Uh-oh, thought Rose, I sense a battle coming.
They turned into Tollergate. It was a peculiarity in these parts that gate meant street. Tollergate was a steeply descending street of small terraced houses, a short distance from the headland. Her grandmother had lived here for the past sixty years, and Rose’s mother had grown up here. Rose liked the quaintness of Tollergate with its narrow pavement, cobbled road and old houses, painted in pastel shades of pink and cream, but Andrea frowned. “These streets were not built for cars,” she said, shifting down to first gear in order to negotiate the steep descent.
Andrea parked the car round the back and turned off the engine. “Well, here we are,” she said. A seagull landed on the bonnet of the car and screeched its noisy welcome before lurching off into the storm-filled skies.
~~~
Heads…Right again!
He must be psychic or something. He should have set himself up on the sea-front as a fortune teller. He’d be raking it in by now instead of being stuck here in the booth at his dad’s amusement arcade being paid less than the minimum wage. You’re family, his dad had said, as if that made all the difference. On the other hand, thought Dan, maybe being a fortune teller was not such a great idea. He didn’t think the hooped earrings would suit him.
For the last half hour he’d been idly spinning coins to see if he could guess which way they would fall. Heads or tails. Fifty-fifty chance of getting it right or wrong. So far he was right about sixty percent of the time, so he was beating the odds, which was more than those poor sods at the fruit machines were doing. Every few minutes one of them would feed more pound coins into the machines that dispensed change so they could have another go, convinced that if they kept at it they would eventually strike lucky and hit the jackpot. Didn’t they realise those machines were rigged?
A little kid who’d won a batch of yellow tickets in the penny drop machine came up to the counter with his dad to claim his prize. He had his eye on one of the teddy bears lined up against the back wall of the booth, but he didn’t have enough points for one of those and had to choose between a crummy plastic keyring or four chocolate mice. He chose the chocolate mice. A sensible decision in Dan’s opinion.
It was depressing working here. Growing up, his mates had envied him. Taken in by the pounding music and the flashing lights, the amusement arcade had seemed to them like a place of glamour and excitement, somewhere fortunes were made, a tiny bit of Las Vegas on the otherwise dull and slightly tacky sea-front of this faded Victorian resort. And Dan had loved it too once, when he was too young to know better. But then he’d learnt to recognise the signs of gambling addiction, the way some people compulsively thrust coin after coin into the slot machines until they had nothing left. Plus his dad had let him in on the secret of how the machines were designed to pay out much less than they took in. He’d realised people were living in a fool’s paradise if they thought the arcade was a place they might get rich and that had taken the shine off it. This year his mates were off camping in Scotland whilst he was stuck here. He still had two years of school left, but next summer he intended to go backpacking once he’d saved up enough money. For now he had no choice but to do this job and lump it.
A shadow fell across the booth and Dan looked up. Two men were leaning against the counter in a way that put Dan on his guard. There was something quietly threatening in their attitude. They looked to be in their twenties, maybe early thirties. One of them was short and thick-set with a neck like a bulldog and a nose that looked like it had been broken on numerous occasions. The other was tall and thin with a spider tattoo that covered the left side of his neck and extended up to his jawline. Both of them had close-cropped hair and about three days’ worth of stubble. If this was a raid then they were going to be disappointed; they didn’t keep that much cash behind the counter, unless it was chocolate mice they were after. If it was money these guys wanted they’d be better off trying to nick one of the slot machines. The short bloke looked like he could lift one of the newer machines on his own.
“Can I help you?” asked Dan, trying to keep his voice level. They’re probably just holidaymakers, he told himself although somehow he didn’t believe it.
“We’re looking for Ryan,” said the man with the tattoo. He spoke with a distinct Geordie accent, marking him out as coming from Newcastle. It sounded more like Luke-ing for Ryan.
Ryan was Dan’s dad and Dan didn’t have a clue where he was right now. He certainly wasn’t in the amusement arcade, that was for sure, having left Dan to man the fort two hours ago. His dad was getting increasingly good at these disappearing acts. But even if he knew where his dad was, he didn’t think he’d be inclined to tell these two. He wasn’t normally one to judge by appearances but if these two were just regular dudes then he was the Dalai Lama.
“He’s not here at the moment,” said Dan, trying to sound authoritative and, to his ears, failing miserably.
The men scowled.
“Shall I tell him you called?”
“Aye, do that,” said the fat bloke. Another Geordie.
“What are your names?”
“Just tell him Max wants to see him. He’ll know who that is,” said the guy with the tattoo.
“Got it.”
Dan watched the retreating backs of the pair as they sauntered out of the arcade. God, what a couple of jerks. Dan didn’t know anyone called Max, but then his dad’s business activities were a mystery to him most of the time. He picked up a pen and wrote a big red “M” on the back of his hand as a reminder. Then he went back to spinning coins.
~~~
“Hello, Gran,” said Rose, hugging her grandmother tight. Rose loved the way her grandmother always smelt of lavender and Pears soap.
“Goodness, you’ve grown,” said her grandmother. It was true. She’d shot up in the last year and was now towering over the old lady. “Still as skinny as a rake though! We’ll have to get some fish and chips inside you.”
Andrea ran inside with the last of the bags from the car and added them to the pile that had accumulated on the floor in the back room.
“Goodness,” said Rose’s grandmother. “It looks like you’re staying for good.”
“Well you never know what the weather’s going to be like here,” said Andrea, shaking the rain from her hair as if to prove a point.
“I’ll put the kettle on. You look like you need a cuppa.”
“No, you sit down. I’ll do it.”
“I’m perfectly capable of making a cup of tea, Andrea. It’s just a light sprain, that’s all.”
Rose looked at the bandage around her grandmother’s right wrist. She was also sporting a real shiner on her right eye. “Why don’t I do it?” said Rose, stepping around the bags and moving into the kitchen that overlooked the small backyard. Anything to get away from her mother and grandmother if they were going to start bickering.
By the time Rose took three mugs of strong Yorkshire tea into the tiny front room, her mother was already saying how the steep staircase in the cottage was no good for someone her gran’s age and she should really think about coming to live with them in London where they could keep an eye on her. They hadn’t been there five minutes and already her mother was lecturing Gran on taking better care of herself. Gran will give as good as she gets though, thought Rose, that’s for sure.
“Thank you dear,” said her grandmother, taking the offered mug of tea and giving Rose a wink that Andrea couldn’t see. Rose suppressed a laugh. The trouble with Andrea was that she was such a worrier. Rose felt a strong solidarity with her grandmother. They would have to stand united against her mother’s constant onslaught of concern. She sat down cross-legged on the floor by her grandmother’s feet, sipped her tea and tried to tune out the conversation that had suddenly turned into a blow-by-blow account of the roadworks on the motorway.
By the time Rose had finished her tea the rain had stopped and a weak, watery sunlight was filtering through the window.
“I think I’ll go for a
walk,” she said, jumping to her feet. “If you don’t need me right now?”
“Well…” said her mother.
“I think that’s a super idea,” said her grandmother, interrupting whatever objection her daughter was going to come up with. “In Scarborough you have to make the most of it when the sun comes out. You don’t want to be cooped up in here all the time.”
“Thanks Gran,” said Rose. “I won’t be long.”
“Take as long as you like.”
Rose kissed her grandmother on the cheek and stepped outside. The cobbles still glistened from the rain but the sun was warm on her face.
She set off down the hill, pulling her mobile phone from her back pocket as she went. Still nothing from Joe. Why wasn’t he getting in touch? She couldn’t very well send him a fourth text without making herself look pathetic and needy and she didn’t want to do that. Maybe she’d overdone it already with three texts. But the first two had just been chatty, Hi, how’s it going? type of texts. Only the last one had had a hint of resentment (So where are you?) about it.
She passed a shop called Krystal’s Charms that had dreamcatchers hanging in the doorway. The precious gemstones in the window were accompanied by handwritten notices promising Inner Calm and Powerful Healing. Next door was a traditional sweet shop piled high with pink sticks of rock, the shouts of small children clamouring for sweets detracting from the Inner Calm on sale next door. On the other side of the street was a joke shop painted in primary colours with the words Jokes, Wigs, Magic and Toys picked out in 3-D capitals. This place is such a time warp, thought Rose. Bet they still sell Kiss-me-Quick hats.
She turned the corner onto the sea-front which was chock-a-block with shops selling buckets and spades, postcards, wind-breakers, dinghies and inflatable dolphins. What she really needed to find was a café with Internet access where she’d be able to use her laptop. If one thing was going to make six weeks in Scarborough tolerable, it would be access to the Internet.
~~~
Dan handed over to Dave, the bloke who did the evening shift at the arcade. He was glad to be out of there. It was in the evening that things could get rowdy. He was just pulling on his jacket when he heard the roar of an engine outside. His dad had come to pick him up. In the Ferrari.
“Enjoy the ride,” said Dave, waving him off.
“If only,” said Dan.
Ryan strode into the building, mirrored shades reflecting the flashing lights of the slot machines. Why does Dad have to dress like an ageing rocker? Ryan had on a too-tight pair of black jeans and a leather jacket with the collar turned up. He’d let his hair grow and had recently started experimenting with a goatee. Is he having a mid-life crisis or what?
“All right, son?” said Ryan, slapping Dan on the upper arm in an attempt at cool but which just felt awkward. “How was business today?”
“Same as always.”
“Lots of punters?”
“I guess.” Dan hadn’t been counting.
“Right, come on then,” said Ryan. “Need to get going. Lots of stuff to do.”
Outside, a crowd of chip-munching holidaymakers had gathered to admire the sleek lines, shiny red bodywork and plush leather interior of the Ferrari 458 Spider which was parked half on the road and half on the pavement despite the double-yellow lines.
“Excuse me,” said Dan, shouldering his way through the crowd of spectators and climbing into the passenger seat. Of course, Ryan had to have the roof down, so now everyone was staring at Dan as he sat there. He fastened his seat belt and tried to ignore the stares by checking for messages on his mobile phone. Ryan climbed into the driver’s seat, adjusted his shades and pulled sharply away from the curb in a thunderous roar of 570 horsepower.
“Oh, by the way Dad, two men came looking for you today. A couple of Geordies. They said someone called Max wants to see you.”
The effect on his dad’s driving was immediate. At the mention of Max’s name, Ryan gripped the steering wheel so that the whites of his knuckles showed and pressed his foot down hard on the accelerator, over-revving the engine. They spun round the corner, tyres burning. Dan was thrown backwards and to the side by the force of the acceleration. Something about Newton’s Laws of Motion from school physics lessons flashed through his mind.
“Watch out!” shouted Dan. A girl, eyes glued to her mobile phone, was just about to step off the pavement. She jumped back in the nick of time, eyes wide with shock, and shouted something rude. Bloody hell, thought Dan, that was close. All his friends thought the Ferrari was super-cool, but sometimes Dan wished his dad just drove a regular hatchback like ordinary people.
“So who’s Max?” ventured Dan when the car had slowed to a speed that was only one and a half times the speed limit instead of two and a half times.
“No one you need to worry about.” Ryan jumped a red light. It was beyond Dan how his dad still managed to own a driving licence.
“Those guys looked quite rough to me.”
No response.
Whatever, thought Dan. He hated it when his father still treated him like a child, cutting him out of things. Dan figured that if he was old enough to work in the arcade then he was old enough to be treated like an adult.
They drove the rest of the way in silence, Ryan taking the bends up Oliver’s Mount as if he was on the circuit at Le Mans. Dan clutched the door handle and shut his eyes. The face of that girl, the one they’d nearly killed, flashed before his eyes. He’d only glimpsed her for a split second, but when someone looks as if they’re about to die, it kind of makes an impression on you. She’d been pretty, despite the look of terror in her eyes: slim, dark hair in a loose pony-tail. He’d recognise her if he saw her again and if he did he’d apologise for his dad’s crappy driving.
Ryan swung the car into the gravel driveway and pulled up sharply in front of the Victorian villa, making the tyres screech. He crunched the handbrake as he yanked it upwards. Dan opened his eyes and breathed out. He was still in one piece. His dad must have ninety-nine lives or something, never having had an accident and never getting caught by the police for his numerous violations of the Highway Code. Some people were just lucky, Dan supposed.
Ryan was already out of the car, leaping up the front steps two at a time. Dan had never seen him so agitated. He followed his father into the house just in time to see Ryan disappearing into his office, slamming the door behind him.
Dan wandered into the kitchen and helped himself to a can of Coke from the fridge. He was starving but his mother was nowhere to be seen and there was no sign of anything cooking for tea. She was probably at the health club again, getting herself pampered. It was all she ever did these days, that and redecorate the house. If she wasn’t at the health spa improving herself, she was hiring teams of builders to improve their sprawling Victorian villa, never satisfied with the décor, as if happiness were to be found in a subtler shade of paint or a new kitchen counter. But what was the point of having a flashy kitchen if you never cooked in it? Dan wished now he’d bought some fish and chips when he was in town. He pulled open the freezer door and hunted for a pizza.
~~~
Rose bought herself the biggest ice cream she could find (chocolate chip with a chocolate flake) and took it down to the beach. She reckoned she deserved a treat after that near-miss with Death. Her heart was still pounding five minutes after she’d almost been mown down by that crazy idiot of a driver. She needed some chocolate to calm her nerves, the more the better. That car was pretty easy to spot so if she saw it around again she’d give the driver one hell of a mouthful and it wouldn’t be pretty to listen to.
She licked the ice cream and sighed. She didn’t want to be here; Joe still hadn’t texted her; she’d nearly been killed by a lunatic driver; her mother was clearly going to get on everyone’s nerves; and a seagull was making aggressive moves to steal her chocolate flake. Things couldn’t get much worse.
CHAPTER TWO
Grand Hotel,
Scarborough,
/> 7pm, 12th August, 1899
Dearest Susan,
We have arrived safely at our destination and are comfortably installed in Scarborough’s Grand Hotel. I wish you could have joined us, dear sister, but I understand you have a duty to your husband and must remain in London. However, I am grateful to have Mary with me and I feel we shall be more like friends on this trip than mistress and maid.
Doctor Bradshaw was very wise to recommend a spell at the seaside. Already I feel easier in my mind and I breathed more calmly with every mile that the train carried me away from London. No doubt the oppression and anxiety that have plagued me of late are nothing more than pre-wedding nerves. I do not mind admitting to you, sister, that recently I have been suffering from terrible nightmares and waking in the middle of the night with a thumping heart. As I say, pre-wedding nerves, no doubt, which the sea air will hopefully dispel. I hope Henry will understand, although I fear he does not look kindly on what he calls “feminine foibles.”
But enough of my troubles. Let me tell you about Scarborough. We took a carriage from the railway station to the Grand Hotel and as we rounded a corner there was the sea, an endless stretch of glittering blue. I thought my heart would explode! How I would love to board a ship and sail far away to some distant land. But I am becoming fanciful, something which Henry deplores! I will have to suppress these urges when I am married, but for now I hope I may be permitted a little day-dreaming. I promise you that I will collect some postcards for my scrapbook so that you can see what a delightful place Scarborough is.
The hotel is built on such a grand scale that the sight of it truly took my breath away. If I had imagined that we would be staying in some small, provincial hotel then I was mistaken. The coachman who drove us from the station was proud to inform us that the hotel has twelve floors, one for each month of the year, four towers for the seasons, fifty-two chimneys and three hundred and sixty-five bedrooms. What is more, the building is constructed in the shape of a “V” in honour of our dear queen. I love the idea that a building should be designed with such ingenuity. The interior is very fine with marble pillars and a grand, sweeping staircase leading to a gallery that overlooks the foyer. My room is most comfortable with its own bathroom and the bath even has an extra tap so that I may choose to bathe in fresh water or sea water. How innovative! Everything is new and modern and the plumbing works like a dream.
Scarborough Fair (Scarborough Fair series Book 1) Page 2