The First Guests

by Cathy Bramley

  Oh harsh, very harsh. I did not have a chip on my shoulder; so what if he’d attended a posh West End drama school? My course in Bournemouth had been brilliant. The article was illustrated with screenshots from Ross’s FaceTime interview with Cecily: me shoving Sebastian in the chest, me mid-yell, upending the ice bucket … I looked demented.

  Sebastian Nichols, Penhaligon’s former agent …

  Former. My former agent. Now I was seeing it in black and white it was all starting to feel real in a horrid nightmarish sort of way.

  … commented from his London headquarters: ‘Nina is a talented actress but the pressure of being in a hit TV show had begun to show and she is clearly suffering from stress. We wish her well.’

  I couldn’t read the words any more; they’d gone blurry. That wasn’t me, I never behaved like that. I mean, it was me, but it was so out of character. It wasn’t the normal me. And what did he mean about pressure? Being in Victory Road had been challenging, but I’d thrived on it, so I thought.

  ‘Much obloiged.’ I pushed the newspaper back across the table. This was a gazillion times worse than I’d expected. And that was in print; imagine what the trolls were saying in the online comments, or on Facebook … I shuddered, sinking low in my seat.

  The woman shook her head. ‘I can’t believe Nurse Elsie is being killed off. I thought that nice policeman boyfriend might propose to her. No point watching it now. I’m so cross with that girl for ruining the story.’ She folded her arms across her matchstalk men and matchstalk cats and dogs.

  My eyes were hot with shame and my face was burning underneath Trudy’s orange make-up. I probably looked like a crème brulée by now.

  ‘I’m ferry, ferry sorry,’ I said gravely. Doing a sad Irish accent was much harder than a happy one.

  The couple stared at me.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ said the woman.

  ‘After that performance,’ said the man, chuckling, ‘I doubt she’ll be in anything else for a while. No one wants to work with a diva.’

  I lowered my voice to a whisper. ‘To be honest wit ya, oi actually know her and she’s a luvly girl, really, really luvly. And happy. Not at all diva-loike.’

  The pair of them blinked at me.

  ‘You know her?’ The man leaned forward, all ears.

  I nodded. Why had I said that? Now they were staring at my hot face. Any minute now they’d recognize me.

  ‘Well, she’s made an awful lot of people very unhappy.’ The woman pursed her lips. ‘So I’d lay low for a while if I were her.’

  Just then the train hissed to a halt at Exeter station. I got to my feet, collected my suitcase from the rack and knocked my hood back.

  ‘You’re not the first person to say dat,’ I said, instantly realizing my mistake as confusion gathered on their faces. ‘Oi imagine.’

  A smart four-wheel drive with blacked-out windows swished into the drop-off zone just as I appeared from the station. My brother got out and pulled a sausage roll from a paper bag. He took a gigantic bite, chewed, swallowed and popped the rest in before finally doing a double take and seeing through my disguise. He held up a hand and smiled. I felt my own smile growing wider at the sight of him.

  Archie, at thirty-two, was three years older than me. He didn’t look it. He was like Peter Pan, he never entertained the idea of growing up, or settling down, he had more energy than Usain Bolt, and more drive than a Ferrari.

  ‘Hey, it’s the famous actress!’ shouted Archie, deliberately loudly. ‘Nina Penhaligon.’

  A few people looked round and I tried to pull my head in like a turtle.

  ‘Shush,’ I murmured, kissing his cheek. ‘Don’t draw attention to me.’

  ‘I thought you wanted to be a celeb?’ He studied my face. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, you’re looking very … orange?’

  I might have known he wouldn’t have read the newspaper or seen any rumours on social media; my brother was too busy to absorb the world around him.

  ‘I’m travelling incognito.’ I brushed pastry crumbs from his chin. ‘Nice healthy lunch.’

  He swiped a hand across his mouth before patting his lean stomach. ‘Are you mad? This isn’t lunch. I had that hours ago, this is a snack to keep me going; I have been working since the crack of dawn.’

  He was always working. That was what Archie did. He worked and made money.

  ‘Archie,’ I said loudly, forcing him to look at me, ‘I need a hug.’

  My brother didn’t really do hugging, but he made an exception for me and complied. For a moment neither of us spoke and then Archie murmured the motto we’d adopted years ago.

  ‘You and me against the world, Neen.’

  ‘Yeah, you and me against the world,’ I repeated.

  It had been that way since I was five. Right from when Mum became a single parent. We soon realized that she might be there to feed and clothe us, dust us down when we fell, make sure we got to school … in other words, do her duty, but anything else, we’d have to supply ourselves.

  He straightened up and checked the time. ‘Right. Come on, places to be.’

  I smiled; emotional display over and on to the next thing. He slung my case in the back of the car and within seconds we were off.

  ‘So what’s new in the crazy world of television?’ he said, as we joined a stream of traffic. ‘And what’s with the disguise?’

  ‘I made the national papers today,’ I said.

  ‘Fantastic! That’s great!’ He shot me a look of such pride that I felt tears prick at the back of my eyes. ‘Are we celebrating?’

  He nosed the car into the left-hand lane and held a hand up in thanks to another driver.

  ‘No,’ I said, in a small voice as I recalled the accusations in the Daily News. ‘I’ve broken every rule of showbiz, alienated my co-stars, lost my agent and physically assaulted two people. I’ve blown it, Archie. Totally blown it.’

  He stared at me, a smile hovering at his mouth while he waited for me to say I was joking. I looked down at my lap and swallowed the lump in my throat.

  ‘Oh Neen, that doesn’t sound like you. Tell me everything.’

  His total faith in me made me feel worse; I heaved a sigh and shared my tale of woe.

  ‘Isn’t your agent paid to help you out of this sort of mess?’ Archie curled his lip in disgust. I stared out of the window and shrugged. He was right; Sebastian hadn’t stood by me, or even offered any practical help. I’d thought he cared about me but he’d abandoned me in my hour of need.

  ‘I suppose,’ I conceded. ‘In fact, thinking about it, all this might have been avoided if Sebastian had tried to salvage the situation rather than cut Ross off, not to mention being honest about Cecily in the first place.’

  ‘Hey, it’s not that bad.’ He patted my knee, then leaned across to the glove box, took out a bag of peanuts and handed it to me to open.

  ‘Archie, it couldn’t be any worse!’ I tipped a handful of nuts out for him.

  ‘You know,’ he said kindly, ‘I think a break from London will do you good. Hardly a week goes by without getting a selfie from you at some event or other, it seems very full-on to me.’

  I stifled a sigh. Archie had never liked me working in London and was always trying to tempt me down to the south-west; he didn’t understand how important it was to my career to get my name out there. It had been one of Sebastian’s conditions when he’d taken me on: I was supposed to maximize my exposure at all times. But before I could challenge Archie, he slapped his hand against the leather steering wheel.

  ‘I’ve just had a thought: some of my customers are Victory Road fans. If you’ve upset them, they might turn against me too. It might even affect business.’

  I snorted. ‘Archie, you run a laundrette and a cleaning business; you basically air dirty linen for a living.’

  He bristled for a second and then lapsed back into his usual grin. ‘I like what you’ve done there, but it’s a very sophisticated business, I’ll have you know.’ />
  My brother had entrepreneurial spirit running through his bones. He’d started at school selling illicit chocolate bars in the school playground during Lent when sweets were banned. At fourteen he had a job sluicing down the fishmonger’s counter every evening and worked as a barman as soon as he was old enough. At university, he invested his student loan in a top-of-the-range washer-dryer and then charged his fellow students five pounds a load. Within two months he’d bought two more machines and taken a lease out on a lock-up. By the end of his time at uni, he’d got an honours degree in business, four staff and a brand-new Porsche. Now he offered a range of services to restaurants, hotels, stately homes and even some medical practices.

  ‘And how is Exeter’s answer to Richard Branson?’ I teased. I was immensely proud of him really, I just wished he’d let up occasionally. He put in such long hours and I couldn’t remember him ever taking a holiday.

  ‘I’m …’ He hesitated. ‘Under a lot of pressure.’

  I waited, assuming there was a punchline on its way. Archie never admitted any weakness. ‘Go on.’

  ‘My blood pressure’s on the high side.’ He cleared his throat. ‘The doctor told me I need to work less and play more.’

  ‘Oh, Archie.’ I placed my hand over his and gave it a squeeze. The doctor might as well have suggested Archie should lie naked in a bath of cold custard. ‘So what else did the doctor say?’

  He gave me a sheepish look. ‘Get a hobby and relax.’

  ‘Haven’t I been saying that for years?’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘Do something other than work?’

  ‘Have you set up a pension fund yet like I told you to?’ he retorted.

  ‘Fair point.’ I was as bad at following advice as he was.

  ‘Just as well I’ve set one up for you.’ He winked and I felt a rush of warmth for my generous only relative.

  ‘Hey, this isn’t the way to your house,’ I said, suddenly realizing that we’d left Exeter behind.

  ‘We’re making a detour,’ he said, his eyes glinting in the sunlight. ‘I’ve decided to follow the doctor’s orders. I’ve found a hobby; I’m going to buy a classic car and do it up.’

  ‘Good for you!’ I said. ‘Tinkering with an old car sounds the perfect way for you to unwind, take your mind off business once in a while.’

  ‘I know.’ He puffed his chest out. ‘A friend’s old Triumph TR6S popped up for sale and I couldn’t resist it.’

  There was a look in Archie’s eye that made me think there was something he wasn’t telling me.

  ‘And that’s where we’re going now?’ I asked.

  ‘To check it out, yes.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘If I buy it, I’ll have to get it towed up to Exeter, but the fantastic thing is that it will be worth double what I’m paying for it when it’s done.’

  I rolled my eyes in despair. ‘I knew it! I knew you were looking shifty, everything you do revolves around money.’

  Archie opened his mouth to argue, but then seemed to think better of it. Probably because I was right.

  Half an hour later, the roads had become more like footpaths between the blossoming hedgerows, at some points so narrow that we’d had to reverse to allow passing cars to squeeze by. I wound down the window and filled my lungs with air. After London, the smell was intoxicating: sweet hawthorn petals and new grass mixed with the salty tang of the sea. The worries of this morning already felt a bit hazy.

  Suddenly we reached the brow of a hill and ahead of us, down a steep incline, was a handful of cottages either side of the narrow lane and beyond them was a wide expanse of cerulean blue.

  ‘The sea!’ we cried at the same time and then laughed.

  ‘Brightside Cove,’ I read out as we passed the village sign. ‘What a lovely name.’

  We hadn’t had many holidays as kids. Mum hadn’t had the money to take us anywhere fancy and anyway she didn’t like the sea, she said. It wasn’t until Archie moved to the south-west that I’d ever even ventured into Devon and I’d loved the coast so much that I’d chosen a seaside town for my own university course.

  ‘Brightside Cove,’ I read out as we passed the village sign. ‘What a lovely name. I’ve never heard of it.’

  ‘Me neither before getting the address from Th-thing.’

  ‘Can’t you remember the guy’s name?’ I said with a smirk.

  ‘Shush, I’m concentrating on the directions.’

  Archie’s satnav directed us around the back of the village, past a clutch of isolated stone cottages and then up and down a few single-track lanes before finally taking a steep hill away from the centre of Brightside Cove. The two of us had begun to bicker over where it was actually leading us when the robotic voice announced that we’d reached our destination. Which appeared to be in the middle of nowhere.

  Archie pulled on to the grassy verge and consulted Google maps while I absorbed the view. We were right on the clifftops overlooking a rocky bay. Far below us was a crescent of golden sand and a cluster of youthful figures were racing towards the waves with surfboards under their arms. To the left a patchwork of fields edged with purpley gorse led away to a headland disappearing out into the sea, and down far away to the right was a harbour dotted with boats marooned by the tide and beyond that, a slipway and what looked like a pub, a couple of shops and a row of sherbet-coloured cottages.

  It was so beautiful and after the soot-tinged terraced houses in Clapham it felt surreal. In fact, it felt like a film set.

  ‘I know what this reminds me of.’ I turned to Archie, a huge smile on my face. ‘You know at the beginning of The Wizard of Oz, when it’s in black and white and then Dorothy wakes up in Munchkin Land and everything’s in full Technicolor and she thinks she’s dreaming?’

  ‘Hmm?’ Oblivious to my musings, he pointed to an open five-bar gate bordered on either side by a prickly gorse hedge. It was set a little way back from the road and had what looked like a piece of driftwood hanging from the middle bar at a jaunty angle.

  ‘Aha! There’s the entrance. Thank God for that.’ He restarted the engine and gave a sigh of satisfaction. ‘I thought I was going have to phone Theo and ask him to come and find us.’

  That name made me pause for a second, but I shook it off; the Theo I knew lived miles away from here.

  ‘Theo who?’ I asked, already a bit envious of whoever lived here.

  ‘Um.’ Archie flicked his eyes shiftily to mine.

  A prickle of dread ran down my spine.

  ‘You can’t mean … The Theo? Theo-and-Kate Theo?’ I stared at him, my jaw hanging open in horror.

  ‘Sorry, didn’t I say?’

  Chapter 4

  ‘I can’t come in. I just can’t. I’ll wait here for you.’

  My hand fumbled for the door handle to escape but Archie quickly pressed the central locking.

  ‘Don’t be daft. That business is water under the bridge and—’

  Before he could finish, a lorry whizzed by so fast and so close to us that it clipped the wing mirror and shook the car. My heart, which was already pounding, nearly leapt out of my chest.

  ‘Blimey, mate! Where’s the fire?’ Archie yelled.

  The lorry pulled off the road and sped through the open gate.

  Archie whistled. ‘If that was Theo, he and I need to have words about dangerous driving.’

  He opened his window and adjusted the wing mirror.

  ‘And I need to have words with you!’ I pressed my hands to my hot face. ‘I haven’t seen Theo since his … the … you know, wedding. I can’t see him now. And what about Kate?’

  My mouth had gone dry; I couldn’t even swallow.

  ‘Calm down. Kate won’t be there.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Panic rose in my chest like a tidal wave. ‘What if she comes back while we’re here?’

  ‘She won’t,’ he said in a tone that put paid to further questioning. He put the car into gear and pulled off the grass verge. ‘Come on, let’s find out what’s going on.’

 
OhmyGod ohmyGod ohmyGod. Just when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.

  I gripped the door handle, noting the words Driftwood Lodge carved into the piece of wood dangling from the gate as we glided past. Archie steered the car along the unmade road, avoiding the worst of the potholes, unlike the lorry, which was crashing up and down like some sort of comedy get-away vehicle.

  Seconds later we came into a courtyard in front of a gorgeous house, a little tired at the edges perhaps, but the overall feel was quintessentially English-cottage perfection. It was long and low, painted the colour of clotted cream, and topped with a thick thatched roof. The windows were glazed with tiny leaded-glass panes and the deep window sills on the ground floor had pretty wooden window boxes on them (actually, most of the plants had died, but there was still a hint of colour from the pansies). At right angles to it was a row of cottages that looked like someone had started to paint and abandoned the task halfway through. And over the gate between the buildings I could see sheds, garages and acres of green.

  A skinny man in a suit jumped out of the passenger side of the lorry clutching a clipboard and began hammering on the wooden front door. The driver reversed as close to the door as he could and then sprang out and opened the doors at the back of the lorry. This man was enormous, with Popeye-sized biceps, a gleaming bald head and a barrel for a belly. His jogging bottoms hung so low that even from twenty metres away I could see the writing on his underpants … Correction: not his pants, he had ‘Mam and Dad’ tattooed just above his bum. Nice.

  ‘What the hell?’ muttered Archie, slowing down.

  ‘Delivery drivers,’ I said, dragging my eyes away from the man’s inked behind. ‘All the same.’

  Although my nerves were jangling at the prospect of seeing Theo again, I couldn’t help being curious. There was an air of decay and neglect here that was at odds with the image I had of Theo and his new wife Kate at their wedding five years ago, so loved-up and gorgeous that the aura of happiness surrounding them had almost been tangible. If a collection of singing woodland animals had formed a procession behind them as they kissed everyone goodbye and left for their honeymoon, no one would have batted an eyelid.