Do Not Disturb

by Cressida McLaughlin

  She felt Will stiffen beside her. ‘It’s a good view,’ he said. ‘So, what are my instructions for tomorrow? Do you have something prepared?’

  Robin shook her head. ‘I’ve got the running order of the acts and how they want to be introduced, but other than that you have carte blanche. Just do what you do best, get the audience’s attention, hold them in the palm of your hand.’

  ‘That’s a big ask,’ he said, laughing lightly.

  ‘No, it’s not. You know you can do it. I – uhm …’ She glanced towards Goldcrest Road and the glowing lights of the houses, wishing that, now she’d got him here, she could hold on to him. ‘I need to go back. I promised Lorna I’d run through everything with her this evening, help to quash any last-minute nerves. She’s got two slots tomorrow – at the beginning and near the end, because she’s the one who started this whole thing off. I’m already later than I said I would be. Thank you, again, for your help tonight. And tomorrow. And I don’t know if …’ She scrutinised him, waiting for her pause to force his gaze towards her. His face was in shadow, but she could sense his anticipation, knew that there was less resistance than there had been before.

  ‘If what?’ he asked softly.

  ‘If you’d be willing to talk – I mean, to let me talk to you, properly. To explain everything. Maybe after tomorrow, once this is out of the way?’

  He pressed his lips together, and she could see the faint glint of barely there stubble along his jawline. ‘Sure,’ he said easily. ‘Let me know when you’re free. I’ll be all ears.’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Will said, the speakers giving a quick, sharp squeak of feedback before settling down again. He grinned, let his eyes take in his audience slowly, building the anticipation. ‘Welcome to the first Goldcrest Road music night.’ His voice rose at the end, and a cheer went up from the crowd.

  Robin looked at the people who had come to her impromptu, whirlwind event. She guessed that there were a couple of hundred of them on the promenade, some entirely focused on the stage, some milling around behind, queuing at the colourful food stands – burgers, Mexican burritos, a chocolate fountain stall and mobile bar – and a few beyond the stage, listening from the beach, even though the speakers were angled away from them.

  The warm evening had helped draw the crowds, and Robin could see families with small children, groups of friends who had come to support their performing mates, couples, young and old, holding hands or linking arms. The performers, all of whom she had met briefly, were in various stages of readiness. There was a young man called Ed, who had a foppish haircut that reminded her of an eighties band, and an ensemble of girls dressed in jeans and red tops, huddled together for a last-minute pep talk. Some hovered at the edges of the area with their instruments, glancing at sheets of paper that contained lyrics or music. Paige and Adam had agreed to be in charge of the acts, making sure they had everything they needed, getting them ready to go on stage, so that Robin could float freely, keeping an eye on the bigger picture.

  She watched now as a large group of teenagers, some wearing Crow’s Feet T-shirts, moseyed up towards the stage, chatting and laughing as they snapped glow sticks round each other’s wrist, their voices dimming as they joined the back of the audience and listened to what Will was saying. Two men, stepping away from the mobile bar, clinked their plastic pint glasses together. The crowds spilled towards and out of the taverna and the teashop, a steady stream of people visiting Goldcrest Road to take advantage of the unexpected, early-summer fun.

  There was a general buzz of excitement filling the air. It was a great start, Robin thought, as her eyes followed the movements of coloured glow sticks dotted throughout the audience. She would be able to get a rough estimate of the full reach of her event from how many were left at the end of the night.

  Lorna was standing next to the stage clutching her guitar, and Robin gave her a reassuring wave as Will continued with his introduction.

  ‘I think you’ll agree that it would be hard to conjure up a better occasion than this.’ He strolled from one side of the stage to the other. He was wearing the sea-blue shirt he’d worn for their meal at the taverna, this time with smart black trousers. His eyes shone out under the spotlights, and Robin knew it was more than anticipation of the upcoming performances that was shortening her breath.

  ‘We’ve got a variety of food stands offering sweet and savoury treats,’ Will said, ‘as well a bar serving soft and alcoholic drinks. Not to mention that Taverna on the Bay and the Campion Bay Teashop are running special open-mic night menus for this evening only. And there are free glow sticks. Everyone loves a glow stick, don’t they? Whether they remind you of awkward teenage discos, Take That concerts or the cold, smoky air and bonfire crackle of Guy Fawkes Night. Who doesn’t love taking them out of the freezer and snapping the colour back to life? Come on, admit it. Does anyone here not like glow sticks?’ He raised an eyebrow and there was laughter from the crowd, people glancing around to see who would be brave enough to own up. One young man raised his hand, and was met with a few gentle jeers from his friends.

  ‘Fair enough.’ Will nodded. ‘I won’t hold it against you. If glow sticks aren’t your thing, we’ve also got this magnificent backdrop.’ He turned, pausing to let everyone take it in, and Robin felt a shift in the atmosphere. ‘Someone told me recently that this view was perfect,’ he said. ‘I didn’t agree with her at the time; I was holding back. But do you know what? I think she was right.’ He took a breath, and Robin could tell, in spite of the emotions swirling inside her at his words, that he also had the attention of everyone in the crowd. ‘I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be. But if the sea air, the stars winking down on us and the pull of the tide aren’t magical enough, then wait until you hear our performances this evening.

  ‘I’ve rambled on for long enough, so now … It’s time. We’ve got the cream of Campion Bay talent here tonight, some established acts, and some who are just starting out and need all your encouragement. We’ll be finishing the evening with what is guaranteed to be a stellar performance from Crow’s Feet …’ He paused to allow room for the wolf whistles and cheering. ‘But first, we have someone who has come from much further afield to entertain you. All the way from Wendlesham near Luton. Please put your hands together and give your warmest welcome to musician Lorna Gregory!’ He walked backwards, gesturing towards the side of the stage, and Lorna came on to a hearty round of applause.

  She looked beautiful in her skinny jeans and black leather jacket, and a navy silk top that Robin had lent her. She had teamed the outfit with bold silver jewellery, her eye make-up dark and sultry. Robin watched as she tucked her long dark hair behind her ear, and positioned the guitar across her body. She strummed the first few chords of ‘Summer Son’ by Texas, and then began singing, the lyric soaring through the warm air. Robin let out a gasp at the full force of Lorna’s voice. She’d heard her practising in her room, but it was nothing compared with this, and she’d always talked about her guitar playing first and foremost, suggesting that singing was an incidental extra. That, Robin thought, couldn’t be further from the truth.

  She felt a surge of satisfaction and accomplishment, so strong it was like a drug. She had done it. She’d had lots of help – there was no way she could have pulled it off without her friends and neighbours – but it had started from one tiny glimmer of an idea. Now it had become this magical evening, with delicious summery foods, plastic cups of wine and beer, and a mesmerised audience listening to music against the backdrop of the calm sea and twinkling fairy lights.

  As Lorna finished her set to resounding applause and the next act, Ed with the eighties hair, appeared on stage, Robin’s nerves disappeared and she began to enjoy herself. The range of performers meant that there was something for everyone: some acoustic, some rock, an unassuming woman who looked like she was terrified and then belted out Kate Bush covers with a powerful voice. Some were noticeably nervous, performing in front of a large audience for the
first time, but Robin was heartened by the kind spirit of the crowd, encouraging them, cheering and clapping, making everyone feel like they belonged on the stage.

  She knew Will would be close to the stage, waiting to introduce each new act. His opening had been perfect. He’d brought everyone with him, making them laugh and building their anticipation when they could easily have meandered off, more interested in the food stalls or the bar. She tried not to think too much about his reference to their last conversation, or what it might mean. A pair of arms squeezed around her waist, making her jump.

  ‘You did it,’ Molly whispered loudly. ‘You bloody did it, you mad thing!’

  ‘We did it,’ Robin corrected, but secretly she accepted her friend’s compliment. It was a success, no doubt about it, a triumph of community spirit, somehow so much more rewarding than any of the Once in a Blue Moon Days because it was for everyone – not just a small group of satisfied faces, but a whole crowd of people aged eight months to eighty years.

  ‘Your man was good,’ Molly said, moving round to face Robin.

  ‘He’s not my man.’

  ‘But you’re making inroads?’

  She gave a quick nod. ‘Possibly. But tonight, after this, I have to have dinner with Tim. It— I wish I could get out of it, but I can’t.’

  Molly squeezed her shoulder. ‘Mr Nightingale will still be here tomorrow.’

  Robin nodded, knowing her friend was right, but still not entirely comfortable. She couldn’t let Will slip through her fingers again.

  The last lines of Crow’s Feet’s most popular song faded into the darkness, the audience singing along with gusto, the quarter-moon glowing down on them. The applause went on for a long time, and then Will came back on to the stage.

  ‘I think we can all agree that was a brilliant way to end the evening. Let’s hear it again for Crow’s Feet, and all our other performers!’ He gestured to the side of the stage, and waited while all the acts came back on, lining up and staring out at the crowd, a few waving at their friends and family, some gazing up at the members of Crow’s Feet, as if not quite believing they were alongside them. Will instigated a fresh round of cheers and then stood aside, waiting while they bowed again and again, before finally walking off the stage.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘before I let you all drift away to get more food and drink, there are a few thank-yous to say.’ Most of the crowd held their place, murmuring, and Will waited for their attention to be fully on him. ‘Firstly, a huge thank you to all the performers, professional and amateur, for putting themselves forward and making tonight such a success. We’ve seen a lot of talent on this stage tonight. Next, we have to thank Campion Bay Property, Malcolm Percy and Tim Lewis, for their support and sponsorship of this event. Lots of people have worked hard behind the scenes to make this evening go without a hitch. Molly and Paige Westwood, Adam Steed, and of course Maggie Steeple for allowing the concert to be hosted here, alongside the fantastic Skull Island – watch out for the water features when you next come for a round. Tonight wouldn’t have been able to happen without any of you.’ He paused, waiting for the clapping to die down, a few wolf whistles from the younger and more enthusiastic audience members.

  He looked out over the crowd, his green eyes flickering as if he was searching for someone. ‘There is one other person I need to mention. Without her spark of creativity and her generosity we wouldn’t be standing here today, Campion Bay wouldn’t have one of the most desirable, welcoming guesthouses along the south coast – that’s the Campion Bay Guesthouse, put a quick reminder in your phones – and Goldcrest Road would be a poorer, duller place. So …’ – Will swallowed, treating the audience to a slightly embarrassed smile, as if worried he’d said too much – ‘could you all put your hands together for the organiser of tonight’s concert, and one in a million, Robin Brennan!’ He started the applause and others joined in. Robin took a step back, hoping nobody would point her out.

  She wondered fleetingly if the seagulls roosting close by were traumatised by the noise, the constant stopping and starting of the cheers and clapping. She hoped she could stop her cheeks from going red, so she didn’t give the game away, and breathed a sigh of relief when Will closed the event with a warm goodbye and people started to disperse, drifting towards the food stalls or towards town.

  He hadn’t needed to say those things at the end, and she wondered if someone had put him up to it – Molly or Lorna. One in a million. Did he really think that?

  Lorna appeared and enveloped her in a hug, her blue eyes glittering. ‘That. Was. Incredible. Wow, I just – I never knew I had it in me, to perform like that, to be part of something so wonderful. Can we do it every year? I could come back – and get Crow’s Feet to headline again, they were amazing!’

  Robin laughed, delighted that the evening had been a triumph for her. She had been the catalyst, after all. ‘Of course – come back whenever you want. We can think of new things to do, make it bigger and better, get the arts centre involved next time.’

  ‘You’ve put on such a special event.’ Lorna glanced around. ‘The setting, the lights, the food. The ocean backdrop.’

  ‘That one’s not down to me,’ Robin said. ‘It’s just a benefit of living here.’

  ‘I loved every second! Are you coming back to the guesthouse to celebrate with us?’ She meant the other guests, Robin knew, all of whom had been in the audience. Paige and Molly had kindly agreed to go to the guesthouse after the concert, hosting the informal after-party while she fulfilled her obligation to Tim.

  ‘I’ll be there later, but I have to go and meet someone now.’ She squeezed Lorna’s shoulder. ‘You were brilliant – I knew you would be. Do you think you’ll go back to the band when you get home?’

  ‘Will I ever!’ Lorna said. ‘I’m going to ask Rick for more solo parts.’

  Robin laughed and watched the young woman walk towards the guesthouse, a spring in her step. She turned slowly, wondering if she had time to find Will before her meal with Tim. She had so much she wanted to say to him. She was encouraged by his apparent thawing over the last couple of days, and his words on the stage tonight. She saw a flash of toffee-coloured hair beneath the fairy lights and took a deep breath as he approached.

  His grin was wide, his shoulders relaxed. She couldn’t help but notice that the top two buttons of his shirt were open. ‘So, Robin Brennan, that went pretty well. It turns out you’re not bad at organising last-minute events.’

  She tried to suppress the happiness bubbling up inside her. ‘You weren’t too bad yourself. You’re a natural-born showman. Are you sure you don’t have hidden singing talents? Acting? Are you secretly a world-class dancer?’

  Will laughed. ‘No, “compère” will do me fine. I enjoyed it, though. I felt … a part of something, here. Goldcrest Road.’ He gestured towards the departing crowd, the scene around them, and Robin knew she had to act quickly.

  ‘I’ve agreed to meet someone now, for a work thing,’ she said hurriedly, ‘but do you want to get together tomorrow morning, to catch up?’

  He nodded. ‘Sure. Tomorrow’s great, I just thought …’ He turned away, glancing at the beach and the quarter-moon suspended over the sea. He shook his head quickly and turned back to her. ‘Who are you meeting?’

  Suddenly Tim was at her side, looking as groomed as ever in a black shirt.

  He gave Will a quick, triumphant smile before turning to Robin. ‘I am the luckiest guy in the world right now. You’re the toast of Campion Bay, and I’m the one who gets to take you out.’

  Robin felt her cheeks burn. She risked glancing at Will, saw his smile fall, hurt and confusion sparking in his eyes as Tim took hold of her bare arm and began to lead her away. ‘I’ll come and see you—’ she called, but Will had already moved away from her, walking in the opposite direction, dissolving into the darkness.

  The bar was cosy with low, subtle lighting and midnight-blue walls, the simple wooden furniture elegant and understated, the leather seat
s luxurious. Robin sank into one, hoping it would somehow absorb her nerves and her discomfort, soaking them up like spilled wine, while Tim went to the bar. He came back with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

  ‘I’ve ordered tapas,’ he said. ‘I got a bit of everything, so you can try it all. It’s a great place, and I wanted us to get away, to have some time alone together.’

  ‘Tim,’ Robin said. She was desperate to end this. She couldn’t bear the effort he’d gone to, taking her away from Campion Bay to an intimate setting, buying champagne. His usual, arrogant swagger was tempered slightly, despite his wolfish grin.

  ‘Have some bubbles.’ He poured two glasses and thrust one into her hand. ‘To you, Robs. For putting on such a barnstorming event with very little time or resources. For letting everyone see what you’re capable of. Why have you been hiding it for so long?’

  Robin froze. ‘What? I haven’t been hiding anything.’

  ‘I think you have,’ he said. ‘Don’t get me wrong – running the guesthouse, what you’ve done to the place, is incredible. It’s beautiful, it’s fresh, and I know that there are always things to do, that it’s a constant treadmill.’

  ‘Exactly. It’s a tough job, tough to get right. I mean, you can get by, you can make things work, but I don’t want to settle for that. I want my guesthouse to be exceptional.’

  ‘Oh, it is,’ Tim said smoothly. ‘From what little I’ve seen of it, from the buzz in the town, you’re making waves.’

  ‘So what are you saying, then?’

  ‘A guesthouse doesn’t make as big a wave as a bold, vibrant event like tonight. With the guesthouse you get to wow a few people, but tonight …’ He shook his head.

  ‘Why does it have to be about numbers?’ she asked, trying not to get flustered. ‘Why can’t I please a small number of people with the guesthouse? Why is a large crowd more worthwhile?’

  Tim took a sip of champagne. ‘I’m not explaining myself clearly. I’ve seen something new in you over the last couple of weeks, a determination that I thought you’d lost after your time in London. After Neve.’