruning. She’d work on the showcase budget at home. She needed a break from the Starlight Playhouse.
She sensed Leon watching her as she hurried through the bar. She didn’t want him to know she’d been crying, so she kept her head down. Thankfully Vivienne was nowhere to be seen and Tom wasn’t in the office. She scribbled a note saying she was leaving and picked up her bag. Crikey, it was heavy.
By the time she was on the bus, her feet hurt and her back was aching. A young girl sitting opposite gave her a strange look. She couldn’t think why. And then she remembered her bleach-spotted shoes and tomato-splattered clothes. The strange look was justified.
She lifted her bag onto her lap, puzzled by its bulkiness. She unearthed a carrier bag she didn’t recognise, and briefly wondered if she should drop the contents into a bucket of water. But there were no explosives inside, only a freshly made egg mayonnaise roll, a mango smoothie and a single wrapped chocolate. Strawberry cream. Her favourite.
She smiled, despite herself.
There was also a book. She read the cover. The Art of War by Sun Tzu. Curious,
she read the synopsis: The Art of War is an ancient Chinese work detailing every aspect of warfare, military strategy and tactics.
And then she spotted the Post-it Note: Thought this might help.J Don’t let the bastards get you down. Leon. x
Throughout the pages were further Post-it Notes. She turned to the first one. Success requires winning decisive engagements quickly. She smiled and flicked to the next one. How to win confrontations. Her smile grew wider as she read the next one. Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak. The final one made her laugh. Know your enemies as well as you know yourself.
Her chuckling made the girl opposite look over. Her face said ‘nutter’, but Jodi didn’t care, and settled down to read the book.
She was still smiling by the time she arrived at the guest house.
As she came through the front door, she found her aunty on the floor with a scrubbing brush in hand. ‘That darn cat,’ she said, rubbing at the bloody stain. ‘A pigeon, would you believe.’
Jodi dumped her bag on the floor. ‘The art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting, Aunty.’
Aunty Ruby sat back on her haunches. ‘And how do you suppose I do that?’
‘No idea. I’ll let you know when I’ve finished the chapter.’ Jodi nodded to the book in her hand. ‘Why are you wearing a hat?’
Her aunty got to her feet and whipped off the hat revealing… Oh, boggin’ hell…a shock of bright yellow hair. The kind of yellow that clashed with her aunty’s pink top.
‘Not exactly Helen Mirren, is it?’
‘Err…not really.’ Jodi had never seen her aunty with anything other than brown hair… And then the penny dropped. ‘Is that why you didn’t come to the tea dance yesterday?’ She hadn’t seen her aunty since Thursday night.
Aunty Ruby nodded. ‘I couldn’t face everyone.’ She transferred the mangled pigeon into a rubbish bag. ‘Audrey from next door’s mother died and they found a hair colour in the old woman’s bathroom cabinet and gave it to me.’
Jodi was tempted to ask how the old lady died? Peroxide poisoning?
‘Like a fool, I thought I’d try it out.’ Her aunty pointed to her mop of yellow waves. ‘It’s a disaster.’
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