Saturday 28th October
Becca felt like a football coach standing on the sidelines yelling instructions at her players. Only she wasn’t dealing with a bunch of muddy youths running around a pitch, she was trying to synchronise nine children into moving across the floor in unison to the song Chandelier. It wasn’t so much an elegant and sophisticated ballet routine, more like prop-forwards entering a rugby scrum.
‘Listen to the music,’ she yelled, trying to hold her phone steady as she videoed them. ‘You’re out of time. Wait…wait…GO…jeté…pirouette…ronde…no, ronde, Ben!’ The poor kid looked confused.
The showcase was in exactly four weeks. Had she been too optimistic in trying to get them to perform a routine? Based on this morning’s debacle, hell yes.
On the positive side, her class size had increased. The latest pupils to join were a pair of cuties who had natural ability and already knew the basics. She’d waited for their mothers to criticise her lack of teaching ability, but so far they seemed quite happy with her methods – and this was their third week. Definite progress.
At least the dance studio was more presentable now. Unlike the art studio and grand ballroom, which had suffered due to the recent storms.
‘You need to move quicker,’ she yelled, pointing to where Ben should be standing. ‘That’s it, turn your feet out…good boy.’ He was an adorable child, but he had the attention span of a goldfish. ‘Big finish, everyone! Nice sweeping arms…relevé…plié…and slowly move into arabesque… Lovely. Well done.’
She gave them a thumbs-up as the music ended, even though most of them had fallen out of the final arabesque. Focusing on a polished ending was a challenge for another week.
‘Gather round,’ she called, beckoning them over. ‘Great class, everyone. You should be really pleased with yourselves.’ She was rewarded with smiling faces. ‘I know the routine isn’t perfect, but there’s plenty of time to work on it.’
Who was she trying to fool, them or her? But the advice she’d received from Rosie had been spot on. Kids responded better to praise than constant criticism.
‘You just need to practise at home. We’ve only got a few rehearsals left before the showcase. So I’m going to email your parents the video of the routine, and I want you to spend half an hour every day going over the steps. Can you do that for me?’
They all nodded. A couple of girls tugged at their too-tight hair-buns, eager to be released from the confines of ballet attire.
Phoebe raised her hand. ‘What about costumes, Miss? Can we wear tutus?’
The other girls nodded excitedly, but Ben started crying, no doubt traumatised by the idea of wearing a tutu as well as getting the routine wrong.
‘The costumes haven’t been decided yet, Phoebe.’ Becca went over and gave Ben a hug, trying not to fret over how she was going to finance a set of show costumes with no budget. ‘I’ll let you know in the next couple of weeks. Well done for today and see you all next Saturday.’
The end of class was always manic. Parents tried to locate lost items of clothing, children ran off before their parents were ready and mothers tried to coordinate diaries, play-dates, and lifts to next week’s class.
Ben still had his arms around her waist. ‘I can’t do the steps…and I don’t…don’t want to wear a tu…tutu,’ he said through tearful hiccups.
She hugged him close. ‘I promise I won’t make you wear a tutu. And you’ll pick up the routine – you just need to practise. Don’t give up now, you’re almost there.’
His mother came over, looking tired and drawn. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Ben’s a little worried about the routine, but I’ve assured him he just needs to practise. And I’m sure Phoebe will help, so there’s nothing to worry about.’
Rosie ruffled his hair. ‘Listen to what Becca’s saying. Now go and get your things. I want a quick word with the teacher.’ She waited until the other mothers had left and her children were out of earshot.
Oh, hell. Had Becca shouted too much during class? ‘Is everything okay?’
‘It’s fine, it’s just…’ Rosie’s hand shook as she held on to her walking stick. ‘Will we have to pay for the costumes?’
Becca knew of several dance schools who charged for costumes, so it wouldn’t be an outrageous request to ask the parents to pay. But she could see from the look on Rosie’s face that money was an issue. Welcome to the club, she thought. They were trying to put on a showcase with a zilch budget. But she didn’t want to burden the woman who’d supported her when she’d first started teaching. It didn’t seem right. ‘Don’t worry, costumes will be supplied for the showcase. The kids just need to provide their own ballet shoes, which they all have.’
‘Oh, that’s good.’ A relieved-looking Rosie gathered up her children’s belongings and headed for the door, balancing on her stick. ‘See you next week.’
Phoebe skipped over to the door. Ben trailed behind, dragging his bag on the floor.
Becca waved them off. Maybe she should simplify Ben’s part in the routine? She’d give him a couple more weeks before deciding. She didn’t want to embarrass the kid by singling him out.
When the studio had emptied, she changed out of her ballet shoes into her pink trainers and locked up. It had been a strange week, even more so than normal. Jodi hadn’t been in work Monday or Tuesday complaining of an upset stomach, which was unusual. Jodi was never ill. She suspected her cousin’s ailment was exacerbated by the stress of being accused of theft. And who could blame her? It was outrageous. When Jodi had returned to work, she’d stayed in the office working on ways to produce the showcase with no money, thus avoiding any non-essential contact with the other staff members.
Tom had been in court most of the week, although she suspected he was also lying low, and Petrit had been on annual leave, so it had been quiet. But things couldn’t continue as they were. Decisions needed to be made. And she felt it was up to her to break the tension.
She went in search of Tom, knowing he’d arrived back from London early this morning. As she passed through reception, she spotted Eddie descending the grand staircase looking decidedly damp. ‘Hey, Eddie. Have you seen Tom?’
‘He’s up in the roof,’ he said, digging around in his pocket for a hanky. ‘We’ve been trying to fix the leak. I’m heading out to buy more tarpaulin. How was ballet class?’
‘Good, thanks. How are you finding the guest house?’
The mood at the guest house had changed since Eddie had moved in. It felt lighter, less like an old people’s home and more like the holiday residence it was supposed to be. Even Mrs Busby had perked up, enjoying flirting with a ‘handsome devil’.
Eddie grinned. ‘Interesting. Your mum’s a lovely woman.’
There hadn’t been a man in her mum’s life since her dad had died. Not to Becca’s knowledge anyway. But maybe it was time for her mum to start dating again? And there was no one more decent or likeable than Eddie. Becca just needed to ensure her mum was receptive to the idea. ‘She needs to get out more. Running the guest house is tiring work.’
He frowned. ‘Anything I can help with?’
‘There is actually. I’ve been trying to coax her along to the tea dances, but so far she’s resisted. Now, if you were to come along, she might be persuaded to attend.’
He laughed. ‘I’m a terrible dancer.’
‘Good, that’ll make her feel better.’
‘I’m not sure how to take that. But I’ll do my best.’ He wiped his big hands on his hanky. ‘Need anything from the DIY store?’
‘Five grand to repair the roof and put on a showcase?’
His expression turned rueful. ‘I think we all want that.’
‘You don’t think Jodi took the money do you, Eddie?’
He looked surprised. ‘Not for a second.’
Good. ‘Any idea who did?’
He shook his head. ‘I’d have something to say to them if I did.’
He wasn’t the only one. ‘See you later.’
‘See ya, kiddo.’ He patted her shoulder, leaving her to climb the grand staircase in search of Tom.
As she passed by the portraits of Tom’s disapproving ancestors she poked her tongue out. It was childish, but they were a miserable bunch.
When she reached the top of the staircase, she stopped to get her bearings. The long galley corridor ran the length of the manor house. At each end was a set of concealed steps. Tom’s bedroom was in the east tower, so she knew the layout, but she’d never ventured up to the west tower before. Access to the roof was via the attic at the top, so once again she found herself navigating a narrow staircase, fighting off cobwebs and spiders, trying to locate Tom.
She heard him before she saw him. He sounded like he was wrestling a crocodile, judging by the groans and grunts. As she climbed the makeshift ladder to the eaves, she saw him. He was dressed in a suit, minus the jacket and tie with the sleeves of his pale blue shirt rolled up.
She glanced away from his hairless forearms, focusing on the fact that he wasn’t wrestling a large reptile, but fighting with a giant sheet of tarpaulin.
He stood up and smacked his head on a wooden beam. ‘Shit!’
Becca stepped over the floor joists to reach him. ‘Watching you attempt DIY is like watching a toddler in traffic.’
He startled. ‘Jesus! Don’t creep up on me like that.’
‘I didn’t. And if you weren’t making such a racket you’d have heard me coming. What are you doing?’
‘Baking a cake,’ he said, rubbing the side of his head.
Sarcastic sod.
‘I can see stars,’ he said, blinking a few times.
‘That’ll be the hole in the roof.’ She looked up at the daylight seeping between the slates. ‘Need a hand?’
He looked at her ballet leotard and tights with white loose-knit jumper and pink trainers. ‘Dressed like that?’
‘Says the man wearing a suit.’
A smile twitched at his lips. ‘I forgot to change.’
‘Idiot.’ She assessed the mess around her. ‘What do you need?’
He nodded to the toolbox by her feet. ‘Is there a hammer in there?’
She searched around and handed him the tool. ‘Have you seen Jodi this morning?’
‘Not yet. How is she?’ He ducked under the beam and positioned the tarpaulin.
‘Not too bad, considering she’s been wrongly accused of theft.’
‘Hold that, will you?’ He reached up, his body almost touching hers as he leant over her. ‘And I haven’t accused her of anything.’ His shirtsleeves were already soaked through. Why he hadn’t thought to change first she didn’t know.
She held the corner of the sheet in place, trying not to think about how close he was. She could smell his citrusy aftershave and a faint waft of fabric conditioner. The effect was alarming. ‘But you didn’t correct Vivienne when she accused her, did you?’
‘I was having an asthma attack.’
‘That was then. What’s your excuse now?’ When she turned, their eyes met, and for a moment they both stilled. She could feel the heat building and she had to resist the urge to lean in to him. What the hell was happening? She broke the tension by nodding to the hammer. ‘Do you know what you’re doing?’
Insulting his DIY skills did the trick. He glared at her. Good. It was safer that way. ‘Of course I don’t. You want to do it?’
‘I’m helping, aren’t I? And you haven’t answered my question.’
‘You haven’t given me a chance.’ His blue eyes penetrated the gloomy light. ‘And I have been dealing with it. But I didn’t want to jump in with both feet until I’d spoken to all the staff.’
‘Meanwhile, Vivienne continues to slag off Jodi to anyone who’ll listen, telling them she’s a thief.’
He hit the nail. It buckled and fell out, disappearing between the rafters. ‘I didn’t realise she was doing that. I’ll have a word with her.’
‘Good, because according to you a person’s innocent until proven guilty.’
He gave her a loaded look. ‘I agree.’
‘And no one has any proof that Jodi took the money.’
‘I know.’
‘And they won’t find any proof, because she didn’t do it.’
‘I know.’
‘And continuing to slander her is not on. In fact, isn’t it a criminal offence?’
He waved the hammer at her. ‘Are you listening to me? I said, I know.’
‘Fine. Well, do something about it.’
He looked exasperated. He also looked hot, much as she disliked admitting it.
And then her brain caught up with her ears. ‘You know she didn’t take it?’
He rummaged in the toolbox for another nail. ‘Not for certain, but like I said last weekend, I don’t believe she took it. How to prove that, heaven only knows. The safe door was shut prior to Jodi discovering the money was missing. There were no signs of a forced entry, and Vivienne said the money was in the safe first thing that morning. The only other person who’d been in the office was Petrit, and he doesn’t have the safe combination.’ He selected another nail. ‘Leon and Eddie weren’t working, so that discounts them. I’ve talked to everyone who was there, searched the place and questioned Vivienne again about what she allegedly saw, but I’ve drawn a blank.’ He stood up, managing to clip his head again. ‘Shit!’
She waited until he’d stopped rubbing. ‘You haven’t questioned me.’
It was a moment before he spoke. ‘You’re right, I haven’t.’
‘I’m surprised I wasn’t the obvious suspect after Jodi.’
‘Don’t.’ The look he gave her made it clear he didn’t want to go there.
She didn’t either, but how could she not? Her feelings were as raw today as they had been twelve years earlier when he’d believed her guilty of a crime she hadn’t committed.
In May 2006, Jodi was having a particularly bad time and her behaviour was heading towards self-destruction. Drugs had become a factor, so had alcohol. She’d begun taking money from her mum’s purse. When it stopped being sufficient to fund her habit, Jodi had started stealing. Becca had tried to stop her, but her loyalties were torn, not knowing whether she should tell someone or keep quiet. She’d tried to reason with her cousin, but Jodi was already past the point of caring.
One Saturday afternoon while they were shopping in Boots, Becca realised Jodi was putting stuff into her bag without paying for it. She’d insisted Jodi put the stuff back, but Jodi had refused and ran from the store.
Becca had run after her and grabbed her cousin’s bag with the intention of returning the stuff to the shop. Instead, the security guard caught her and her dragged back inside, by which time Jodi had scarpered. The police were called and Becca was placed in a holding cell until her parents arrived. She’d never been so scared in her entire life.
She hadn’t let on that Jodi had taken the stuff. Consequently, she was given a police caution and received a humiliating telling-off by the duty sergeant. Her parents had been beside themselves, terrified that their normally well-behaved daughter was following in her cousin’s wayward footsteps. She’d been grounded for two weeks and not allowed to see either Tom or Jodi for the duration. It had been torture.
It wasn’t until Jodi was sent to prison a couple of years later that the truth emerged. But by then it was too late. Her dad had died, believing her to have committed the crime, and Tom had broken up with her. He’d assumed along with everyone else that she was guilty. And when his own father had banned him from seeing her or Jodi, claiming they were a ‘bad influence’, Tom had disappeared from her life.
When a sober and remorseful Jodi had been released from prison, the first thing she’d done was apologise to Becca. She’d even wanted to confess to the police, but Becca wouldn’t let her. Jodi had been punished enough. She didn’t want to see her cousin go back to prison, so they’d made their peace.
The same couldn’t be said for her and Tom.
She shifted position, hiding her misery from the man who’d broken her heart. ‘So where does that leave us? We have no money and no one accountable for the theft. How do we move forwards?’ When she glanced at him, she realised he’d been watching her.
His expression was unreadable. It was a while before he spoke. ‘I wish I knew. Any suggestions?’
She mustered up an enthusiastic tone. ‘Well, cancelling the showcase isn’t an option.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I admire your determination, but how can we afford it?’
Her arms were beginning to ache. She shifted position. ‘Jodi’s already started on a plan. She’s designed electronic tickets and switched all the advertising to social media outlets. She’s changed the exhibitors’ contracts so they’re responsible for insuring their work, and she’s recruiting volunteers to help on the day. If we pull together, we can make this work.’
He looked sceptical. ‘You really believe that?’
‘Especially if we can temporarily fix the roof so we can use the ballroom and art studio.’ She held his gaze. ‘We can’t let whoever took the money win, Tom.’
He nodded. ‘I agree.’
‘Good.’ It was time to lighten the atmosphere. ‘Now hurry up, my arms are killing me.’
He glared at her, looking scarily like his grumpy ancestors. ‘Then move your fingers, before I squash them.’
She poked her tongue out, which made him laugh.
‘Child.’ He waited until she’d repositioned her hand before tapping the nail with the hammer. ‘How many acts have we got booked for the showcase?’
‘We have the tappers and the kids’ ballet routine, and Jodi’s showing around a landscape artist today who’s interested in exhibiting. We’ve also had an email from another potential artist, and Leon’s asked for a slot.’
‘Leon?’
‘Yes, he’s a singer-songwriter.’
‘I never knew that.’ Tom tugged on the tarpaulin. ‘Are you going to dance at the showcase?’
‘I wasn’t planning to.’ She shook out her arms and handed him another nail. ‘You need to fix the other side.’
‘I’m aware of that.’ He rolled his eyes, and flattened the tarpaulin across the wooden slats. ‘Why aren’t you performing? Is it your knee?’
‘Not really. It’s been a while since I’ve danced properly.’ She didn’t want to admit it was her confidence and not her knee that had yet to recover.
He eased the nail into the splintered wood. ‘I think you should consider it. No disrespect to Leon or the others, but you’re by far the best advert we have for the playhouse.’ The hammer slipped off the nail and hit his thumb. ‘Shit!’
She wasn’t comfortable receiving compliments about her dancing. Not from him. It was too…intimate. ‘You okay?’
He cradled his hand under his armpit. ‘I’m fine.’
They might have formed a fragile truce, joining together to save the playhouse, but she wasn’t ready to venture into more personal territory.
He tested out the tarpaulin. ‘Right, that’ll have to do. How long it’ll last, I have no idea.’ He dropped the hammer into the toolbox. ‘Eddie’s going to cover the flooring with tarpaulin, so if the roof does leak it shouldn’t seep through to the rooms below. There’s nothing more we can do.’
‘Good. Right…well, if you don’t need me anymore, I’ll head down and see how Jodi’s getting on with the landscape artist.’ She was eager to escape and assimilate her thoughts. Spending too much time with Tom was confusing.
But as she reached the ladder, he called after her. ‘Becca?’ She glanced back, derailed by his sudden smile. ‘Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.’
The sight of his dimples made swallowing hard. ‘No worries,’ she said, reversing down the ladder and wishing she still thought of him as Tom-the-Tyrant, because dealing with his more likeable counterpart was a hell of a lot more challenging. And then guilt nudged her in the ribs. ‘Oh…and thanks for believing in Jodi.’
He held her gaze. ‘You’re welcome.’
It was just a shame he hadn’t believed in her.
That thought alone was enough to dull any fleeting attraction. He’d broken her heart once; she’d be a fool to go there a second time.
Leaving him tidying up, she headed down stairs, trying not to dwell on the past. But it was no good. Reminiscing over the events of twelve years ago had aggravated an old wound. The injustice she’d felt resurfaced. Maybe that’s why she was fighting so hard to clear Jodi’s name. She knew what it felt like to be wrongly accused.
As she neared the café, she could see Jodi talking to a woman in a kaftan. She guessed it was the landscape artist. Vivienne was standing by the kitchen door, her trademark sneer in place as her eyes followed Jodi. What did she think her cousin was going to do, run off with the plastic cutlery?
Leon was behind the bar refilling bottles of spirits, seemingly disinterested in what was going on around him. Her cousin had said she’d sensed a cooling off from her admirer over the past week. Something Becca hoped wasn’t true. Surely Leon knew Jodi was innocent?
And then a man walked into the café. At first, Becca didn’t recognise him, his once dark hair was silver and he wore black square-shaped glasses. But as he turned and caught sight of her cousin, his expression gave him away. Harvey Elliot.
‘What on God’s earth are you doing here?’ he said, loud enough that all heads turned in his direction.
Jodi’s confusion switched to shock when she realised who it was.
Becca ran over to rescue her cousin. ‘Your son is upstairs, Mr Elliot. This way.’ She needed to get him out of there.
But he wasn’t budging. ‘I said, what are you doing here?’
All eyes were on the floorshow.
Becca took Harvey’s arm, trying to steer him out of the café. ‘Jodi works here, Mr Elliot. As do I. Now, shall we go and find Tom?’
He shook her off. ‘Let go of me.’
‘Dad?’ All heads turned. This time at the sound of Tom’s voice.
Vivienne perked up, sensing trouble was looming.
Tom looked confused. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Never mind what I’m doing here,’ Harvey Elliot said, pointing at Becca and Jodi. ‘I want to know why you have two people with criminal records working in your mother’s playhouse?’
Jodi gasped.
Leon dropped a glass.
Vivienne looked like she’d won the lottery.