Sunday, 28 August
Barney unbolted the fairy-grove construction, mulling over what a massive comedown the clear-up session was – like suffering a particularly bad hangover after a wild night partying. Without the softening of moonlight and mesh filters, the set looked battered and tired; no longer a magical space, but an empty cauldron of scattered rubbish and discarded programmes. The cast looked equally weary, their once energised movements now lethargic as they cleared the theatre ready for the next group of players to take over.
The hairs on his arms lifted as the wind picked up, flapping the cloth against the scaffolding. The weather had cooled overnight. It was taking longer for the sun to emerge from behind the clouds this morning. Technically it was still summer, for a few more days at least. Tomorrow’s bank holiday would see the last of the holidaymakers soaking up Cornish life before the kids returned to school and a new term began. For him, too. Student life beckoned.
He searched for a screwdriver, needing an implement to lever out the staples holding the cloth in place. Returning to his medical studies didn’t fill him with unadulterated joy, but he wasn’t quite as averse to it as he’d once been. Directing the show had unearthed a set of skills he’d never known he had. The most significant being his ability to overcome adversity. If directing had been a breeze, then it might not have felt quite so rewarding when everything came together. Last night’s performance had culminated in a standing ovation and the promise from the Cornish Times reporter of a glowing review in next week’s edition. It was heady stuff. Addictive.
He found a screwdriver and returned to the task of dismantling the fairy grove.
He’d always thought he lacked the necessary mettle to cope with adversity, so it had been something of a shock to discover that wasn’t the case. Maybe he could use these new-found skills to improve his attitude towards medicine? It was worth a try. The words ‘clutching’ and ‘straws’ sprang to mind.
Sylvia appeared wearing illuminous-yellow rubber gloves, complete with floral cuff and matching apron. ‘The loos are cleaned. What would you like me to do next?’
He looked around the theatre. Nate was helping Tony dismantle the tree house. He couldn’t imagine Sylvia wanting to join them – manual labour wasn’t her strongest suit – but also because things were a little cool between her and Tony.
Barney was just glad that Glenda wasn’t around to add to the tension. Despite quitting the show after the opening night, she’d contacted him yesterday to say she’d be collecting the costumes this morning. Being outed as a loan shark can’t have been fun, so he understood why she couldn’t face everyone, but it was selfish nonetheless, and had nearly ruined the show. Lauren had taken on the role of Hippolyta, and Sylvia had covered the smaller parts, but it hadn’t been without its headaches, namely a day spent at the theatre re-blocking and training a new team to control the fly rig. But it had come together in the end, thanks to the commitment of the cast and backstage crew. The atmosphere had dramatically improved without the Graham family’s involvement, so, as annoyed as he’d been when all three had stormed off, he’d ended up being grateful that his new-found leadership skills could take the rest of the week off.
‘You could help Lauren sort out the costumes when she returns from taking the props to the hall with Charlotte. They should be back soon.’
‘Righty-ho.’ Sylvia peeled off her gloves. ‘Shall I make tea in the meantime? Looks like everyone could do with a brew.’
‘Sounds great. Thanks, Sylvia.’
He watched her take everyone’s drinks orders. Tony replied with a one-word answer, Daniel ignored her, and the SM seemed flustered at being interrupted whilst trying to tally the bar takings. Only Nate responded with a smile, his gaze drifting to the steps leading up to the car park in the hope that Lauren would appear soon.
Barney might deem this love-struck behaviour slightly pathetic, if he wasn’t afflicted by the same condition.
Laughter drifted down from the auditorium. Paul was helping Freddie and Florence pick up rubbish, but was currently chasing them around the seating wearing the ass’s head from the show. Their smiling faces and infectious laughter brought on another bout of longing for kids of his own. It also served to cement the decision he’d made to return to medicine. Aside from accepting the fact that he needed a challenge, he’d also realised that floating along, living a carefree, hand-to-mouth existence, would not be conducive to achieving his long-term goal of a family. For that to happen, he needed to be in a relationship. More specifically, he wanted to be in a relationship with Charlotte. And Charlotte had made it clear she wasn’t interested in being with a man who didn’t have a stable job.
Having removed the staples from the cloth, he rolled the now faded and torn midnight-blue fabric into a tight ball.
Knowing that Charlotte would be returning to London herself soon had helped soften the blow of succumbing to his parents’ coercions. Having realised that he’d fallen in love with her, he needed to take drastic action to convince her that moving from a casual fling into a serious relationship was a good thing. And for her to view him as a serious prospect, he needed a more focused career plan. Being a specialist might not hugely appeal, but, with any luck, his lengthy sabbatical might have strengthened his resolve. His parents had assured him that things got easier once you’d specialised, so maybe this time he’d rise to the challenge and not falter at every hurdle. He could only hope.
As he unbolted the legs of the scaffolding, he spotted Charlotte descending the theatre steps. He was struck by how stunning she was. Dressed in jeans and a cream top, she was scrubbed clean of all traces of green. Her hair was wavy and free, dancing about in the breeze as she skipped down the steps. His heart missed a beat, something his medical brain told him wasn’t possible unless he suffered from premature ventricular contractions, which he didn’t. He didn’t care. He was in love. He’d never been in love before. It was strangely liberating.
When it became apparent that she hadn’t welcomed his declaration of love at a very inopportune moment during the opening night, his initial disappointment had given way to a determination to win her over. Of course she’d panicked. Charlotte was a cautious, conservative and slightly obsessive woman. She needed careful handling. If he came on too strong, she’d bolt. He needed to gently persuade her that letting him in to her life was a positive thing, and not scare her off.
Her coolness towards him during the rest of the run had thawed after last night’s performance when, riding on the coattails of adrenaline, she’d accepted his offer to continue partying back at his place, and they’d spent the night drinking champagne and rolling about his bed entangled in the sheets. It had been playful, intimate and hugely enjoyable. He’d also been careful to steer well clear of anything resembling ‘feelings’. He wasn’t that stupid. He’d made her breakfast in bed this morning, joined her in the shower – under the pretence of needing to help remove all traces of greasepaint – and teased her over the various mishaps she’d encountered during the show. All of which she’d accepted with good humour, proving she was no longer mortified at being emotionally exposed, but rather empowered by it.
He might have seen this as a breakthrough, if it hadn’t felt quite so much like a goodbye. One final fling before reality kicked back in. A feeling he was desperately trying to ignore, hoping he was wrong.
But, as she neared the stage, he realised her animation wasn’t as a result of happiness following their playful night together, but anger. It radiated off her in waves, like an electrical current. Why was she so cross? More worryingly, why did her anger appear to be directed at him?
‘I want a word with you.’ Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt and dragged him away from prying eyes.
He let her, mostly because she’d rip his T-shirt if he resisted. Hawaiian Elvis was his favourite. ‘What have I done?’
He might not have experienced love before, but he knew enough about women to know when he’d fucked up. Although quite what he’d done to piss her off in the hour or so she’d been gone, he didn’t know.
She let go of his T-shirt and folded her arms. ‘Lauren received a call from the police this morning.’
‘Okay.’ He had a feeling more was coming.
‘Glenda Graham and her two sons have been arrested.’
He was right.
‘The police raided Glenda’s caravan late last night and removed evidence.’
So that’s why she hadn’t shown up this morning. ‘What kind of evidence?’
Her gaze narrowed. ‘Take a wild guess.’ There was no volume in her words, her anger was being contained – barely – almost as if she was waiting for the opportune moment to unleash it. ‘You’re a smart man. What do you think the police might find in Glenda’s home?’
He was being tested. There were two possible answers. The truth, or a lie. Both would result in his demise. ‘Evidence of illegal moneylending?’
‘Bingo.’ Her cheeks were no longer nymph-green, but warning-red. ‘A notebook listing all Glenda’s customers, and several handwritten contracts. Not to mention a stack of cash.’
He still wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong. He’d missed Lauren’s big declaration on the opening night, about owing Glenda money. Nate had filled him in afterwards. As far as he knew, his name hadn’t been mentioned. Why would it? ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’
‘For Lauren, yes. Anyone doubting my sister’s honesty will now see Glenda for what she really is, a manipulative, mean-spirited woman who preys on the financially vulnerable.’
He nodded his agreement, feeling it unwise to offer anything else.
‘As you can imagine, I was completely stunned when the police contacted Lauren this morning.’ Her tone had switched to sarcastic. ‘I mean, who knew they’d been tipped off and had been carrying out surveillance on Glenda for almost three weeks.’ Her gaze was locked on his, daring him to concede, as if playing some kind of Russian roulette.
Being a sensible man, he kept quiet.
‘But Lauren wasn’t surprised. Oh, no. Turns out a rep from the Illegal Money Lending Team had called round to Lauren’s flat. Ever heard of them, Barney?’
Again, he said nothing.
‘But even after Lauren was told that Glenda’s behaviour was illegal, my sister was too frightened to make an official complaint.’ Her fists were bunched so tightly that the skin around her knuckles had turned white. ‘She was so scared of the repercussions, of the shame of anyone knowing about her situation, that she refused to give evidence. Can you imagine that?’ She advanced on him. ‘How it feels to be that scared?’
Right at that moment? Yes, he could. He figured that was the point.
She lifted a finger. ‘I can think of only one thing worse.’
Here it came.
‘People knowing who Glenda really was and not saying anything.’
And the guillotine dropped. One swift slice and his balls lay in a basket by his feet. So that was his crime. She’d found out that he had known.
‘Not even just people … friends.’
Guilt flooded him. ‘I only suspected.’
‘Oh, you only suspected?’ Her voice rose another notch. ‘So you didn’t exchange playful banter with your mates, referring to the woman as Glenda-the-Lender?’
Shit. His eyes closed involuntarily.
She shoved him in the chest. There was no strength behind it, despite her fist being clenched. ‘How long have you known?’
The time for denial was gone. What was the point; she knew anyway. ‘A while.’
‘How long is a while? A month? A year?’ When he didn’t reply, she became incredulous. ‘You’ve always known, haven’t you? Ever since you came to Penmullion?’
The flicker of his eye movement must have given him away.
‘And you never said anything?’ She was yelling now.
‘It wasn’t my place.’
‘Not your place?’ She raked her hands through her hair, a gesture so out of character and so unlike Charlotte that he didn’t know whether to be pleased or afraid. She was finally unravelling. Unfortunately, he was the cause. ‘Whose place was it, then? You’re her friend. You socialise with her, babysit her kids, constantly tell me how special she is …’
‘She is—’
‘Then why the hell didn’t you help her?’ Angry tears fought their way down her cheeks. ‘Why did you stand back and let Glenda bully my sister? Tell me?’
‘Because …’ but nothing would come. He wanted to find the right words, something that would defend his actions, justify keeping quiet, but the enormity of his fuck-up meant that excuses were pointless. ‘I wasn’t certain. None of us were. We suspected that Glenda loaned people money, but we had no idea she was a loan shark. Not really. We just thought it was something she did on the side, you know, a part-time business.’
‘Just a harmless bit of illegal moneylending, eh? You saw how miserable Lauren was, how much weight she’d lost, and yet you did nothing.’
‘That’s not true … Well, not entirely.’ He jumped in before she could interrupt. ‘Lauren’s a private person, proud too. She wouldn’t have wanted everyone knowing her business. So we kept quiet, hoping she could sort it out herself.’
‘Oh, great plan.’ Charlotte’s sarcastic nod was accompanied by a slow hand clap. ‘What a bunch of cowards.’
‘You’re right.’ And then he felt the need to clarify. ‘I am, at any rate, but not Nate. He wanted to intervene.’
She didn’t look like she believed him. ‘Then, why didn’t he?’
Oh, hell. ‘Because we persuaded him not to.’
She stilled, which was worse than when she was raging. ‘You did what?’
‘We …’ And then he realised there was no point shafting Paul as well. ‘I thought he was overreacting, that he’d got it wrong. In the end, he decided to report Glenda anyway, even though he risked Lauren hating him.’
She shook her head. ‘The only one with any balls.’
He looked down at the floor. This was true.
After a moment’s silence, she said, ‘It doesn’t explain why you didn’t mention it to me, though, does it? All this time we’ve spent together, and not once did you think to alert me to what was happening.’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to complicate what we had.’
‘Complicate it?’ She seemed genuinely confused.
‘You know, by making it too … personal. You wanted to keep things purely physical.’
Her confusion turned incredulous. ‘So, this is my fault?’
‘Of course not.’ He reached out, but she batted him away. ‘I’m just trying to explain why I didn’t tell you. I made a mistake.’
‘You certainly did.’ Her fingers searched for a non-existent button on her top. ‘Well, thank God I found out now. Thanks for making leaving Penmullion so much easier for me, Barney.’ She backed away.
‘You’re not going?’ He needed more time. He had to tell her about his move to London. Try to persuade her that they could make a go of things.
‘I have no reason to stay.’
‘Yes, you do.’ He moved quickly, catching her arm before she could escape. ‘For a few more days, at least.’
But she yanked free from his grip. ‘Like I said, this was only ever a short-term arrangement. It was never going to last.’
He couldn’t believe how quickly everything was slipping away. How had things gone from laughter to loathing in the space of a few hours?
‘Goodbye, Barney.’ She turned and made her escape.
He watched her walk off, knowing it was pointless to try and stop her. He’d apologised, admitted that he’d made a mistake, even told her he loved her. None of it had mattered. He’d laid himself bare, and still she’d rejected him.
So much for her not bolting.