Do Not Disturb

by Cressida McLaughlin

  ‘Nice to meet you. You’re a musician?’ Molly didn’t waste any time.

  Lorna nodded, rolled up her sleeves and rested her arms on the table. She was more relaxed than Robin had ever seen her, a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. ‘I’ve played the guitar since I was six. I’m in a couple of bands.’

  ‘In Campion Bay? Any chart successes?’

  Lorna laughed, a light, melodic sound that was perfectly in keeping with the rest of her. ‘No, not at all. They’re more … big bands, community-led, in the village where I live. We rehearse every week and put on a few concerts a year, but unless Gareth Malone decides to pay a visit, I don’t think we’ll get near the charts. It’s a triumph if we get an audience of fifty people.’

  ‘So what brings you to Campion Bay?’ Molly wasn’t letting up, and Robin smiled at her curiosity.

  Now Lorna looked at the table, shrugging slightly.

  Robin stepped in. ‘Did you find the arts centre OK?’

  ‘It’s a lovely building,’ Lorna said, ‘and I’ve heard of a couple of the bands that are performing in the next few months.’

  ‘You have?’ Robin was wide-eyed. ‘God, that makes me feel even more out of touch with today’s music scene.’

  Molly winced. ‘The fact that you call it that is bad enough. Honestly, Robin.’

  Lorna laughed.

  ‘You’ve got an advantage – you have a sixteen-year-old daughter!’

  ‘Yeah,’ Molly said, nodding sagely. ‘I have no idea what rubbish she listens to, but I’d be hard-pushed to call it music. You’ll have to tell us which bands to see, Lorna. Take pity on us.’

  ‘You’re not old,’ Lorna said. ‘Music isn’t everyone’s thing.’ She glanced at Robin as she said this, as if acknowledging she wasn’t including her in that statement.

  ‘But it’s definitely yours,’ Robin said. She took a deep breath, wondering if the next question was an intrusion. ‘Paige, Molly’s daughter, said she saw you busking earlier today. Is that right? Is that what you do?’

  Lorna’s mouth fell open. She took a quick sip of her drink before replying. ‘Not usually, and not for the money. I work in a college as an admissions officer. It’s a good job, the music department is brilliant – they care about all the students, regardless of ability – and I get involved where I can. But …’ She stopped, glancing to Robin and then Molly.

  ‘You don’t have to tell us anything. It’s just that I like getting to know my guests when I can, and Molly here is—’

  ‘Incredibly nosey,’ she said, giving Lorna a cheeky grin. ‘Besides, you’ve willingly come in here for a drink, which means we need to take you under our wings and show you the error of your ways.’

  ‘You’re in here though,’ Lorna said.

  ‘Yeah, but we’re hardened Campion Bay residents. It’s too late for us.’

  Lorna shrugged. ‘I’ve had to get a bit tougher the last few months.’ She kept her gaze on the table, and Robin held her breath, waiting. Molly, too, seemed to sense she needed to let it out in her own time.

  ‘Not long after Christmas, I was mugged. I was walking home after rehearsal, and someone – I still don’t know who – came up behind me. They pushed me over, stealing my bag and breaking my guitar.’

  Robin swallowed. ‘God, I’m so sorry. Were you hurt?’

  Lorna nodded. ‘I landed on my wrist, and broke it. My parents got my guitar fixed, but I wasn’t able to pick it up for two months, and when I did, I couldn’t play.’ Her voice had thickened, her eyes impossibly large, and an image of Neve flashed into Robin’s head. For a moment she imagined that this was her best friend, telling a heartbreaking, shocking story, but one that had a happy outcome. It was briefly comforting to imagine that Neve had survived, but Robin had to remind herself it was another lie, even if she was telling it only to herself. She pushed the thought away and focused on what Lorna was saying.

  ‘Your wrist had lasting damage?’ she asked softly.

  ‘No, my wrist healed fine. It was my confidence that was gone. I couldn’t go back to the band, I couldn’t even pick up my guitar and play a tune. It’s what I love the most, and I thought it would be therapy for me, that I’d be desperate to get back to it after such a long absence, but when it came to it, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to be in the spotlight, to draw attention to myself. It reminded me of what had happened that night.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Molly asked.

  Lorna shrugged. ‘I quit the band and focused on my job, spent my evenings at home, not going out, not seeing anyone. It wasn’t until Rick – our band leader – came round to my house unannounced, told me that the longer I left things, the harder it would be, that I realised I was giving up.’ She sipped her drink, the sound loud as the straw hit the ice cubes at the bottom.

  ‘So you started busking?’ Robin couldn’t understand the logic of it. She would have thought that was even more terrifying than going back to where she was welcome, where everything was familiar and she was playing with people she knew.

  ‘I couldn’t play with the band again, not immediately. I needed somewhere I felt anonymous. Rick said he spent lots of happy holidays in Poole, that Dorset was lovely, and so I went online and started looking. Your guesthouse appealed to me; I liked the idea of Sea Shanty, of Rockpool – of something different, free of chintz. I thought if I could start playing again where nobody knew me, I wouldn’t feel the same pressure. I know I said I hadn’t performed on my own, and I haven’t. I mean, I don’t count busking as performing. Just playing.’

  ‘Has it worked?’ Molly sat back in her chair, her eyebrows rising.

  ‘It felt good today,’ Lorna said, ‘though I’m rustier than I thought I’d be. Having an audience again, even if they were only passers-by, gave me back some of my confidence.’

  ‘You think you could play to a proper crowd again?’ Robin asked.

  Lorna nodded. ‘Eventually. I feel like I have a long way to go, but once I’m back home, maybe I can return to the band.’

  ‘Or we could see if there was a band down here that you could play with,’ Robin said, drumming her fingers on the table. ‘I could check at the arts centre, see what’s available.’

  ‘I’m only here for a week.’

  ‘I’ve got space at the guesthouse, if you fancy staying on longer?’

  ‘What, so she can have two rehearsals with a local community band? That seems a bit pointless.’ Molly folded her arms over her chest.

  ‘It would be a good way for Lorna to get her confidence back though,’ Robin insisted.

  ‘I’m fine – busking is great, for now.’

  ‘So what about an open-mic night then?’ Robin suggested. ‘What if we put on an event so that you’d have a chance to perform on your own, away from everyone you know? If we open it up, get other bands and artists to perform, and they bring their friends along, I’m sure we could get a lot of people to come.’

  Molly sighed. ‘But we’d have to pay thousands of pounds to hire the arts centre. And there’s no way they’d have the space in a week—’

  ‘Fortnight,’ Robin butted in.

  ‘And it’s … it’s a ridiculous idea!’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about me,’ Lorna said. ‘Honestly. Shall I get some more drinks in?’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be at the arts centre. It’s nearly summer, we could do it outdoors, on the seafront.’

  ‘Who’s we? Robin, what planet are you on?’

  Robin stared at her friend, thinking back to Once in a Blue Moon Days, to private performances of opera singers she and Neve had organised, getting a long-time amateur singer a slot as a supporting act at Scala in London, the extravagant parties they’d put on at short notice. ‘I’m on planet possibility,’ she said defiantly.

  ‘I’m getting another round of drinks.’ Lorna stood, and Robin clasped her arm.

  ‘We could do this,’ she said. ‘Me and Molly, and the other residents of Goldcrest Road. We could put on an open-mic night, on
the golf course or the promenade, facing the sea. We’d promote it and host it – advertise it online and at the arts centre – and have you as one of the acts.’

  ‘In less than a week?’ Molly asked, incredulous.

  ‘Would you like to stay for a fortnight?’ she asked Lorna. ‘Would you like us to do this, to give you a stage, to help get your confidence back?’

  Lorna stared at her, open-mouthed, and then flicked a questioning glance to Molly.

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ Molly said, holding her hands up. ‘I think she’s gone nuts.’

  ‘I used to organise events all the time. It was my job.’ She didn’t want to sound desperate, but the idea was firmly lodged now, as strong as taking over the guesthouse had been. This idea was more outlandish, and they had hardly any time, but she’d misjudged the residents of Campion Bay so much, had underestimated their community spirit, and this would show them all that she believed in it, that she could bring everyone together and put on something the whole community could enjoy.

  Lorna hesitated, then put her glass back on the table. ‘Are you sure you can do this? In only a couple of weeks?’

  ‘Yes. If you want me to? I know it’s a bit more than a solo at a Christmas concert, but isn’t it the same sort of thing?’

  Lorna’s lips twitched into an almost-smile, and she turned to Molly. ‘Can she actually do this?’

  Molly looked at Robin. ‘Absolutely. Robin may have suddenly become batshit crazy, and I can’t imagine there isn’t some other agenda here, working alongside her desire to help you – getting a local tour guide to act as compère, perhaps? Or has Will got singing talents that you haven’t told me about?’ She raised an eyebrow and Robin flushed, though the idea hadn’t crossed her mind. ‘But I have no doubt that she can put on an event like this, with help from the other residents of Goldcrest Road, in only a few days. If I was you, and I wanted an opportunity to build up my confidence before going home, I’d put my trust in her.’ Molly smiled at Robin, and Robin felt a surge of gratitude towards her friend.

  ‘Right then,’ Lorna said, slightly dazed. ‘Let me think about it. What do you want to drink?’

  When she’d gone, Robin reached her hand across the table towards Molly. ‘Thank you.’

  Molly laughed and shook her head. ‘You are completely nuts. You know that, right?’

  ‘Do you think the open-mic night could use a compère? I remember him telling me at the taverna that nobody would want to hear him sing.’

  ‘I bloody knew it! Robin Brennan, you sneaky cow.’

  ‘You thought of it!’ she said, indignant. ‘Will hadn’t popped into my head for at least twenty minutes before you brought him up.’

  ‘I don’t believe that for a second. But I did think of it, and maybe it could work. If you want to show a certain someone that he’s valued in this community, then suggesting a Goldcrest Road event can’t go ahead without his input might be the way to do it. I don’t think you’ve got anything to lose by asking him.’

  Robin nodded, nerves churning in her stomach. ‘And the rest of it, do you think we can make it work? Get some food stands organised, turn it into a bit of a celebration? Do you think people will want to come and perform on the seafront?’

  Molly put her hand over Robin’s. ‘A moment ago you were brimming with enthusiasm. Don’t let your uncertainty with Will dampen it. There’s a lot to figure out, and not a lot of time to do it in, but I have complete faith that we – you – can pull this off. Now, tell me exactly what you’re thinking, and let’s see if we can come up with a foolproof plan of how to get it done.’

  Chapter Four

  Robin had a music night to organise. It was exhilarating and terrifying, but she was determined to see it through. As well as helping Lorna to overcome the fear that remained after her attack, she wanted to use the event to bring the residents of Goldcrest Road together. She knew that the rift was only between her and Will, but she had believed them all – Ashley and Roxy, Stefano and Nicolas, Maggie, Molly – capable of cynically befriending him to protect the seafront from property developers. She needed to make it up to them, even if she was the only one who would ever know that was what she was doing.

  On Monday morning she went to see Maggie, because without a venue they were stumped. Lorna had agreed to put her faith in Robin the night before, and had booked a second week in the guesthouse. It meant moving to Starcross halfway through her stay, but Robin couldn’t think of anyone she’d prefer to have in the room now that Will had vacated it.

  ‘Some people might think that this was all a ruse to get more money out of me,’ Lorna had said, a smile playing on her lips.

  Robin had given her a sheepish grin. ‘I’m going to give you a twenty-five per cent discount, if you’re happy with that. This is all my idea, so if you feel I’m coercing you – if you think I’m a money-grabbing cow – then I’ll understand if you want to forget the whole thing.’

  Lorna’s smile became a laugh. ‘I genuinely don’t think that. If I did, I would have turned you down. Besides, I’ve had a bit of money put aside for this break. I got some compensation after the mugging, and I’m happy to put it towards another week in your beautiful guesthouse. I already know it’s going to be awful leaving all this comfort and luxury behind, so staying another week is no hardship at all.’

  Robin had nodded, struck all over again by how much Lorna reminded her of Neve, the effect multiplied now that she was coming out of her shell. She hoped that her idea – her wild, outlandish idea – would work, and that she could help the young woman shake off the last of her fear, so that she could carry on with her life in a way that Neve hadn’t.

  Now, she was wearing a businesslike outfit of cropped black trousers and a cream blouse, and hoping that Maggie would take her seriously.

  ‘You want to hold a music night on my golf course?’ Maggie asked, folding her arms.

  ‘Not quite on your golf course – it would be on the promenade behind, but making use of your equipment, your electricity for the sound system, the lights you have.’

  ‘You want to hold a music night on the periphery of my golf course?’

  ‘Yes, Maggie, I do. Next Friday, the second of June. Can we do it?’

  ‘Who’s “we”, Bobbin? What’s all this about?’

  Robin bounced gently on the balls of her feet. ‘One of my guests, Lorna, has been through a difficult time. She’s a guitarist, and she’s come down here to try and get back on her feet, regain her confidence. I thought that if we put on an open-mic night on the promenade, something that could be enjoyed by everyone, then she could be part of it, and it might help her.’

  ‘And she’s OK with this? She’s on board?’

  Robin nodded. ‘She’s been busking, trying to get back into performing in a place where no one knows her, and I want to make it a bit more impressive.’

  ‘Old habits die hard, eh?’ Maggie asked softly, smiling and thanking a couple as they handed their clubs and balls back to her.

  ‘Something like that,’ Robin muttered.

  ‘You miss organising events, working under that kind of pressure?’

  ‘I miss working with Neve. I wouldn’t want to go back to it full-time, not now. I love running the guesthouse too much. I’m still finding my feet and, if I’m honest, I’ve developed a tendency to get more involved with my guests than I should – Lorna being a case in point.’

  ‘But perhaps not the prime example.’ Maggie wiggled her eyebrows wickedly, and Robin flushed.

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘But you have to remember that I had a front-row seat for that particular show of overfamiliarity.’

  ‘That was different,’ Robin said miserably.

  ‘Oh, Bobbin.’ Maggie’s smile fell. ‘What happened? I wouldn’t have teased you if I didn’t think things were well there. I can see why you like him – those eyes alone are enough to make anyone weak at the knees. But it didn’t work out?’

  ‘I messed up,�
� Robin admitted. ‘It’s my fault. You warned me to be careful, and I was the opposite – I was the least careful I’ve ever been, probably.’ She thought, for the hundredth time, that if she hadn’t asked him to read Molly’s text out …

  ‘But he’s still here?’

  ‘He’ll be here forever if the state of Tabitha’s house is anything to go by.’

  ‘So you’ve got a chance to make it up to him. What’s his role in this music night going to be? And don’t look at me like that – I know how your mind works, because it’s exactly what I would do.’

  ‘I’m going to ask him to be the compère. He’s a tour guide, so he’ll be able to get the audience in the palm of his hand, and hopefully warm up all the musicians before they go on stage. I only hope I can get him to say yes. So far, he’s refusing to talk to me.’

  ‘Men! They can be so stubborn,’ Maggie said, rolling her eyes.

  Robin laughed. ‘That’s a bit of a generalisation.’

  ‘Is it true in his case?’

  ‘Maybe. But he has every right to be angry with me. I’m afraid the more I try, the more he’ll close the door on me.’

  ‘You need to get him somewhere he can’t escape – where there are no doors to be closed, where he’s a captive audience and he has to listen to you.’

  ‘How am I going to do that?’ Robin asked. ‘It sounds great, but I only ever see him going into or out of Tabitha’s house, and he’s either on his way to shut himself up inside or he’s going to his new job—’ She stopped as the idea hit her, Maggie’s words repeating themselves. ‘A captive audience, huh? He’s the one who has one of those, but it doesn’t mean I can’t turn the tables, does it? Maggie, you’re a genius!’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you’re welcome.’

  Robin squeezed her hand and turned to leave.

  ‘Erm, Bobbin – didn’t you want to know about the music night?’

  Robin looked at her blankly, her head full of this new and potentially infallible plan.

  ‘As to whether you can leech off the golf course to power and contain and basically put on your event?’