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About Katie Ginger
KATIE GINGER lives in the South East of England, by the sea, and apart from holidays to very hot places where you can sit by a pool and drink cocktails as big your head, she wouldn’t really want to be anywhere else. This is Katie’s debut novel but she is also the author of some cosy mystery short stories. She loves making her characters either fall in love, or killing them off – it depends on her mood!
When she’s not writing, Katie spends her time drinking gin, or with her husband, trying to keep alive her two children: Ellie, who believes everything in life should be done as a musical number from a West End show; and Sam, who is basically a monkey with a boy’s face. And there’s also their adorable King Charles Spaniel, Wotsit (yes, he is named after the crisps!).
For more about Katie you can visit her website: www.keginger.com, find her on Facebook: www.facebook.com/KatieGAuthor, or follow her on Twitter: @KatieGAuthor
The Little Theatre on the Seafront
KATIE GINGER
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018
Copyright © Katie Ginger 2018
Katie Ginger asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © September 2018 ISBN: 9780008308674
Version: 2018-08-22
Table of Contents
Cover
About Katie Ginger
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Acknowledgements
Coming Soon
Hello!
Dear Reader,
Keep Reading
About the Publisher
To all my supportive family and friends.
Thank you!
Prologue
To my dearest girl,
What a wonderful life we’ve had together, my darling Lottie. I’m so sorry that I’ll miss so many things, such as seeing you get married and have children, but my time has come and I’m off to see your granddad. It’s been a long time since we last saw each other so we should have a lot to talk about, which will be a pleasant change from our married life together.
With all this death business I’ve been thinking about you and what you’ll do after I’m gone, and I’ve decided something – you need a shake up, my girl!
I love you, dear, but all you do is go to work, come home again, and that’s it. You’re thirty years old and you should be doing more with your life than spending your evenings with a little old lady like me.
If you remember, I have tried to get you enjoying life a bit more, but to no avail. Last year I set you up with that lovely handsome window cleaner, but you didn’t bat an eyelid. In fact, I’m not entirely sure you even knew what was happening. And then there was that time at Christmas, when I tried to get you to go to your school reunion … but you stubbornly refuse to enjoy anything that takes you out of yourself and out into the world. To be frank, dear, it’s no way to live.
So, I’ve decided that a bit of emotional blackmail is in order. And as spending your evenings fussing over me won’t be an option anymore, you’re going to take over my place as chairman of Greenley Theatre and carry on my, dare I say it, good work, on the ‘Save Greenley Theatre’ campaign.
Think of it as one of those New Year, New You, type things!
Good luck, my dear. I know you’ll make me proud.
Lots of love ,
Nan
P.S. I haven’t actually arranged this with the committee yet so that will be your first job. Have fun!
Chapter 1
Lottie waited outside her house for Sid, her colleague and best friend, to pick her up. She checked her watch and rolled her eyes. He was late, as usual. In all the years she’d known him he’d never been able to get anywhere on time – even primary school. After five more minutes of shuffling to stay warm she saw his battered old car round the corner and hid the box behind her back.
‘Here you go,’ she said as she climbed in.
‘You got me an Easter egg,’ Sid replied, smiling. It was an Incredible Hulk one.
‘I couldn’t resist.’
‘Me neither.’ He handed over a large posh box.
Lottie giggled and had a quick look at the huge milk chocolate egg covered in a white chocolate drizzle. Her mouth began to water. ‘You’re the best.’ Sid’s grin grew wider. Lottie tucked the egg down by her feet while Sid tossed his onto the backseat where it was cushioned by a mound of rubbish and they headed to the first job of the day.
Lottie leaned forward and peeked at the picture on his top. ‘Don’t you think that T-shirt’s a bit off for meeting an old lady?’
Sid pulled it to his nose and sniffed ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘I don’t mean it’s skanky. It’s the picture.’
‘What’s wrong with the picture? Dragon Slaying Vampires are a great band.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m not sure a half-naked woman with enormous breasticles, standing on top of a dragon’s severed head in a giant pool of blood, is really appropriate for an octogenarian. Do you?’
‘Oh,’ said Sid. ‘I suppose not.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll keep my jacket on.’
‘Yeah, good luck with that.’
Sid was the reporter on the Greenley Gazette and Lottie was his photographer. Over the years they had covered every sort of local issue from the first day at school to hardcore crime and had learnt that old ladies over the age of seventy love to have the heating on. And it was already turning into a surprisingly sunny February day.
Lottie peered up at the clear blue sky and soft white clouds overhead. She loved living in Greenley-On-Sea, especially on days like this. The sun shone brightly, and the air was crisp and clean carrying a hint of salt from the sea. The streets were full of children on their way to school, laughing and giggling at what the day might hold in store.
‘You were late again,’ she said, teasingly.
Sid pointed to two takeaway cups in the cup holders. ‘I stopped to get coffee.’
‘Aww, thanks.’ She sipped the skinny mocha savouring the tang of coffee and sweet hit of chocolate, then removed the lid to swipe up some of the whipped cream.
‘I have no idea why you have it made with skimmed milk and then put cream on top.’
‘Because,’ said Lottie, popping the lid back on, ‘I can convince my brain that whipped cream is mostly air and therefore has no calories and skinny milk is mostly water, so really, it’s not that bad for me. In fact, on a day like this it’s actually good for me. I’m hydrating.’
Sid’s deep set hazel eyes under slightly too bushy eyebrows looked at her sceptically. She’d known him all her life and he knew her better than anyone else in the entire world, especially since Elsie, her nan, had passed away just after Christmas. She felt a familiar stab of grief tighten her throat but pushed it down. ‘Do you want to have lunch at mine today?’
‘Have you got any decent grub?’
‘Sidney Evans, you only ever think about your stomach.’ Lottie smiled and considered the sparse remains in the fridge. ‘Beans on toast?’
‘Yeah, alright.’
They were now in the posh part of town where old white Georgian houses with large sash windows lined the roads, but before long they would be out the other side back to the normal houses. ‘So who’s this old dear we’re seeing this morning?’
He bobbed up and down in excitement. ‘Mrs Harker and her opera-singing parrot.’
Lottie stared. ‘Opera?’
‘Yep.’
She blinked. ‘Oh.’
‘I know. I love my job,’ Sid replied, beaming as if it was Christmas.
Sid parked the car in front of an ordinary mid-terrace house. A neat front garden with a small path led them to a plain white front door. Lottie climbed out first. ‘I think I’ll get a photo of Mrs Harker outside holding the parrot. It’ll be a nice juxtaposition of the ordinary and the extraordinary.’
Sid tutted. ‘You take this all far too seriously sometimes.’
They walked to the door and Sid gave a cheerful knock. A petite woman in her eighties wearing a floral dress and long beige cardigan opened the door. ‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning, Mrs Harker. I’m Sid Evans, from the Greenley Gazette, and this is my photographer, Lottie Webster.’
‘Come in, won’t you?’ asked Mrs Harker, leading the way.
Lottie followed Sid into the porch and was immediately struck by the heat. It was like having a boiling hot flannel shoved on her face. She looked at Sid and grinned as a redness crept over his cheeks. It was going to be fun watching him cook, a little bit of payback for last week when they’d done the weekly shop together and he’d kept secretly adding things to other people’s baskets. She’d giggled at the time but it was quite embarrassing when he got caught. Of course, he’d come clean and charmed his way out of it while Lottie hid at the end of the aisle, peering round from the pick ’n’ mix.
As they entered the living room, Lottie slipped her coat from her shoulders and spotted a cage with a bright red parrot perched inside. The bird didn’t move and for a moment, Lottie worried it was stuffed. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d interviewed a crazy person.
‘I understand,’ said Sid, ‘that you have a very unusual parrot, Mrs Harker?’
‘Oh, yes, Mr Neville is very talented.’
‘Mr Neville?’ repeated Sid. Lottie recognised from the twitch in his cheek a grin was pulling at his mouth.
‘Yes, Mr Neville’s my parrot. He sings Tosca.’
Sid nodded. ‘And can we see this talent in action?’
Lottie readied her camera as Mrs Harker approached the CD player and switched it on. The music started and Mr Neville, as if by magic, came to life. He opened his wings and rocked on his feet as he screeched in unison with the music. Lottie lifted her camera and took some shots. Calling it singing was going a bit far, but it was certainly entertaining. A moment later, Mrs Harker switched off the music and Sid conducted the interview.
‘Well, thank you very much, Mrs Harker,’ he said when he’d finished. ‘That’s quite a parrot you’ve got there.’
‘He’s great, isn’t he?’ she replied, opening his cage to take him out. ‘Did you want to take your coat off, young man? You look a little bit hot.’
‘No, thanks. I’m fine,’ said Sid, wiping his top lip.
Lottie repressed a laugh.
‘I was so sorry to hear about your grandmother passing, Miss Webster,’ said Mrs Harker.
Lottie paused as a shiver ran down her spine. ‘You knew my nan?’
‘Yes, dear, I went to school with her and we played bingo together for years. She was a lovely woman.’
‘Yes, she was.’
‘It was wonderful what she was trying to do for the town, she was always working hard to make a difference. Such a shame she never quite got the theatre going again.’
Lottie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Grabbing the bottle of water Sid offered, she took a big drink.
‘Did Mrs Webster talk much about the theatre?’ Sid asked. He must have seen her impression of a goldfish and stepped in.
‘Oh yes, she had grand plans. Elsie was going to make it like it was when we were young. Get the community involved again. I think that was where she met your granddad, Miss Webster.’
Lottie’s eyes darted to Mrs Harker’s face. She had no idea that was why the theatre meant so much to her nan. From the depths of her mind she remembered Elsie telling her the story. How she spotted him from across the aisle and that was that. Love at first sight. Lottie had responded by saying how lovely and picking up her book, burying herself in another time, another place. She bit her lip feeling ashamed.
‘All the bingo club were behind her, you know. Johnnie, the caller – the guy who calls out legs eleven and two fat ladies, and all that – he said that we could move back there when Elsie finished renovating it.’
Lottie tightened her grip on the water bottle and swallowed. She needed to get outside into the fresh air. ‘I think, Mrs Harker, it would be a lovely idea to get a picture of you and Mr Neville in front of your house, if you don’t mind?’
‘Not at all, dear,’ she replied, admiring Mr Neville and stroking his feathers. ‘Are you sure you’re alright? You look quite pale.’
‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you.’ Lottie’s voice was high and squeaky. Her hand shook as she clicked the camera, but finally, after a few attempts, she had the shot.
Sid escorted Mrs Harker back to her door and said goodbye as Lottie climbed into the car and pulled another bottle of water from her camera bag. She watched Sid remove his jacket and move round to the driver’s side to get in.
‘Okay, you were right,’ he said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘I was absolutely roasting in there. Why do old dears always have the heating on? I mean, I know it’s still chilly, but come on.’ He looked at Lottie, his furrowed brow accentuating his crooked nose. ‘Are you alright?’
‘I am now I’m out of there.’
‘Was it the bit about your nan?’
Lottie stared at him in disbelief. ‘Of course it was! I wasn’t so impressed by an opera-singing parrot I nearly fainted.’
‘Alright,’ he said sarcastically. ‘I was just checking.’
Lottie pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. If Sid wasn’t so genuinely clueless when it came to women she would have been cross with him. ‘Sorry. I know I’m being unbearable at the moment.’
His cheeky grin returned. ‘That’s okay.’
‘It’s just that, I knew the theatre meant a lot to Nan, but I …’
‘What?’ asked Sid, softly.
She shook her head, unable to steer her brain into forming a sentence. A familiar wave of grief and sadness washed over her, tinged with panic and fear at what she was being asked to do.
‘Listen, Lots. I know you don’t want to deal with your nan’s letter but I think we have to. You can’t keep ignoring it.’
Elsie’s final gift to her hadn’t been at all what Lottie had expected and she had no idea how to deal with it. ‘There’s nothing to talk about, Sid. I’m not doing it and that’s final.’
‘But, Lottie, your nan must have thought this was what you needed. You can’t keep shoving your head in the sand and pretending it never happened.’
She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Yes, I can.’
‘No, you can’t.’ Sid ran his hand through dark curls that maintained a stubborn unruliness no matter how short they were cut. If Sid was her type – which he wasn’t – she might have thought him handsome in a geeky way. ‘I’m not trying to annoy you.’
‘I know you’re not. You don’t need to try.’ She gave a weak smile.
Sid started the engine and began to drive off. ‘But why leave you a letter? Why not just ask?’
Lottie shrugged. ‘Nan knew full well that if she asked me face to face I’d tell her to bog off.’
‘And stomp off out of the room,’ he said teasingly.
She turned to him and widened her eyes in fake surprise. ‘I don’t do that.’
‘Yes, you do.’ He smiled. ‘But it’s fine, I don’t mind. I just don’t understand what you’re afraid of.’
Lottie opened her Easter egg and broke off a piece of chocolate, waving it in the air as she spoke. ‘Oh, I don’t know, making a fool of myself in front of the entire town, letting Nan down, everyone laughing at me.’
‘No one would laugh at you, Lottie.’
‘Despite what Nan thinks—’ Lottie felt her heart twinge, the words catching in her throat. ‘What Nan thought, I quite like my life.’
Sid looked at her sceptically. ‘You like being safe, Lottie, that’s not the same thing.’
‘But what if I take over the theatre and make things worse?’
‘How can you?’ Sid glanced at her quickly before turning his eyes back to the road. ‘What could you possibly do to make it worse? Burn the place down? Blow it up? You’re not planning on blowing it up, are you?’
Lottie scowled.
‘Oh, I know,’ he continued in a mocking tone. ‘You’re going to run National Front rallies, or host puppy kicking competitions?’
‘No, but—’
‘It’s a small local theatre for a small quiet town. Not a top notch, swanky London showbiz place.’
Lottie cocked her head and broke off another piece of chocolate. ‘But I don’t know how to do this.’ Her voice was rising and she pulled it back. It wasn’t Sid’s fault. ‘I’m not a project manager, I have no idea how to be a chairman and do chairman-type things. And, I know absolutely nothing about theatres.’
‘But you are ridiculously bossy.’
‘No I’m not, I’m just … organised.’
Sid’s face broke into a wide grin and he grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze. ‘You can do this, Lottie, I know you can. Just give it a chance.’
Lottie ate another piece of chocolate.
‘The thing is, Lottie,’ he continued, ‘your nan was right. You do need to get out more. I mean, when was the last time you had a boyfriend?’
‘When was the last time you had a girlfriend?’ she countered.
‘It was 2003, but this isn’t about me.’
Lottie repressed a smile. ‘You were twelve in 2003.’
‘Yep, but I’m perfectly happy with my life; you’re not and you haven’t been for ages.’
Lottie folded her arms over her chest. It was true. She had been feeling restless for a long time now. But when her nan became ill, she’d retreated even further into her safe, quiet life. It wasn’t that she didn’t like people, she did. She’d just never quite got around to getting a social life, that was all. ‘What’s your point?’
‘I think if you stopped looking at everything so negatively you’d see this could be good fun.’ Sid was always trying to chivvy her up.
Lottie toyed with her camera, opening and closing the lens, her mind racing. ‘I’ve got to do this, haven’t I?’
‘We have,’ said Sid, smiling at her. ‘I’ll be there for you.’ He stopped at a junction. ‘Shall we head to yours now? We can have lunch and start coming up with a plan to get you on the committee.’
Lottie checked her watch. ‘It’s only half eleven.’
‘I know, but I’m starving. Please?’ He stuck his lower lip out just as her stomach rumbled.
‘Alright then. Just for you.’
Chapter 2
Lottie had lived in the same house all her life. As a diplomat, her father worked all over the world and in the beginning, when he was posted to the back of beyond, her mother had stayed at home with Lottie. But when Lottie’s father was posted to Vienna, a city her mother longed to visit, she declared herself allergic to parenthood and departed with him for health reasons. Lottie’s nan had stepped in and it had, for the most part, been a happy and harmonious relationship.
The house sat on the brow of a hill with views of the sea and steep steps leading up to the front door. There was no front garden to speak of, just a tiny square of grass with soil too chalky to grow anything pretty. Blue paint peeled from the front door, stripped off by the salty sea air, leaving patches faded to grey and exposed bare wood. Lottie thought it was beautiful, like a piece of art.
They mounted the steps and Lottie found her keys to let them in. Sid, who was as familiar with the house as she was, marched through the dark hallway into the living room, slung his jacket onto the back of the sofa, then sat down and put his feet up on the coffee table.
‘Oi! Get your hooves off,’ ordered Lottie, following him in. ‘Nan never let you do that, so don’t start now.’
He huffed and removed his long gangly legs. ‘So, what’s the plan, Stan? How are you going to get on the committee?’
Lottie dumped her bag on the sofa and flopped down too. ‘I guess I’ll have to tell the committee the truth. Maybe show them the letter?’
Sid nodded.
‘But that isn’t going to guarantee anything, is it?’ Lottie thought out loud. ‘I think the mayor is acting chairman at the moment. He stepped up when Nan got sick and he didn’t like her anyway so he could easily say no. I think her constant campaigning over one thing or another got under his skin.’
Sid shook his head. ‘Nah, it would look too bad. How could he say no to a lovely old lady’s final request? But you still need to show you’re up to the job. I think you should give them an action plan or something. At the very least give them some ideas for what you could do to make it popular again, or get more funding.’
‘A presentation?’ asked Lottie, her voice shrinking. She hated speaking in front of people. Public speaking was as scary to her as wearing a bikini.
‘What else are you going to do?’
Lottie thought for a moment but couldn’t come up with a better idea. ‘Okay then. But I’ve got no qualifications, or experience that’ll help in any way.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Sid, cheerfully. ‘Just talk about how you’re going to make it successful. Be positive.’
‘And how am I going to do that?’
Sid scratched the back of his head. ‘I don’t know. What plans did your nan have for the theatre?’
‘I don’t know actually. I guess I could read through Nan’s stuff and see if there’s anything in there?’
Sid stretched out his long arms then rested them behind his head. ‘When’s the next committee meeting?’
Lottie went to the dresser, pausing as her eyes scanned the photos of her and her nan together, and searched through the pile of letters. She found the boring black and white newsletter and read the dates. Her face froze. ‘Oh, shit, it’s next Thursday.’
‘Oh dear,’ replied Sid. ‘We’d better get cracking if we’ve only got a week.’
Lottie groaned and trudged over to a stack of boxes at the back of the living room. The house remained untouched since Elsie’s death and her possessions were everywhere. Though Lottie had tried several times to get rid of things, each time her sorrow had taken over and she’d stopped.
‘Aren’t we eating first?’ asked Sid, concerned. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Can we get started with this lot and then eat, please?’ Lottie’s new diet only allowed twelve hundred calories a day and if she ate lunch too early she’d be an angry maniac by dinner time, raiding the fridge, or eating cornflakes straight from the box. And she’d already eaten half an Easter egg in the car.
‘Okay,’ he conceded, pretending to be huffy. ‘Got any biscuits to tide me over?’
‘In the tin.’ Lottie grabbed a large cardboard box with ‘Save Greenley Theatre’ written on the side. Sid moved the coffee table so Lottie could drag it between them, then she sat on the floor, cross-legged, and removed the lid. A mass of papers slid out and Lottie groaned in response.
‘I’ll make tea, shall I?’ said Sid and headed off to the kitchen. When he returned a few minutes later with two steaming mugs, Lottie was surrounded by mounting piles of paper, the box not even half empty.
‘Look at this,’ said Lottie, handing a theatre programme to Sid. ‘It’s really professional. I thought it would all be black and white photocopies or printouts that someone did at home with crappy clip art.’
‘And look at the list of names for the am dram group,’ he replied, nodding in agreement. ‘They had quite a big cast. Sometimes you get people playing loads of parts, but it must have been quite popular.’
Lottie picked up a dozen more and waved them at Sid. ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Hamlet, King Lear …’
‘Who knew Greenley loved Shakespeare?’
‘Here are the Christmas ones. Oh look, this one is so pretty.’ She shoved a programme for Aladdin into Sid’s face. Lottie gazed at the window seat, her favourite spot in the house, and the light pouring in chased a memory in her mind. ‘Do you know, I think I remember Nan taking me to a panto when I was little.’
‘So do I, actually. And we went in Mrs Thompson’s class in primary school, do you remember?’
Lottie tried to picture the day Sid was talking about. ‘Just about.’
‘You must do,’ said Sid, smiling at the memory. ‘Ben Humphreys wet himself because we wouldn’t stop for the toilet and that horrible Reece called him Potty Poo Pants for the rest of the trip.’
‘Oh yes, now I do.’ Lottie laughed and then, picking up another bundle of papers, groaned again.
Sid scowled. ‘Can you stop making that noise, please? It’s like a cross between a stroppy teenager and a dying cat.’
‘Sorry.’ She cupped the mug of tea in her hands hoping the warmth would make her feel better. ‘It’s just that I always assumed the theatre was just another one of Nan’s causes. She was always on one crusade or another.’
‘She did love this town. What’s that lot?’ asked Sid, pointing to a different bundle of papers before taking another sip of tea.
Lottie rifled through. ‘It’s the minutes from the committee meetings.’ She skimmed a couple. ‘There’s loads of good ideas in here from Nan and they’re all vetoed.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like starting a youth theatre, or asking local businesses to fund some of the renovations in exchange for their names on the brochures.’
‘Not bad,’ replied Sid, leaning forwards. ‘Who vetoed them?’
‘The rest of the committee.’
‘And who’s that?’
‘Umm …’ Lottie flicked through the pages. ‘There’s Mayor Cunningham, but it just has him down as a committee member. It doesn’t look like he’s there in his official capacity, just a normal person.’
‘A normal person in Greenley?’ asked Sid.
‘Well, relatively normal.’ It was true that Greenley had more than its fair share of eccentrics. ‘The secretary’s Sarah Powell, and the treasurer’s Trevor Ryman. There’s some spare seats too.’
‘Well,’ said Sid, sitting back. ‘Mayor Cunningham probably wants to be chairman to sell the land to a developer. He did that with the hospital, didn’t he?’
‘Oh yes. Everyone was campaigning to save it and he and his council cronies pushed through the sale before anyone could do anything about it.’ Lottie tutted. The whole town had felt hoodwinked and her nan had been apoplectic with rage.
‘And Sarah Powell works in my doctor’s surgery,’ Sid carried on. ‘She’s fancied Cunningham for years so she’s always going to vote the same way he does.’
Lottie’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘In this day and age? What a wimp. Who’s Trevor Ryman? Does he own the solicitor’s in town?’
‘Ryman, Wayman and Galbraith? Yeah, his dad set it up and he took it over when the old man retired. I remember covering it. They gave him a carriage clock.’
Lottie laughed. ‘A carriage clock?’
‘I know, shocking, isn’t it? The poor man built the business up from scratch, worked there for fifty years and his idiot son gives him a carriage clock as a retirement gift.’ He shook his head. ‘Terrible.’
Lottie took a swig of her tea and held up the papers. ‘Listen to this: “Proposal by Elsie Webster to bring back amateur dramatics group to get the community involved and raise much needed funds, vetoed by committee due to lack of funds for marketing.”’
Sid sat quietly squinting which normally meant he was thinking. ‘Now, there’s an idea.’
‘What?’ asked Lottie. Sid’s ideas could be either fantastically clever or completely bonkers. You were never quite sure what you were going to get.
‘Marketing. We could run an ad in the paper.’
‘For the am dram group?’
‘Yeah. Why not?’ Sid was full of excitement, talking quickly. ‘That takes care of the marketing costs so they won’t be able to say no. And it’d be a huge step to bring back the Greenley Players. We’ll do an article and include a picture of you.’
‘Me?’ Lottie asked, her eyes wide with worry.
‘Yes, you. You’re going to be the new chairman. We need a picture of you and one of Elsie, giving her a really lovely tribute. That’ll get everyone going.’
‘No way,’ Lottie said, re-fastening her long blonde hair into a ponytail, even though it was already perfect.
Sid shook his head in disapproval. ‘Come on, Lots. I don’t know why you think you’re some ugly troll that should live under a bridge somewhere.’
‘Fat, ugly troll to be precise,’ she said, tidying the papers on the floor.
‘You’re impossible, you really are. You’re not bad looking at all, you’re …’
Lottie started at the compliment and looked up to see Sid had turned a violent shade of red.
‘I’ll make some more tea,’ he said and, grabbing up the mugs, hurried from the room.
Lottie heard the kettle boiling in the kitchen and considered what Sid had said. Not the compliment, that was just too odd to think about, but the idea of free marketing was a good one.
The pictures on the dresser caught her eye again as if Elsie was watching her. If she was going to try and do this, she wasn’t going to fail at the first step. Lottie went to the hall and pulled her laptop from her bag, came back to the sofa and sat with it on her knees. When Sid returned, his face fell. ‘What? We need to get started on my presentation straight away.’
‘But can’t we have lunch first?’
Chapter 3
Sid walked through the town heading for his favourite record shop. LPs, it seemed, were making a comeback. There’d been a time when his nerdy hobbies had been laughed at, but now it was cool. The collection he’d inherited from his parents – a weird mix of Motown and prog rock – must be worth a fortune now. Not that he’d ever sell.
A smile spread across his face as he thought of Lottie. He’d asked her to come into town as it was the weekend and they weren’t working, but she’d refused saying she was busy practising her presentation for the board. At last there had been a breakthrough. If only he’d been able to break through to her heart, but he knew deep down he’d missed his chance.
After two previous attempts in their early twenties – one at a New Year’s Eve party when he’d tried to kiss her and ended up kissing the top of her ear, and another when they’d had a few too many watching a movie and after an odd surge of adrenalin, Sid had decided he’d declare his feelings, then bottled it – he’d realised he was well and truly in the friendship zone.
Neither episode had ended well. He’d been left red-faced and embarrassed, making jokes and laughing it off and Lottie had gone into hiding for days. Then when they’d finally seen each other again both pretended nothing had happened and the awkwardness had eventually faded, leaving them back where they’d started.
If he was honest with himself, which up until lately he’d avoided as much as possible, he’d always thought that somehow, at some point, he and Lottie would end up together. One day something would happen to force them both into realising they loved each other. Because he did love Lottie. For him it had always been more than friendship but she just never seemed interested in anything else.
Sid blamed his love of movies for all his years of being single. He’d always hoped that one day UFOs might land in Greenley or the Zombie-Apocalypse would descend and after he’d beat off a horde of flesh-eating zombies with nothing but a severed leg, Lottie would fall into his arms, kiss him and cry, ‘Oh, Sid, you saved me!’ If that had happened everything would have been alright, but strangely it hadn’t, and he’d missed his chance.
Sid shoved his hands in his pockets. No, the window of opportunity had closed and now he was destined to be Lottie’s friend for the rest of their lives. He lifted his head; had someone just called his name?
‘Sid?’
Looking over his shoulder, he saw a woman of startling gorgeousness running towards him. Her long brown hair bounced behind her and her smile was warm and friendly. He vaguely recognised her but couldn’t place her. Surely he wouldn’t have forgotten a girl who looked like that?
‘It is Sid Evans, isn’t it?’ she asked, a broad smile on her face.
He knew he was staring and made an effort to close his mouth. ‘Yeah, it is. Umm, hi.’
‘It’s Selena. Selena Fleming. We went to uni together. Do you remember? We were in the same halls in first year and then I was constantly at your house because you guys had a garden?’
Sid reached back into the depths of his mind. He could remember a sullen goth emo girl with large boobs and chubby cheeks called Selena. He’d seen her a lot as she was dating one of his friends, but this couldn’t be her. Could it? She looked like a personal trainer or something. ‘Did you date Hayden Lukas?’
‘Yeah! I’m surprised you recognised me. I’ve changed a bit since then.’ She flicked her hair back behind her shoulder.
You’re telling me, thought Sid. The Selena who stood in front of him now was tall and slim. Or at least she appeared taller. She wasn’t hunched over with long hair falling into her face, being angsty and deep.
‘I used to dye my hair black and wear that awful heavy eyeliner.’ Her eyes dipped down, embarrassed. ‘It does nothing for me.’
‘I remember you now,’ Sid said with a grin. ‘You were one of the grammar school girls from here, weren’t you? You and – oh, what’s her name …’ He shook his head, he’d forgotten her as well. ‘You both ended up at Greenwich.’
‘Shelly Spicer.’
‘Yeah. She was horrid. She always thought she was better than everyone else.’
Selena smiled and leaned to one side, jutting out her hip. ‘She was a bit mean. Do you remember you played me The Cure that night at Hayden’s birthday? I’d never heard them before but I thought that song was brilliant.’
‘Do you still like them?’ he asked, hopefully.
‘Only that one song, but ever since you played me Pink Floyd I’ve been a huge fan of theirs.’
Sid beamed. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’
It was better than nothing. Sid rocked on his heels searching for something to say. He was normally very good at conversation and if she’d been a little old lady with an opera-singing parrot he would have been fine, but Selena had the biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen and they were staring at him so intently he’d almost forgotten his own name. ‘So what are you doing back here?’
She tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘I’ve moved down here for good. I was living with a boyfriend up north but we split up and so I’ve come home.’
‘Oh. Sorry to hear that.’ He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets unsure what else he could do with them.
A faint redness had come into the apples of Selena’s cheeks during their awkward silence. ‘So what are you doing now?’
‘I’m the reporter on the local paper.’
‘Oh my God! Really?’
‘Yeah. It’s not as exciting as it sounds though, Greenley’s not really a hotbed of crime and passion.’ Sid felt his cheeks burning. Why did he say passion? ‘Umm, what about you?’
‘I work at the beauty salon over there.’ She pointed to a shop with a large pink sign over the door that read Indulgence Spa and Boutique. ‘I sort of flunked my communications degree. I was too busy partying with Hayden, so I retrained in nails and beauty and I love it. I love making people feel good about themselves. Seeing the smile on someone’s face when they’ve had their nails or brows done and they feel a million dollars, it’s really nice.’
It was a nice sentiment and Sid found his respect for her growing. Who’d have thought the sullen, sulky student he’d known would have turned out like this? ‘I’m glad you’ve found something you like doing.’
‘Do you like being a reporter?’
‘I do actually. I like Greenley too.’ He peered around at the old-fashioned High Street dotted here and there with trendy bars and posh cafés. Normal run of the mill chain stores mixed with strange, quirky independent shops and they even had a little seaside museum.
Sid knew he should say something else – ask her a question or start a new conversation – but his mind was too busy shouting ‘GIRL!’ at him and he couldn’t think straight.
Selena glanced away as the conversation lulled again, then looked back up at him. ‘You haven’t changed much.’
‘Haven’t I?’ He ran a hand over his chin, wishing he’d shaved. Was that a good or a bad thing? ‘Neither have you. I mean, less make-up, obviously, but you know … you don’t look older.’
Selena giggled at his fumbled compliment. In James Bond movies he always said things like, ‘You’re a beautiful woman,’ but Sid worried he’d sound like a weirdo stalker if he said anything like that. Or that he was taking the piss.
‘Well, I’d better go,’ Selena said, checking her watch. ‘I’ve got my first client at ten. You didn’t mind me saying hi, did you? It’s just that I saw you and I couldn’t believe it was you. I couldn’t let you go without saying something.’
Sid shuffled, trying not to smile too much. ‘No, I didn’t mind. It was nice to see you too.’
‘I’ll probably see you around then?’ She stared up at him from under long thick eyelashes.
‘Umm, yeah. Probably.’
‘Okay.’ She edged away still staring at him and Sid couldn’t figure out why. ‘Bye.’
Sid gave an awkward wave then shoved his hand back in his pockets. ‘Yeah. Bye.’
Selena swung around and headed back to the shop and Sid looked down to find what she’d been staring at. His Star Wars T-shirt was clean on this morning and his flies were done up. Weird.
He walked on to the record shop. Selena Fleming had looked a lot different without all that weird make-up and she and Hayden clearly hadn’t lasted. It was strange how people always ended up coming home to Greenley. Sid quickened his step and thought no more of it. Nick at the record shop had put aside a rare album for him so he’d better hurry. He was due to open at any minute.
Chapter 4
In her living room, an hour before the committee meeting, Lottie paced back and forth, forcing her nerves down until finally, she lost the battle altogether. Unable to bear the ticking of the clock and its agonising countdown any longer, she grabbed her coat and car keys and headed off. Now here she was, twenty minutes early, sitting in the main meeting room clutching her laptop, waiting for the rest of the committee to arrive.
The grand, grey stone columns of the town hall belied its rather dull interior. When the mayor was appointed, he’d refurbished it to make it a modern conference space, and as such it had lost all character and historical importance. No one used it for conferences. The only people who used it were the camera club and they hated it – and him. They never failed to tell Lottie when she covered their exhibitions or the annual general meeting that took about ten million hours and made her long for death.
Earlier that week, Sarah Powell, the committee secretary, had been less than helpful when Lottie tried to have her presentation added to the agenda, telling her that, ‘Only the chairman can approve last minute additions and Mayor Cunningham is a very busy man.’
After much negotiation, Ms Powell said she’d do her best to contact Mayor Cunningham and would let Lottie know the result. When she called back, she said with evident disdain that Mayor Cunningham had graciously made room for her on the agenda. Yippee.
In the harsh fluorescent light, Lottie took her nan’s letter from her handbag. Seeing the fragile spidery handwriting, it felt like she was there speaking to her. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Lottie said to the letter before refolding it and putting it back.
‘Miss Webster?’ asked Mayor Cunningham as he marched into the room. He was a tall man in his late forties. His balding hair had been cut close to his head, but the remains of a small island on the front of his forehead bobbed in a sea of pink flesh. It was slightly triangular shaped as if it stayed there pointing to where the rest of his hair could be found, hiding at the back. His suit was a good fit, but the cheap fabric shone in the unforgiving light, like he’d been sprinkled with glitter. An evil Liberace. Ms Powell followed close behind, a puppy at his heels.
‘You only needed to come for your agenda item, Miss Webster. You didn’t need to attend the whole meeting.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ said Lottie. She felt her neck and cheeks get hot. This wasn’t a good start.
‘I’m surprised that Ms Powell didn’t tell you that.’ Mayor Cunningham walked to the head of the table and placed his black briefcase down, unclipping the shiny brass clasps. It popped open and he pulled out some papers organised with various coloured Post-it notes.
‘I did,’ Ms Powell replied quickly.
‘I don’t think you did,’ said Lottie.
Ms Powell’s eyes shot to Mayor Cunningham, fearful of disapproval.
Lottie felt her nerves rise up and she cleared her throat. ‘I have a presentation on my laptop. Is there a projector?’ Presuming one would be all set up she began to panic at its absence. Lottie wasn’t technically minded and the prospect that should one be found she’d have to set it up herself caused her stomach to churn.
‘Ms Powell will set it up for you, if you really require it.’
‘I do,’ Lottie answered, trying to sound confident. Mayor Cunningham turned to Ms Powell and without speaking pointed to a cupboard in the corner of the room and she hurried to follow his unsaid instructions.
There was something quite unlikeable about Ms Powell, Lottie decided. She had the walk of someone who was perpetually neat and tidy and very, very efficient. Her face, which could look kindly if relaxed, was pinched and her eyes looked out at the world suspiciously. She appeared to have no sense of humour whatsoever. A perfectly smooth chin-length bob framed her face accentuating her small features.
As Lottie struggled to connect the relevant wires to her laptop, Trevor Ryman ambled in. He placed his own briefcase on the floor, brown this time, and battered, and pulled out his bundle of papers, bereft of even a single Post-it note.
‘Shall we begin?’ asked Mayor Cunningham, just as Lottie finished fiddling. She sat listening to the other agenda items with more interest than she’d expected. The theatre had a small fund that wasn’t nearly big enough to do all the work required. The building was structurally sound but needed the roof patched up and the inside needed general refurbishment before any productions could be put on. It wasn’t looking good.
‘As I’ve said before, it’s more work than a small committee and our town council can handle,’ said Mayor Cunningham. ‘I do believe the land would be better sold to provide more affordable housing. We may have to cut other services if we don’t make our budget this year and we don’t want to be the ones responsible for that.’
‘I agree,’ said Ms Powell, nodding.
‘I see what you mean,’ said Mr Ryman. ‘But I do feel we need to explore all options before we throw in the towel.’
‘I don’t see why. No one in this town would bother coming to a production, even if we could put one on,’ Mayor Cunningham replied.
Lottie, who was busy making notes in her pretty notebook, raised her head. ‘I disagree. I think people would come—’
‘Miss Webster, with all due respect this has nothing to do with you.’
But it might, thought Lottie, and carried on. ‘But look at these.’ She pulled out the programmes her nan had kept over the years and laid them on the table.
‘May I remind you, Miss Webster, that you are not a member of this committee and are here for one item only.’
Lottie simmered with annoyance but continued on regardless. ‘I realise that, Mayor Cunningham, but I think we need to acknowledge that the nearest theatre is over an hour away. I think people would come to local productions if we had decent facilities and a good programme. That’s why my nan never stopped working towards re-opening the theatre, she believed it too.’
Ms Powell stared at Lottie as if she had just walked up to Mayor Cunningham and punched him in the face. Mayor Cunningham stared at her too, unspeaking. Mr Ryman picked up the programmes and flicked through them. ‘There does seem to have been an appetite for the theatre at one point.’
‘But that was years ago,’ said the mayor, throwing the leaflet he’d picked up back into the pile. ‘Before on-demand TV and Netflix.’
‘Still, there might be an interest now.’
Lottie couldn’t help but nod. ‘The Christmas pantomimes were particularly well attended, and the summer Shakespeare. I thought we could look at doing something more modern. Something easier to understand that would appeal to even more people—’
‘Moving on,’ said the mayor, looking down at his agenda. Then his face fell. ‘Oh, Miss Webster, I see it’s your turn, anyway. And you’d like to address the committee in Mrs Elsie Webster’s place?’
‘Yes, I would,’ she said. The moment had finally arrived. Lottie stood and clicked on her presentation. It projected onto a pull-down screen at the end of the table and she slid her notes out of her folder. A surge of nerves threatened to loosen her fingers but she held firm and began.
‘As you all know, my nan passed away about two months ago.’ She swallowed down the lump in her throat and took a deep breath. ‘On the day of her funeral, I was given a letter she wrote to me a few days before she died asking me to take over her place as chairman of the committee. I know you’ve been acting as chairman since her death, Mayor Cunningham, and I’m sure Nan would say you’ve done a wonderful job,’ she lied. ‘But she’s asked me to take over now and try to continue her work.’
Ms Powell and Mr Ryman shuffled in their seats, glancing at Mayor Cunningham. Deep wrinkles showed on his forehead as he scowled and a muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘I don’t think protocol allows for someone to just take over another’s seat, Miss Webster. Particularly that of chairman, which is an elected position. I’m sorry, but it can’t be done.’
Despite Sid’s reassurances, Lottie had worried Mayor Cunningham would say no. As all her fears threatened to be realised she dug deeper, unwilling to let her nan down.
‘How do we even know you can cope with the responsibility?’ asked Ms Powell, snidely.
Lottie’s fingers tightened around her notes. She could put up with a lot of things, but being patronised by a woman who made puppy dog eyes to a man like Roger Cunningham wasn’t one of them.
‘I didn’t think you would let me take over, just like that,’ said Lottie. ‘Which is why I’ve prepared a presentation of some ideas I’ve had. I think they could really get things moving again.’
The smug smile disappeared from Ms Powell’s face, the mayor twisted his cufflinks, and Trevor turned over a sheet of paper and readied his pen. ‘Please go on.’
Lottie stood a little taller and opened the first slide on her presentation. ‘The first thing I was going to suggest is bringing back the amateur dramatics group.’
Ms Powell’s head popped up at the mention of the amateur dramatics group and she watched Lottie with eager eyes. The ends of her razor-sharp bob swished around her chin until the mayor glared at her and she looked back down at her notes. Lottie knew she had her own faults but at least she didn’t have a crush on a complete douchebag like Mayor Cunningham.
‘As you can see from the programmes in front of you and the images on the screen from the Gazette archives, the group was very popular and had lots of members. It put on at least two productions a year.’ She looked up to see all eyes focused on her and swallowed, feeling the butterflies jiggling in her stomach. ‘From my research and the old accounts books I found, events were very well attended.’
‘And how to do you propose to do all this, Miss Webster, as we have such limited funds?’ asked the mayor.
‘And no money for advertising,’ added Ms Powell.
Lottie imagined how wonderful it would be to smack Sarah Powell in the face with her folder but instead smiled sweetly at them both. ‘I work for the Greenley Gazette and they’ve kindly agreed to run an advert for members of the amateur dramatics group. Free of charge, of course. It’ll start this week if you agree.
‘This will raise much needed publicity for the theatre, which I understand has been a problem for some time.’ Lottie congratulated herself on sounding like a grown-up professional type of person.
A blotchy redness crept up the mayor’s neck.
‘I like this idea,’ said Mr Ryman. ‘Free of charge advertising can’t be turned down.’
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