Starlight on the Palace Pier

by Tracy Corbett

  Jodi searched for a suitable platitude. ‘It’s not that bad.’

  ‘You’re a sweet girl, but you can’t fib to save your life.’ Her aunty removed her rubber gloves. ‘My own stupid fault. Why I thought dyeing my hair would make me feel more vibrant, I don’t know. I’ve just succeeded in making myself into a laughing stock.’

  Jodi went over. ‘No one’s laughing at you. I agree the colour is…’ she glanced up at her aunty’s hair ‘…not quite the right shade for your skin tone, but—’

  Her aunty burst out laughing. ‘You can save the tact. I’m aware how dire it looks.’

  ‘Perhaps try a softer blonde. Maybe a honey colour rather than…’ Jodi searched for the appropriate description.

  ‘Egg-yolk yellow?’

  Jodi laughed.

  ‘I think I’ll revert to brown. It’s safer that way.’ And then she spotted Jodi’s stained clothes. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘I was engaged in warfare without a suitable battle plan.’

  ‘Goodness.’ Aunty Ruby looked perplexed. ‘We’d better put the kettle on then. Hungry? I’ve been baking.’

  Jodi followed her aunty into the kitchen, spotting a tray of teacakes cooling on the countertop. ‘Do you want one?’

  ‘Goodness, no.’ Her aunty pulled in her tummy. ‘Not that anyone would notice my wobbly waistline at the moment. I’m sure I could grow two noses and everyone would still be fixated on my hair. Mrs Busby thought it was a wig and Dr Mortimer thought I’d spilled a tin of paint on my head.’

  Jodi sliced a teacake in two. ‘They’ll get used to it.’

  ‘I certainly won’t. Tell me about your day? What happened?’

  Jodi sighed. ‘Apart from being splattered in tomato sauce, it was like every other day. Tom and Vivienne hovered over me every time I opened the petty cash tin as though they expected me to abscond with the money, and I spent the entire time trying to justify everything I did. It was exhausting.’

  ‘And unfair.’ Her aunt debagged the tea. ‘Can’t they see how hard you’re working?’

  ‘Doesn’t look that way. Anyway, enough about me. What’s happening with you?’ She smeared the teacake in butter. ‘Becca was disappointed you weren’t at the tea dance.’

  ‘I feel bad about that.’ Her aunty removed milk from the fridge. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Only Mrs Busby and Dr Mortimer showed up.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Her aunty looked mortified. ‘Now I feel terrible. But how could I go looking like this?’

  She had a point. ‘On the plus side, it was lovely to see Becca dancing again. She and Dr Mortimer did a waltz.’

  Her aunty teared up. ‘Well, I’m sorry I missed that.’ She carried the mugs through to the lounge. ‘How did her knee hold up?’

  Jodi followed. ‘Fine, even when Dr M trod on her foot.’

  ‘Poor Becca. I wish I’d made the effort to go now, yellow hair be damned.’ She sank into the floral couch, tiredness enveloping her.

  ‘You don’t seem very happy, Aunty. Becca’s noticed it too. You say you’re okay, but something’s wrong. What is it? We might be able to help.’

  Her aunty sipped her tea, as if formulating her thoughts. ‘Running this place was mine and Derek’s dream,’ she said, looking around the chintzy lounge, with its open fireplace and mismatched fabrics. ‘And I enjoy it…most of the time. But it’s hard work, especially doing it by myself. I’m getting older. I tire easily.’ She lowered the mug. ‘Lately, I’ve found myself resenting running around after everyone. Some days it feels like I’ve had enough.’

  ‘Are you thinking of selling?’

  Her aunty shrugged. ‘I did contemplate it a couple of years ago, but when I broached the subject with Becca she became very emotional, reminding me it was “Daddy’s dream”. I haven’t had the heart to tell her I’m single-handedly running “Daddy’s dream” into the ground. Besides, there’s Mrs Busby and Dr Mortimer to consider. It seems heartless to make them homeless at their time of life.’

  ‘If selling’s not an option, what do you want?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Her aunty slumped against the floral cushions. ‘But I want to do more with my life. Does that sound selfish?’

  ‘Not at all. Does this have something to do with the travel brochure I found in the bin?’

  ‘In a way, yes. I’ve always wanted to travel.’ She sounded wistful.

  ‘Then book a holiday.’ Jodi wiped her hands on a tissue, determined to help her aunty. ‘Becca and I can look after this place. There’s no excuse for you not to go.’

  ‘That’s sweet of you, but I can’t afford it. Until the guest house repairs are sorted, I don’t feel I can justify forking out for a holiday.’ She sipped her tea, clearly fighting back disappointment.

  And then Jodi remembered her conversation with Eddie. ‘I might have a solution to that. A way of bringing in more money, getting the repairs done and going on holiday. How does that sound?’

  Her aunty raised a dark eyebrow…a contrast to her mop of yellow hair. ‘Like it’s too good to be true.’ She put her mug down. ‘I’m listening.’

  Jodi smiled. ‘His name is Eddie Moriantez.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Wednesday 18th October

  Becca moved across the floor testing out the stability of her knee. She was pleased to note it felt solid beneath her. Her right leg was always going to feel different to the left, tighter and less flexible, but there were no outward signs of weakness. She no longer limped, or favoured one side. To anyone watching, she looked balanced. But she wasn’t exactly pushing the boundaries. She was choreographing a simple routine, using basic steps that didn’t require much exertion. Still, she had to start somewhere.

  The lights in the dance studio flickered. She stopped dancing, waiting to see if the power would shut off. They’d had two power cuts already today. The beautiful autumnal weather had finally broken, replaced by the tail end of storm Ophelia sweeping across the country. Rain pelted against the roof. The wind made eerie noises.

  The lights flickered again, accompanied by a buzzing sound.

  She didn’t want to deal with a power cut. Not on her own. She’d stayed behind after tap class to work on the routine for the showcase. Announcing to her tappers that she wanted them to perform in front of a paying audience had been met with a mixture of responses. Wanda and Miriam had loved the idea of showing off their talents. Cassie and Mi-Sun, not so much.

  Nick had been the surprise package, encouraging his wife and assuring her she ‘was good enough’. And he was right. Cassie had made the most improvement. Her only issue was a lack of confidence. Nick’s pep talk had persuaded the whole group to learn the routine with the option of pulling out if they weren’t happy. It was a risky strategy, but Becca hoped to win them over with a fun routine they’d enjoy performing.

  Getting the routine to work was the challenge. She had two tall dancers, two short ones and Mi-Sun bridging the gap. Her instinct was to place Cassie and Nick centre-stage. But when she’d lined them up during class, poor Miriam and Wanda had looked like a couple of bookends shoved at either end of the line.

  The studio lights dipped again. Loud whirring and buzzing followed.

  Becca checked her phone was still in her pocket. She might need it later.

  Leon and Eddie had finished for the night. Tom was in court today, and Jodi had a shift at the restaurant. Vivienne and Petrit refused to work extra hours these days, so it was left to her to lock up.

  A deep rumble rattled above drowning out One Republic’s Counting Stars. She’d decided to build on the short routine her tappers had already learnt for the promo video. With less than six weeks to the festival, she figured she needed to keep things simple.

  Another clap of thunder boomed above. The noise of drumming rain increased.

  And then the lights went out.

  Damn it! She crossed her fingers, hoping the electricity would spring back to life. When it didn’t, she dug out her phone and switched o
n the torch function. She opened Eddie’s text and read his instructions for dealing with a power cut. The prospect of heading down to the deserted basement of an old stately home in complete darkness, with a storm raging outside, didn’t fill her with joy. It terrified her. She felt like one of those victims in a teen horror movie who entered the monster-filled cellar armed only with a torch and dressed in a see-through nightie. It didn’t take a genius to work out they were about to be bumped off. Especially when the spooky music built to a crescendo, announcing the arrival of an axe-wielding maniac.

  A bang made her jump.

  She needed to stop thinking about monsters in the cellar and find the fuse board.

  She untied her loose-knit tunic from around her waist and pulled it over her head. The torchlight made her cream top look yellow, which reminded her of her mum’s hair. What had her mum been thinking? Becca almost hadn’t recognised her. It was yet another indicator that all was not well in Ruby Roberts’ world, and that was something that could no longer be ignored.

  But that was a problem for another day.

  She changed out of her tap shoes, slipped on her gold trainers and left the dance studio. Gingerly, she made her way through reception and under the archway leading to the grand staircase. The playhouse was eerie enough fully lit. In darkness, it was positively daunting. Her phone didn’t provide much light. Numerous pairs of disapproving eyes lining the walls watched her as she felt around for the concealed panel in the wall.

  The temperature dropped as she stepped into the stairwell. The stone wall was cold to the touch. Narrow steps spiralled downwards. The chill increased the lower she descended. When she reached the bottom, she was distracted by a light moving around. Had Eddie left a torch for her? How was it moving? Oh, God, someone was down here…

  And then something touched her leg.

  She screamed, recoiling from whatever had touched her.

  Torchlight spun around and landed on her. ‘Why did you scream?’

  It was Tom-the-Tyrant. She might have guessed. What had she said about monsters in the cellar? Although this one was unlikely to attack her with an axe…at least she hoped not.

  ‘Something brushed my leg,’ she said, glancing down at the culprit, a roll of hessian matting.

  Tom moved towards her. Even in the dim lighting she could see he was wearing a suit. Didn’t the man ever relax?

  ‘I assumed you’d met Harold,’ he said, ducking under a beam.

  ‘Who’s Harold?’

  He aimed his torchlight over her shoulder.

  If she’d screamed when the matting touched her leg, it was nothing compared to the noise she made when she turned and saw part of a skeleton embedded in the wall.

  She jumped backwards. ‘Buggering hell! Who…who is that?’

  ‘Don’t know, only know him as Harold.’ The scarily nonchalant way in which he responded to the question was unnerving, as though he were merely introducing her to a living relative.

  ‘Have you reported it?’

  A beat passed before he looked at her. ‘Who to?’

  ‘I don’t know, the police… Crimewatch, or something.’

  And then he did something that scared her a lot more than finding a monster in the cellar. He smiled. The tension he normally carried in his face disappeared. His expression morphed from mildly amused to releasing a pair of killer dimples. It had been a while since she’d seen that smile. Twelve years, to be precise.

  His grin didn’t relent. ‘Harold’s at least three hundred years old. I don’t think they’d be interested.’

  ‘How…how did he get there? In the wall… Do you know?’

  Tom reached out and ran his hand over the exposed skull. His long elegant fingers were something else she’d forgotten about. ‘We don’t know for certain. Burying people in walls was a common enough punishment, even for the Wentworths. But it was most likely one of the workmen involved in the renovation of the place. Although how he managed to cement himself into the partition, we have no idea.’

  A clap of thunder made her jump.

  Tom seemed to find her nervous state amusing. ‘Why are you here so late?’

  She edged away from the skeleton. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t normal to have a corpse residing in the wall of your home. ‘I’ve been working on the tap routine for the showcase.’

  ‘Which hasn’t been agreed yet.’

  ‘The good news is that my tappers have agreed to take part.’

  ‘Nothing has been agreed—’

  ‘That just leaves my ballet class. But I’m confident they’ll want to perform.’

  ‘Are you listening to me?’ He shone the torch at her. ‘I said, nothing has been agreed. You shouldn’t be talking to your students about this.’ His smile had vanished. He was back to being grumpy. Good. It was safer that way.

  ‘The festival’s in six weeks’ time,’ she said, shielding her eyes from the light. ‘We can’t afford to wait.’

  ‘We can’t afford the expenditure.’

  God, he was infuriating. She shone her phone into his eyes. See how he liked it. ‘Have you looked at Jodi’s proposal?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And do you agree it’s modest, it’s thorough, and strikes the right balance between being prudent and putting on a decent event?’

  ‘That’s not the issue.’

  ‘Of course it is.’ She moved away from his torchlight, trying to avoid touching anything. It wasn’t easy; there was stuff everywhere. ‘We need to raise community awareness and give people a reason to visit the Starlight Playhouse. The way I see it, we either spend a lot of time and energy trying to publicise the playhouse over a long period, which may not result in an increase in users and risks losing the council funding…or we take a punt and throw everything at one big event.’

  The ceiling creaked as the wind shook the rafters. Not a good development.

  ‘It might not work, but at least then we’ll know. The success of the showcase will give us a measure of what works and what doesn’t in terms of fundraising.’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s a risk.’

  ‘Yeah, but the odds are stacked in our favour. Think about it. There are posters everywhere. The arts festival is being advertised on local radio, in the newspapers, even on the side of buses. Social media posts are already trending. Most of the work’s being done for us. We’d be crazy not to take part. It makes good business sense.’

  He rubbed his forehead. ‘I’m not comfortable putting the playhouse at risk without consulting my mother. I tried contacting her at the rehab centre to discuss it, but the manager refused to put my call through.’ He sounded miserable.

  Becca tried to imagine how she’d feel if it was her mum in rehab. Pretty terrible. But that’s why they needed to do this. Carolyn wasn’t able to turn things around herself, either physically or emotionally; they had to take action on her behalf. ‘If Carolyn was here now, what do you think she’d say?’

  ‘I have no idea. And that’s the problem.’ Frustrated, he stepped back, tripped over a travel case and disappeared. There was a thud, followed by a series of expletives. His torch bounced off something and it was suddenly very dark.

  A beat passed. ‘Tom, are you okay? Are you hurt?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ He didn’t sound fine.

  Where was he? She aimed her feeble light in his direction, but couldn’t see him. She climbed over the travel cases, careful not to drop her phone. She found him lying on his back, wedged between two large trunks. ‘What are you doing down there?’

  He glared up at her. ‘Funny.’

  It was. Since the moment he’d arrived in Brighton, he’d been assertive, controlled and a pain in the arse. Her initial dislike might have softened, but that didn’t mean seeing him in a compromising position wasn’t hugely enjoyable. ‘Are you trapped?’

  He shielded his eyes from the glare of her phone. ‘No need to sound so happy about it.’

  She stifled a laugh. ‘Just to clarify – you can’t m
ove or get up? And you need me to assist you. Is that right?’

  He sighed. ‘Why do I get the impression you’re about to leave me here?’

  ‘As if I’d do something so cruel. I have every intention of helping you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘As soon as you agree to the showcase.’

  He stilled. ‘You’re blackmailing me?’

  ‘God, yes.’ She was enjoying watching him on the back foot for once.

  He tried rolling onto his front and failed. He tried again, conceded defeat and swore…and swore again.

  She watched him struggle, amused by his efforts. ‘Anytime you need a hand, just say the word. I’m right here waiting.’

  He surprised her by laughing. ‘I’d forgotten how manipulative you could be.’

  ‘I prefer to call it persuasive.’

  ‘Either way, you had a habit of leading me astray.’

  His comment stung. There’d been no accusation in his voice. He was teasing her, she knew that. But her mind had inevitably jumped back to the painful conclusion of their relationship.

  She batted the sadness away, remembering the other version of Tom who used to meet her after school and walk her to dance class, wait outside for her to finish, and then walk her home afterwards.

  ‘I don’t recall you putting up much resistance.’ She kept her tone light. Now wasn’t the time or place to start rehashing mistakes of the past. They had enough angst to deal with without fighting over events from twelve years earlier.

  He pushed against the trunk pinning him to the floor. It didn’t budge. ‘Are you going to help me up?’

  ‘Are you going to approve the showcase?’

  He growled. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Fine?’

  ‘I approve expenditure for the showcase.’

  ‘Good. I also need you to stop giving Jodi a hard time. Give her a break, will you?’

  He didn’t immediately answer.

  Becca adjusted the angle of the light. He was frowning. His hair was a mess and he was grinding his jaw. ‘Come on, Tom. She’s working her socks off. You have to see how much she’s changed?’

  He sighed. ‘Okay, from now on I’ll do my best to trust her.’