Thursday 23rd November
Becca winced when feedback from the headset penetrated her ear. She removed her earpiece, waiting until the noise ceased. Eddie was in the lighting booth, showing the students from the Brighton Music Institution how to plot the effects board. It was slow progress. But as they were providing their expertise free of charge she wasn’t about to complain.
She took the opportunity of a lull in proceedings to go over to her mum, who was seated in the stalls making a few last-minute alterations to Phoebe’s costume.
‘I think Eddie’s got his work cut out with the students,’ she said, plonking herself down on one of the theatre’s fold-up seats.
Her mum focused on threading a needle. ‘I’m sure he’ll manage. He’s a very resourceful man.’ Her cheeks had coloured, which thankfully no longer clashed with her hair.
Becca laughed. ‘Resourceful?’
Her mum glanced up. ‘Less than a day after mentioning I needed to find a surveyor to provide quotes for the guest house renovations, one turned up.’ She dug the needle into the chiffon. ‘He’s already checked out what planning permission I’d need, and spoken to the water company about moving sewerage pipes.’
‘Don’t you want his help?’
‘It’s not that. I’m grateful. Really I am, but it’s all moving a little too fast.’
Becca glanced into the wings, checking her ballet kids were behaving themselves. ‘So ask him to slow down. Say you need time to adjust to the changes.’
‘It’s not me I’m worried about.’
Becca turned to her mum, puzzled by her concerned expression. ‘You’re not worried about me, are you? I’m the one who suggested it, remember?’
‘I know, but you’ve always been so adamant about holding on to Daddy’s dream. This change is going to be hard for us all. And you’ve looked so dejected this last week. I wondered if you were regretting the suggestion?’
It was true that the guest house renovations had opened an old wound. The idea of seeing her dad’s handiwork being knocked down was gut-wrenching, but it wasn’t the sole cause of her sombre mood.
Her mum took her hand. ‘The relationship you had with your dad won’t be affected by any changes we make. You know that, right?’
Becca shrugged. ‘I guess. It still makes me sad that he died believing I’d broken the law. I hated disappointing him.’
Her mum looked shocked. ‘Oh, sweetheart. Your dad knew you hadn’t taken that stuff.’
Becca frowned. ‘He did?’
‘Well, not straight away. But once the dust settled, he realised you were covering for Jodi. You were far too honest to steal anything.’
Time seemed to slow. ‘But…why didn’t he tell me?’
‘He could see you were troubled by something. We both could. He figured you’d tell us the truth when you were ready.’
But she’d never got the chance. He’d died before she could confess.
Her mum took her hand. ‘I’m sorry, love.’
‘But when Jodi left prison and confessed all, why didn’t you admit you already knew?’
‘Goodness, I’m not sure. It was a long time ago. I was probably too focused on supporting Jodi’s efforts to turn her life around. I feel terrible now. I’m sorry, love.’
Becca was too relieved to be angry. ‘It’s okay. At least I know now.’
Her mum shoved her sewing to one side. ‘Your dad was really proud of you, and don’t ever think otherwise.’ She was pulled into a tight hug. ‘Come here.’
Tears threatened. Her dad knew she was innocent? It was too much to get her head around. She pulled away and wiped her eyes. If she let go now, she’d collapse completely. ‘As for the renovations, don’t hold back on my account, okay? I’m fine with it. Really.’ She glanced up at Eddie in the lighting booth. ‘And it would be a shame not to utilise the services of someone so resourceful.’
Her mum gave a sheepish smile. ‘He’s asked me to go on a cruise with him. Can you believe that?’
‘I hope you said yes.’
Her mum looked shocked. ‘I hardly know the man.’
‘So get to know him. Ask him on a date.’
‘That’s what your cousin said.’ Her mum picked up her sewing. ‘I haven’t dated anyone since your father.’
‘Then it’s about time you got back out there. You deserve to be happy, Mum. And Eddie’s a catch.’
Her mum resumed sewing. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Good. Because we all need to move on.’ And wasn’t that the truth.
She kissed her mum’s cheek, flinching when her headset crackled. A tentative voice announced a one-minute cue for the ballet routine. With her mind still whirling over the news that her dad had known the truth about the theft, she stood up and gave the nervous student a thumbs-up. Turning to the stage, she clapped her hands. ‘Okay, kids. Places, please.’ She had to shout to be heard.
With a bit of prompting from the stage crew, the kids ran onstage. They looked cute in their costumes, silver leotards with pale pink chiffon tutus. Ben had been given silver shorts to wear, much to his relief. Her mum had done a sterling job.
‘You’re opening the showcase, remember,’ she called from the stalls. ‘You’ll need to be in your starting positions behind the curtains before the music starts.’ They ignored her. ‘Are you listening to me?’
Amongst excited chatter a few of the kids nodded. Most weren’t paying attention.
Consequently, when the music started panic ensued.
What should have been a beautiful and heartfelt ballet routine turned into a cattle charge as the kids thundered across the stage trying to pick up where they should be. It didn’t help that one of the kids was missing with a tummy upset and Phoebe’s substitute skirt kept tripping her up.
It might be funny if they didn’t have a paid audience watching in forty-eight hours’ time – or the council visiting to pass their judgement.
‘You’re behind the music,’ she shouted, trying to be heard over Sia’s ‘Chandelier’. ‘You need to move quicker!’
The second half of the routine improved. The kids grew in confidence, moving almost in harmony. The end arabesque went reasonably well, although the spacing was wrong. She’d have to work on that.
When they finished, she clapped loudly. ‘Well done!’
They rushed to the edge of the stage, eager to hear her thoughts.
‘Brilliant job. You did really well. We have to finish now as the tech team need to plot the next number. We’ll go over the spacing again on Saturday morning, but it’s looking good.’ She gave them an encouraging smile. ‘Please be here by ten a.m. at the latest for the dress run. And don’t forget your costumes,’ she yelled as they ran offstage, already losing focus.
‘God help us,’ she said, returning to her mum.
‘It wasn’t that bad. The costumes looked nice.’
‘Thanks to you.’ Becca dragged her sweatshirt over her head and stripped down to her costume. ‘And now it’s my turn.’ Her knee wasn’t up to a full-throttle run-through of her routine, but she planned to mark out the number so the tech team could plot the lighting and gauge the timing of her performance.
‘Are you worried your knee won’t hold up?’ Her mum spotted the heavy strapping on her leg, a contrast to her floaty lilac stretch-dress with jagged hem.
She hadn’t mentioned re-injuring it on Saturday. ‘It doesn’t feel great, if I’m honest.’
‘Is something else bothering you?’
Becca frowned. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I’ve seen you dance through injury before – you’re normally so stoic. What’s different this time?’
A lump formed in Becca’s throat. Trust her mum to see through her bluster. ‘I’m worried I’ve lost my spark. I’ve never doubted myself before, but now the thought of going onstage terrifies me. What if the council retracts their funding because of me? I’ll never forgive myself.’
‘Oh, sweetheart. Sit down a moment.’ Becca obeyed, landing with a heavy thud on the seat. ‘Now listen to me. You’re still grieving for the loss of your career. Of course, it’s going to be painful. And yes, it’s natural to have doubts. But you’re never going to know whether you can still do it unless you try. The spark comes from in here…’ she placed her hand over Becca’s heart ‘…and that can’t be eradicated by injury. And as for the council, one performance isn’t going to be the difference between them sticking with the playhouse, or pulling the plug.’
Her mum was right, as usual. ‘I’m being a wuss.’
‘You’re certainly being too hard on yourself. Now, get on that stage. You don’t have to push it. There’s no audience, so it doesn’t matter if it’s not perfect. See how you get on, okay?’
Becca nodded and made her way onto the stage. She took up her starting position in the centre and waited for her cue. The view from the stage was familiar. Footlights glared casting the empty seating into shadows. The glitter-ball above spun slowly creating twinkling lights. In her periphery, she could see movement in the wings as the backstage crew silently worked away.
Eventually, the lights dimmed and Ed Sheeran began to sing ‘Perfect’.
She’d switched song choice after last Saturday night. Since dancing with Tom her emotions had been in turmoil. A confusing mixture of embarrassment, desire and heartache.
Maybe that’s why she’d chosen this song. She didn’t have to dig deep to produce the emotion required to convey the intent behind the moves. It was there, scratching under the surface, waiting to drive her across the stage and elevate her jumps.
When the spotlight hit her, she began to move. Her knee felt stiff and heavy…like her heart. Her rationale had been clouded by Hunch Punch, lust, and a longing to re-create the past. Physically, she wanted Tom with an urgency that clawed at her insides. Emotionally, she’d known it would end in calamity.
He had a girlfriend. Current, or ex. It didn’t matter. He was entangled with someone else. She’d been a fool to believe they could turn back the clock and pick up where they’d left off.
Sadness killed any vibrancy in her dancing – injured knee aside. Her moves felt laboured and awkward. The ache in her knee was almost welcome. It gave her something tangible to hold on to. Punishment for letting herself fall for Tom Elliot…again.
The music ended.
The lights lifted and she glanced around the empty stage.
Her mum jumped up and started clapping. ‘That was beautiful,’ she shouted from the stalls. It wasn’t, but Becca was grateful nonetheless.
She headed offstage to change. Her limp was getting more pronounced. If she wanted to dance on Saturday she needed rest and ice. With so much organising to do that might prove impossible.
Her mum rushed over and hugged her. ‘You see? I knew you could do it.’
Eddie climbed down from the lighting booth. ‘Well done, love. That looked great.’
‘Thanks, Eddie.’
His praise evoked a smile from her mum, who blushed and glanced away.
Eddie remained oblivious. ‘I think we’re done for tonight,’ he said, focusing on her mum. ‘It’s looking good. Do either of you ladies need a lift home?’
Her mum fussed with her sewing bag. ‘I have my car here. But thanks for the offer.’
Becca was struck by an idea. ‘Actually, if you don’t mind going home with Eddie, Mum, could I borrow your car? I’m not quite done yet, and my knee’s a bit sore to walk home.’ Becca made a point of rubbing it, ignoring her mum’s suspicious glare. Well, she wasn’t lying. Her knee was sore. She turned to Eddie. ‘If that’s okay with you?’
‘No problem, at all,’ he said, ever the gentleman. ‘Can I take your bag for you, Ruby?’
Her mum handed over her bulky bag and dug out her car keys. Becca was subjected to a look that said she knew what her daughter was up to. ‘I’ll see you at home later.’
Becca didn’t mind being in her mum’s bad books.
Just as she’d needed a push to start dancing again, her mum needed a push to start enjoying herself again.
Becca watched them walk off, Eddie chatting away, her mum trying not to stare at him.
Smiling, she removed her knee-brace, before changing into her comfy sweats. Her tappers’ technical run wasn’t until tomorrow night, so she was done for the evening. But having fibbed, she couldn’t go home yet, so she headed for the café. A hot drink might ease the ache in her chest. A bag of ice might do the same for her knee.
She hadn’t seen Tom since the party. She’d managed to avoid him all week, ignoring his text messages asking whether she was okay. No, she was not okay. Jodi had assured her that Izzy was no longer staying at the playhouse, but Becca wasn’t taking any chances. The last thing she wanted was another chance encounter with the woman who’d caught her fooling around with Tom and insinuated she was a hooker.
Talk about humiliating.
She was so preoccupied with her thoughts, she didn’t see the lone figure sitting in the café. Not until she heard Harvey Elliot’s distinctive voice.
‘You’re still here, then?’ he said, causing her to turn sharply.
What the hell was he doing here?
He was sitting at one of the tables reading a broadsheet. ‘My son didn’t take my advice and terminate your employment then.’ He licked his thumb and turned the page. ‘Your cousin too.’
Becca wasn’t in the mood for one of Harvey Elliot’s character assassinations. She’d had enough of those twelve years ago. ‘If you’re looking for Tom, he’s not here.’ She went to hobble away, but wasn’t quick enough.
‘Will you join me?’ he said, closing his paper.
‘I’m busy.’ She needed ice for her knee.
He gestured to the chair opposite. ‘This won’t take long.’
Much as she didn’t want to engage, she figured it might stop him bad-mouthing her to Tom. She sat down. ‘What do you want?’
It was a while before he spoke. He adjusted his glasses. Crossed and uncrossed his legs, as if considering how best to word whatever it was he wanted to say. It didn’t take a genius to work out what was coming.
Finally, he cleared his throat. ‘The Wentworth family have a long heritage dating back several centuries,’ he said, looking at her intensely. ‘Were you aware that Tom’s grandfather was the Earl of Horsley?’
She raised an eyebrow. Did he think she was dim? The playhouse was littered with historic portraits and family busts. Anyone visiting would quickly become aware of the family’s blue blood.
Sensing her irritation, he continued. ‘As such, Tom has obligations to ensure the future and reputation of that title is preserved. As his father, I have a responsibility to protect him from situations I feel might not be in his best interests.’
She didn’t like where this conversation was headed. ‘And your point is?’
‘I have reason to believe you and my son have renewed your…liaison.’
She felt her cheeks burn. ‘I don’t know where you heard that.’
‘Why else would you still be here?’
She drew back stung. ‘Excuse me?’
He held her gaze. ‘What you do in your private life is none of my business. But the well-being of my son is very much my concern. His career is at stake. Not to mention the future reputation of this family, which could be jeopardised by an…unfortunate association.’
Had they been transported to a Jane Austen novel?
She rubbed her knee, eager to occupy her hands so she didn’t thump Harvey Elliot. ‘I resent the implication that I’m here for any other reason than to progress my own career and save the playhouse from closure.’
He shook his head. ‘Whether we like it or not the world is a judgemental place. As the grandson of an earl there are certain expectations in terms of who it would be appropriate for Tom to form a relationship with.’
Her knee began to throb. She knew what he was implying. Her less than pristine past coupled with her cousin’s criminal record might tarnish the family’s good name.
‘As I’ve already told you, we’re not involved.’ She straightened her leg, trying to ease the stiffness. ‘And besides, Tom appears to already have a girlfriend.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Let’s not be naive, Miss Roberts. It wouldn’t be the first time a man has enjoyed the company of more than one woman.’
That did it. She stood up. Insulting her was one thing, but attacking Tom’s character was out of order. ‘You don’t have a very high opinion of your son, do you, Mr Elliot?’
‘I simply meant that—’
‘I know what you meant.’ She balled her fists, trying to keep her hands under control. ‘And it seems that I have more respect for your son than you do.’
His face coloured.
‘Anyone with half a brain can see your son is honourable and decent, with morals and integrity. He’s kind…funny…generous…and spends so much time taking care of the playhouse, his clients, his mother, that he’s ill with it. The guy can barely breathe for Christ’s sake. He puts everyone else’s needs ahead of his own. He works long hours, never gets a break, and what thanks does he get?’ She pointed at him. ‘His own father bad-mouthing him.’
‘I never—’
‘And you know what?’ She took a step closer, anger clouding her brain. ‘I don’t care if you dislike me, or think I’m not good enough for your son. But before you start making accusations about my behaviour, maybe you should look at your own actions.’
‘Meaning?’
‘It wasn’t me who left their teenage son to deal with his alcoholic mother.’ She shushed him when he went to interrupt. ‘You should be grateful and proud of the way Tom dealt with those difficult years. And if you’re not…well…that says more about you than it does about him.’
She was on a roll.
‘And furthermore, Tom doesn’t need protecting from me. If you knew your son at all, you’d know that he’s honest and law-abiding, and even aged eighteen he would never have allowed himself to be led astray. Not by me, and not by Jodi.’ Her whole body was shaking. She leant on the table. ‘You want to know the reason I’m still here?’
He drew back when she jabbed her finger at him.
‘Because unlike you, I don’t quit when things get tough!’
He flinched.
‘So if there’s nothing else…’ she gestured to the exit ‘…I suggest you leave. The showcase is in two days and we have a lot to do.’
Harvey Elliot just stared at her.
She stared back. No way was she backing down.
Eventually he stood up, folded his newspaper and pocketed his wallet. He paused on his way out. ‘I underestimated you, Miss Roberts.’
She held his gaze. ‘Yeah, well…don’t do it again.’
The shake in her legs made her feel unstable. She couldn’t believe what she’d just done. But she’d probably never see him again, so what did it matter.
Twelve years ago, she should have stuck up for herself and she didn’t. It might be long overdue, but this went some way to repairing the damage caused by her lack of courage aged sixteen. It wouldn’t help resolve things with Tom, but it sure as hell made her feel better about herself.