The Summer Theatre by the Sea

by Tracy Corbett

  ‘I know, and a fine job you do.’ She patted Lauren’s arm. ‘Let’s just hope Social Services feel the same way.’

  Lauren recoiled. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Have you reported me?’

  ‘Would I do such a thing?’ Glenda’s attempt at looking outraged fell a little short. ‘I’m just saying, if Amanda’s evicted, then her kid might get taken into care. You need to think about these things. Make sure you don’t put yourself in a similar situation and give the council cause to doubt your ability to provide for them.’

  ‘I’d provide for them a whole lot better if you stopped hounding me for money.’ Lauren pulled away. ‘I can’t find another fifty pounds. I’m sorry, the answer is no.’ She needed to stand her ground. This was getting ridiculous.

  ‘Oh well, it was worth asking the question.’ Glenda didn’t look bothered by her refusal. Surely, though, she wasn’t going to leave it there? ‘Let’s ask that lovely sister of yours instead. She looks like she has a bit of cash to spare.’

  Lauren almost fainted. ‘Don’t you dare! Leave her out of this.’

  Nate looked over at the sound of her raised voice. She gave him a little wave, assuring him she was okay.

  Glenda wasn’t done. ‘But, love, what am I supposed to do? You owe me money. And now I need that money back.’

  ‘Glenda, please.’ Lauren tried a different tack, hoping that stalling her might derail her ambush. ‘Look … even if I wanted to give you the money, I don’t have any cash with me.’

  Glenda’s smile widened. ‘No problem, I’ll run you to the cashpoint. I don’t mind helping you out. It’s the least I can do.’

  Was she serious? Lauren felt dizzy as well as faint. This couldn’t be happening.

  ‘Everything okay over here?’ Nate appeared, looking concerned.

  Lauren kept her eyes turned away. ‘Everything’s fine.’

  ‘Anything I can help with, Glenda?’ His tone wasn’t unfriendly, but there was a definite edge to it.

  ‘Well, aren’t you a sweet boy. I don’t know. What do you think, Lauren, can he help?’

  Panic switched to full-blown terror. The last thing she needed was Nate’s help, or worse, his sympathy. He couldn’t know about her debt, no one could. She’d be horrified if anyone found out about the mess she’d got herself into. ‘Really, it’s nothing. We’re just discussing costumes for the show.’ Please go away …

  He didn’t look convinced. ‘Can’t it wait until rehearsal on Tuesday, Glenda? Seems a shame to interrupt a family day out.’ It was almost as if he knew something. Surely not?

  And then Charlotte joined them. ‘The kids want an ice cream, Lauren. Are you happy for me to get them one?’

  Glenda clapped her hands together in delight. ‘Ah, isn’t that a nice offer. What a lovely sister you are.’

  Charlotte raised an eyebrow, no doubt sensing the tension. ‘Is everything okay?’

  Lauren nodded. ‘It’s fine.’ Why couldn’t everyone just leave her alone.

  Glenda took her hand. ‘In fact, it’s perfect. Lauren just needs to help me run an errand, don’t you, love? So, by the time you’ve got those cheeky kids their ice creams, we’ll be back.’ She turned to Lauren. ‘Unless you’d prefer it if I took Charlotte—’

  ‘No! No, that’s okay. I’ll do it.’ Anything to end the torture. ‘Keep an eye on the kids, will you,’ she said to her sister. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ In her eagerness to get away from the look on Nate’s face, she almost stumbled.

  ‘You’re a good girl, Lauren.’ Glenda put her arm around her as she led her away from the beach. ‘You always put your family first.’

  And wasn’t that the truth.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Saturday, 23 July

  Barney had been up since the crack of dawn, helping to set up for the town’s annual medieval festival. It was a massive event that drew in visitors from far and wide. The narrow roads leading to the area would be blocked with traffic by mid-morning, so everything had to be delivered first thing, and the car parks cleared, to ensure a successful event. His gig last night at Smugglers Inn had benefited from the increase in visitors, which had boosted his earnings, but the evening had been marred by a call from his mother badgering him to return to medicine in September. He’d ended up drowning his sorrows in beer, and had woken at five a.m. this morning with a raging hangover. Thankfully, he’d been able to go home after setting up for the festival, and had grabbed a couple of hours sleep, showered, eaten a sausage sandwich, and was now heading back there feeling a lot better than he had done earlier.

  The morning drizzle had blown away, leaving the promise of another warm July day. Good weather was a huge factor in ensuring the success of the event. Incessant rain would make the grounds around Morholt Castle muddy, and that would keep people away. Income from the event supported the local RNLI, so everyone had prayed for a dry day.

  As he strolled past Bridge Street Hall, he noticed the doors were open. He ducked through the doorway, feeling the drop in temperature the moment he set foot inside. ‘Anyone here?’ His voice echoed up to the rafters.

  Charlotte Saunders appeared from the cellar, carrying a roller tray. She startled when she saw him. ‘Don’t creep up on me like that.’

  ‘I didn’t. I called out. What are you up to?’

  ‘Baking a cake. What do you think I’m doing?’ She went over to the stage where one of the backdrops hung from the lighting rig.

  ‘Someone’s frosty this morning. And there was me thinking our kiss might’ve thawed you a little.’

  She spun around so fast his vision blurred. ‘Talking of which …’

  ‘Okay, okay, you don’t need to say it.’ He held up his hand, to stop the abuse he felt certain was coming his way.

  She folded her arms across her chest. ‘You don’t know what I was going to say.’ There was something softer about her appearance today. She was wearing a faded denim skirt, sparkly flip-flops and a white top that had slipped off one shoulder.

  He walked over to her. ‘I’m guessing it went along the lines of, “You had no right to kiss me, you were very presumptuous, you took advantage of the situation we’d found ourselves in, and under no circumstances ever do it again.”’ He waited a beat. ‘Am I right?’

  She held his gaze. ‘Well, let’s see. Yes … yes … definitely … and maybe.’ She turned her back on him, leaving him to work through his series of statements.

  The penny dropped. ‘Maybe?’

  She handed him a paintbrush. ‘Are you here to help?’

  ‘Can’t, I’m afraid. I’m on my way out.’

  ‘I wondered why you were looking so smart. Nice shirt.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He followed her over to the sink. ‘Maybe?… As in, there’s a chance of a repeat performance?’

  She filled a jar with water.

  He decided to chance his luck. ‘Personally, I’d be in favour of a continuation.’

  She glanced over her shoulder. ‘I’m sure you would.’

  He moved closer. ‘As kisses go, it was pretty hot.’

  She stilled.

  His mouth was inches from her bare shoulder, inviting him to nuzzle it. If he bent lower …

  She slid away, leaving him hanging. ‘It was okay. But then I was rather distracted, so it’s hard to tell.’

  He watched her walk over to the backdrop. Christ, she had a nice arse. ‘Any time you’d like a reminder, let me know.’

  She tried to hide her smile, which confirmed his theory that there was more to Charlotte Saunders than just a prickly exterior.

  In that moment, he made a decision. He went over and took the paint roller from her. ‘Tools down. You’re coming with me.’

  ‘Excuse me, I need that.’ She tried to grab the roller, but he held it out of reach.

  ‘It’s a beautiful summer’s day. Everyone else is at the Morholt Festival and you’re in here painting. Leave this and come and have some fun.’

  She looked like she was abou
t to argue, but then something flickered across her face. ‘Fun?’

  Her hair was wavier than usual, less flat. He liked it. It softened her features. ‘Are you familiar with the concept?’

  She frowned. ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘Good. Then let’s go, Charlie.’ He took her hand and led her over to the door.

  ‘And that’s another thing.’ She picked up her handbag. ‘My name is Charlotte … Wait!’ She tugged on his hand. ‘I need to put the roller in to soak.’

  He manoeuvred her out the door. ‘I’ll buy you another one. Live dangerously.’

  ‘I am. I’m spending the day with you, aren’t I?’

  He laughed. ‘You know, there’s something very different about you today.’ He studied her. ‘It’s not the hair … which is very nice by the way.’ And then it came to him. ‘No buttons.’

  She ignored him and locked the hall door. ‘Where are we going?’

  Teasing her was hugely enjoyable, he decided. She was easy to bait. ‘Across the quayside and up the hill towards the theatre. Morholt Castle is at the top.’

  She removed her hand from his when he took hold of it. ‘Is that the ruins you can see from the theatre?’

  ‘Part of it, yeah.’ He took her hand again. ‘So, no buttons. Are you feeling any withdrawal symptoms? Do I need to arrange therapy?’

  She removed her hand again. ‘I think I can cope.’

  ‘Then why do your fingers keep twitching? You know, I think it’d help if you held my hand. An aid to breaking the habit.’

  She didn’t look overly happy, but didn’t pull away when he took her hand again. ‘I’m going to regret agreeing to this, aren’t I?’

  He grinned. ‘Now why would you think that?’

  He laughed when she gave him an incredulous look.

  As they walked along the quayside, he pointed out the boats of interest, enjoying the feel of her hand in his. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a woman’s hand. He’d forgotten how comforting it felt. She listened, looking to where he pointed, asking a few questions as they ambled along. Maybe it was his imagination, but he could almost sense the tension leaving her body. Her hand slowly relaxed, softening so it stopped feeling like he was holding a block of ice. Her stride eased to a stroll and her shoulders lowered a good few inches.

  They reached the end of the quay. Her grip tightened as they crossed the bridge. She made a point of not looking down, even when he alerted her to a group of ducks swimming past. When they reached the other side, her hand relaxed again.

  The climb up to the castle wasn’t overly steep, but it still required a bit of effort, so he stopped talking and saved his breath. The tide was out, making the sea look tranquil. In the distance, two sailing ships sat on the horizon, ready for the festival finale, when they’d sail into shore.

  The throng of people grew heavier as they neared the venue, and people were queueing at the ticket gates. Barney bypassed the main entrance and found a side gate.

  ‘Don’t we have to pay?’ Charlotte looked puzzled.

  ‘Free entry is my payment for helping set up.’ He opened the gate for her. ‘After you.’

  She stopped when the path reached the main area. ‘I had no idea it would be so big,’ she said, taking in the array of tents and activities taking place. ‘Is that a falcon?’ She ducked when a large bird swept overhead.

  ‘You can have a go at training them, if you want. Freddie’s already signed up.’

  ‘My sister mentioned she was at a festival today. She’s doing a stint on one of the stalls this morning. I didn’t fancy wandering around on my own.’

  ‘And now you don’t have to. You have me as your personal guide. I know what you’re thinking. How did you get so lucky?’ He led her past the wooden Ferris wheel and Have-A-Go-Catapult tent.

  He was subjected to a rueful smile. ‘I’m certainly wondering what I did to deserve this.’ She shielded her eyes from the sun. ‘Where shall we start?’

  He pointed to her left. ‘Knowing your love of all things orderly, let’s stick with tradition and go clockwise.’

  ‘I’m not that bad.’ Indignation flashed in her eyes.

  He turned. ‘Okay, let’s go the other way.’

  She pulled on his hand. ‘No, no, this way’s fine.’

  Just as he thought. ‘How are your archery skills?’

  ‘On a par with my fencing, drag-racing and origami skills.’ When he gave her a questioning look, she said, ‘Non-existent.’

  ‘For a moment there, I thought you had hidden talents.’

  She sighed. ‘Nope, what you see is what you get.’

  ‘Now that isn’t true at all.’ He ignored her puzzled look as they queued for the archery, nudging her when a court jester danced past, the bells on his hat jangling. ‘He works in the post office.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Not dressed like that, I hope.’

  The jester played a musical tune on a flute. Behind him, a group of children dressed in medieval clothing followed, mimicking his dance. A little girl trod on the front of her dress and tripped. Barney bent down and picked her up, checking she wasn’t hurt before she ran off to catch up with the others.

  He realised Charlotte was staring at him, as if trying to make him out.

  Good luck with that, he wanted to say.

  Her head tilted to one side. ‘Why aren’t you taking part in the festival?’

  He shrugged. ‘They needed people to help organise, so I volunteered for that instead.’ The queue moved forward. ‘I’ll take part next year, though. I’ve always fancied myself as a Knight of the Round Table.’

  ‘Next year?’ They reached the front of the queue. ‘Won’t you be back in London by then, resuming your medical studies?’

  He avoided looking at her. ‘Maybe. I’m not sure.’ He’d had enough discussion about his career; he wasn’t up to a repeat performance.

  A man and woman led them into a field and gave them a five-minute demonstration on how to shoot an arrow, before retreating to a safe distance.

  Charlotte strung her bow, as she’d been shown. ‘How can you not be sure?’

  He supposed it was too much to hope that she’d let the subject drop. He drew back his bow. ‘I told you before, I’m not sure medicine is for me.’ He let go, the arrow sailed into the air, wobbled and missed the target.

  Charlotte let go of her arrow. ‘It seems a shame to waste all that training.’ Her arrow formed a perfect arc, hitting the outer circle of the target.

  How the hell had she done that? He loaded up another arrow. ‘I agree, but no one wants a crap doctor treating them.’

  ‘I don’t believe for a second you’re that bad. The clitoris story aside,’ she said, checking no one was listening. ‘And you’ve already told me you didn’t kill anyone. So why do you think you’re not a good doctor?’ She loaded up her second arrow. ‘And give me a specific example. Preferably one that doesn’t involve female genitalia.’

  He tried to focus on the target, closing one eye so he could zoom in on the central dot. His mind flicked through the many instances of his inadequacy. ‘I was on duty in A&E one day. It was manic. Every cubicle was filled. I was dealing with two appendicitises, one pulmonary oedema, two obstructed bowels, and a pancreatitis.’

  He paused as he took aim. His arrow swerved into the blue outer circle, hitting the target. Not bad.

  ‘Just as I’d pulled back the curtain of bed eight, a colleague shouted, “Make sure you’ve taken an amylase level on the pancreatitis in bed eight.” The woman in bed eight looked at me, and I remember thinking, you’re not a blobby pink pancreas.’

  Charlotte released her arrow. It hit the inner white circle.

  Had she done this before?

  ‘Anyway, it made me realise that, as a doctor, you stop seeing patients as people, they become defined by their pathology, stripped of an identity.’ He loaded up his final arrow, determined to perform better. ‘This particular woman was called Barbara. She lived in Streath
am, collected Cliff Richard memorabilia, and had three grown-up kids. None of which played any part in the diagnosis or treatment process.’ His arrow wobbled, but had a good flight on it. It landed on the white circle. Not a bullseye, but close enough.

  Charlotte pulled back her bow, steadied herself, and released the arrow. It landed with a ‘twang’ right in the middle of the target.

  He turned to her. ‘What are you, some kind of archery hustler?’

  She shrugged. ‘Just lucky, I guess.’ She handed the bow back to the woman and joined Barney by the exit. ‘So, you think seeing patients as people rather than a condition is a flaw?’

  ‘Hell, yes. My parents frequently tell me it’s all part of the coping mechanisms doctors develop to distance themselves from the suffering. Otherwise, they wouldn’t survive.’

  She followed him onto the path as they headed past the peacock enclosure, towards the drum school. ‘I’ve not worked in that environment, so I don’t know if they’re right or not. But if a doctor treating me remembered all those intimate details about my life months after treating me, I’d think I had the best doctor in the world, not the worst.’

  The sound of the drums increased. ‘I think you’re romanticising the situation.’

  ‘And I think you’re clinging on to the idea that you’re a bad doctor so you don’t feel so guilty about jacking it in.’ She waved at Flo and Freddie as they banged on their drums.

  He took a moment to process what she’d said. Is that what he was doing? An awful sinking feeling settled in his stomach. It was the same feeling he got when his parents criticised his decision to leave medicine. He didn’t like disappointing anyone, least of all his parents. But every time he tried to make a decision about his future, he just felt more conflicted, not less.

  He joined Charlotte by the circle of drummers. She was talking to Lauren, admiring her Maid Marian costume. Freddie and Flo wore yellow and blue tunics, their red hair concealed under caps with a feather stuck in the top. Barney experienced another pull in his chest as he watched them beat the hell out of their drums. The thought of being a dad was the only thing about his future that he was certain about. It shone like a beacon, giving him a sense of hope. When he imagined himself as a consultant, he didn’t feel the same way. Surely that had to count for something?