Saturday 18th November
It was only after Becca had walked into her dad’s old study and seen the look on her mum’s face that she’d realised her mistake. She should have waited until after the meeting before changing into her Harley Quinn costume.
Oh, well. Too late now.
Reacting to the shocked expression on her mum’s face, Mrs Busby turned to see what the problem was. When she saw Becca’s skimpy outfit, complete with tiny leather shorts, ripped fishnets and bare midriff below her top emblazoned with the slogan Daddy’s Lil Monster, she tutted. ‘Such an exhibitionist.’
Becca gave a sheepish grin.
In contrast, Dr M smiled. ‘Goodness me,’ he said, loosening his collar. ‘That’s not something you see every day.’
‘I should hope not.’ Mrs Busby elbowed Dr M when he continued to stare.
‘I’m going to a fancy-dress party,’ Becca said, sitting on the window seat.
Her mum gave her a disapproving glare, which held more weight now she was minus the green hair. They’d gone to the hairdresser’s earlier. Becca’s freshly bleached hair had been dip-dyed with a purple ombré effect, and her mum’s hair had been cut into a short pixie style and dyed a deep red. Despite her mum’s apprehension that at fifty-two she was too old to have her hair done at a place called Punktured, she’d emerged feeling buoyant and looking ten years younger.
Any remaining doubt had dissolved when they’d arrived home and Eddie had performed a comedy double-take. ‘Nice hair,’ he’d said, his expression that of a bewitched man.
Her mum had shrugged off the compliment. ‘Yes, well…it needed a trim,’ she’d said, disappearing into the kitchen, blushing profusely.
Back to the present, and Mrs Busby and Dr Mortimer were eager to know why they’d been summoned. They were sitting on the leather two-seater, perturbed that their Saturday evening telly schedule had been interrupted.
Mrs Busby tapped her watch. ‘You asked to see us, Mrs Roberts?’
‘I did, yes. Thank you for coming.’ Her mum got up from the wingchair and perched on the corner of the desk, clearly aiming for casual and relaxed.
Mrs Busby folded her hands in her lap. ‘I was saying to the doctor earlier, perhaps Mrs Roberts has some news for us. The sound of wedding bells perhaps?’
Becca’s laugh resulted in a glare from her mum.
‘No wedding bells, Mrs Busby.’ Her mum sounded slightly strangulated.
‘What a shame. Especially as you and Mr Moriarty are so intimate now.’
Her mum flushed a deep red. ‘I have some news that affects the guest house,’ she said, avoiding eye contact with her grinning daughter. ‘I’m…converting the building into four apartments.’
Mrs Busby and Dr Mortimer didn’t react. No yelling. No surprise.
Clearly wondering if they’d heard, her mum raised her voice. ‘I said, I’m converting the building into apartments. It will no longer be a guest house.’
Still no response.
Becca signalled for her mum to continue.
‘Even if we had a full complement of guests, I’d still struggle to make ends meet. And the upkeep is getting too much for me. So, you see…’ she gave them an apologetic smile ‘…that’s why I’ve made this decision. I’m so sorry.’
Mrs Busby turned to the doctor. ‘I told you something was afoot.’
Dr Mortimer screwed up his face. ‘Speak up, woman. Damned if I can hear what’s going on.’ He cupped his ear. ‘What did she say?’
‘She said she’s giving up the guest house,’ Mrs Busby shouted.
‘Ha!’ The doctor slapped his thigh. ‘That’s ten pounds you owe me.’
Mrs Busby harrumphed. ‘A lucky guess.’
Becca and her mum exchanged a glance.
‘I think it’s about time we told her, don’t you?’ Mrs Busby patted the doctor’s knee. ‘My dear, Ruby. The doctor and I have wanted to move out for years.’
Her mum’s expression was priceless. ‘You have?’
‘We only stayed because we knew you couldn’t keep going without us.’
Her mum shook her head. ‘What are you saying?’
‘We’re saying you can stop worrying. The doctor and I will be gone before New Year. There’s a nice little cottage in Hove we’ve had our eye on for some time.’
Her mum gasped. ‘You mean…’ She pointed between them. ‘You two…?’
‘Why, of course. Surely you aren’t that blind.’ Mrs Busby hauled herself to her feet. ‘Come along, William. Time to start packing.’
‘Goodness, Mrs Busby. I didn’t mean for you to leave immediately. There’s plenty of time.’
‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist. The doctor and I have booked a holiday.’ Mrs Busby beamed at Dr Mortimer. ‘We went to the travel agent’s late yesterday. A last-minute deal. We fly to Palma a week tomorrow to pick up the boat.’
Her mum’s mouth dropped open. ‘B…boat?’
Mrs Busby nodded. ‘We’re going on a cruise.’
An odd mixture of admiration and envy flooded her mum’s face.
‘Can you imagine it, Mrs Roberts? Sailing around the Greek islands, eating gourmet food in Italy, shaking maracas in Spain? What an adventure.’
Her mum forced a smile. ‘An adventure indeed, Mrs Busby. I’m delighted for you both. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.’
They left the room. There was a few seconds’ delay before her mum screamed.
Becca rushed over. ‘Before you have a complete meltdown let’s focus on the positives.’
‘Positives? All this time I’ve been running around after them, cooking, cleaning, making beds, and the whole time they were staying because they felt sorry for me?’
‘It’s upsetting, I know. But it could’ve been worse.’
‘How?’
Becca tried not to laugh at her mum’s disgruntled expression. ‘You expected them to be devastated by the news and they weren’t. You were panicking about where they’d live and the guilt you’d feel at making them homeless. Now you can stop worrying. They’re going to be fine. Best of all…’ she took her mum’s hands ‘…there’s nothing stopping you from booking a holiday now.’
‘Like the pair of them you mean?’ She stamped her foot. ‘A cruise?’
Becca darted over to the bookshelf and removed the travel brochure Jodi had told her about. ‘It’s galling, I know. Why don’t you open a bottle of wine, curl up on the sofa, and pick out a holiday for yourself?’ When her mum looked sceptical, she added, ‘Come on, Mum. You deserve this.’
Her mum took the brochure. ‘I’m in shock.’
‘Me too. But that’ll wear off, and then you’ll see this is a better outcome than we could’ve hoped for.’ She kissed her mum’s cheek, leaving a smudge of lipstick. ‘Mrs Busby and Dr Mortimer? Blimey. Who knew?’
‘Well, not me, that’s for certain.’ Her mum fanned her face with the brochure.
The grandfather clock struck nine p.m. ‘Right, I’ve got to go. The bus is due at ten past. Don’t wait up… Love you.’
Leaving her stunned mum to recover, Becca headed into the hallway. She didn’t see Maude leap out from behind the reception counter until a loud screech was followed by pain shooting up her leg.
Her yelp alerted Eddie, who appeared looking concerned. ‘You okay?’
Becca rubbed her leg. ‘I’m fine. Just as well these tights were already ripped, or I wouldn’t be happy.’ She glared at the cat, who in typical Maude fashion sneered.
Eddie picked up Maude. ‘How did it go breaking the news? Does your mother need consoling?’
‘It went surprisingly well. Although…’ A plan was starting to formulate. ‘How would you feel about a holiday, Eddie?’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘Mum’s always wanted to travel, but she hasn’t been able to. Now things are changing we’re hoping she can be persuaded to book something. Travelling alone isn’t much fun…but if she had someone tagging along?’
He grinned. ‘Leave it with me.’
‘You’re a star, Mr Moriarty.’
He laughed.
She went to hug him, but Maude hissed. ‘Mum’s in the study looking at a travel brochure. Strike while the iron’s hot.’ She unhooked her leather jacket from the coat stand. ‘I’m off out. Night, Eddie… And thank you.’
He winked at her. ‘My pleasure.’
‘And thanks for the bloody leg, Maude!’ Poking her tongue out at the cat, she left the guest house and skipped down the steps to catch the bus.
Her leg was still sore from being glued to the floor on Tuesday. It had taken several attempts to prise the material away, and she’d been left with an unattractive red patch, which she’d had to cover up with make-up for tonight. The memory of Tom’s long fingers trailing up her bare thigh ignited another flare of heat within her, and she had to shake the image away. It was getting increasingly hard not to think about him.
Luckily, the bus pulled up just as she reached the stop. She hopped aboard, searching in her jacket pockets for tissues to wipe her leg.
Ignoring odd looks from those aboard the bus, she found a seat and settled in for the short journey to Preston Park.
Nick from her tap class had phoned yesterday in a panic. The venue for his wife’s thirtieth birthday party had cancelled last minute and he wanted to use the playhouse instead. It was the perfect venue for a big function, so they’d spent the day decorating the grand ballroom, ensuring the party would be amazing and Cassie would have a great night. The theme was Heroes and Villains. Hence her Harley Quinn outfit.
Jodi had taken charge getting the party started, but she was working at the restaurant tonight, so it was up to Becca to oversee the latter part of the evening.
As Becca exited the bus and walked up the long driveway to the Starlight Playhouse, she was once again blown away by the view. The building looked impressive against the dark skyline. Fairy lights outside made it look inviting. Cars filled the driveway, an unusual sight. Although not as unusual as the sight of Dracula pulling up in a Land Rover.
Smiling, she headed inside.
The foyer was full, a gaggle of bodies dressed in bizarre and elaborate costumes. There were several comic book characters. Make-up, false limbs, S&M accessories, fake blood – you name it, it had been incorporated. It was a shame Vivienne wasn’t here. The Woman-in-Black would have fitted in perfectly.
Becca shrugged off her leather jacket and tucked it behind reception.
Guy Fawkes appeared in front of her. Even under his vendetta-style hat and false moustache she could see it was Nick. ‘You look great! Where’s Cassie?’
‘Dancing in the ballroom. Thanks so much for coming to our rescue.’ He trod on his cape and dropped his stick of fake dynamite. At least, Becca hoped it was fake.
She picked it up for him. ‘No problem. Glad to help. And besides, you’re helping me by taking part in the showcase next week. Are you looking forward to it?’
He grimaced. ‘Not really.’ He was honest, if nothing else. ‘Actually, that’s not true. I’m just a bit nervous. We both are.’
‘Nerves are a good thing. It means you care. You’ll be fine. The rehearsal on Wednesday went really well.’ She was such a liar. The tappers had yet to make it through the routine without messing up. And with the council now attending the showcase, there was even more pressure to succeed. However, pointing this out wouldn’t be helpful.
‘I hope you’re right.’ He gave her a sheepish grin. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘I’ll help myself. You enjoy the party.’ She left him battling with his cape and made her way through the throng of people, enjoying encounters with Harry Potter and a Death Eater before making it to the bar.
A huge witches’ cauldron sat on a table. Beetlejuice was ladling up potent-looking punch for the guests. It was a second before she realised it was Leon under the stripy suit and blackened eyes.
He handed her a glass. ‘Hunch Punch?’
She could smell something fruity. ‘What’s in it?’
‘Peach vodka, pineapple juice and Sprite.’
‘Sounds suitably inebriating. Give me a large one.’ She took a sip. ‘God, that’s good.’
He grinned. ‘Is Jodi coming tonight?’
Becca raised an eyebrow. He’d stopped asking about her cousin after the theft. ‘She’s working at Pho-King Good tonight.’
He cupped his ear, assuming he’d misheard. ‘Come again?’
‘The Thai restaurant.’
He looked surprised. ‘I didn’t know she had a second job.’
Becca gave him a reprimanding look. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about my cousin. Despite what some people might think Jodi’s very hardworking. She’s honest, loyal and nowhere near as tough as she looks. Anyone who thinks otherwise is sorely misguided.’
Something flickered across his face. It was hard to decipher what under the make-up. ‘Enjoy the party,’ he said topping up her drink and moving on to the next partygoer.
Leon was a conundrum. He’d never sided with Vivienne or Petrit when they were being shitty to her cousin, but he didn’t jump to Jodi’s defence either. Not since the theft. He was the Switzerland of the playhouse, staying out of any arguments.
But there were moments when he’d glance at Jodi, a sad expression on his face. Becca wished he’d believe in her. Still, if he couldn’t see what an amazing person she was then he didn’t deserve her.
She backtracked through the bar, past where the food was laid out, sidestepping the Grim Reaper fondling Cinderella. Not surreal at all.
She spotted the door to the art room was ajar and went to close it. They didn’t want people venturing inside. But as she pulled the door to, she heard a low thumping sound from inside. Before she could reason her actions, she opened the door, unprepared for the sight of an Egyptian Mummy ‘doing’ Wonder Woman up against the shelving.
Becca’s brain tried to compute what she was seeing. The couple didn’t appear to notice the intrusion, or if they did, they were too absorbed to care. Wonder Woman had her eyes closed, her head dropped back against a stack of paintbrushes, as she panted, ‘Naughty…naughty…Mummy.’
When the Mummy groaned and hoisted Wonder Woman up, revealing more than Becca needed to see – even without the lights on – she stepped back and closed the door.
Guests shouldn’t be in the art room, and certainly not getting down and dirty. But no way was she about to attempt ‘coitus interruptus’. She’d pop back later when they’d ‘finished’ and lock the door.
Downing her drink, she stopped off for a refill, before heading into the ballroom.
The familiar sound of Beyoncé’s ‘Crazy in Love’ greeted her as she entered the room. It was lovely to see the ballroom full. Bunting decorated the walls, along with fairy lights and large posters showing Cassie at various stages in her life.
The birthday girl was on the dance floor. Watching Mary Poppins ‘twerking’ was almost as surreal as seeing the Mummy and Wonder Woman ‘at it’. Maybe not quite. Becca hoped the image would rapidly fade from her brain.
Cruella de Vil waved at her from the side of the room. Judging by the mannerisms and lack of height, she guessed it was Miriam. She headed over.
Mi-Sun was next to her, dressed as Batman. ‘I hope this isn’t what you’re wearing for the showcase,’ Becca said, trying not to laugh at the sight of Mi-Sun with her underpants over her tights. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have let Wanda take charge of the costumes.’
Miriam grunted. ‘The less said about that the better.’ She pushed her half-black half-white wig from her eyes. ‘She’s talking about white bodysuits. Can you imagine me in Lycra?’ She gestured to her rotund middle. ‘Think again, I told her. People aren’t paying good money to see my wobbly bits on display.’
Mi-Sun lifted her mask. ‘Wanda doesn’t have any body hang-ups like we do.’
‘Tell me about it. You should see the costume she’s wearing tonight.’ Miriam tutted. ‘Wonder Woman, would you believe?’
Becca spurted punch everywhere and started coughing, soaking her top.
Miriam smacked her on the back. ‘The woman looks a right spectacle. Skirt up to her armpits.’
Yep, that just about described what Becca had seen too. ‘Excuse me, I need to clean up.’ Brushing her top, she left the ballroom, her head spinning from the realisation that Wonder Woman was Wanda. She’d never be able to look the woman in the eye again.
Becca made a detour for the office when she remembered Jodi had wet wipes on her desk. It was only when she reached the door she realised it would be locked. Except, it wasn’t. Cautiously, she popped her head around the door.
Tom was sitting at his desk typing on his laptop.
‘You’re working when there’s a party out here?’
His eyes grew wide when she walked into the room.
‘What?’ She looked down. ‘Oh, right. I spilled punch down myself.’ Technically, she’d spat punch down herself. She figured he didn’t need to know that.
His gaze travelled the length of her body. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’
‘No? My leg then? Maude attacked me.’
‘Not that either.’ His head tilted to one side, a strange look on his face. ‘Who’s Maude?’
‘My mum’s evil cat.’
‘Right.’ He swallowed. ‘Nice…outfit.’
‘Thanks. Why are you working?’ When he didn’t respond, she clicked her fingers, snapping him out of his trance. ‘Tom.’
He blinked. ‘What?’
She studied his flushed cheeks. ‘Is your breathing okay?’
‘It’s been better,’ he said, ruefully.
She frowned. ‘I thought your asthma was getting better?’
‘It is.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Do you have to stand like that?’
‘Like what?’ Her hands were on her hips, her weight resting on one foot. ‘I often stand like this.’
‘Yeah, but normally wearing more clothes.’ His eyes were dark and hot, and sent something liquid running down her spine.
Her outfit was a little skimpy. Still, it was quite reserved compared to some of the things she’d worn dancing. But then he was Mr Conservative, favouring a suit for all occasions. Although not tonight…and that wasn’t helping her efforts not to jump him.
She went over to Jodi’s desk and removed a handful of wet wipes. ‘Jeans again? You’re listening to my advice then?’ She lifted her top and began wiping. ‘Is it working? Are you feeling more relaxed?’
‘Not right at this moment,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Did you want something?’
‘I came in here for these.’ She indicated the wet wipes. ‘You didn’t answer my question. Why are you working?’
‘I thought I should stay close by in case anything happened. How’s the party?’
She deliberated whether to tell him about Wonder Woman and the Mummy. Probably not. It was his family home, after all. ‘It’s great. Nick and Cassie are ecstatic. The place is buzzing.’ She wiped her sticky hands and binned the wipes. ‘It’s a good dry run for next week. The display in reception is attracting a lot of interest.’
Mentioning the display acted as a trigger. She could tell from his expression that his mind had tumbled back to Tuesday night. The atmosphere between them since had been charged, like an electrical current was crackling around them. It was happening again now.
She cleared her throat. ‘Anyway, I’m hoping people will come back for the showcase.’
‘Let’s hope.’
She sauntered over to him. ‘The stage curtains look great, by the way.’
‘Good.’
‘And the roof is fixed now.’
‘I know.’
She leant on the desk. Two glasses of punch had lowered her inhibitions. ‘Are you going to tell me how we paid for the work?’
His eyes dipped to her bellybutton ring. ‘Nope.’
‘Are you going to explain how we suddenly have printed flyers, a stocked bar and new spotlights in the theatre?’
His mouth twitched. ‘Nope.’
‘Fine.’ She turned and sat on his desk.
He started typing. After a minute, he sighed and sat back in his chair. ‘Are you going to sit there all night?’
‘Depends.’
‘On?’
She smiled. ‘On how resistant you are to joining the party.’
‘I’m not invited.’
‘You can be my plus-one.’
He gestured to his T-shirt and jeans. ‘I’m not in costume.’
‘Costumes aren’t compulsory.’
‘I should be working.’
‘No, you should be relaxing.’ She gave him a look. ‘Remember?’
He sighed. ‘You’re not going to go away, are you?’
‘Hell, no.’ She swung her legs around and hopped off the desk. ‘Dancing is an excellent relaxer.’
‘I’m not dancing.’
She leant over his shoulder and closed his laptop. ‘No point fighting.’ Her face was inches from his. A warning voice in her head told her she was playing a dangerous game. But the alcohol in her bloodstream fuelled her desire to have some fun. It had been ages since she’d enjoyed herself. She wanted to dance.
More significantly, she wanted to strip away Tom’s protective layers and see whether the eighteen-year-old she’d once adored still lurked somewhere deep inside.
There was a long drawn-out moment where they both looked at each other. Her skin began to prickle with heat, but she refused to look away.
Eventually, he let out an exasperated laugh and rubbed his eyes. ‘Christ.’
She took that as victory and sashayed over to the door.
He got up from the desk and came over to her. ‘You should come with a government health warning.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
He followed her out, locking the door behind him.
She slid her hand into his and led him through the mass of people and into the grand ballroom. The dance floor was packed. The sprung wooden flooring moved beneath them as people jumped about to ‘Love Shack’. He was tentative at first, unwilling to join in. He shook his head in an amused fashion as she began dancing.
Her ‘nightclub’ dancing, as she called it, was no better than anyone else’s. It wasn’t choreographed, or structured. It was gyrating, shaking arms and legs, and letting the music dictate the moment.
He loosened up a fraction during ‘I Gotta Feeling’, moving his feet from side to side. She laced her fingers into his, trying to get him to relax. He laughed at her efforts. When ‘Dancing Queen’ came on she slid her arms around his neck. In six-inch heels, she was almost eye level, able to enjoy the pained expression in his eyes. His shoulders were like blocks of concrete, rigid with tension.
‘Relax your shoulders,’ she shouted above the music.
He rolled his head, trying to loosen up. He only managed it when the music took a slower turn. Ed Sheeran starting singing ‘Perfect’. Tom let out a long breath, his shoulders lowering with the motion.
She set the pace, moving with the rhythm, guiding the pair of them around in a circle, their bodies relaxing into each other.
It was like being transported back to 2006. No longer fighting one another, but in total unison. His arms slid around her, pulling her closer. She rested her head on his shoulder and let the music fill her senses, enjoying his warmth, his smell. The vice around her heart began to slacken for the first time in what felt like forever.
‘What do you miss about being a teenager?’ she asked.
He rested his chin on her head. ‘I can’t answer that without incriminating myself.’
She sighed. ‘I miss snogging.’
His burst of laughter made her head bobble against his chest.
‘We used to kiss for hours.’
He looked down at her. ‘I remember.’
‘You can’t do that as an adult.’
He smiled. ‘You can’t?’
‘When we used to kiss it never used to lead on to anything else…’ She paused. ‘Well, not in the beginning, anyway.’ It was safer not to think about where it’d led after that. ‘I used to love kissing you. You made me feel…I don’t know, like I could just enjoy it without my behaviour being…questionable. You could never snog someone like that now and just stop when you’d had enough. You have to be so guarded, in case things move quicker than you’re ready for them to. I miss that. I think adults skim through the best bits, too eager to get laid.’
He laughed again. ‘You think kissing is the best bit?’
She paused. ‘It’s not just the kissing; it’s what goes with it. That lovely feeling when you can’t wait to see someone and the nervous excitement when you do. Feeling giddy when they touch you and wanting more, but not getting it, and then by the time you do…wow.’ She sighed. ‘Grown-ups miss out on that, don’t you think?’
He didn’t say anything.
‘You don’t agree?’
‘No, it’s just…’
‘What?’
She looked up at him, but his expression was unreadable. ‘That feeling never wore off, Becca. Even after we’d…’
The room seemed to stop spinning.