The bad news is that I forgot to bring my painkillers with me, and I haven’t actually taken one today so I’m really starting to feel my leg aching. The good news is that after our afternoon tea we decided to take a walk on the beach, but because it was far too cold we ended up going into Treasure Island, the amusement arcade.
I know what you’re thinking: Lola James, why are you, a woman in her thirties, excited about a seafront amusement arcade? Do you just really like penny machines? It turns out that Treasure Island has changed a lot since the last time I visited, which is probably when I was a teenager.
When you walk through the doors it still looks the same, with the same retro arcade games, from penny machines to those horse-racing ones to rows and rows of various slot machines, all lighting up in different colours and bursting with different noises to entice people to play with them. What has changed is the big burly bouncers who stand at the back and, no, it’s not a sad sign of the times; the bouncers stand in front of a hidden door that leads to the speakeasy upstairs.
So, in a fortunate turn of events, I have wound up not only temporarily off painkillers, but in a bar. A real, well-stocked bar, with an extensive, fancy cocktails menu. It might not be drinkies with my London girlies but it’s something even better. Just a bunch of weird, mismatched friends and a couple of horny kids hanging out in a bar together.
‘I don’t know why he keeps ID-ing me,’ Toby complains as he places a round down on the table in front of us. ‘You’d think once would be enough, but he asks to see it every time – even though he knows that I am, he says he refuses to believe I’m eighteen, or that I carry my passport around as ID.’
‘I think you look eighteen, babe,’ Channy reassures him.
‘Thanks, babe,’ he replies.
There is only a split second before they launch at each other, face first. It’s been like this pretty much all day with the two of them snogging. I suppose it’s cute. As they really get into it, Channy clumsily swipes Doris’s drink off the table but she’s too engrossed in her kiss to even realise.
‘I, erm, I’ll go get another one,’ she says as she gets out of their way.
‘I’ll come with you,’ I tell her. ‘Keep you company.’
What I actually want is a break from the peep show. I’m happy for them, obviously, but I feel really, really single right now. Watching them so into each other is making me feel strangely lonely.
‘Can we get another sea breeze, please?’ Doris asks the barman.
‘Already?’ an elderly man sitting at the bar chimes in.
‘What’s it to you?’ Doris asks.
‘Nothing to me,’ the man replies. ‘I thought that young man just brought you one.’
‘His girlfriend knocked it over,’ I reply.
‘And who are you to care?’ Doris asks him.
She’s a sassy bird, when she wants to be.
‘I’m the owner,’ he says. ‘Technically.’
‘Technically?’ Doris replies. She seems very interested in talking to him.
‘You see that stressed-out fella over there, hunched over a laptop, looks like a cross between a lumberjack Salvador Dalí and Steve Jobs?’
His description is actually spot on.
‘He’s my son. We own this place together. I used to run it, when it was just an arcade but he’s come in and modernised it and he’s making a really good go of it. I’m kind of surplus to requirements now and, since my wife died …’
‘Oh no, your wife died?’ Doris asks. ‘My husband died.’
‘I hope this isn’t too forward, and I hope you don’t think it’s because our significant others are dead, but I’d really like to buy that drink for you, and I’d love to have a natter if you fancy it?’
Doris, God love her, looks at me for permission.
‘I wouldn’t want to ditch my friends,’ she says.
‘Your friends do not mind,’ I assure her. ‘If you want to have a chat, go for it.’
‘The name is Sylvester,’ he says. ‘And I promise to take good care of your friend.’
‘You’d better,’ I tell him. ‘You think I look injured? You should see the other guy.’
Sylvester just laughs.
I’m about to wheel myself back over to the others when I decide to check my phone quick, see if I have anything from my mum welcoming me back into the family home. I do hope she isn’t still mad at me.
My phone opens up on Facebook and at the top of my newsfeed is a picture of my friends – my ex friends. They’re all there with their partners but there’s one girl I don’t know. I notice her first, which is funny considering it is Patrick who has his arm around her waist. He’s already got a new bird, and our friendship group are completely accepting of her. Lola who, eh?
‘Do you have shots?’ I ask the barman.
He has to lean over the bar to see me.
‘Sorry, I just … I thought you might be a kid,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Thought I’d better check. We’ve got Kapop Shots … bubble gum or blueberry?’
‘Oh God,’ I can’t help but blurt out. ‘Blueberry, I suppose.’
‘One blueberry, coming right up.’
‘Make that two,’ I tell him.
‘Lola James, is that you?’ I hear a female voice ask.
‘Unfortunately,’ I reply when I see who it is. It’s Erica Salmon, the girl who used to bully me at school.
‘Oh my God, it’s been years,’ she says. ‘I’m just here with the kids and my husband. I popped up for a lemonade. You look no different.’
Erica doesn’t look much different either, other than being pregnant. She’s still tall and skinny with a brunette bob that is so perfect it could pass for a wig. I don’t know how to describe her face other than cute, but in the most small, piggy, obnoxious way. Did I mention she used to bully me at school? She made my PE years hell. It’s hard not to be bitter about it, especially when I’m in such a bad mood.
‘And look at your leg,’ she says. ‘Remember how much bigger your legs were than everyone else’s at school? We’d call you Steam-Lola. Remember?’
I spent years listening to this crap. I wonder what it would be like to stand up to her now that I’m not an embarrassed little kid who wants to cut her own legs off.
‘You know that only hurt my feelings when I was a child,’ I tell her. ‘Now you’re just some mean bird closing in on middle age. It’s not very becoming of a woman in her thirties.’
As I knock back both my shots, her jaw drops.
‘Neither is getting drunk in the middle of the day,’ she says, nodding towards my shots.
‘Another shot please, Mr Barman,’ I say. I’m only really doing it to annoy her. I probably won’t drink it. But who does she think she is, walking over here like I would ever be pleased to see her, as though we were friends, when she’s the reason I spent my childhood thinking I was too fat even though I wasn’t.
‘I think she’s had enough,’ Erica tells the barman. ‘Lola, do you think you might have a drink problem?’
‘Yeah, my problem is that I don’t have a drink,’ I reply.
‘I mean a problem with your drinking,’ Erica insists.
I roll my eyes. ‘It sounds like you’re the one who has a problem with my drinking, love.’
The barman happily pours me another. He seems amused by our bickering, but this is an argument that has been on the tip of my tongue since my GCSEs. I was always just too scared to have it.
‘Well, you are just horrible now,’ Erica exclaims. ‘You used to be such a sweet girl.’
‘I used to be a pushover,’ I point out. ‘Well not anymore – no one is treating me badly ever again.’
As my voice rises a little, I suddenly realise this little outburst is about more than just this girl being the reason everyone in our PE class called me Steam-Lola for four years. It’s just the icing on the cake. I mean, come on, it’s the fact that it’s the first thing she brought up upon seeing me again! I’ve never understood why school
bullies are always so naff. Steam-Lola, really? Steamrollers don’t have fat legs; they don’t have legs at all. They should’ve called me Swo-la – not that I’m helping. I just think that, if you’re going to do something, at least do it right.
Erica takes her lemonade and walks off in a huff.
Soon after, Dean sits down on a stool next to me.
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘You OK? You never came back, and I noticed that Doris has pulled.’
‘Hey,’ I reply. ‘Have you ever seen desperate housewives?’
‘That’s not really my kind of TV show,’ he replies.
‘I wasn’t talking about the TV show,’ I reply as I watch Erica leave.
‘You OK?’ he asks me.
‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I reply. ‘Just … annoyed at a lot of things and a lot of people.’
‘And, on top of all that, you have a blue tongue,’ he tells me. ‘I hope you don’t need to see a doctor.’
‘Har-har,’ I reply. ‘It’s from my pity drinks. Would you like one?’
‘Sure,’ he says before knocking it back. ‘But only because you probably shouldn’t.’
‘I can’t even reach the bar properly, never mind prop it up and get smashed to drown my sorrows.’
Kim comes over to the bar. ‘Guys, Toby and Channy have asked me for a lift home,’ she says. ‘It’s probably for the best. They’re about two buttons off a public indecency charge. I might call it a day too. Thanks for a lovely time though.’
‘Yeah, thanks for coming,’ I reply.
‘See,’ Dean says. ‘You helped them find love. And love over there – Doris is having a great time.’
‘Yeah, go Doris,’ Kim chirps. ‘You’ve just got me and Dean to sort out now and your work here is done.’
She smiles optimistically. I’m glad she isn’t feeling defeated. I, on the other hand, just feel … meh. I have three people to sort, in reality: Kim, Dean and myself, but honestly, what’s the point?
‘See you guys later,’ Dean calls after them as they head for the door.
‘Bye,’ Kim calls back. Channy and Toby are kissing as they walk. Toby actually clips his shoulder on the doorframe. It jolts his body but he doesn’t even notice. Oh to be young and in lust …
As Dean looks into my eyes he narrows his own. His eyes are the darkest shade of brown I’ve ever seen. So brown that you can’t make out any of the usual details people have in their iris. I can tell that he’s trying to get inside my head by the way he’s looking at me, but, with those dark eyes, it is impossible to see inside his. I can feel him creeping in through the little flecks of blue in my green eyes, finding a route to my deepest, darkest thoughts.
‘Do you ever feel like you’re in a mess?’ I ask.
‘Are you kidding me? Divorced in my thirties, remember,’ he tells me.
‘At least you’re not living with your parents.’
‘Nope, I live alone with my dog.’
‘You have a dog?’ I ask, perking up a little.
‘I do, Rufus, a chocolate Labrador. My ex-wife and I got him before we got married. When we split, she didn’t even fight to keep him, can you imagine? When she said I could keep him and that she wasn’t bothered about seeing him, I knew then that I’d rather spend the rest of my life with him than her. He’s the cutest thing. Because I work unusual and sometimes long hours, my sister goes over to take him for walks. If you leave the door open long enough, he’ll take himself for a walk. He’ll just pick up his lead in his mouth and stroll off; it doesn’t even need to be fastened to his collar. He’s a good boy though and if he can’t find his lead, he won’t be off without it.’
‘My God, that’s impossibly cute.’
‘Yes and, most importantly, proof that love exists, and that I am capable of it.’
I laugh, but my smile doesn’t last long.
‘I know what you need,’ Dean says.
He removes a £10 note from his pocket and uses it to point to a sign behind the bar as he addresses the barman.
‘Can you turn this into pennies, please,’ he asks referring to the sign about getting change for the arcade games. ‘We’re going to go and feed coins to your penny machines until we win … well, more pennies I guess.’
The barman laughs and obliges, giving Dean a little plastic tray full of pennies.
‘I’m not sure if this is more or less than I expected,’ he says looking down at his coin haul. He thinks for a second. ‘I suppose there’s one thousand there.’
‘You expect me to feed one thousand pennies into a machine?’
‘I expect you to feed one thousand pennies into multiple machines and I expect you to smile while you’re doing it, OK?’
I laugh. ‘OK, sure, if I can reach in this chair.’
‘I didn’t think of that, but we’ll find a way.’
‘I actually have an appointment at the hospital tomorrow, to check how my leg’s doing. I’m hoping they’ll give me crutches. I just need to see if my mum is still speaking to me, to see if she’ll give me a lift.’
‘Which hospital is it?’ he asks.
‘The one I was at in London arranged for me to visit a hospital in Leeds while I’m here,’ I tell him. ‘So not too far, but too far to wheel myself.’
‘I’ll take you,’ he suggests.
‘What?’
‘Yeah, I’m working the night shift tomorrow, which means I’m free all day. I’d love to take you. It will teach me responsibility or something. That’s how I talked my ex into getting a dog.’
‘Are you comparing me to a dog?’
‘No, you’re much harder work,’ he tells me with a smile.
Suddenly it feels more like Dean is trying to fix me, rather than me trying to fix him, which was always the plan. It’s kind of nice.
Chapter 31
It’s a miracle, I can walk!
Well, I can hop. Aided by crutches. But I am out of that stupid wheelchair with its dumb squeaky wheel and its uncomfortable seat. Even better news is that this is because my leg is healing perfectly. No more wheelchair, no operation on the horizon. A few more weeks on crutches and they’ll give me a brace to wear and I cannot wait. I’ll be back to wearing short skirts and sky-high heels in no time – well, after I spend a few hours shaving my leg. I dread to think what it’s going to be like in there.
As promised, Dean picked me up and drove me all the way to Leeds. He was helpful and attentive – everything Patrick wasn’t when he took me to hospital. Dean hasn’t walked me into any walls because he was too busy texting, nor has he left me to fend for myself.
After my appointment we went for a short walk in Leeds city centre, just to try out my crutches. We went to one of the fancy bars in Millennium Square for a late lunch – I bet it would be so lovely to sit outside there, when the weather is right. Dean, who tells me that he works in Leeds quite often, says that he likes to go there at different times of year because they always have events on. He says that Marram Bay might have things on all year round, but it’s the same stuff he’s been going to since he was born, so he likes to visit Millennium Square for the summer music festivals and the annual Christmas market.
Now we’re on the way back to Marram Bay, but if you thought my excitement for the day was over, you would be wrong. Tonight Dean is doing surveillance and he’s asked me if I’d like to join him. It’s just sitting in the car, watching, but to be on a real police stakeout rather than just stalking the guy I’m kind of dating is exciting to me.
‘So, what’s the crime we’re investigating?’ I ask.
‘Tractor advert fraud,’ he replies.
Oh. Oh, OK. I take it all back, maybe this is going to be boring.
‘Wha … what’s that?’ I ask, hoping it’s way more exciting than it sounds.
‘So, basically, there is a gang working out of Marram Bay who are selling tractors to farmers, but then taking their money and not giving them the goods.’
‘Christ that’s a dull crime,’ I blurt out.
&nb
sp; ‘Would you rather Marram Bay have a serial killer?’ he asks straight-faced.
‘For the purposes of this stakeout, yes,’ I admit. ‘But just, you know, without people we know dying. Maybe a potential serial killer that we can arrest before he gets going. I reckon Will has form.’
‘I reckon so too,’ he laughs. ‘Would you like me to arrest him?’
‘Yes please,’ I reply.
‘OK, sure, I’ll get right on it,’ he jokes. ‘But for now … I know you think it’s an uncool crime – although in my line of work we think all crime is uncool – but there’s a lot of money being stolen. Unsuspecting farmers are buying them – the last guy paid £12,000. He saw an ad on Facebook, assumed it was a local farmer, checked the tractor out. It looked good, it had low mileage – he thought he’d snapped up a bargain. They gave him a phoney PayPal link to pay for it, acted like the money hadn’t gone through, said they’d drop the tractor off the next day when it was paid for. You know what folk are like around here: they’re too trusting, they don’t lock their doors. They have Facebook pages for connecting with their kids who have moved away. They’re not savvy about cyber crime.’
‘That’s awful,’ I admit. ‘Boring, but awful. It must be devastating, to part with that kind of money in a scam.’
‘And the worst thing is, not only are they out of their hard-earned cash but they feel foolish too.’
‘I’ll bet,’ I reply. ‘So you’re going to bring them down?’
‘I am,’ Dean says as we pull up across the road from an old farm building. ‘We think they’re working out of here now. They have to move around the area a lot, and change the tractor they’re selling so people don’t make the connection. A tractor has just been leased to this address. We think they’re going to try and sell it.’
‘So how long do you have to sit here?’ I ask.
‘The tractor should be arriving in the next hour,’ he says. ‘I’m just here to watch them receive it, get a look at the guys, get a look at the tractor. If it’s our guys, an ad will go up tomorrow and if it follows the pattern of the other fake adverts we’ll send one of our guys in to try and buy it. I’ve been trying to crack this case open for months and I’m finally on the verge of a breakthrough.’
Make or Break at the Lighthouse B & B Page 17