A Seaside Affair

by Fern Britton

  Jonathan held her gaze.

  The penny dropped.

  ‘Oh.’

  Jess didn’t know what to say. She wanted to tell him: ‘Would you take me home now please, because this is really awkward,’ but she couldn’t very well do that without sounding rude or pissed or both.

  ‘Bad timing,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

  They sat in the taxi and she held his hand, not wanting him to feel that she was anything other than still a friend.

  They kissed chastely as he got out at the Starfish and she waved to him through the back window as the taxi drove off towards Pendruggan.

  After a couple of minutes she changed her mind.

  ‘Driver, would you turn round and drop me back at the Starfish.’

  ‘No problem.’

  Walking into reception she could see no sign of Jonathan. She asked the young man behind the desk if he had a room available for the night.

  ‘Yes indeed, madam.’

  In the lift she held her key firmly and marvelled at how she had the balls to do this.

  Once in her room she gave herself a good talking to in the bathroom mirror. ‘You’ve got one life and one chance at getting it right,’ she told herself. ‘It’s now or never.’

  She left her room and walked the corridors to a familiar door and knocked.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Me. Jess.’

  ‘I’m in bed.’

  ‘It’s OK. Nothing terrible is going to happen. I just want to talk to you.’

  She heard the rustle of bedclothes, of clothing being pulled on and of feet padding towards the door.

  Ollie opened it.

  40

  He was wearing pyjama bottoms. His eyes were full of concern and anxiety.

  ‘Jess, what’s the matter? It’s late.’

  ‘I just want to talk to you.’

  He stepped aside to let her in. The room was softly lit by a small bedside lamp and the bed was rumpled. She deliberately chose to sit on a tub-style armchair at the foot of the bed. There was a small pile of soft clothes on the seat and he watched as she picked them up and put them gently on to the floor before making herself comfortable.

  He sat on the edge of the bed looking unhappy.

  ‘I’m a bit pissed,’ she said. ‘And it’s probably inappropriate for me to be here with you, but I wanted to see how you are.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘How are you feeling about Red?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged again. ‘She’s gone for good and that’s it.’

  Jess shifted from the chair to the floor and sat on her knees looking up into his eyes, which he kept downcast. ‘Are you in love with her?’

  He ran his hands over his eyes. ‘Oh God, Jess …’

  She ploughed on: ‘What am I to you? I’m not your mother, I’m not your girlfriend but I care about you and feel that it would be such a shame if we lost what we had.’

  ‘Jess, you’re a lovely woman and you mean the world to me. I’ve never wanted to hurt …’

  Tears pricked her eyes. ‘But why would you hurt me? No one could hurt me as much as Ryan did, and I’ve been so miserable watching Red smothering you and knowing she was not what you wanted. You made me so happy and I want to make you happy again. Next year we’ve got the play with Brooke and Jonathan to look forward to. Why not go forward as friends, if not lovers, into next year – or has that changed for you?’

  He still couldn’t make eye contact. ‘No, Jess, it’s not that. I don’t know who I am. I just … I don’t know … I want to spend time as a single man with no responsibility, I need to figure out where I’m going with my work and what I want from my life.’

  ‘That’s fine by me, as long as we can still be friends.’ Her fingers reached out to the tops of his bare feet and stroked them. ‘Please?’

  There was the slightest of noises from the bathroom. So slight that Jess wouldn’t have paid it any attention if Ollie’s eyes hadn’t flickered.

  She let go of his feet and sat up. He looked hard at the floor. She got up and went to the bathroom.

  He said quietly, ‘No, Jess. Don’t.’

  The door was not fully shut and she pushed it gently open. Sitting in the dark on the closed lid of the loo was Brooke, wearing nothing but a sheepish smile.

  Jess felt her body drain of heat but her heart was leaping in her chest. She felt sick and her breathing started to come in short gasps.

  ‘Hi,’ said Brooke.

  ‘Hi,’ said Jess in shock. ‘I think it must have been your clothes I put on the floor by the chair.’

  As she stepped slowly backwards, Jess bumped into Ollie who was now behind her.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Jess. ‘Silly me. How humiliating. The older woman is always swapped for the younger model. I’ve been ridiculous. Forgive me. I hope you’ll keep my stupidity to yourselves. Please don’t tell anyone. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Good night.’

  Fumbling with the handle, she opened the room door and it slammed shut behind her on its sprung hinges.

  She took a couple of steps down the corridor before the patterned carpet started to make her feel giddy. She put a hand out to the wall to steady herself. It took her a few minutes, but slowly she found her way to her room and the horror of solitary humiliation.

  *

  It was three in the morning and Jess had been lying, still dressed, in a heap on her bed for the best part of two hours. Letting the tears fall on her pillow and staring blankly at the wall. Her life was in turmoil and it was too late to phone Emma. If her mother was alive, Jess knew what she would have told her: ‘It’s better to be an old man’s darling than a young man’s fool.’ Her mum had known all about that. Jess’s biological father had been a charming and feckless younger actor. Quite a feather in his cap to bed the older leading lady.

  As soon as he found out Jess was on the way, he had done a runner. Her mother had remarried a kind, loving man who’d been a wonderful dad to Jess and her half-sister, Emma.

  Like mother like daughter.

  Jess’s tears started to flow again. At least her mother had had two children. What did Jess have? Two dogs.

  The future stretched ahead of her. Loveless, childless, desolate.

  She needed a drink.

  Jess stepped out of her clothes and splashed some cold water over her swollen, make-up smeared face. She rubbed the worst of the mascara tracks off onto a big white fluffy towel, leaving it stained and sad.

  She pulled on the robe hanging behind the door and made her way down to the bar to find the company of the night porter and a drink.

  The lobby was silent and beautiful with its glittering fairy lights. And squishy sofas. She padded into the bar, the deep pile of the carpet comforting on her feet. She heard the rustle of someone walking towards her. ‘Good evening, madam,’ said the night porter, completely unfazed by this devastated and crumpled-looking woman. ‘Can I get you something?’

  ‘Thank you, yes. I’d like a bottle of brandy and a pot of strong coffee.’

  ‘Certainly, madam. Shall I serve it to you here in the bar? Or maybe the lounge?’

  ‘Erm …’ Her mind was too bruised to make a decision.

  A voice came from the depths of a high-backed winged armchair overlooking the harbour lights. ‘You can always join me …’ Jonathan looked round the side of the chair and smiled. ‘If you’d like to?’

  She nodded gratefully and sank into the chair opposite him.

  ‘I’ve been a complete fool tonight,’ she said.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

  She remembered the early part of this terrible evening when she’d assumed Jonathan was gay and then rebuffed him. ‘Oh, not just with you … I’ve humiliated myself in front of Ollie and Brooke too.’

  ‘Well done.’ His blue eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘Do tell. Just think of me as your gay best friend.’

  She hung her
head in shame. ‘Oh fuck, I’m such an idiot!’

  The night porter arrived with the cheerful rattling of coffee cups and ice cubes being carried on a tray.

  Jonathan poured her a large brandy, adding several chunks of ice.

  ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘Now, let it all out to Uncle Jonny.’

  *

  As she told the story of turning the taxi round and heading to Ollie’s room, Jess felt the embarrassment drench her again. She covered her face with her hands and kept on with all the details, right up until she found Brooke in the bathroom, naked. Jonathan listened intently but when she got to the denouement he couldn’t help but laugh.

  ‘It’s not funny,’ wailed Jess.

  ‘Oh, it is. It’s hilarious! Bloody actors are all the same!’ laughed Jonathan. ‘Can you imagine how shit they feel now? You punctured their little bubble of seduction perfectly.’

  ‘Don’t be mean. They’re my friends and I don’t want them to be unhappy.’

  ‘You are too nice, Miss Tate.’ He poured her another brandy and a cup of coffee. ‘Look at it this way: Ollie and Brooke were prepared to hurt you, and now you’ve embarrassed them. I’d call that quits.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘Yes. Because tomorrow, or rather, today, you have to work with them. Now, this can go one of two ways. You can be all embarrassed and polite and not discuss what happened tonight. Or get it all out into the open and move on. You and Ollie were very good together, because you are friends and because you like each other. Whether Brooke and Ollie are in for the long run … who knows? I doubt it. I’ve met enough actors in my time to know what happens. You live in each other’s pockets, get all cosy, and in the seclusion of an intimate set, friendship can seem like something else entirely.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘You’re not a typical actor, Jess. You take everything at face value and you’re too honest by half. But, being practical, I hope that Brooke and Ollie last for another twelve months – that will see us safely through to the end of Blithe Spirit!’

  It was Jess’s turn to laugh. ‘You selfish but clever man.’

  ‘Thank you. Do you fancy some breakfast? I smell toast coming from the dining room and I see guests drifting around.’

  ‘I’m in my dressing gown.’

  ‘Darling, you are an actress, you can arrive wearing whatever you like. Come on. I’m starving and you’re tired. Let’s eat, then you can sleep for the rest of the day.’

  *

  Jess was nervous when she showed up for work that night, but not as nervous as Ollie and Brooke, who were waiting for her in the dressing room.

  It was Brooke who immediately apologised. ‘Darling Jess, I feel so awful and can’t imagine how you must be feeling. I never meant to hurt you or go behind your back … it just happened last night and—’

  Ollie cut in ‘—it was just last night. We had a few drinks and—’

  Jess shushed them. ‘I’d be lying if I said that seeing you together last night didn’t hurt me. It did, but I think it was more the shock of it than anything. I’ve done a lot of talking and thinking and … well, what’s happened has happened. Water under the bridge and all that. I’ve been paddling in the shallows of life for thirty eight years. Too scared to make waves. Not wanting to get splashed or fully commit myself to living. I pretended I was happy with Ryan, but actually I was the one who was keeping him afloat. When he and I broke up I almost drowned, until Ollie saved me.’

  ‘You saved me too,’ he said.

  She smiled. ‘So now, shit scared as I am, I’m ready to go swimming in the deep. Way out of my depth, with my chin firmly out of the water and looking at the sky.’ She pulled out the chair by her dressing table mirror and dropped her bag on the floor beside it. ‘Friends?’

  ‘Friends,’ Brooke and Ollie agreed.

  ‘Good.’ Jess sat down and began to pin her hair away from her face, ready for her wig and make-up, then remembered something. ‘By the way, Jonathan isn’t gay.’

  41

  Summer was turning to autumn and the holidaymakers were leaving like the swallows.

  Penny was sitting at her desk wondering how she was going to spring her surprise on Simon. It was his birthday tomorrow and the garage had promised to deliver the new Volvo by 8 a.m. The secret was getting harder to keep, but keep it she must. It was too good a surprise to spoil. When Polly had read her palm at the fête, everything had fallen into place.

  The car salesman had given her one set of keys which she’d wrapped in a small box that was now burning a hole in her desk drawer. She had told no one. Not even Helen, who was, after all, her best friend.

  She opened the drawer to have one more look at the snazzily wrapped package. Before she could take it out and give it its umpteenth rattle, a ping signalled an incoming email. She rammed the drawer shut, glad to be distracted.

  The email was from a film production company in California. She’d had dealings with them a year or so ago … They had wanted to buy the US rights to Mr Tibbs, but she had turned them down. She looked at the subject line. It read: The Pavilion Story and Hats Off, Trevay!

  Intrigued, she opened the email. After reading the first couple of lines she knew this had to be a hoax. Why would a production company in LA be interested in buying the rights to Hats Off, Trevay! for goodness’ sake? She googled the name of the production company and nearly choked when she saw who it was owned by. No two ways about it, someone must be playing a practical joke on her.

  She told Simon about the email.

  ‘Why don’t you give them a ring, make sure one way or the other?’ he suggested. ‘God does move—’

  ‘—in mysterious ways. Yes, I know, it’s what you always say.’

  ‘Well, it’s true.’

  Penny thought about the surprise she had in store for her husband tomorrow morning and decided that maybe he was right.

  *

  Queenie was sipping on a cuppa, enjoying a ten-minute break after the morning rush. She’d left Simple Tony in charge of the shop downstairs, with orders to give her a shout if any strangers came in. He could manage just fine, serving the locals, but some of these holidaymakers could be a bit demanding.

  ‘I wonder what’s on telly?’ she muttered to herself.

  She picked up the remote and flicked through the channels: Jeremy Kyle – ‘Bloody loudmouth!’; Bargain Hunt – ‘Load of old crap, who’d wanna buy any of that rubbish?’; Come Dine With Me – ‘God Almighty! What a shower, ’oo’d want to ’ave anythin’ they cooked?’

  After much flicking, she finally came to rest on a channel showing nothing but films. Credits were rolling down the screen, signalling the end of a movie. Wondering what was coming next, she reached for her copy of TV Quick. It had fallen down the side of her battered old armchair. As she leaned down to pick it up she saw just how threadbare the chair was getting, but there was no way she’d ever replace it. It had been her husband’s favourite chair. She’d come to Cornwall as an evacuee from London’s East End; after her parents had been killed in the Blitz, she had nothing to go back for. Seventy-odd years she’d been in Pendruggan, yet there wasn’t a hint of Cornish to her accent and she still sounded as if she’d just stepped off a bus on the Mile End Road. Her husband, Ted, had been dead nearly fifteen years, but sitting on his chair kept him close.

  Queenie lit a roll-up and pursed her lips at the sight of Ant and Dec on the front cover. ‘Britain’s Got Talent, my arse. Right, what’s this then: “Runaway Bride. Richard Gere and Julia Roberts star in romantic comedy about a woman who has left a string of fiancés at the altar.”’

  Queenie stared intently at the small TV screen. A light bulb popped in her head.

  ‘I knew I’d seen him somewhere before!’

  Queenie stubbed out her fag and legged it down to the shop as fast as her birdlike legs could carry her.

  ‘A’right, Queenie,’ said Tony. ‘Can I go now? Got to start on the weeding in Miss Helen’s garden.’

  ‘You stay where you ar
e, Tony. I’ve got to see Penny – and this won’t wait!’

  *

  Queenie rushed into Simon and Penny’s kitchen, where Penny was just putting the phone down – a look of shock on her face.

  ‘’Ere, listen,’ said Queenie. ‘Opening night at the Pavilions, there was a fella came in wantin’ a ticket – all tanned and gorgeous ’e was, an’ I knew I’d seen ’im somewhere only I couldn’t think where. Well, I’ve remembered.’

  ‘Hang on a minute, Queenie. The most extraordinary thing has just happened. Simon, you were right, it seems that God really does move in mysterious ways. You’ll never guess who wants to buy the rights to Hats Off, Trevay!’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Bloody Richard Gere – bloody Hollywood legend, that’s all. Star of Pretty Woman, Officer and a Gentleman – I could go on. It defies belief.’

  Queenie was flapping her hands. ‘But that’s what I’m trying to tell you – he’s the Yank who came in on opening night. Came later the following week, an’ all. I wasn’t on the box office meself, but I saw him sneak in at the back a couple of minutes before curtain up. Then he left just before the end.’

  ‘He obviously didn’t want to be seen.’

  ‘But ’e didn’t count on old Queenie, did ’e? I knew it’d come to me.’ Queenie grinned a self-satisfied smile.

  ‘So what happens now?’ asked Simon.

  Penny could barely bring herself to say the words – the universe was on its head.

  ‘He wants to meet us. Holy shit, I’ve got to call Helen!!’

  *

  Backstage at the Pavilions there was a party atmosphere. It was the last night and preparations for the crew’s after-show party were in full swing. The stage management team had already strung bunting and balloons around the green room and a small table was accepting bottles of donated booze.

  Someone had organised a Secret Santa-type gift collection. Everyone had drawn names out of a hat and for ten pounds had to buy that person an amusing gift without them knowing who it was from.

  Jess couldn’t believe that it was nearly over. So much had happened in the last couple of months. Her life was completely different now. The last couple of weeks had passed in a blur. Emma and Max had been down for the weekend and it had given her a real lift. There was nothing like a sister to put some perspective on things.