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.’

Mayor Cunningham steepled his fingers like a Bond villain. ‘And what happens if no one is interested?’

‘Then I guess we’ll know how the community feels about the theatre,’ answered Lottie, feeling her shoulders sag. But then she remembered Sid’s words to be positive and lifted her head. ‘But if it is successful, we can work with the group to bring the theatre back to life and plan a production.’

Mayor Cunningham scratched the small triangle of stubbly hair on his forehead. ‘Are you aware of how much work is needed on the theatre, Miss Webster?’

‘Only what’s been covered in the minutes. I haven’t visited the theatre myself yet, but, of course, I’ve seen the outside.’

‘Well, I can tell you it’s a lot.’

‘And there are mice,’ said Ms Powell.

‘Mice?’ Lottie imagined them putting on their own production, all lined up on the stage wearing top hats and waving canes in perfect choreographed unison. She bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

‘Yes, but,’ said Mr Ryman, shifting in his seat to lean over the table, ‘if this is successful, we could then look at community funding. Maybe a bid to the Heritage Lottery Fund? I know the council can’t afford to run the place anymore and I’ve said before there are avenues we haven’t explored. We could follow the marketing campaign with an appeal.’

Lottie smiled at him, thankful for a possible ally.

Mayor Cunningham eyed Mr Ryman as if he wanted to stab him with his pencil but Trevor didn’t notice, or at least, didn’t care. The mayor said, ‘Perhaps we should put your taking over as chairman to the vote. It is an elected position after all.’

Lottie’s stomach lurched. Mr Ryman seemed like he would vote for her but if Ms Powell did vote the same way as Mayor Cunningham, the numbers were against her. Lottie decided on a last-minute attempt to convert Sarah Powell to her side. ‘Can I just say that the Greenley Gazette will be happy to follow the story with regular articles and advertising space. Free of charge, of course.’

David, her editor, hadn’t actually said that but there was little else to print these days and she was surprised at how much she wanted this now. She met the mayor’s steely gaze and carried on. ‘If your objections are lack of funds for advertising, then that’s already covered, and there’s a guarantee of more to come.’

Ms Powell looked up and Lottie was sure there was a flicker of agreement in her small eyes.

‘Miss Webster—’ began the mayor.

‘Hang on,’ said Mr Ryman, cutting him off. He turned to Mayor Cunningham. ‘I don’t think a vote is required. Whilst seats on committees aren’t usually hereditary, I do think the request from the late Mrs Webster makes this an unusual circumstance.’ He leaned in and with a lowered voice said, ‘We wouldn’t want the Greenley Gazette reporting anything negative, would we?’

Lottie opened her mouth to tell him that she’d never be so underhanded when he turned to her and gave her an almost imperceptible wink.

‘I suppose you’re right, Mr Ryman,’ said the mayor. He turned to Lottie. ‘It would only be right to honour the wishes of our dear Elsie. May I suggest, though, that we reassess the situation once the auditions have taken place and we’re aware of the community’s response?’ He glowered at Ms Powell.

‘Agreed,’ Ms Powell answered and Lottie wondered if there had been a note of uncertainty in her voice.

Mr Ryman nodded.

‘Your title will therefore be Acting Chairman, Miss Webster, until this trial period is over.’

Lottie nodded in agreement. It was as good as she was going to get.

‘Meeting adjourned then.’ The mayor stood up, shoving his seat back. He pushed the papers into his briefcase and luminous Post-it notes flew onto the floor. Ms Powell followed him to the door chattering in his ear.

Mr Ryman lingered behind the others as Lottie switched off her laptop and began to unwrap the mass of cables that had somehow twisted themselves around each other. ‘I’m very sorry that your nan passed away, Miss Webster. My condolences.’

‘Oh. Thank you.’ Lottie kept her eyes down, worried they would fill with tears as her body relaxed with relief.

‘She was a very energetic and likeable woman,’ Mr Ryman continued, trying to catch her eye. Lottie hoped he would get the hint that she didn’t want to talk about this right now.

‘Yes, she was.’

‘I attended the funeral you know?’

At this Lottie looked up. She hadn’t recalled seeing him there. ‘Did you?’

Mr Ryman gave her a warm and friendly smile. ‘I thought it was a lovely service. I guess I’ll see you at the next committee meeting then.’ He held out his hand, and she gave it her strongest shake.

Lottie remembered Sid telling her about the carriage clock and she felt like she’d misjudged Mr Ryman. Perhaps he was just rubbish at buying presents.

‘Can I just ask,’ said Lottie, releasing his hand, ‘why has the theatre sat empty for the last few years? Why couldn’t my nan make any progress?’

Mr Ryman studied the clasps on his briefcase before looking up. ‘Your nan tried everything she could to get things going again. To begin with, the committee kept changing and no one could agree on a way forward and then, when the mayor joined the committee, people started leaving and it dwindled to just us. He can be quite … negative sometimes. And forthright.’

Lottie nodded as a smile crept over her face. ‘I did get that impression.’

Mr Ryman tucked his briefcase under his arm. ‘Well, goodnight then. See you next time.’

‘Yes, goodbye.’

Lottie sat down in the empty room and exhaled a long, deep breath. For the first time all day she could breathe properly. Her nan had brought her luck tonight, Lottie could feel it – she was definitely watching. The tension in Lottie’s neck and shoulders had given her a headache, but at least now she could go home, have a glass of cold white wine and relax in the bath. There was just one thing she needed to do first. She grabbed her phone and dialled Sid’s number.

‘So, how’d it go?’ he asked with a mouthful of food, probably peanuts if she knew him at all.

Lottie slumped backwards and laughed with relief. ‘I only went and pulled it off, didn’t I?’

Chapter 5

Sid watched the credits roll – everyone else was leaving but he knew to hang on. He’d seen enough of the Marvel films to know there was a secret scene after the final credits, a bit of a teaser for the next movie and all those other people were going to miss it. Ha! Idiots.

He sat back eating the last of his popcorn as he watched, excitement building in his stomach. It didn’t disappoint. But then he realised it was actually quite depressing, he was going to have to wait ages for the movie to be released. Still there was the new Batman film coming out soon and he and Lottie were going to see it.

Once the lights had come up he brushed the popcorn from his chest and peered down at the piles scattered around his feet. Using his foot, he pushed some in front of the chairs next to him. He wasn’t trying to make more mess for the nice guys who worked there, he just didn’t want them knowing that all of it was down to him. In his defence though, hand to mouth motor skills were quite difficult in the dark.

Sid grabbed his coat and made his way out into the foyer, giving a double take when he saw Selena standing with a group of friends. They were all as glamorous as she was with perfectly coiffed hair and matching outfits. One girl even wore a miniskirt even though the weather was cold and damp. He didn’t know people dressed up for the cinema. What was the point? It was dark and everyone’s eyes were on the screen.

Selena glanced over. She wasn’t wearing a miniskirt like her weird friend, just normal jeans and a T-shirt. It was a bit tighter than Lottie wore hers but still nice. Her hair was tied up in a strange, sprouty bun thing on the top of her head but it suited her, and her dark eyes were studying him. All the roundness her face had carried in their youth had gone and she now had delicate cheekbones. Selena smiled, said something to her friends and made her way over to Sid. ‘Hi again.’

Sid nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Hi.’

‘Did you enjoy the movie?’

Sid’s expression grew serious as he considered. ‘Yeah, it was good. A bit slow in the beginning but once it got going it was fun. Did you?’

‘Yeah.’ Selena bit her bottom lip. ‘But we only came for Chris Hemsworth. Well, they did.’ She pointed to her friends.

‘Oh, right.’

She chuckled. ‘I did enjoy it though. Like you said, a bit slow at the start but it got better. Did you watch the secret scene?’

Sid’s eyes widened, surprised that she knew. ‘Yeah. Did – did you?’

‘Always!’ She gave a big grin and something happened to Sid’s heart. ‘So many people don’t know about it. It makes me laugh when they get up to leave as soon as the credits start and look at me like a weirdo for staying put.’

‘Me too! Do you come to the movies a lot?’

She nodded making the sprouty bun thing wobble. ‘When I can. I like a good action film. I’m not keen on all those depressing artsy type things designed to make you bawl your eyes out.’

‘Me neither,’ he said and could feel the silly grin on his face pulling at his cheeks. Sid scratched his head, urging himself to think of something to say. He loved movies, she loved movies, surely he could think of something.

‘Where are you off to now?’ Selena asked inching forwards. Sid was grateful he hadn’t had to think of something. He’d have probably sounded stupid or said something pointless.

‘Just home.’

‘Oh, and where’s that?’ She edged closer.

‘One of the flats on the seafront.’

Her eyes opened wider. ‘In one of those nice old houses?’

‘Yeah.’ He registered the surprise on her face. ‘I came into some money and bought one when housing prices were still low.’ God, he was talking about housing prices. He sounded like an old man. He’d be talking about pensions next, or rheumatic joint pain. A wave of heat ran up the back of his neck and he placed his hand there, hoping to stop it.

‘Does it still have all those fancy period features?’

He pictured his flat. Underneath the piles of clothes he dumped on the floor and the mass of rubbish he hadn’t cleared up yet, there was probably something there. There was definitely an old Victorian fireplace in the living room, though at the moment it was full of video games. ‘Yeah, it’s got a few things like that.’

‘I’m impressed.’ Then her face clouded over. ‘I’ve had to move back in with my mum and dad at the moment. But hopefully it won’t be for long.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be fine once you get back on your feet.’

‘Thanks.’ She smiled at him and Sid felt a burning in his lungs. One of the girls Selena had come with called her name. She spun back to Sid and though he wasn’t sure, her expression seemed like she wanted to stay. ‘Sorry. I have to go.’

‘Oh, alright.’

‘Did you want to come with us?’ she asked, looking him straight in the eye. ‘We’re going to that nice bar on the High Street. The girls want to dance.’

Sid couldn’t think of anything he’d like to do less except for maybe clean his flat. He wasn’t a dancer. His signature move was more of a lunge. And he’d be the only guy amongst a load of fashionable, glamorous girls. Some blokes liked that sort of thing but to him it was like asking if he wanted to swim naked with sharks with a T-bone steak tied to his neck. ‘Umm, no thanks,’ he said, hoping she wouldn’t take offence. ‘But you have a nice time.’

‘Okay.’ She went to walk away then turned back rifling in her bag to pull out a pen and a tiny notebook. ‘Look, here’s my number. We could meet for a coffee or something some time and chat about the old days.’ She wrote it down then tore out the piece of paper and handed it to him.

‘Yeah. Sure, that’d be nice.’ His stomach wriggled in a weird way that was both pleasant and unpleasant at the same time.

Selena left, glancing over her shoulder as she went, and Sid walked out unsure if his legs were actually moving or if he was being wheeled along by some supernatural force. His heart gave a pang and the fleeting thought of, ‘If only it was Lottie,’ ran through his head. No. That ship had sailed long, long ago. The thought of trying again with Lottie and it being another awkward and embarrassing moment that could potentially ruin their friendship forever made him squirm. No way. It wasn’t worth the risk. But he wouldn’t tell Lottie about Selena. Not just yet. She had enough on her plate and besides there wasn’t anything to tell.

The grin on his face returned and hurt his cheeks. He examined the number in his hand. A girl as gorgeous as Selena had given him her number. And she remembered the music he’d played her at uni, and she even knew about the secret scene. He was the luckiest man in the world. But then his elation fell away to be replaced with panic as he contemplated the number again. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Chapter 6

The wind blew stronger on Greenley seafront than Lottie expected even though it was spring and sunlight pierced through the gathering clouds, bouncing off the sea. She wrapped her coat around her. She liked spring weather, it was easier to dress for than summer when clothes revealed so much flesh. Big jumpers and coats hid her flabby upper arms and were far more comfortable.

Lottie’s nan could never understand her self-consciousness, believing Lottie was just big boned. She’d always had puppy fat but unlike most of the girls in her class at school, Lottie’s had stayed stubbornly in place past adolescence and long into adulthood.

Sid waved as he drove past, then parked down the street and climbed out. ‘Morning,’ he said, crossing over to join Lottie opposite the theatre where she stood gazing at it.

The Victorian building had a square front of grey stone, with two tall oblong windows either side of a majestic revolving door. The boarded-up windows were decorated with scrawls, spray painted swirls, and a useful list of expletives. The revolving glass doors, most of which were broken, were sheltered by a faded blue domed canopy, and at either end of the building, a rotting wooden frame encased an old, tattered, water-stained poster. The once bright colours paled to a sad, washed out hue.

Sid pointed to the wall. ‘Donna’s well liked, isn’t she? Very popular with the boys.’

Lottie followed his gaze and laughed. ‘It is beautiful, isn’t it? Even in this sorry state.’

‘It is, actually. Do you know, I never really appreciated it until now. It’s been closed up for so long, I’ve just got used to walking past it.’

‘It’s such a shame.’ Lottie was beginning to see why it had meant so much to her nan and could imagine it in its heyday all those years ago. She snapped another couple of pictures. She’d always had a fascination with old abandoned buildings and had taken quite a few photographs of the various ones around town over the years. There was something about how the light played on them creating shadows and stark contrasts, emphasising the desolation and loneliness of these old places. She’d always planned to turn them into an exhibition but had never quite been brave enough. Maybe she should start an Instagram account or something?

‘“Jez woz ere”,’ Sid read. ‘Clever.’

‘Bloody idiots. Haven’t they got something better to do than write all over lovely old buildings?’

‘Obviously not.’ Sid took out a packet of crisps from his backpack and opened them. Before he could say anything more an enormous seagull swooped down and snatched the bag, making him scream. It flew to a nearby roof and bashed the packet down until it gave way and the contents spilled out.

‘Did you see the size of that thing?’ asked Sid, breathlessly, his face frozen in panic. ‘It’s a monster.’

Lottie burst out laughing, doubled over.

‘It’s not funny. I could have died.’

‘Oh, Sid. You should have seen your face.’ She screeched, giving a quick impression, then descended into hysterics once more.

Sid bent forwards with his hands on his knees still trying to calm down. ‘But look at it. It looks like it’s been drinking protein shakes from the sports centre bins. That’s not normal. Seagulls shouldn’t be the size of small aeroplanes.’

‘Sid, stop it.’ Lottie wiped the tears from her face but continued laughing as she spoke. ‘Right, now I’ve calmed down a bit I’ll get the outside shot as the weather’s nice. I don’t like the look of that rain cloud.’ She nodded to the sky over the sea where a band of dark grey cloud threatened to envelop the town.

‘Okay, I’ll wait for you.’ Sid finally stood up and adopted his usual stance of hands in pockets, leaning against the back of a bench.

After taking the pictures, Lottie and Sid crossed the road and walked to the door. The clouds had quickly blown in and spots of rain began to fall. The rain gathered pace and Lottie pulled a heavy set of keys out of her bag and tried to find the one for the front door.

‘Come on, Lots, we’re getting soaked.’

‘I’m trying. There’s like a million keys on here.’ She examined them individually and found the right one. Pushing the glass door with her fingertips in case it smashed to pieces in her hand, they edged inside as it revolved to the sounds of rusty gears and grinding metal.

‘Wow,’ said Sid, walking in and placing Lottie’s camera bag down on the floor. Lottie brushed the rain from the sleeves of her cardigan and inspected the interior.

Inside was a small square balcony higher than the theatre floor. On either side, a few steps led down to where row upon row of seats lined up in front of the stage. A deep crimson carpet, discoloured and threadbare in places, echoed the faded grandeur of the exterior. It was an unusual layout which Lottie felt gave the place even more character.

Without realising where her feet were taking her, Lottie drifted towards the stage. In her mind she could see actors performing to a full house and wondered which seats her grandparents had sat in that fateful night. She turned to tell Sid, but he was too busy staring at the ceiling.

‘Did you ever think there’d be a place like this in Greenley?’ he asked, gazing upwards. Lottie followed his eyes and gasped.

The ceiling was covered in intricate plaster cornicing framing painted murals of Greco-Roman myths. It wasn’t quite the Sistine Chapel, but it wasn’t too shabby either.

‘What’s that one supposed to be?’ asked Sid, pointing.

Lottie tried to make out what the figures and cherubs were doing. It looked quite rude actually. ‘I think it’s supposed to be Dionysus. That is not appropriate for children though.’ She turned to him, her eyes wide with excitement. ‘I had no idea this was here. Did you?’

‘Nope.’ Sid scrunched up his nose. ‘What’s that smell?’

‘Damp. There’s black mould all over the walls. Look.’ She ran her hand down and bits of paper fell off and stuck to her fingers.

Each wall had four ceiling-height columns evenly spaced along them and, in between, a once gold wallpaper peeled off, now cold and wet to the touch. She took some more photos. The town needed to see how bad things were.

‘Maybe knocking it down isn’t such a bad idea after all,’ said Sid, finding a clean page in his notebook.

‘Don’t say that. It just needs airing out and cleaning up. Strip the walls and replace the carpet and it’ll be fine.’

Sid grinned. ‘When did you become Miss Enthusiastic?’

‘I’m just trying to be a bit more positive, like you told me.’ Lottie stuck out her tongue and Sid mirrored her. She circled around and smiled. ‘Sid, just look at the stage.’ Lottie ran up a set of stairs at the front edge, brushing the curtain with her shoulder causing dust motes to dance in the light. Lottie tucked the camera strap over her head and rubbed her cardigan clean. ‘Can you imagine standing up here performing to everyone?’

Sid sat down in the last row and put his feet up. ‘Go on, do a dance or something.’

‘No!’

‘Please? For me? Or tell me a joke.’

Lottie tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘Umm … what’s brown and sticky?’

Sid smiled. ‘I don’t know. What is brown and sticky?’

‘A stick.’

He gave one of those embarrassing half laughs. ‘That is the worst joke I’ve ever heard.’

Lottie giggled. ‘Yeah, sorry.’ She stared out at the desolate and dejected theatre and her smile faded. She climbed down off the stage and joined Sid.

He must have seen her face fall, as he lowered his legs and leaned forwards before asking, ‘What’s the matter?’

‘How am I going to make this work, Sid?’ She raised her hand to start biting her fingernails. ‘There’s so much to do. Sarah Powell said there might be mice.’

‘Mice?’

Lottie cocked her head. ‘Are you imagining them all dancing on stage?’

‘Something like that.’

The corners of Lottie’s mouth lifted for a second then fell back down. ‘I haven’t seen any yet though, so that’s one good thing. Do you think people will turn up to the auditions?’

‘I guess we’ll find out soon. And don’t forget another advert runs this week.’

The first advert had looked amazing. Two actors in Shakespearean dress were silhouetted on a bright green background. One held out a skull and the other, on his knees, despaired with his head in his hands. Bold black type read, ‘Greenley Theatre needs you!’ and underneath was the information about the auditions.

‘And we’ve got a load of flyers to give out too.’ Sid pulled out his notebook. ‘When we run this article with all your pictures, I was thinking we could say something along the lines of, “Many of us knew Elsie Webster and the wonderful service she performed to the theatre and the town. Now her granddaughter, Charlotte Webster, will be carrying on her good work, and the theatre couldn’t be in better hands.”’

Lottie pressed her hand to her chest. ‘Oh, Sid, thank you. It’s beautiful.’

‘I’m glad you like it,’ he replied, blushing. For someone so good with words Sid was like an awkward teenager face to face.

‘You’ve helped me so much with all this,’ she said, taking off her camera and placing it on the seat next to her. ‘How can I say thank you?’

Sid scratched his head, ruffling his fluffy hair. ‘You don’t have to thank me, Lottie. I liked your nan. She was a like a mum to me too sometimes, wasn’t she?’

‘I suppose she was.’ Lottie bit her lip. ‘Do you miss her too?’

‘Yeah, I do. A lot. Elsie looked after me when Mum and Dad died.’ He cleared his throat and Lottie saw a stab of pain cross his features. Though Sid tried to be cheerful Lottie knew he still felt their loss deeply. He never spoke about his parents so Lottie never asked but he knew she was here if he ever needed to talk.

It was almost seven years since they’d been involved in a terrible car crash, and with the money they left him he’d bought his lovely flat on the seafront. He hadn’t been able to bear being in the family home all alone whereas Lottie couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Up until then Sid had been full of ambition but after the accident those thoughts had faded. He’d eventually regained his cheerfulness but never ventured further than London when they’d had days out together. He was now perfectly content to just take each day as it came and stay put and Lottie had never felt the need to challenge him.

‘Thanks again for doing this,’ said Lottie, giving his hand a squeeze.

He gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and she knew that flash of pain was lingering somewhere in his mind, but his voice was, as usual, cheerful when he said, ‘That’s alright, I like it. It’s fun. Who’s going to judge the auditions? Can I?’

‘No. Firstly you have terrible taste.’

‘I do not.’

She pointed to his Megadeath T-shirt and raised an eyebrow.

‘Fair enough.’

‘Anyway, you’re writing the articles. You need to be impartial. A bit anyway.’

‘Oh,’ Sid moaned. ‘I thought I could have a big buzzer to press if they were rubbish.’

Lottie gave him her ‘Don’t be silly,’ look. ‘I guess the mayor will want to be on the panel.’

‘And how about David? As the boss of the newspaper, we should probably ask him.’

‘Great idea.’ Lottie surveyed the dilapidation and she gave a sigh as her face crumpled.

Sid rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Lots. Everything will be okay.’

‘I hope so,’ she replied. ‘I really, really hope so.’

Chapter 7

Just over three weeks later, the day of the auditions dawned and Lottie awoke to the melodic sound of birds singing, and the sun shining through the window. For once she was excited about life again, and sprang out of bed, dancing as she dressed. It was the first time she’d woken up in the house and not felt the sudden dread of reality approaching or a heaviness in her heart as she realised she was alone.

Grabbing her jeans and slipping them on over her thighs, she didn’t care about the cellulite on the backs of her legs or her rounded stomach as she zipped them up. Most of the time Lottie was reasonably content with herself, or if not content, then not quite so preoccupied. The little extra weight she carried was nothing a couple of weeks of healthy eating and few trips to the gym wouldn’t cure, if she could be bothered. But when she was upset she focused on the bits she didn’t like as a way of not thinking about everything else. That today she didn’t care quite as much meant the darkness was lifting. She tied her long hair up in a ponytail and was just spraying some perfume when she heard the front door open and a voice call her name.

‘Lots, are you there?’

‘I’m just getting dressed, Sid,’ she yelled back down the stairs. ‘Be down in a minute.’

She opened the curtains and stared out over the town. Being on top of the hill allowed her a view of the skyline of Greenley. It wasn’t London, Miami, or New York, but it was home and the higgledy-piggledy rooftops, leading out to a calm, grey-blue sea, were a familiar and comforting sight. The kettle whistled and she knew Sid was making them tea.

‘Morning,’ said Lottie as she met him in the living room. He’d made himself comfortable on the sofa.

He blinked as he watched her. ‘Morning. You look nice.’

‘Do I?’ She stared down at her usual jeans, noticing they were slightly grubby in places and rubbed at the spots with a wet finger.

‘Yeah, you do.’ His forehead wrinkled slightly. ‘What’s different?’

‘Nothing.’ Sid stared at her, one eyebrow raised, and she held out her hands. ‘Honestly, nothing.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’ Lottie laughed. ‘I promise, I’m not trying to catch you out.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘You look very chipper this morning, though.’

‘I’m excited! Aren’t you? It’s am dram day,’ she sang, making jazz hands.

‘Have you been drinking?’

‘Ha ha.’ Lottie grabbed her bag and coat. ‘Oh, I asked a guy called Conner to come and play people’s music. He said he has some device on his laptop that’ll take the vocal track off for the singers. He emailed to say he’s studying film and media at university and thinks it’d be good for him and his budding career. I told him he’s in.’

‘What, into the Greenley Players?’ Sid sat forwards.

‘Yes,’ Lottie said slowly. ‘He wants to direct and do behind the scenes type stuff.’

‘Does the mayor know?’

Lottie shook her head. ‘No. Not yet.’

Sid sat back again, an incredulous look on his face.

‘What?’ asked Lottie. ‘I’m the chairman. I can do that if I want.’

‘It’s nice to see you taking charge,’ he said, smiling. ‘Have you got the list of auditionees? Or should I call them victims?’

‘I’ve got everything together already. Ta da!’ Lottie picked up a folder and waved it in the air. ‘But we need to get going. I’ve got some setting up to do before the rest of the panel get there.’

‘Right-o.’ Sid swallowed his tea and grabbed his leather jacket.

Lottie took a few quick mouthfuls of hers, leaving her cup half empty. She drew level with Sid at the end of the sofa, gave him a mischievous look. He read her mind, and they both raced to the front door. Lottie won.

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ Sid asked, as he drove them to the theatre. ‘You seem a bit … odd.’

‘Odd?’ Lottie faked offence. ‘That’s charming. I’m fine, honestly, I’m just in a good mood.’

The outside of the theatre looked a mess. They’d need to come up with a way of fixing it at some point, but for now she had to concentrate on today. Lottie pushed the revolving door and they went inside. The musty damp air hit her nostrils and she grimaced.

Sid turned on the main lights then headed off to a small box at the side of the room that held the lighting and sound equipment. ‘Let there be light,’ he shouted and with the flick of a switch, the stage was illuminated. The lights flickered for a few seconds before fully committing to staying on and Lottie gave a silent prayer they’d last the whole day. She dropped her folder onto one of the seats before climbing up onto the stage to grab a broom and begin sweeping.

Sid came down and sat on the front row then checked his watch. ‘It’s eight-thirty, what time are the rest of the panel getting here?’

‘Nine o’clock,’ answered Lottie, sweeping with vigour. ‘The first audition is at nine-thirty.’

‘Anyone we know on the list?’

‘A few. You’ll have to wait and see.’ She’d kept the list top secret because she wanted to see his reaction when some of them turned up.

‘Spoilsport.’

Lottie stuck out her tongue, feeling playful. ‘Don’t just sit there, lazy bum, come and grab another broom. This place is filthy.’ She watched him open his mouth to moan. ‘No moans and groans. You’re my best friend, you have to help. I reckon if this place had a good airing it would make a big difference.’

‘You sound like your nan.’ Sid huffed and stood up to join Lottie. He found another broom and began sweeping at the back of the stage.

‘Thank you,’ Lottie replied, then stifled a laugh. ‘What are you doing now, you idiot?’

‘Dancing, of course,’ said Sid, wiggling his hips before leaping over the handle. ‘Come on.’

A grin grew on Lottie’s face and she began dancing too as they swept the stage. They were both giving a vague interpretation of a tango with their respective broomstick partners when the rest of the panel walked in.

Mayor Cunningham arrived first and coughed as his lungs filled with the damp air. ‘Goodness me. Are we going to be in here all day? It stinks.’

Lottie stopped herself from rolling her eyes and walked down to meet him. ‘I know it’s not ideal, but we need the acoustics of a proper stage and there wasn’t anywhere else. It’s probably worse because we just swept.’

‘Very well,’ replied Mayor Cunningham. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any tea or coffee is there?’

‘Damn, I didn’t think of that,’ replied Lottie.

‘Really, Miss Webster, if you’re to be our chairman, you must plan these things more thoroughly.’

‘No worries,’ said Sid, jumping down off the stage, moving to Lottie’s side. ‘I’ll nip out and get us all coffees and some bottles of water for the auditions.’

‘Oh, Sid, thank you,’ said Lottie, touching his arm. She’d always loved the feel of his old leather jacket. He’d worn it for as long as she could remember and it was part of him.

‘I’ll have a black filter coffee,’ ordered the mayor.

Lottie flashed her eyes, knowing Sid would be thinking the same as her. ‘Sid, can I have a—’

‘I know what you have, Lots,’ he replied and gave her a cheeky wink.

The revolving door squeaked and David, their editor, walked in. He was a great boss and a really nice man, but since his divorce seemed to be having some sort of midlife crisis. He’d recently acquired a tattoo in a language he didn’t speak and had turned up today in a suit jacket and open-necked shirt revealing the greying hairs on his chest. Lottie wanted to go and do the buttons up but resisted. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be noticeable when he was sitting down. ‘Morning, everyone,’ called David. ‘I found this young man outside. Does he belong to you, Lottie?’

A young man with dyed black hair gelled forward over his face and a piercing through his bottom lip shuffled in. He gave Lottie a quick smile then kept his eyes on the floor.

Lottie took a few steps towards him. ‘Hi, you must be Conner. Thank you so much for coming.’

‘S’alright,’ he replied, removing his laptop and a small portable amp from his backpack. ‘Shall I set up over there?’

‘Yes please,’ said Lottie. ‘There must be a power point somewhere.’

‘I can find one.’ Conner wandered off with his laptop under his arm.

‘I’m just getting coffees,’ said Sid to David. ‘One for you?’

‘Oh, yes please. That’ll go down a treat.’ He smoothed down his thinning hair.

Sid looked over to Conner. ‘How about you, Conner? Do you want anything, mate?’

Conner looked up from under his long fringe. He seemed surprised at being included. Lottie wondered how he could ever see where he was going with his fringe all over his face then chastised herself for sounding like her nan again. She was getting old. ‘Umm, can I have a Coke, please? I can give you the money.’

‘That’s alright, mate. I can spare it. Be back soon.’

Lottie smiled at Sid. Conner was relaxing already and she was sure some of it was because of Sid. A hint of a smile had passed over Conner’s face when he talked to him. She turned her attention to David and the mayor. ‘I thought we should sit a couple of rows back from the front. We don’t want to end up with sore necks at the end of the day.’

‘Good idea,’ replied David. ‘Lead the way.’

Lottie indicated the third row back. ‘Here we are then. Sid will be back soon with the coffees. Conner, is there anything I can help with?’

He shook his head and Lottie noticed his fringe was gelled so firmly it didn’t move. ‘I’m pretty much done. I’ve found all the music on the list you gave me.’

‘Great, thanks.’

‘Who’s that boy?’ asked Mayor Cunningham.

‘He’s the first member of the Greenley Players,’ announced Lottie.

The mayor eyed her, his face growing redder. ‘You’ve appointed someone without speaking to anyone first?’

Lottie felt a shiver of nerves at his tone then pulled her shoulders back. ‘Yes. Yes, I did. He doesn’t need to audition as he wants to direct and do more on that side of things.’

‘But don’t you think you should have spoken to us all first?’

‘Well, no,’ said Lottie. ‘We’re going to need people on both sides of the stage, so to speak. So I didn’t see the point.’

‘Well I disagree,’ Mayor Cunningham replied huffily before plopping down on his seat. ‘It’s almost nine-fifteen. Your young man better hurry up.’

Lottie rolled her eyes and hoped he would keep his temper under control for the auditions. She had a feeling they’d need all the help they could get today.

Twenty minutes later Sid returned with a dozen bottles of water, plastic cups, a Coke and four coffees precariously balanced in a cardboard holder not quite up to the task. He handed out the drinks, placed the water and cups by the stage and took his place behind the mayor and David.

The first auditionee arrived looking terrified and Lottie went to meet them with a beaming smile. The young man with shoulder-length blond hair looked like a surfer, and climbed up onto the stage carrying a guitar case.

Lottie returned to her seat but couldn’t stop jiggling her legs.

He opened the case and readied himself to play. After clearing his throat, he began to sing. At least, that’s what he was supposed to be doing. Lottie’s face froze as he played the guitar badly and shouted out the lyrics to a song he’d clearly written himself about his dead dog. She waited for him to finish and cleared her throat. ‘Thank you, we’ll let you know.’

The mayor gave Lottie a smug smile. ‘Let’s hope the next one’s better,’ she said, giving a cheery one in return. But the rest of the auditions followed suit. The acting was on a par with the worst primary school nativity play and the singing would have made Simon Cowell’s eardrums run out of his head screaming and stab themselves on the first sharp object they could find. Someone even did some interpretive dance, though what they were interpreting, Lottie couldn’t quite figure out.

At about eleven o’clock and twenty people in, Deborah McCray arrived in a flamboyant red dress with a green scarf draped across her shoulders. Sid leaned in to Lottie and whispered, ‘Isn’t she the mad artist from Primrose Cottage? The one who paints those awful watercolours?’

Lottie gave a single nod, not wanting to draw Mrs McCray’s attention, and whispered, ‘Yeah. Do you remember that picture of someone’s kid in her gallery window? It was the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.’

‘It still haunts my dreams,’ Sid replied and they both chuckled as Lottie stood up to meet her.

‘Hello, Mrs McCray.’

‘Hullo there.’

‘If you’d like to make your way to the stage and introduce yourself to the panel, then tell us what you’ll be doing.’

Mrs McCray climbed the steps, hooking her dress up as she went. The light surrounded her and shone through her rusty coloured hair as her harsh Scottish accent announced, ‘I’m Mrs McCray, a local artist, and I’ll be singing “Casta Diva”, from the opera Norma, by Bellini.’

‘Is this going to be like Mr Neville the opera-singing parrot?’ whispered Sid and Lottie chewed her lip trying not to laugh.

Everyone waited. Conner pressed some buttons on his laptop and the song started playing. Lottie took a deep breath preparing herself for a horrendous screeching to fill the room, but, to her surprise, gentle, tuneful notes emerged. A soft and beautiful sound, rising and falling then building to a crescendo, held them all captivated. Conner turned to Lottie and his eyes were so wide in amazement she could actually see them.

When Mrs McCray finished Lottie stood up to applaud. She looked to her left where Mayor Cunningham sat with his mouth open.

‘That was amazing,’ said Lottie. ‘Bravo.’

Mrs McCray’s weather-beaten face wrinkled as she smiled. ‘Och, well, thank you very much, darlin’.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ said the mayor. ‘We’ll let you know.’

When Mrs McCray had left, Lottie turned to him. ‘I don’t see why we can’t tell people now whether they’re in, or not. It’s not like we can have too many people.’ Feeling emboldened by the last few minutes she said, ‘Mrs McCray was exceptional, so, as acting chairman, I’d like to proceed on the idea that we’ll take whoever has any talent. Okay?’

The mayor raised an eyebrow then sat back and Lottie felt a teasing nudge from Sid.

Gregory Oliver was the next to arrive with his partner, Cecil Bates. ‘Darling,’ Gregory said to Lottie, taking her in both hands and kissing her on the cheeks, even though they’d never really met before. He was tall and handsome with salt and pepper hair. ‘We’ve come for the auditions. Have we much competition?’

‘We can’t tell you that,’ said Mayor Cunningham. In the muggy atmosphere of the theatre his bald spot was beginning to shine.

‘You’ll be fine, Mr O.,’ offered Sid with a wink.

‘Off you go, Mr Oliver,’ said Lottie, directing him to the stage. ‘Just give us a quick intro before you start.’

Gregory climbed the steps and said, ‘Well, I’m Gregory Oliver and I run the bookshop on the seafront and today I’m going to give a reading from Shakespeare.’ He then closed his eyes and stood in silence for a moment before his voice boomed out. ‘“O’ reason not the need! Our basest beggars are in the poorest thing superfluous.”’

‘Well, he’s certainly projecting,’ whispered Sid into Lottie’s ear.

‘Shhh,’ she said, playfully.

‘“Allow not nature more than nature needs, Man’s life is cheap as beast’s.”’ He cast out his hands and with one did an Eighties’ air grab. ‘“No, I’ll not weep. I have full cause of weeping, but this heart shall break into a hundred thousand flaws or ere I’ll weep. O fool, I shall go mad!”’ Gregory fell to the floor with his head in his hands.

It seemed a little melodramatic, but it was Shakespeare, it was always melodramatic. Even in khaki chinos Lottie could picture him on the stage, under the spotlights, and hear the crowd applauding, though she worried about his knees.

‘Bravo,’ shouted Cecil, clapping enthusiastically.

Lottie stood. ‘Yes, bravo.’

‘Well done, Mr O.,’ said Sid, as Gregory came down off the stage. ‘That was brilliant.’

‘Are you actually on the audition panel, Mr Evans, or are you here to report on them?’ the mayor called out.

Sid glanced at Lottie for a moment, a playful smile on his face, before turning to the mayor and saying, ‘Just being friendly, Mayor Cunningham. Never hurts, does it?’

‘Cecil’s also auditioning,’ said Gregory.

‘Oh, of course,’ replied Lottie. ‘Sorry, Cecil. Please?’ She gestured for him to move onto the stage and sat down again. Her legs were beginning to ache from all this upping and downing but it was better than doing squats in the gym.

Cecil smiled at the panel. ‘I’m Cecil Bates and I also run the bookshop on the seafront. I love soy chai lattes and long dog walks on the beach, and today I’ll be singing.’ Cecil was shorter than Gregory and a little younger by the look of it. He had kind bright blue eyes in a smooth perma-tanned face. Conner began playing the song and without visible signs of fear or nerves, Cecil sang ‘Memories’ from Cats. It was an unusual choice, and though not as good a performer as his partner, it was still very respectable. He even managed to stay in tune, most of the time.

‘I think he’s good,’ said Lottie, quietly. ‘It must be difficult to dance and sing at the same time.’ She turned back to the stage and not caring if it annoyed Mayor Cunningham said, ‘Well done, both of you. You’re both in.’

‘Marvellous,’ shouted Gregory, giving her another kiss on the cheek. Cecil did the same and hand in hand they left the theatre.

The mayor huffed at her and fiddled with his cufflinks. ‘I really don’t think we should be telling them straight away, Miss Webster.’

Lottie bit her lip then swivelled to face the mayor. She was getting cross with his negativity now. Things were going so well he just needed to be more positive. ‘I know what you said, Mayor Cunningham—’ He opened his mouth to continue arguing but Lottie carried on. ‘If there’s someone who we’re on the fence about, I won’t tell them straight away, but for someone who is so clearly good I don’t see the point in keeping them waiting. It’s mean. So like I said, I’d like to carry on as we have been.’

The mayor scanned the ceiling and Lottie spied Sid staring at her agog. ‘What?’ she mouthed, and he gave her a big thumbs-up.

After Cecil’s audition they broke for lunch. Lottie had hoped to sit with Sid but just as she sat down Sid got up and went to chat with Conner who stayed where he was, alone in the corner. That was just like Sid, thought Lottie with a smile. For all his silly jokes he was one of the kindest people she knew. They reconvened at one o’clock and two women walked in just as they re-took their seats.

‘Is this the auditions?’ asked the taller one with long platinum blonde hair.

Lottie got up to the meet them. ‘Yes. Yes, it is. Please come in.’ The women stepped forward, giggling nervously.

‘So how does this work then?’ the smaller, dark-haired one asked. ‘Do we just get up there and sing?’

‘That’s right,’ said Lottie, and they climbed the steps to the stage giggling and pushing each other in encouragement.

‘I’m Tiffany,’ said the taller one with the bright white hair similar to wire wool.

‘And I’m Claire,’ said the small one whose thick mask of foundation formed a ring under her chin. They tittered once more and the music began.

As they sang Lottie tried to keep her face from screwing up in pain. The terrible high-pitched squeaking and their inability to sing in any sort of harmony was like having hot needles shoved in her brain and her eardrums tortured. Sid grabbed his notebook and pen and bent over so they couldn’t see his giggling.

‘Thank you, we’ll let you know,’ Lottie said, as the girls climbed down from the stage and left the building.

David blew the air out of his cheeks. ‘They were awful, weren’t they? It was like two cats mating while someone played an out of tune violin.’

Mrs Andrews arrived early for her audition just as the last person was finishing. Lottie asked her to sit at the back where she made loud scoffing noises. The several hard stares Lottie gave did little to stop her. At last she was able to say, ‘Your turn, Mrs Andrews, if you’d like to take the stage.’

Lottie and Sid had met Mrs Andrews several times before. Her husband was a local MP and as such Mrs Andrews had a lot of influence, and money. She very much enjoyed her public role and was often called upon to attend posh events. After the advert had gone out, she’d emailed Lottie saying she didn’t think she should have to audition as she already had ‘considerable experience’, but Lottie had replied politely insisting.

Mrs Andrews walked up rolling her hips and wiggling her bottom like Marilyn Monroe in white jeans so tight you could see the outline of her knickers. David bent towards Sid and whispered, ‘She’ll put her hip out doing that at her age.’ Lottie hid behind her folder, laughing.

On the stage Mrs Andrews’ confident eyes scanned the panel. Her face was a seamless sheet of beige tan, slightly pinched at the eyes. Only her hands gave away any real signs of age from the wrinkles and gathering age spots. She flung her arms out wide. ‘“No shame but mine: I must, forsooth, be forced to give my hand opposed against my heart.”’

She clasped both hands against her surgically enhanced chest. ‘“Unto a mad-brain rudesby full of spleen; Who woo’d in haste and means to wed at leisure.”’

Although the mad flailing of arms was quite off-putting, her delivery of the monologue was reasonably good, better than a lot of the others they’d seen and reluctantly Lottie put her on the list. ‘That was good, Mrs Andrews,’ she said, unwilling to give her too much praise. She was already too big for her boots. ‘I’m sure we’d love to have you on board.’

‘Hear, hear,’ said the mayor and Lottie scowled at his simpering.

As the end of the day neared, the weary judges tucked into supplies of biscuits Sid had brought with him. ‘Oh, custard creams,’ said Lottie, taking three. ‘My favourite. Conner, would you like some?’

From the edge of the stage where Conner sat playing on his phone, he lifted his head and crept over, keeping his eyes on Mayor Cunningham. Poor boy, the mayor was quite intimidating.

‘Thank you so much for coming and helping us out on a Saturday,’ said Lottie. ‘I hope your mates didn’t tease you about being busy with some oldies like us?’

‘Nah, they didn’t.’ He took a couple of biscuits and shuffled away back to the steps. Lottie frowned. She couldn’t work out if he was shy or lonely. She hoped it was the former.

‘Who’s next?’ asked Mayor Cunningham.

‘Lee Carter,’ Lottie replied. ‘He’s the last one.’

Mayor Cunningham’s small pig-like eyes screwed up in disgust. ‘He’s a criminal. And he’s late.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be here any minute,’ said Lottie, ignoring the other remark.

‘Alright?’ called a voice from the back of the room. Thankful that Mayor Cunningham hadn’t said anything ruder, Lottie went to meet Lee at the door.

Lee Carter was one of the mechanics at the local garage. He was known for getting into the odd scuffle and had been fancied by all the girls in Lottie’s year at school, including her. He had a strong square jaw and short gelled hair, and had they been planning a production of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, it was clear what part he would play.

‘What will you be performing for us today?’ asked Lottie, by now feeling like a pro.

As he climbed the steps to the stage two at a time, Lee said, ‘I thought I’d do a bit of acting. S’alright, innit?’

‘Lovely,’ said Lottie. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’

Lee nodded and without pausing began to recite Marlon Brando in The Godfather. It was entertaining and not comical in the slightest. He had stage presence and charisma by the bucket full and Lottie couldn’t pull her eyes away. If she had anything to do with it, he was definitely in.

When Lee left, the mayor turned to Lottie. ‘Definitely not.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Lottie replied, unable to hide the exasperation from her voice. ‘Why not? I thought he was great.’

‘He’s a criminal.’

‘He is not,’ said Lottie, matching his determined expression. ‘He’s a perfectly nice man.’

Sid sat forward. ‘He got a warning for drunk and disorderly once, that’s all. And it was New Year’s Eve. Everyone’s drunk on New Year’s Eve.’

Not me, thought Lottie, sadly. And not Sid. She was normally asleep by nine-thirty. ‘I think you’re overreacting, Mayor Cunningham. All he did was try and steal a bollard.’

‘He looks like a thug.’

‘I disagree,’ Lottie said, remaining calm. After all, she was the acting chairman and she could pull that card out again if she needed to. ‘And I vote yes.’

The mayor eyed her disapprovingly then turned to David for his casting vote. ‘David?’

‘I vote yes, too,’ said David. ‘He’s a very good mechanic.’

It wasn’t quite the reason Lottie was hoping for but never mind. Lee was still in.

The mayor looked back at the empty stage, his lips a thin pink line.

Just as they were beginning to pack up, the door squeaked again and Lottie spun around to see Sarah Powell creeping in. She grabbed her clipboard and checked the list. Sarah wasn’t due to be here. Perhaps she’d come to speak to the mayor.

‘Excuse me,’ said Sarah in a small voice. ‘I was wondering if I could still audition.’

‘What the devil?’ exclaimed Mayor Cunningham edging out into the aisle and Lottie shot him a glance that said, ‘Shut up or I’ll stab you.’ Thankfully, he did, but she followed him with her eyes until he sat back down, just to make sure. At first Lottie thought Sarah was ill. Her face was pale and her top lip clammy. Then, from the way she was wringing her hands in front of her, Lottie realised she was nervous. No, not nervous, terrified.

Although she’d been pretty hateful at the committee meeting, the Sarah that stood in front of her was almost childlike. Lottie felt sorry for her and said, ‘No, it’s not too late. What are you going to do for us?’

‘I … I was going to sing. If that’s okay?’

‘Yes, it’s fine. I won’t have your music though. Will you be okay without it?’

Sarah nodded and Lottie worried she might throw up at any minute.

‘This way,’ said Lottie, gently holding her elbow and leading her forwards. She could feel her trembling beneath her fingers. Sarah climbed the stairs and gazed around as if searching for the exits, ‘Take your time, Sarah,’ said Lottie, softly. She’d never seen anyone so terrified. Lottie angled her head and smiled, hoping to put her at ease.

Even from the third row they could see Sarah was shaking and her hands were clasped in front of her, the knuckles white. ‘What are you going to sing for us, Sarah?’ asked Lottie, keeping her tone light and friendly. She hoped it would prompt her to begin.

Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She was paralysed with fear. Lottie felt the heavy silence of the room weigh on her shoulders. The poor woman. This must be so embarrassing and awful for her. Unsure what to do Lottie turned to Sid. He winked with his usual easy confidence, then walked onto the stage and whispered something into Sarah’s ear. Some of the fear disappeared from her face and she gave a nervous laugh. Sid returned to his seat and Sarah closed her eyes.

After a pause she began singing ‘Nothing Compares 2 U’, in a soft but powerful voice. The song was one of Lottie’s favourites and always gave her goose bumps but as Sarah sang even her goose bumps got goose bumps. Every nerve in Lottie’s body tingled with emotion. Sarah’s hands moved in time, even without the music, clenching and releasing her fists.

There was something so pure and heartfelt in Sarah’s voice, it was like it enveloped Lottie’s soul. Sarah’s face registered terror when she finished and opened her eyes to the stunned silence. Lottie immediately stood and clapped and Sid and David joined her.

‘Thank you,’ said Sarah, in a hushed voice, her face reddening and tears forming in her eyes.

‘You were marvellous,’ said Lottie. ‘You’re definitely in.’

Mayor Cunningham slowly stood to join them and once Sarah had left said, ‘If that’s all of them, Miss Webster, I’ll be off.’

‘Yes, that’s everyone,’ Lottie confirmed, an enormous smile on her face. ‘Quite a good turnout, don’t you think, Mayor Cunningham? I think it’s been a pretty successful day.’ She didn’t care if he couldn’t wait to be out of there, or if she was just rubbing it in – she’d had the best day ever and Greenley-On-Sea had proved to be a hotbed of talent.

Mayor Cunningham strode past her then paused at the door. ‘I concede, Miss Webster, it was a better turnout than I expected.’

Lottie and Sid high-fived. The Greenley Players were officially reinstated.

Chapter 8

Sid wandered aimlessly along the seafront and took a deep breath of the salty sea air. The bright gold afternoon sun reflected off the sea in a glorious haze of light and strangely shaped clouds drifted across the sky. The seashore was littered with clumps of dark green seaweed and the regular dog walkers chased their mischievous dogs away from it.

Sid was bored. Lottie was busy again. She had another committee meeting coming up and wanted to go through all her nan’s papers to make sure she knew everything inside and out. As the auditions had gone so well and the troupe was now all go, she’d decided to catalogue all the different plays the old Greenley Players had done and do something called ‘brainstorming’, which sounded incredibly painful. Sid had offered to help but she wanted to be alone. Perhaps he could nip round later with her favourite pizza. She’d like that.

Sid sighed. He was happy for her, of course he was, it was just that all this suddenly being alone took some getting used to. They’d spent mostly every weekend together for years. Not all day every day, but they’d nip into town together, go to Nick’s record shop, look at the tat in the Saturday market, have Sunday lunch in their favourite old-fashioned pub, that sort of thing. He kicked a stray pebble back onto the beach. Anyway, she was too busy to meet him and as it was a Sunday he found himself at a loose end with no one to play with.

The piece of paper with Selena’s number on rustled in his pocket. She’d given it to him weeks ago and he still hadn’t had the courage to do anything with it. Every time he looked at the note and thought about calling he’d see the carnage in his flat and decide she was still way out of his league. But it wasn’t too late, was it? Not like with Lottie. He could always call Selena and see if she wanted to meet for a drink. He wouldn’t say dinner, he didn’t want to sound pushy. But they could have a drink as old uni mates catching up, just like Selena suggested.

Sid found himself nodding along to the voice in his head and before he lost his nerve, grabbed his phone and called. She sounded happy he’d rung and they agreed to meet at the Hare and Hounds at seven. Sid hung up and decided he would break the habit of a lifetime and wear a shirt, as long as he could find where he’d left one.

The pub was in the next village along from Greenley and had bare wooden tables, chalkboard walls and a menu that boasted things like spinach foam and hazelnut jus. Sid entered and creased up his nose at the strange smell.

Selena spotted him from over her shoulder and waved. She was already sat at the bar in a short black dress that displayed her amazing figure. Her long hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, but still reached down past her shoulders. Sid wondered how a woman who looked like that could ever be interested in him. As the fear mounted he pushed it down and ran a hand through his combed hair. Glad he’d checked for signs of a monobrow before leaving, he walked forward to meet her. ‘Hello.’

‘Hello,’ she replied, smiling. ‘I was worried you weren’t going to show.’

She’d been worried? Really? ‘Why?’ he asked. He wasn’t late.

‘I don’t know. I thought at first maybe you were ignoring me.’ Selena giggled nervously and turned back to her nearly empty drink.

Sid felt the knot in his stomach loosen a little. He wasn’t sure if it was a surge of self-confidence or his normal just-not-giving-much-of-a-fuck attitude returning, but he began to relax. ‘Yeah, sorry about that. It’s been pretty mad these last few weeks with all the am dram stuff.’

‘That sounds fun.’

Sid perched on the barstool next to Selena and his leg brushed hers as he climbed up, sending a shiver through him. ‘It was okay.’

‘Anyone I know in the group?’ Selena finished her drink.

‘Maybe. I can’t really say yet. We’re going to print a list in the paper this week. Would you like another drink?’ Sid asked. He needed one. The nerves in his tummy were biting again making him feel sick.

‘Yes, please.’ Selena turned to the barman who stood waiting to take their order. ‘I’ll have a glass of champagne, please.’ She turned back. ‘If that’s okay?’

‘Of course.’ Sid ordered a beer for himself and drank half of it. ‘Shall we find a table?’

Selena nodded and smiled before slipping elegantly from her stool and grabbing her coat. For a guy with no experience it seemed to be going pretty well so far. He hoped the rest of the night would too.

Selena led them to a table by the window and sat down. ‘Thanks for the champagne. Wine’s a bit of a killer for me and I don’t really like beer or spirits. Too many shots when I was at uni.’

‘On those one pound a shot nights?’ He laughed. ‘Yeah, me too. The Student Union’s got a lot to answer for.’

Selena angled in towards him. ‘Do you remember when that guy’s shoe ended up on the roof of Cooper Building and was there for the whole term?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ Sid smiled at the memory. Most of his uni days were a faded blur now, barely recalled. It was nice to talk about them with someone again. He’d been so happy then. ‘They never did find out who it was, did they?’

Selena laughed and shook her head. ‘I always imagined him hopping home that night all drunk and wobbly.’

Sid chuckled too.

‘I like your shirt,’ Selena offered and Sid blushed. He wasn’t used to receiving compliments on his clothes.

‘Thanks. Are you glad to be back in Greenley?’ he asked. Selena’s olive skin glowed in the sunlight shining through the window and her long dark hair reminded him of a chocolate waterfall.

‘Sort of. Obviously I wish it had worked out with my ex-boyfriend. I thought at one point we were going to get married, but it just wasn’t to be. I’m happy to be back for a while though.’ She ran a hand over her ponytail and pulled it around over her shoulder the ends resting on her cleavage.

Sid pictured her ex and in his mind, he looked like Harrison Ford playing Han Solo. Someone rugged and handsome. In short, nothing like him.

‘So what about you?’ Selena asked before taking a sip of her drink. She sounded genuinely interested and Sid’s nerves rose up once more, wanting to give her the right answers. ‘Did you come back straight from university?’

‘Yeah.’ Sid thought about mentioning his parents but didn’t. He didn’t want to ruin the mood. ‘I got a job on the paper then decided to stay. I’ve been with the Gazette ever since.’

‘Didn’t you ever want to work for a big paper or the BBC or something?’

‘No. Not really. I’d have to wear a suit then.’ Sid joked but it had taken all his self-control to wear one for the entirety of Elsie’s funeral. Thoughts of Lottie threatened to push in but he buried them. He hated the way his brain did that. ‘And I’d have to sit in a hot stuffy office. I think I’d miss the sea.’

Selena ran her fingers over the stem of her glass and her voice was all soft and dreamy. ‘That’s one of the things I missed most when I was up north. I love being by the sea and hearing the waves. Even though I could do without the seagulls waking me up at stupid o’clock in the morning.’

‘Definitely,’ agreed Sid, and he told her about the enormo-gull that had attacked him the other week. Hearing Selena laugh was like listening to his favourite record. A feeling of warmth flooded through him, and pride at having been the one to make her smile.

‘I’m surprised you survived,’ she replied, a hint of a laugh still in her voice. ‘There was one in town harassing pedestrians the other day. Some poor old man who was sat on the bench opposite the museum had to fight it off with his walking stick. I couldn’t stop laughing. You should have heard the names he was calling it.’

Sid grinned. ‘You’d be surprised at the wide vocabulary of the older generation.’

Selena laughed again and Sid watched her face as it filled with joy. ‘So what about you?’ he asked, unwilling to let the conversation fall into silence. ‘Any plans for a big career somewhere?’

‘No, not really.’ Selena kept her eyes on the glass as she shrugged. ‘I like what I do. It makes people happy. Do you live on your own?’

Sid tensed up. Did he look like one of those guys who had always lived on their own, all scruffy and untidy? Or worse, smell like it? He resisted the urge to try a surreptitious sniff of his shirt. ‘Umm, yeah. Yeah, I do.’

‘That’s nice. I’d kill for some space at the moment.’

He could understand but felt a tinge of sadness for something he’d never have again. He’d got on well with his parents and he missed them.

‘But I’m saving up,’ Selena continued, cheerfully. ‘So I should be able to rent somewhere within a few months.’ She looked up at him from under her impossibly long eyelashes and her dark brown eyes held him captivated. ‘Anyway, are you seeing anyone at the moment?’

Sid frowned. ‘Umm, no. No, I’m not.’ He thought about mentioning Lottie but what would he say? She wasn’t his girlfriend so what was the point of saying anything? He didn’t know much about girls but he knew they could get jealous. He’d read it in a copy of GQ at the doctor’s once. Sid swallowed the other half of his beer.

‘Thirsty?’ Selena joked.

He felt his cheeks burn. ‘It is quite hot today.’

Her face lightened. ‘We have been talking nonstop.’

They had, hadn’t they? He chanced at a look at his watch. They’d already been there for forty-five minutes. Wow. It only felt like five. In his mind he applauded himself at how well things were going and watched Selena smile back. He noticed her cheeks plumped up when she did and he wanted to stroke the smooth pink tinged skin. ‘Did you want another one?’

‘Yes, please, but I’ll need something to eat before I drink too much more or I’ll get tipsy. Even on this, I’m still a bit of a lightweight.’

Before Sid could worry about rejection he said, ‘We could eat here if you like?’ He glanced at the menu. He had no idea what a compote was but the odd smell he’d first encountered had gone away and he was sure he’d be able to find something suitable to eat. Every pub had a variation on a good old burger after all.

‘That’d be lovely,’ Selena replied, edging closer so her leg rested against his. Sid admired her full pink lips and wondered what it’d be like to kiss them.

Sid switched to Coke as he was driving but they drank and chatted, and he found that Selena was surprisingly funny. She made jokes at her own expense, which he liked, and they talked about the music they used to listen to. They chatted about uni friends and speculated on where they were now, wondering if any of them had ended up doing the jobs they’d actually studied for. As Selena pointed out when she’d touched his arm, he seemed to be the only one doing that, which was a win as far as she was concerned.

But the moment that blew Sid away was when, during dinner, the conversation turned to Eighties movies and Selena said one of her favourite movies of all time was The Goonies. Sid had a mad passion for Eighties movies and The Goonies was one his favourites too. Selena even knew the names of all the Brat Pack.

‘You fancied Andrew McCarthy?’ Sid asked, unable to hide the surprise from his voice. Andrew McCarthy had always played the shy, geeky characters. Characters like Sid, and the flicker of hope he’d been harbouring suddenly flared up.

‘I know,’ she replied, smiling. Her eyes dipped in embarrassment as she tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘But I bet you always fancied Molly Ringwald,’ she teased.

Sit sat back holding his empty glass of Coke, shaking his head. He had. There weren’t many people who even remembered those movies, let alone still watched them. He’d thought he and Lottie were the only ones. ‘Maybe a little,’ he replied, pretending to scratch his cheek to see if the heat he felt inside was noticeable. When Selena sipped the last of her drink he found himself saying, ‘One for the road?’

When Sid drove them home that night and parked in front of Selena’s parents’ house, he didn’t know if he should give her a kiss or not. The date had gone well. Better than well, actually. He didn’t have anything to compare it to but it had been fun.

He pulled on the handbrake and turned to Selena. ‘I had a really good time. Thanks.’

‘Me too.’ There was a glint in her eye but he didn’t know if it was just the moon reflecting down.

Sid waited for a second but she didn’t get out. He could smell her perfume and the hairs on the back of his neck raised with anticipation. Was she really waiting for a kiss? From him? Of course from him, he thought, there was no one else there. He was just about to lean in and see if she would welcome a peck on the cheek when a wave of nerves so strong they nearly pushed his dinner out of his stomach rolled over and without thinking he sat back.

Selena looked away and her voice was quiet. ‘Goodnight then.’

He felt so jittery all he could say was, ‘Umm, goodnight.’ And she glanced at him one last time then opened the car door and climbed out.

Fuck it.

Chapter 9

Lottie strolled down to the theatre about a week after the auditions. The first meeting of the amateur dramatics group was about to begin and they were waiting outside for her to unlock the door. The evening air had cooled and some of the players did little dances on the spot to keep warm. Thankfully, work had been slow and David had let her go early to have time to grab something to eat before the meeting.

Some of the successful auditionees had already dropped out but there was still a decent number and a bolt of sickness shot through Lottie at the thought of speaking in front of everyone. But Lottie knew she had no choice. Her nan really was a scheming old so-and-so. She was having to face every conceivable fear doing this, and even some she didn’t know she’d had.

Lottie opened the theatre door and led them inside. As they entered everyone peered around as surprised as she’d been the first time she saw it.

‘Gosh, it really needs some work doesn’t it?’ said Gregory.

‘I had no idea it was this bad,’ Cecil replied.

Sarah caught up with Lottie as she walked down towards the stage. ‘I’m not sure our budget will even make a dent on all this.’

‘No, it won’t,’ Lottie replied with a sigh. She’d have to deal with that sooner or later but right now she wanted everyone to be cheerful and enjoy this first meeting. ‘But it’s okay, we’ll think of something.’ Sarah smiled and took a seat.

‘Yuck, what’s that stink?’ called Mrs Andrews, tottering in wearing silver high heels.

‘It’s just a bit of damp, Mrs Andrews,’ replied Lottie. ‘It’ll get better as we clean up.’

‘Is that what we’re doing today?’ she asked, panicked.

‘No, Mrs Andrews, don’t worry. If everyone could take a seat, please?’ The players filled the front row, watching her and her voice wavered until she hit her stride. ‘Welcome, everyone, to the first meeting of the Greenley Players. I thought today, as it’s our first meeting, I could introduce myself and we could discuss some plans for the group. I want everyone to be involved in the decisions that are made about where we go from here. This is a community theatre so we should all get a say. I thought we could start by going around and introducing ourselves?’

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