About the Author

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.

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

Praise for Katie Ginger from readers:

‘A joy to read’

‘A funny fantastic love story’

‘Engaging characters that draw you in’

‘An absolute cracker of a book’

‘A fantastic read so worth more than the five stars’

‘Beautifully written with great characters in a delightful storyline’

‘This book is like a warm chocolate chip cookie, you feel better for eating it, get a bite of exciting chocolate now and again all while just enjoying the experience’

Also by Katie Ginger:

The Little Theatre on the Seafront

Summer Season 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 2019

Copyright © Katie Ginger 2019

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.

Source ISBN: 9780008339739

E-book Edition © June 2019 ISBN: 9780008339722

Version: 2019-05-20

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Praise for Katie Ginger

Also by Katie Ginger

Title page

Copyright

Dedication

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

Acknowledgements

Extract

Dear Reader …

Keep Reading …

About the Publisher

To my wonderful mum and dad for their continuous support.

To my brave mother-in-law, Eileen.

And in loving memory of Steve, who I never knew, but I love all the same.

Chapter 1

Sarah scanned the plethora of Chinese food before her and tentatively picked up her fork to skewer a mini spring roll. When Dean, her date, had suggested he choose the restaurant she’d been excited at the prospect of a fancy meal. His profile on the dating site showed a nice guy with good taste. He liked walking his dog along the beach, old black-and-white movies, and fine dining. She therefore hadn’t expected to be sat in the Szechuan Palace All You Can Eat Buffet staring at unappetisingly grey egg fried rice and beef in black bean sauce (well, that was what the label said, but it more closely resembled bits of old innersole in tar).

Like the meal, Dean also wasn’t exactly what it said on the tin. The black-and-white, extremely soft-focus photo had been cleverly taken to hide his receding hairline, and by using a headshot he’d kept the rather rotund and protruding beer belly well hidden from prospective mates. This could only have been in the hope that what his profile had called a ‘fun’ personality would win the day. It wouldn’t. At least, not in Sarah’s case. According to Dean, a fun personality meant constantly interrupting to talk over her, and making childish, full-on racist jokes about Chinese people, even though he was cheerfully tucking into his second plate of food and wearing bits of it on his shirt, presumably to save for later in case he got hungry on the walk home.

Instead of the traditional Chinese music, the local radio was loudly playing cheesy Nineties’ pop. Sarah knocked back the remains of her second glass of cheap house white, grimacing slightly as acid with a hint of vinegar slid down her throat. Britney Spears decried, ‘Oops, I did it again’ over the noise of the other diners and Sarah watched Dean’s second chin wobble as he continued talking about himself, just as he had done all evening. So far, Sarah had heard about his ex-wife (a bit of a heifer since the divorce, apparently) and the latest goings-on in the Arsenal football team (a shambles according to Dean, the expert), and watched a video on Dean’s phone that was supposed to be ‘bloody hilarious’ but was actually just a bloke far too old to be on a skateboard, continually falling off as he tried to ride it down a handrail. When Sarah didn’t find it fall-off-your-chair-funny, Dean had helpfully suggested she cheer up.

Thankful that, on seeing her date, she’d had the foresight to order a bottle, Sarah refilled her glass and took another gulp of wine. An image of Finn MacDonald’s strawberry blond curls appeared in her mind and Sarah admonished herself for not having left earlier. The trouble was she felt sorry for Dean. Everyone got nervous on first dates, especially if they’d been out of the game for a while. Maybe underneath it all he was a nice guy. When she’d started dating again, she’d felt constantly nervous and said stupid things so, as a generally kind-hearted soul, Sarah had given Dean a second chance. Plus, at that point they’d only been half an hour in and she was starving. But time had passed painfully slowly and the last hour had been verging on water-boarding levels of torture, zapping her appetite. No, there was no denying the date hadn’t got any better. However, as Dr MacDonald had so far failed to notice her existence on the reception desk, and the puddings looked quite nice, Sarah decided to make one last valiant effort to find some common ground.

‘So, Dean, your profile said you like old black-and-white movies. What’s your favourite? I love—’

‘Ah, yeah, bit of a cheeky one that, really. My mate Dave told me to put it in there. Said the girls like that sort of thing. I don’t really like that many.’ He shoved the final piece of chicken ball into his mouth and licked sweet and sour sauce off his pudgy fingers. Sarah worried she might throw up in her mouth and focused on one of the Chinese lanterns swaying to and fro above her head. ‘I only really like one and that’s Raging Bull.’

‘But wasn’t that made in the Seventies or something?’ she asked, confused.

‘Yeah, but it’s still black and white, innit?’ He gave her a wink, all the while chasing a piece of food that had evidently got caught somewhere in a back molar. Dean pointed to her still virtually full plate. ‘You going to finish that?’

Sarah gave a resigned smile and pushed her plate towards him. ‘No, you can have it.’ That was it. There was only one thing left to do and that was to cut her losses and leave, but first she had to nip to the loo. ‘Excuse me, Dean. I won’t be a minute.’

‘Right you are.’ He leaned back and took a large glug of beer.

She didn’t really need the loo. What she needed was space to text Lottie, her best friend. They’d only recently become besties, since meeting on the committee of Greenley Theatre. Lottie was the chairman – well, she’d been acting chairman back then, having been asked to take over the position by her nan, Elsie. Now, having made the theatre such a success, she was full chairman. Sarah was secretary on the committee and since she’d joined the local amateur dramatics group, the Greenley Players, they’d got to know each other even more. But it was Lottie’s determination, combined with her kind, gentle nature, that had ensured their friendship developed quickly. Sarah had been so lonely till she met Lottie, and the rest of the players.

Once inside the cubicle, Sarah sent Lottie the SOS message. For her and Lottie, SOS meant Sort of Scared. Which she was, on several fronts. Dean’s capacity for consuming Chinese food verged on the terrifying, and knowing that if the date continued he may well expect a kiss at some point filled Sarah with the sort of fear she hadn’t experienced since watching Chucky as a kid. Lottie knew that after receiving the message she had to wait fifteen minutes then text or call pretending Sarah was urgently needed to do something vitally important elsewhere.

After sitting on the toilet seat for as long as possible (any longer and the other diners would start to think she had a dodgy tummy) she headed back to the table. Sarah retook her seat and watched in wonderment as Dean continued to clear the remains of her dinner. ‘So,’ she said, trying to fill the awkward silence and cover the noise of Dean masticating like a cow. ‘What other things do you like, Dean?’

He finished chewing and swallowed, his cheeks pink from the effort. ‘Well, I like football and you know …’ He shrugged. ‘Blokey things.’

‘Do you go for long walks along the beach? You said on your profile you take your dog.’ She loved strolling along the beach and wanted to know if and when Dean went so she could avoid him.

‘Nah, that was another cheeky fib. I normally take Ted to the dog park near my house. I like being near home in case he gets a bit humpy and I have to bring him back, sharpish. Last week he tried to hump a pug and I can tell you, that pug was not happy about it at all.’

Knowing Ted was a huge Labrador, Sarah was tempted to enquire about the mechanics but thought better of it. Right on cue her phone rang. ‘Sorry, Dean. I won’t be a minute.’ But Dean was scraping his fork across his plate gathering up a stray noodle. ‘Hello?’

‘Not going very well then?’ asked Lottie. Sarah could hear the smile on her face.

‘Oh, no,’ she replied dramatically, with an exaggerated gasp. ‘You’re where? The hospital? What’s happened?’

‘Is it the worst date you’ve ever been on? Even worse than three-teeth Terry?’

‘That’s terrible.’ Sarah glanced up at Dean who was oblivious to her feigned distress and gave her a gummy smile. ‘Are you okay?’

Lottie giggled. ‘Are you going to pretend that I’ve broken my leg again?Because seriously, Sarah, people are going to cotton on sooner or later. According to you, I’ve broken my leg about twenty times this year.’

Sarah felt a slight pang at Lottie’s words but only because they were true. She had been on more bad dates than good ones. Why did people have to lie on their profiles? Life would be much easier if they didn’t. She let her mouth form a circle of surprise. ‘How bad is it?’

‘Oh, it’s terrible. Terrible! It hurts! I think it might need chopping off! To be fair though, it’s a pretty useless leg, what with it breaking all the time, so I probably wouldn’t miss it. Perhaps we could turn it into a prop. Does anyone in The Tempest get their leg chopped off? Either that or I could bash Sid over the head with it whenever he annoys me.’

Sarah heard a muffled ‘Oi!’ in the background and had to bite her lip to stop a smile from creeping out. Sid was Lottie’s boyfriend. Soulmate, really. And a nice guy. They were the cutest couple ever.

‘I’ll be there right away,’ Sarah said, her voice full of concern. Lottie giggled.

‘Okay. Byeeee!’

Sarah placed her mobile in her bag and looked at Dean who couldn’t have cared less if she was there or not. He was busy watching another video on his phone, guffawing and snorting with laughter. Sarah couldn’t see what it was but found the donkey noises quite disturbing.

‘You off then?’ he asked, looking up from the screen. She stood up and grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair.

‘Dean, I’m so sorry, but my friend’s broken her … arm and she needs me to go and get her from the hospital.’

‘Christ, that’s bad luck. Hey, are you still gonna pay your half before you go?’ He picked up his beer but paused, putting it to his lips. ‘Hang on a minute. You can’t drive, you’ve had too much to drink.’ A flicker of suspicion passed over his eyes and was instantly replaced by a flash of hurt. ‘You’re not trying to make a run for it, are ya?’He was joking but his tone was uncertain and the way his expression changed made Sarah’s heart twinge with guilt. Poor Dean. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t her type. Sarah ardently believed there was someone out there for everyone, even first-date disasters like Dean. Someone, somewhere, was waiting for Dean to find them. Someone who hated black-and-white movies, dog walks on the beach, and from the smell of grease hitting her nostrils, nice food. But that person wasn’t her.

‘Don’t worry, I’m going to get a taxi,’ she added hastily. ‘I just can’t leave her there all on her own.’ The excuse seemed to work and he smiled.

‘Right you are then.’

Dean’s balding head glistened in the light and Sarah felt a wave of unutterable sadness. Was this really what her life had come down to? Escaping second-rate dates with men who had no real idea how to treat a woman? With an inward sigh, she laid some cash on the table. Sarah always carried cash for first dates just in case she needed to make a quick getaway. No one wanted to wait around for the waiter to bring a card machine and then faff about. She’d learned those lessons long ago. ‘Here you go. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.’

‘I’ll probably finish up here and nip along to The Bell for a swift one with the boys.’ He rested his hands on top of his belly. ‘Are we doing this again, then?’

A drop of Hoi Sin sauce had stained his chin. It was a round, fleshy chin, not like Dr MacDonald’s which was smoothly chiselled and sometimes scattered with blond stubble. He was the only thing that made working at the doctor’s surgery manageable. Stunned that Dean even thought a second date might be on the cards, Sarah was momentarily unable to speak. Then checking her phone again for dramatic effect, she said, ‘I’ll call you sometime,’ before darting out of the door just as Bewitched were cracking into ‘C’est La Vie’. Sarah rounded the corner and hurried on until she was away from the Szechuan Palace and its overpowering aroma of spicy fat.

A cool sea breeze blew on to her face and eased the heat from her cheeks. It was early July but the sun had been shining since the end of May. Temperatures were higher than she’d ever known and even at nine-thirty in the evening it was still warm. The sun set slowly behind the pier painting the sky in streaks of gold, and the few clouds that were dotted about were like patches of purple velvet. The waves lapped gently on the shingle beach and music carried on the air from the pubs that lined the promenade. As the relief subsided, Sarah’s heart became heavy. Once again, she’d have to trawl the dating sites and go through all the hassle of arranging another date. The nervous excitement she used to feel at the prospect of a date was now replaced by a bored drudgery. All the magazines said she had to get out there to find the one, but she was quite fed up of it now. And what did you do if the one you thought you were supposed to be with had no idea you existed? Sarah had been single for ages, until Vince, but that hadn’t ended well and she was still unable to think about it without a stabbing in her heart. Their relationship had been the best three months of her life, but she’d misjudged the cheating git completely. She’d learned her lesson then that whirlwind romances didn’t work out and there was no such thing as love at first sight. To cheer herself up, Sarah concentrated on the thought of taking her make-up off and getting into her pyjamas as soon as she was home.

A beep resonated from her pocket and she read the message from Lottie. ‘I’ve got half a bottle of wine with your name on it and Sid saved you a Cornetto if you want to come round?’ A grin lifted the corners of her mouth. She was so lucky to have Lottie, but wished she was as lucky as Lottie and Sid had been in finding each other. They were one of those couples who were just meant to be together. Sarah gave a heavy sigh and pushed her brown hair back. There was something decidedly miserable about being 31 and single in a town like Greenley-On-Sea. As much as she loved her sweet little home town by the sea, she was running out of men to date. It was another reason Dr MacDonald was just so perfect. He wasn’t from around here and was clever, funny and a great doctor. Everyone loved him.

Looking down at her phone, Sarah texted back, ‘See you in five minutes,’ and headed off towards Lottie’s house. At least she had rehearsals to look forward to tomorrow – though the Greenley Players’ rendition of The Tempest wasn’t going quite as smoothly as they would have liked. Even with four weeks to pull it together. And who knew, maybe Dr MacDonald would walk into work on Monday morning and suddenly see her for the first time, or bump into her on the street and realise he’d loved her all along. A girl could dream, after all.

Chapter 2

Nate glanced out from centre stage at row upon row of happy, smiling faces and paced about reciting his lines. The floorboard that always creaked underfoot moaned as he circled the stage. He ended up at the same spot he always did, and the spotlight shrunk until only he was lit. An imperceptible change the crowd would barely notice, but it made what he had to say even more impactful. In a second, it would enlarge as the action moved on. Hell, it was hot. The old West End theatres didn’t have air conditioning – it was impossible to make any changes to the historic listed buildings – and he was boiling in his costume of heavy denim jeans and a thick shirt. Sweat soaked the back of his neck and ran down between his shoulder blades.

The words came to him as second nature, like breathing. They’d been said so many times every intonation was ingrained on his brain, just as every move was imprinted on his muscle memory. He’d enjoyed playing the part of George Milton in a new adaptation of Of Mice and Men, and the critics loved it, but he was secretly glad that the eight-week run was coming to an end as exhaustion was creeping in. The final push to the finish was always hard and it was the exhilaration of performing that carried him, and the rest of the cast, through the last few shows. Thankfully, there were only a few more days to go. He concentrated on his co-stars as they recited their lines.

Thanks to its reception, offers of work were flooding in and Robin, his agent, was busier than ever sending out audition tapes. His career was on the up and had reached the point where he was automatically asked to take some of the theatre industry’s main roles, even some TV ones, but not all of them. Robin assured him that would come soon. It was just a matter of time. At 38 his success had come a little later than he’d have liked, but his star was still rising. As he looked up to see one of the actors slightly raising his eyebrows at him, Nate realised his mind was wandering again. That was happening a lot lately. Since that regrettable night with Hannah Salgado he’d thought more and more about his career and his marriage, and everything he’d risked. Tonight, coming near the end of the run and with a choice of what to do next, he couldn’t stop worrying about it all coming out and everything he’d worked so hard for falling apart.

He’d been childish at first, blaming Hannah for their one-night stand two weeks before. Then he’d blamed his best friend Marcus, whose stag do it was, for letting him get so drunk he’d ended up in bed with her. But Nate knew there was no one to blame but himself. He was still a married man. Okay, he and his wife, Emma, were just about to start divorce proceedings but still, the ring remained on his finger and that should’ve stopped him. He and Emma had been married a long time, and together since university, but slowly she’d fallen out of love with him. Perhaps it had been the pressure of them both being in the industry. Certainly, as his career had grown while hers had stagnated, her jealousy had turned to anger and she’d drifted further and further away from him and into the arms of other men. It had broken his heart. They’d been keeping the marriage together for the sake of their careers, looking for the right time to announce an amicable divorce, and it had been hell.

The lighting subtly changed again to illuminate Nate against the now darkened backdrop, and that was his cue. The performance was reaching its dramatic climax and he focused on the words as he spoke. True emotion came forth, as it always did, until a voice from the depths pierced the silence that fell between him and the audience. A sudden wave of nausea rose inside him and every muscle tensed. He knew that voice.

‘Look at you giving it the big star, Nathaniel Hardy. Forgotten to return my calls, have you? Just been too busy? Or am I not good enough for you now?’ Nate paused, trying to figure out if he was mistaken. But no, he definitely wasn’t. Despite her Spanish surname, the voice that came from the dark was pure Essex. ‘What’s the matter, Nate? Got nothing to say this time? You thought you could palm me off, didn’t you? Thought I’d just disappear like some slutty one-night stand. Well, I won’t!’

The audience gasped. Nate swallowed down the bile, hoping he wouldn’t be sick. Saliva gathered in his mouth and his head spun. It was like being drunk. What the hell was Hannah doing here? The theatre was silent and the air thick and unmoving, lit by fractured beams of light. He’d thought Robin had dealt with this. Nate had told him and Emma about his indiscretion the very next day after realising what a fool he’d been. When Hannah had un-subtly mentioned the media finding out about what had passed between them, he knew he’d been used. At first Nate had thought they were just two lonely people who wanted a night of comfort. Only afterwards did it become clear she was after a career boost in hitching herself onto him. It had been a major error of judgement and one that he couldn’t undo however much he wished it.

Emma couldn’t have cared less as long as it didn’t get out. She had irons in the fire that something like this could ruin, plus her dad, a big-name producer, would get caught up in it too, He’d do his absolute nut if this came out just now. Robin had advised Hannah to keep quiet for the sake of Nate’s and her own reputation. Though Nate’s marriage might be over behind closed doors, the world didn’t know that, and he couldn’t afford for them to find out. If this hit the papers, which it would now, all the offers that had been coming in so fast Robin couldn’t keep up, would disappear. He’d no longer be the sweet-hearted, loyal husband he’d always tried to be. The darling of the chat shows and women’s mags because he’d been with Emma since university – since before he was famous. He’d be a cheating bastard. They had no idea that things had changed for Emma and he’d slowly been coming to terms with it. They didn’t know she’d fallen out of love with him and he simply wasn’t what she wanted anymore. They’d planned to split in a month, announcing it through their respective agents before divorcing quietly. The papers would have been sympathetic then and it would have played out nicely with neither blamed, only each admired for their grown-up attitudes. Now a silly drunken one-night stand was going to ruin everything, and it would become a sordid mess.

‘Come on, Nate,’ Hannah began again. ‘You’re an actor, you must have something to say. You’re not exactly shy and you certainly weren’t that night at my flat.’ She was standing up, seven rows back. Even the ushers approaching her looked scared, her normally pouty face held in an angry grimace. She’d clearly planned for this moment. An expensive dress poured over her curvy figure, her make-up impeccable despite the heat, and long black hair hung down in curls that, he knew from Emma’s pre-awards-show routines, took an expert hand. Why was Hannah doing this?

Muttering crept forwards through the audience like a ripple on water, landing at his feet. Nate knew he should say something, but he had no idea what. His mind was gripped with panic at the consequences of his stupid actions, brought on by too much drink and far too much heartache. He’d loved Emma and admitting their marriage wasn’t working anymore had broken his heart. It had been exhausting putting on a brave face for the paparazzi. And then, one night, when he’d finally managed to get away from them, a chance meeting after one too many flaming sambucas had brought Hannah into his life. There she was, this gorgeous model telling him she’d just broken up with her boyfriend. Nate, fuelled by beer and shots, had let the pain and loneliness he’d worked constantly to keep at bay wash over him. The hurt of Emma’s rejection had finally become too much and he’d stupidly been swept away by Hannah’s flattery, by the little-girl-lost persona, and one thing had led to another.

The guy playing Lennie stepped forwards. ‘Excuse me, madam, I think you should leave. You’re ruining the performance for everyone else.’ Nate stared at him, knowing it should be him saying something. Every moment he kept his mouth closed he looked even more of an idiot. The audience – his audience – were agog.

Hannah folded her arms over her chest in a defiant stance, making sure her enormous boobs rested on top. ‘Do you know what this scumbag did?’ she asked, gazing around, playing to the crowd. Some people turned away, embarrassed, while others began filming on their phones. God, this would be all over the internet within ten minutes. His career was over. That was it. It was all going to fall into the toilet. The media wouldn’t be kind. It would be a highly publicised betrayal of his childhood sweetheart for a fame-grabbing model. They’d never know or understand the reality. He wasn’t an arsehole. Just an idiot. Robin would probably drop him. He wasn’t big enough news to weather a storm like this. And Emma would hate him even more. Hannah gleefully continued. ‘He told me he loved me. He told me he was going to leave his wife and—’

What? No! Jesus Christ on a bike. Had he been so drunk he’d said that? He had no recollection of it, and it didn’t sound like him, but the night had passed in a blur. Nate couldn’t even remember if the sex had been any good he’d been that drunk. Shit. This was all going wrong. So, so wrong. Why was she here now?

‘—and now …’ Hannah turned towards him and smiled. ‘Now, he’s trying to pay me off to save his reputation. Well, his agent is. Nathaniel hasn’t come near me since the night we spent together having sex! Lots and lots of sex. Which was crap by the way! But he’s too much of a coward to even face me himself, aren’t you, Nathaniel Hardy? Have you told your wife about us yet?’ Her head stopped wiggling and she glared triumphantly.

No, no, no, no, no, thought Nate. This wasn’t right. He knew he shouldn’t have done it, still being technically married, and he’d regretted it straight away, but did he really deserve all this? He couldn’t – wouldn’t – have said he loved her. Nate had only ever said that to Emma. And he was sure he wouldn’t have promised more than a single night of no-strings sex. She wasn’t his type. He’d never before been the sort to just jump into bed with someone. It was always the emotional connection he wanted. The curtain began to close, protecting him from the audience and Hannah.

‘Nate,’ whispered Lennie now they were shielded. ‘What the fuckery is going on? That silly tart’s ruining the bloody show.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, his brain slow and sluggish. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she was here. I thought it was all dealt with. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry …’ Nate’s legs wobbled beneath him and he collapsed onto one of the hay bales used to set the stage. In the play he was on a farm in California. He’d been there recently. LA, to be exact. For a small film role. He wished he was there now, or anywhere else for that matter. The erratic breathing returned, not helping his light-headedness at all. The lights seemed to be moving and Nate held his head in his hands trying to stop the flashes drifting across his eyes.

One of the female cast members tutted and turned her back on him. She thought he was a cheating bastard. And he was. Technically. But he couldn’t break his agreement with Emma and tell the truth of her numerous affairs now.

‘Nate,’ the theatre manager said calmly, as if this happened every night of the week, ‘after we remove her from the audience, are you okay to carry on?’

Was he? He had no idea right now. His world was tumbling down around him. Could he perform after this? He thought of his training, and something inside him clicked. He nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’

Hannah’s voice could still be heard in the background as what sounded like three or four different ushers tried to remove her from the stalls. ‘Get off me, you fucking idiots. Do you have any idea who I am? Don’t push me. You can’t do this. Oi!’ Her screeching faded and the theatre manager spoke once again to Nate.

‘Are you sure?’

Nate looked around at his fellow actors. He couldn’t let them down, or the audience who had paid good money to come and see them. The play had been ruined enough for them already because of him, he wouldn’t cheat them out of the last twenty minutes. That was his only good bit of luck. They’d been so near the end when she’d started shouting, he didn’t have long to get through. The sneaky minx had obviously been waiting for the pivotal moment of the play. Pulling his shoulders back, he said, ‘Yes. I’m sure. Just give me a few minutes to get myself together.’

‘Okay.’ The theatre manager deftly moved the curtain aside and stepped onto the stage. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m terribly sorry for the disruption to tonight’s performance. We’re going to have a fifteen-minute interval and then the play will continue. Thank you all for your patience and your support.’

The quiet mumbles erupted into a loud chatter that filled the room. Nate couldn’t help but wonder what they were saying about him. Nothing good, he was sure. Lennie turned to him. ‘Are you okay, mate?’

‘Not really,’ Nate replied, studying his visibly shaking hands. ‘Just give me five minutes.’

Nate rushed from the set, through a door at the back and down the steps to the dressing rooms. Using his hand to steady himself, he sped along the corridor and burst through the door. Collapsing into his chair he let his head drop into his hands. It was stifling in the small, messy dressing room. The London air was dense with heat and there was no breeze to cool him, only the whirring of a small desk fan that did nothing but blow droplets of cold sweat across his forehead. Nate’s face was ashen as he stared at his reflection in a mirror brightly lit by the bare bulbs encasing it. He wasn’t really seeing himself, just a pale version of the man he’d been when everything was going well. It was like he was looking at someone else now. Nate swigged from the bottle of water beside the abandoned make-up brushes, tossed aside as the thrill of the five-minute call and the eager anticipation of performing filled him. A buzzing from his jacket, hung on the back of the door, told him he had a phone call. Grabbing it, he saw it was Robin. Word was out already.

Repressing the urge to ring back, Nate closed his eyes and recalled the lines he was about to recite, mumbling them to himself. At the start of his career he’d thought the phrase ‘The show must go on’ was a joke but right now, he really wasn’t laughing.

***

The applause was subdued during the final bows and once the curtain had finally closed Nate didn’t wait around for the rest of the cast as he normally did. Tonight, there would be no congratulations on a job well done. Not for him anyway. Instead, he did his best to get back to his dressing room without speaking to anyone. The cast didn’t know what to say to him, which was funny considering they were actors. They simply exchanged awkward glances that they thought he didn’t see.

A horrible queasiness rocked his body as he closed the dressing-room door and took his mobile phone from his jacket pocket. He had several missed calls, text messages and voicemails from Robin. Nate was beginning to feel angry now and wanted to know how everything had gone so horribly wrong. He felt so guilty, but Robin had promised he’d sort it. It took a ridiculous amount of time to find Robin’s number because his fingers felt like they were wrapped in cotton wool and wouldn’t go where his brain directed them. Several times he scrolled too far one way then the other. His whole body was shaking so much it took every last bit of energy to concentrate on what he was doing.

Robin answered straight away. ‘Nate?’

‘Robin, what the hell has happened? I thought you’d dealt with it?’ Nate began to change out of his costume, undoing the dirty, dusty jeans his character wore, pulling them off and with one hand slipping on his own smarter ones. Where the hell was his top? Robin sighed and Nate could picture him scratching his forehead, like he always did when he was stressed. His thick cheeks would be red, his blood pressure rising. ‘Robin, she’s here saying—’

‘Yeah I know. I’ve seen but I did handle it, Nate. I told you, it was made clear that she needed to keep that night strictly between you two. No press and no further contact. She was … compensated accordingly and I thought she’d taken it well.’

‘Well, she clearly bloody hasn’t.’ Nate tilted his head and pinned the phone to his shoulder then undid the cuffs of his shirt. Taking the phone again he pulled the top over his head and grabbed his own T-shirt, threading through one arm, then the other. He knew he sounded like a complete dick but controlling the panic was proving difficult. Robin’s voice was so loud Nate could hear him even when he moved the phone away to pull the top over his head. Nate sat down and pushed back his dark hair. ‘Has anyone told Emma? I can ring her now. I just don’t want the first thing she hears about this coming from her agent, or worse, some shitty, insensitive reporter knocking on the door.’

‘I’ve already called her,’ Robin replied, calmly. ‘I told her I’d deal with it and that everything else remains as you guys agreed. Suffice to say, she went off like a rocket.’

Nate pinched his temples. ‘What do I do now, Robin? This is going to be all over the net tonight and then in the papers tomorrow. They’re going to think I’m a complete scumbag.’ Nate’s voice cracked slightly. Emma already did, and he hated himself for still caring so much about a woman who hadn’t loved him in years. ‘I’m surprised she’s not taking the opportunity to put it all on me and get out while she can.’

‘Think about it, Nate, if the press go digging about in your private life to find out if you’ve done this before, what else might they find? Her affairs could be uncovered. She’s better off letting this die, but she doesn’t want you to come back to the house tonight.’

‘What?’ It felt like a punch in his ribs.

‘She said she doesn’t want to see you right now. Not until she’s processed what’s happening.’

He paced around. ‘Processed what’s happening? It was a drunken one-night stand after our marriage was over! She had an affair with one of her co-stars for nine months before I even knew we were in danger.’

‘Never mind about that now,’ Robin replied. ‘The paparazzi will already be outside the theatre and you can’t go home so I’ve arranged for you to go somewhere else.’ Nate blew out his cheeks. He felt a stinging in his nose and gritted his teeth, refusing to let his emotions get the better of him. ‘But listen, I’m sure we can still work this to our advantage.’

‘How? How can we possibly do that? I look like some shady love rat. Like Hugh bloody Heffner.’ There was no answer for a moment and Nate opened his mouth to speak but then Robin began again.

‘I’ve arranged for you to go somewhere and I’ve got a car waiting outside. I’ll pack you some stuff tomorrow and send it on.’

Nate shook his head. ‘I can’t just leave the show. There’s still three nights left.’

‘Your understudy can take over. We’ll say you’ve got pneumonia and you’re recovering. You need to distance yourself from this.’

‘Pneumonia? But it’s July.’

‘You can still get pneumonia in July. Stop being difficult.’

Outside his dressing-room door, the theatre came to life again as costumes were collected, props were organised for the next day and people bustled around. ‘I’m not being difficult, but no one’s going to buy it. And I haven’t even got clean pants.’

‘What are you, the Queen of bloody Sheba? Just wear the ones you’ve got on now. Turn them inside out or something, I don’t bloody care! And I don’t care if they buy it or not. The story will die quicker if they can’t twist your words.’ Robin sighed heavily. ‘We just need you out of the way for a week or two until they find something else to write about, which they undoubtedly will.’

‘So what exactly do you want me to do?’ Nate pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead.

‘Get in the car that’s waiting – it’s taking you to stay with an old friend of mine in a little seaside town where the press won’t bother you.’

Nate moved to the open window and closed it. The stage door was busier than usual, probably stacked full of reporters pushing past the fans who had paid good money to see the show and hoped for a quick photo or autograph with the cast. ‘And where’s that?’ he asked, unconvinced this plan would work.

‘Greenley-On-Sea.’

Chapter 3

Greenley was always quiet at this time on a Sunday morning. The only people around were fishermen, walking towards the pier ready for the day ahead, their rods and nets slung over one shoulder and a great box of bait carried in the other hand.

Sarah met Lottie outside the theatre, ready to begin the next rehearsal of The Tempest. ‘Morning,’ she said, forcing the words out of her scratchy throat. Stopping beside Lottie, she took a final glance at the still, blue-green sea. At one corner of the beach, a bright ball of white light threatened to blind her where the sun rose at its own leisurely pace into the sky.

‘Hey, you,’ said Lottie, fiddling about trying to unlock the revolving doors. ‘How are you feeling this morning? You were a bit tiddly when you left last night, but then from the sounds of it you had to get a bit drunk to get through your disastrous date.’

‘If that’s a nice way of saying I was off my face and talking at a million miles an hour, you’re right.’

‘Umm … yes,’ Lottie replied, grinning, her blonde ponytail swishing as she turned her head.

A low groan escaped Sarah’s mouth and she rubbed her temples. ‘Urgh. I think the nice white wine you bought mixed with the God-awful vinegary stuff I had at the restaurant and caused some sort of chemical reaction. You know, like those volcanoes kids make with vinegar and bicarbonate of soda. My stomach’s all weird and bubbly.’ Right on cue it gurgled loudly and she repressed a burp. Lottie raised her eyebrows as she dropped the keys back in her pocket.

‘Was that you?’

‘Sorry.’ Sarah placed a hand on her stomach. ‘I feel like I’ve died and been re-animated, or at least my stomach has.’

‘Ooh, now there’s a thought. Maybe we should do Frankenstein one day?’ said Lottie, excitedly. ‘Mrs Andrews can be the monster.’ She giggled to herself then turned to Sarah. ‘I don’t know why you didn’t stay over. I’ve got two spare rooms and Sid doesn’t mind.’

Sarah didn’t know why she hadn’t taken up Lottie’s offer either. She wished she had now. The roundabouts on the taxi ride back to her house had acted like a centrifuge, rattling around the horrible wine and greasy food from the Szechuan Palace with the four Cornettos and two very large glasses of wine she’d consumed at Lottie’s. This morning her mouth felt like a small furry creature had setup home, turned it into a bedsit, then died. Even after a breakfast of Alka Seltzer and half a slice of buttered toast she wasn’t sure she’d make it through the rehearsal. A gentle summer breeze filled her lungs, making her feel marginally better, but then a sheet of used chip paper drifted up and wrapped itself around her ankle. She bent down, picked it up, then put it in the bin. ‘Where is Sid anyway?’

‘I left him in bed, snoring his head off.’ Lottie’s face always changed when she spoke about Sid, as if a light turned on somewhere in her soul and shone out like a beacon of pure joy. Sarah had been truly ecstatic when they’d got together. Although walking in on them full snog backstage after the opening night of last year’s Christmas pantomime had been a little embarrassing. ‘He said he’d meet us here.’

‘Okay.’ Sarah looked up at the old building admiring its Victorian elegance. The long square front of grey stone was mostly fixed up now, though they still needed to change the rotting poster cases. The windows either side of the door gleamed in the sunlight and the domed canopy above the elegant revolving door had just received a fresh coat of blue paint. ‘I love this place.’

Lottie pushed one of the large glass panels of the revolving door, and followed its circular motion inside. ‘I do too, it’s amazing isn’t it? But that reminds me, I’ve got to organise someone to clear the guttering before the summer’s out.’ Sarah was just about to grab her phone and make a note when Lottie tugged hers from her back pocket and did the same. Their love of organisation was one of the things they’d bonded over. That and both having lost someone close to them. Lottie had lost her beloved nan last year, and Sarah her mother a few years ago. Sarah was happy to speak about her mum, even though it was painful to remember her, but she quickly changed the subject whenever her dad was mentioned. That he was in prison was a fact of which she was deeply ashamed. He’d always been a respected accountant in the town but got greedy when he didn’t get as much of a bonus as he wanted. Then her mum had been diagnosed with cancer. Terminal cancer. Meaning he wasn’t there at the end. There were other things too, but those she had buried so deep she didn’t dare think about them, afraid of the hurt that would erupt. She hadn’t even told Lottie, studiously avoiding the subject whenever it came up. ‘Come on,’ said Lottie, leading the way. ‘We need to have a bit of a clean before we start.’

Sarah followed Lottie in and clicked on the light. The revolving doors opened into a small square balcony that had steps on either side leading down to the seats. The ceiling was painted in Greco-Roman murals, some a bit naughty, and each wall had floor-to-ceiling columns evenly spaced along it. Everyone commented on what an unusual set-up it was, but the Greenley Players all agreed it made their theatre extra special. Just like Lottie. Lottie didn’t act, admitting herself she was rubbish, but she was great at sourcing costumes, organising props and generally bringing it all together. To think that a year ago, before Lottie got involved, the building was falling apart, there was no amateur dramatics group, and the mayor planned to sell the theatre to plug a hole in the council’s budget was astounding, but now, it was a thriving part of their community, loved by everyone. ‘I still can’t get over how nice it smells when you walk in here,’ Sarah said, taking a deep breath. ‘It smells like cupcakes.’

‘That’s because I’ve got approximately forty-eight plug-in air fresheners on full whack,’ said Lottie, making her way down the central aisle to the stage. ‘It costs me a bloody fortune.’

Sarah followed Lottie down the aisle in the centre towards the stage, pausing to pick up a small scrap of paper left under one of the seats. ‘I’ve told you, you don’t have to pay for things out of your own money. The budgets have been re-done and we’ve got a special one for maintenance and cleaning that covers things like that. We’re doing really well, Lottie, you should make sure you get your money back.’ Lottie placed her handbag on one of the chairs and smiled at Sarah.

‘Okay, I will. I promise.’

‘Things seem to be going well with your plans to turn us into a charity. Even our beloved mayor’s on board this time, isn’t he? He was verging on positive the other night.’ Sarah had been at the meeting and the mayor was their most vocal committee member.

‘Oh, you know what he’s like. There’s a lot of paperwork to do and he much prefers being seen as the mayor, throwing his weight around and looking important, to actually doing mayor things and you know … helping.’

Sarah nodded. She knew only too well. Last year, during their campaign to save the theatre, Mayor Cunningham had been less than supportive. Now Lottie had these amazing plans for it to become a charity which would mean more funding possibilities and he was, as usual, being negative and annoying.

Slipping her handbag from her shoulder, Sarah dropped it onto a chair beside Lottie’s. ‘I’m actually starting to feel hungry now. I could murder a coffee and cake.’

‘Did someone say coffee and cake?’ asked Sid, striding in with takeaway cups and a pack of muffins. This was why Sid was a keeper.

‘Hello you,’ said Lottie, smiling as if she’d never seen him before. ‘Dragged yourself out of bed eventually then?’

‘Only for you, my darling,’ he replied in lofty tones, then handed a cup to Lottie, and one to Sarah. ‘I thought you could use this. And one of these.’ He brandished the chocolate chip muffins and Sarah nearly ripped his hand off as she grabbed them.

‘You’re an absolute star, Sid. Thank you.’

He gave his usual lopsided, cheeky grin. ‘Well, you were completely trollied last night. I’m surprised you’re upright this morning.’

‘It is a bit of a challenge,’ Sarah replied, breaking a piece off the top of the muffin and placing it in her mouth. The sweet chocolate soothed the ache behind her eyes. Lottie gave Sid a kiss on the cheek before taking a sip of her coffee. As Sarah and Lottie were nibbling their muffins, while Sid took huge gigantic mouthfuls, a few of the newer members of the Greenley Players arrived ready to rehearse their big summer play. There were only two performances, but the Greenley Players all wanted to show they could handle some Shakespeare. Lottie welcomed them just as Mrs Andrews, long time Greenley Player and prima donna, strolled in.

‘Good morning, fellow actors.’ Mrs Andrews strode down to the front in three-inch beige suede high heels and skintight cream trousers. Her long flowing cardigan billowed out behind her, as did her honey blonde hair. She paused with her back to Sarah. ‘Lottie, darling, I really must talk to you about Ariel. I’d like to play the character a little stronger than we first agreed. I just feel there’s so much I could be doing. I mean, I really think I should be playing Miranda, but still …’ Sarah flashed her eyes mischievously at Lottie. They’d heard this all before. ‘I don’t want to complain but …’

Sarah wanted to say, ‘Yes you do, Mrs Andrews. You’ve done nothing but complain since we started rehearsals.’ But she swallowed it down and shoved some more muffin in her mouth instead. Next time they were going to have to give her a leading role just to stop her moaning. Especially as Sarah had had two. She was playing Miranda now in The Tempest and had played Jasmine in Aladdin, their Christmas panto. She’d also been the lead in Much Ado About Nothing, but that didn’t count because it had been such a disaster no one wanted to think about it.

‘Well, that’s really something you need to discuss with Conner,’ said Lottie diplomatically. ‘Since he’s directing. And with Gregory, as he’s playing Prospero.’

Mrs Andrews tossed her hair over her shoulder. ‘I just want to get this sorted, Lottie. With the builders still working on the extension and all the stress with that …’ She dramatically laid a hand on her forehead. ‘I could really do with something going smoothly for a change. My talents are not being utilised at present.’

They’d heard about the ongoing saga of the two-storey extension for the last two weeks not to mention the months of wrangling with the architects, but Sarah had very little sympathy. The enormous addition to Mrs Andrews’ six-bedroom townhouse in the posh part of town was so she could have her own spin studio, complete with fancy disco lighting and expensive sound system. She didn’t teach spin, she just didn’t like working out with all the other riff-raff at the gym. Even though she used the super expensive one in town that was more like a spa.

‘I understand,’ Lottie replied, her voice neutral. ‘Just chat to Gregory when he gets here. Actually, where are Gregory and Cecil? They’re normally here by now.’

That was odd. Gregory and Cecil, owners of the town bookshop, were usually the first to arrive. Pulling her phone from her bag, Sarah checked that Gregory hadn’t sent her a message. When she looked up, Mrs Andrews had left Lottie alone, so Sarah shook her head to confirm she hadn’t heard anything. The other players were milling about chatting excitedly, and some had made their way onto the stage and were making a circle of chairs ready to read through the play. Rehearsals were at that wonderful stage where everyone was finding out about their characters and reading from the script, so it didn’t matter if you couldn’t remember all your lines. Sarah’s stomach knotted at the prospect of having to learn everything off by heart, she was really struggling with The Tempest. Gregory, who had experience of acting on the West End a long time ago, had been helping her, and she found his presence reassuring.

Just as she was about to call them, Gregory and Cecil arrived. They moved down towards the stage huddled close together, doing a weird run, skip, hop kind of thing, like over-excited children. Uncharacteristically, they gave everyone only a brief hello, rather than their usual exuberant welcome complete with air-kisses, before sitting together at the furthest end of the front row. Frowning, Sarah picked up her coffee cup and went over to them. As their whispering quietened, she felt a stab of hurt at their secrecy.

‘Hello, Sarah, darling,’ said Gregory. He and Cecil stood and kissed her on each cheek before re-taking their seats. ‘How are you?’

‘Hungover,’ she said, taking another bite of muffin. ‘But fine.’

‘Don’t talk with your mouth full, dear,’ said Cecil, and she playfully narrowed her eyes at him.

‘Another disastrous date was it?’ asked Gregory. He was wearing an exquisite linen suit, complete with open-neck shirt.

‘No – well, yes. Sort of.’

‘You can tell us all about it later,’ Gregory said, then gave Cecil a conspiratorial look.

Sarah frowned. Something was lingering in the air around Gregory and Cecil, and the coy smiles tugging at their heavily tanned faces told her they had news of some sort. She hoped they weren’t setting her up on a blind date again. Unless it was with Finn. ‘What’s got you two all excited?’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen you this worked up since we saw Kit Harrington in Othello and you were planning on throwing your pants at him.’

Gregory took a deep breath then leaned in and spoke in almost a whisper. ‘I’ve got something to tell you, but you have to keep it top secret.’

‘Okay,’ Sarah replied, hesitantly.

His eyes scanned around quickly, checking no one was listening.

‘The one and only, totally gorgeous, heartbreakingly swoon-worthy Nathaniel Hardy is currently asleep in our spare room.’ Gregory sat back with a silly grin on his face. Sarah opened her mouth, closed it, then tipped her head. Nathaniel Hardy, the famous actor?

‘Are you telling me fibs?’

‘Scout’s honour,’ Cecil replied, giving the three-fingered salute, but Sarah didn’t believe him for a minute.

‘You were never in the Scouts. You told me you refused to join because you didn’t believe in camping.’

‘Darling, why would you ever go camping when there are luxury spa hotels?’

‘Not the point,’ Sarah responded huffily. The coffee and muffin hadn’t settled in her stomach and she felt a bit sick. ‘Why don’t you tell me the truth or just say it’s private? There’s no need to tell lies.’

Gregory leaned further in and took her hand. ‘I’m not lying, my darling. This is top secret and you can’t tell anyone.’

Sarah’s brain refused to compute. It was one of the oddest things Gregory had ever said to her, and that was saying something. She felt a bit like she’d read one of those odd newspaper headlines that pop up every now and again like, ‘Alien Crop Circles Found in Chigwell’. You just couldn’t believe them because if aliens did come to this planet, the last place they’d want to visit is Chigwell. ‘Nathaniel Hardy?’ she asked. ‘At your house? Right now?’

‘Yes. Yes. And yes.’ Gregory smiled like he’d just been given Chris Hemsworth naked, for Christmas.

‘Why?’ was the only thing Sarah could think to say in a vain attempt to understand all this nonsense.

Cecil sighed in exasperation. ‘My darling girl, haven’t you seen the papers?’

‘No, of course I haven’t. It’s ten-thirty on a Sunday morning and I’m hungover as f—’

‘Thank you,’ said Gregory, disapprovingly.

‘You’re lucky I’m here and dressed. I nearly didn’t make it at all, or I could have turned up in my jimjams.’

Leaning backwards, Cecil wriggled his phone from the pocket of his trousers and began tapping away.

‘What are you doing?’ Sarah asked.

Cecil held up a finger, then resumed typing. ‘Hush.’

‘I just want to know wh—’

‘Hush,’ he said again, before turning the phone to show her the website for one of the tabloids. A giant headline read, ‘Love rat heart-throb ditches loving wife for debauched night with glamour model’.

Sarah’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. ‘He did not!’ This was incredible. Like most of the women in the UK, Sarah fancied the pants off Nathaniel Hardy, especially since he’d played a suited and booted villainous bodyguard on TV. Those well-fitting suits were mouth-wateringly attractive and he had a strong square jaw. Plus, he was supposed to be a complete darling, loyal to his first love despite starring alongside some of the most glamorous women in the world.

‘He did,’ said Gregory. ‘I got a call at about ten o’clock last night from an old acting chum who’s now an agent in London – Mr Hardy’s agent as it turns out – and he said one of his clients needed to get out of town for a bit and could we take them in—’

‘So we said yes, of course,’ cut in Cecil, his cheeks tinged pink with excitement. ‘Who’s going to say no to something like that? We’d have taken in anyone. And then he said—’

‘And then he said it was Nathanial Hardy,’ finished Gregory. ‘Honestly, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven!’ He placed his hand over his heart. ‘So then he turns up at about midnight, in a black car with tinted windows. No bags. Nothing.’

Sarah pulled back and scowled. ‘Not even spare pants?’

Cecil rolled his eyes. ‘Not that we could see, dear, no. No toothbrush either. Luckily, we’ve always got people staying so we have a supply.’

‘Of spare pants?’

‘Of toothbrushes. What is it with you and pants?’ Sarah gave a cheeky grin while Gregory gave a great yawn. ‘I couldn’t sleep a wink last night knowing he was in the next room.’

Sarah’s eyes flitted between the screen of Cecil’s mobile phone still showing the headline, and her friends’ faces. ‘So he’s really in your house? Right now? Because of this?’ She pointed to the screen and they both nodded. What the heck was going on? It was completely bonkers to think that one of the country’s best actors was only a few streets away in Gregory and Cecil’s gorgeous little cottage. Was he naked? Now that was a nice thought.

‘What are you guys gossiping about?’ asked Lottie, standing over all three of them. ‘We’re almost ready to start.’

‘Oh, nothing,’ Gregory replied, shooting a warning look at Sarah. But Sarah hated the thought of lying to Lottie, they’d become so close. Trying to be subtle, Sarah nodded towards Lottie, widening her eyes at Gregory and Cecil to show they should tell her, but from the sharp shake of his head, Gregory disagreed. Sarah tried again, bobbing her head in Lottie’s direction.

‘What’s the matter with you lot?’ asked Lottie, smirking. ‘You look like those dolls with tiny bodies and big wobbly heads.’

‘We have to tell Lottie,’ said Sarah, as the head bobbing and eyebrow wiggling wasn’t working.

Gregory took a deep breath and shot it out through his nose. ‘Oh, all right.’

‘Ooo! Tell me what?’ Lottie replied, kneeling in front of them.

‘Nathaniel Hardy is staying at our cottage. Incognito. For the next couple of weeks.’

‘Are you having me on?’ All three slowly shook their heads. ‘Yes, you are. Why would he be staying with you?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ said Cecil. ‘Don’t any of you read the papers?’ Sarah repressed a smile. ‘Because of this.’ He showed Lottie the newspaper headline. Lottie’s reaction was the same as Sarah’s, only Lottie managed to keep her mouth closed.

‘I don’t believe it,’ she said.

Conner’s voice sounded from the stage. ‘Can we get started everyone, please?’ As the play’s director, he was keen to begin rehearsing.

‘Well, it’s true,’ said Gregory, standing up and removing his jacket. ‘And not a word to anyone. Nothing can appear in the paper.’

‘I know,’ said Lottie, whose day job was photographer for the local paper, the Greenley Gazette. Gregory and Cecil walked past them and began climbing the small set of steps at the front of the stage. Sarah stared at Lottie for a moment, then they both burst out laughing.

‘What are you doing later?’ she asked Lottie. An idea had occurred to Sarah. A very naughty idea.

‘Nothing. Why?’

With a nonchalant shrug she said, ‘No reason. I just thought we might take a walk by Gregory and Cecil’s house and, you know …’

‘Secretly peer in the windows?’ finished Lottie.

‘Maybe.’

Lottie grinned. ‘Definitely.’

***

Rehearsals got underway and Sarah, frustrated that the lines just wouldn’t stay in her head, read them again from her book. ‘“I might call him A thing divine, for nothing natural I ever saw so noble.”’

‘No, dear,’ said Gregory kindly. ‘You sound like you’re on the intercom in the supermarket. “Clean up in aisle five”,’ he mimicked, holding his nose. ‘You need to emote. What’s wrong? You played Jasmine so well in the pantomime. I know you can do this.’

He was right. For some reason she was struggling with the part of Miranda, especially the bits where Miranda fell in love. The idea that it was something to do with Vince, her ex, or her general single status, kept flitting around at the back of her mind but she ignored it and ploughed on. She found it much easier to sing. She’d joined the Greenley Players last year by showing off her singing. It had been hard overcoming her vomit-inducing stage fright, but she’d done it, showing them she had a pretty decent voice. Acting had been surprisingly fun in the panto but this was proving hard, hard work.

‘Och, leave her be,’ said Debbie, their local mad Scottish artist. ‘She’s doing a fine job.’ Sarah smiled at her just as Cecil checked his watch for the eighty-third time, clearly desperate to get back home and see their visitor. Then it was Luke’s turn. He was playing Caliban, and had been trying different voices and styles since the beginning of rehearsals. He began his lines, breathing heavily between each word as if he’d just legged it all the way to the theatre. But rather than having the dramatic effect he was hoping for, he was coming across as horribly asthmatic. Sarah stifled a giggle while Gregory bit his lip and looked at Conner, waiting for him to tackle this one.

‘Umm … Luke,’ Conner began nervously. ‘What, umm, what are you … doing?’ He ran a hand over his long, gelled black fringe.

‘Oh,’ Luke replied, colouring slightly. ‘I thought I’d try something different.’

Mrs Andrews was the first to say, in her usual undiplomatic way, what everyone else was thinking. ‘You sound like Darth Vader.’

‘With a cold,’ offered Gregory. ‘I’d try a different technique, dear.’

‘I thought you did it brilliantly before,’ said Conner. ‘Let’s stick with that.’

At least it was better than Luke’s first attempt, which had involved some sort of lisp and a lot of spit spray. Rehearsals eventually finished for the day with Sarah stumbling over one of her lines again as Mrs Andrews tutted. For some reason she just couldn’t get the hang of this damn play. Maybe it was because the Greenley Players had been going for over a year and they were expected to be good – she was expected to be good. There was so much more pressure this time around.

‘Sarah, darling, you really need to stop mumbling and fudging your lines,’ said Mrs Andrews, tottering in her heels down the staircase at the front of the stage. ‘You should enunciate, dear, like I do.’

‘Yes, I know,’ replied Sarah. It just wasn’t worth getting into right now. Not only was she too eager to sneak over to Gregory and Cecil’s cottage, but her body couldn’t seem to decide if it was recovering from her hangover or not. One minute she felt fine, the next nausea swept over her, making her throat close over. She just wanted to get out in the fresh air.

Everyone said goodbye and Sarah watched as Gregory and Cecil raced off mumbling something about extra shopping including champagne and scallops. But from what she’d read she couldn’t imagine Nathaniel Hardy would be that interested in eating fancy food. She wouldn’t be if she’d had an affair and been found out. Chance would be a fine thing, she mused. The closest she’d ever got to marriage was a drunken proposal from a pervy fiddle player old enough to be her dad when she was at a wedding in Ireland years and years ago. Unsurprisingly she’d said no. Her heart twinged at the memory of her dad and she focused instead on the last time she’d seen Nathaniel Hardy on TV being suave and sexy.

‘Ready?’ asked Lottie, slinging her bag on her shoulder.

Realising she had been staring into space, Sarah quickly gathered up her copy of The Tempest and various multi-coloured pens she used for making notes, shoved them into her handbag and smiled. ‘Let’s go.’ The excitement was bubbling up in her stomach – or the Alka Seltzer was getting to work – she wasn’t sure which.

‘Where are you two off to?’ asked Sid.

‘Nowhere that concerns you,’ replied Lottie playfully. ‘You go home and I’ll be back soon. You can peel the potatoes if you like. We’re just going for a walk.’ Sid shrugged, probably assuming it was girly stuff and nothing he’d be interested in anyway. ‘And here, you can lock up today.’ Lottie threw the keys and Sid caught them just before they skewered his right eye.

‘You’re trusting me with the sacred keys?’He gasped and Lottie scowled. She’d always been very protective of the theatre as it was her nan’s dying wish that she save it from being sold off. For the last year she’d fought hard to make that happen and amazingly, had succeeded.

As they left the theatre, walking in single file through the small revolving door, the sunshine was blinding. Squinting, Sarah reached into her bag for her sunglasses. The sounds of tinkling crockery and chattering voices escaped from the busy pubs along the seafront where people were enjoying their easy Sunday lunches. The town was more alive at this time of the day and Sarah took a deep breath trying to separate the different smells in her mind: beer, gravy, rich roast beef, and the tangy saltiness of the sea. Suddenly she was hungry. ‘I wish my stomach would decide what it’s doing. I’m not sure whether it wants me to fill it up or go nil by mouth.’

‘I think you should eat something,’ replied Lottie as they threaded their way through the pub tables that faced the promenade. ‘Are you coming for lunch? I’m doing a big roast today.’

That sounded good, just the thing to fix her. ‘Okay. Hey, are you going to tell Sid about Nate?’ She was surprised Lottie hadn’t said anything earlier.

‘I will when we get home. I don’t often get to know stuff he doesn’t, so I thought I’d tease him for a bit.’

They crossed the main road, past the tiny but surprisingly well-stocked library, and took a left down a side alley into the narrow twisting lanes of the conservation area. For about half a square mile the houses were either small simple fishermen’s cottages or larger Georgian houses with shuttered windows, black iron door knobs, and antique boot scrapers. Sarah loved walking through this part of town. In her mind’s eye she could see various Jane Austen heroes cleaning their boots before knocking at the door and entering to woo some fine lady. Sarah couldn’t afford to live in one of these houses, but Finn could, and did. She wondered if she’d see him today and the thought of that was almost more exciting than the prospect of catching a glimpse of Nate Hardy.

‘Keep an eye out for Gregory and Cecil,’ warned Sarah. ‘Just in case they went to the shop first and are already on their way back. They were talking about getting some champers and expensive shellfish.’ Scampering down another side street, Sarah began to sing the theme tune to Mission Impossible. Lottie joined in and as they approached the road where Gregory and Cecil lived. They pressed themselves into the wall before ducking down and glancing round the corner. In a final muffled burst of song, they flung themselves round the corner and collapsed into giggles. ‘Shhh,’ Sarah said, pressing her finger to her lips.

‘You shush,’ Lottie replied, still laughing. ‘You started it.’

Gregory and Cecil lived in the third cottage along. The houses in this part of town didn’t have front gardens, the front door opening straight onto the street. From many a drunken dinner party, Sarah knew that the sitting room was at the front of the house with large sash windows that faced the road. Sarah hoped Nate was in there watching telly rather than in the kitchen which was at the back of the house. ‘Let’s take a slow walk past and see if we spot him,’ she said, gently pulling Lottie’s arm to bring her level. They strolled as slowly as possible past the window. Sarah peered from the corner of her eye, but a frilly net curtain blocked her view. ‘Pants. I can’t see anything. Can you?’

‘No. Damn their old lady net curtains.’

A man walked past, eyeing them suspiciously and Sarah pretended to be searching for something in her handbag. It was definitely excitement filling her stomach with bubbles now. The adrenaline was surging through her whole body making her feel jittery and giggly. ‘It’s no good,’ Lottie continued. ‘We’re going to have to get closer, right up to the window. Go on, you first.’

‘Why me?’ asked Sarah, her eyes wide.

‘This was your idea.’

‘But you’re smaller than me. You should do it.’

‘Don’t be heightist. Anyway, I’m not going on my own. Come on.’ Lottie grabbed Sarah’s arm and she had to push down the laughter filling her lungs, threatening to ruin their plan. ‘We’re the worst spies ever,’ whispered Lottie and Sarah spluttered as the laughter forced its way out again. MI5 certainly wouldn’t be recruiting them any time soon.

They came level with Gregory and Cecil’s house again and bent down before edging towards the window. Sarah placed her fingertips on the sill and slowly lifted her head just high enough to see. Her heart gave a double beat as there, in real life, was Nate Hardy, lying out on the sofa in jeans and a T-shirt, his hands behind his head, eyes closed. He was just as handsome in person – or at least through their friends’ window – as he was on-screen. Sarah’s mind wandered, picturing what it would be like to wake up, roll over and see that face every morning. He had long dark eyelashes and a manly, rugged sexiness. A hint of toned abs peeked out where his T-shirt rode up. ‘He’s absolutely bloody gorgeous, isn’t he?’ she whispered to Lottie.

‘He really is. I wish I had my long lens camera.’

‘Pervert,’ Sarah replied, and they giggled again.

A male voice that Sarah instantly recognised broke into the moment. ‘And what do you two think you’re doing?’ asked Gregory. A shiver of shock ran down her spine. Both Sarah and Lottie looked over to see Gregory glowering at them and Cecil giving them stern looks while holding two shopping bags.

‘Run!’ Sarah shouted. And like a couple of kids caught stealing sweets, they legged it down the street and around the corner, only pausing when the laughter caused a sharp stitch to pierce Sarah’s side.

Chapter 4

Nate’s eyes shot open as a loud voice outside shouted something, but he didn’t hear exactly what. He stood up and the fat ginger cat leapt off his lap. Nate rubbed his jaw, feeling the stubbly skin beneath his fingers. It always amazed him that women seemed to like his face, he never had. His cheeks were quite square, coming down into a strong chin. As he aged, his dark hair was receding, the hairline gradually moving backwards, though the papers hadn’t picked up on that yet. Luckily, he didn’t care about ageing. He wasn’t worried about crow’s feet or the deep-set wrinkles that were forming on his forehead. Nate had always made it a habit to not Google himself, having been told by Robin it wasn’t a good idea. It was advice he’d taken. He certainly wasn’t going to start doing it now with everything else that was going on. God only knew what they were saying about him. Gritty eyes burned with tiredness, and today Nate Hardy felt much older than his years.

Every alcove in the small, cosy living room was packed with row upon row of books, or photos of his two hosts together. With the low hum of the television in the background the place felt serene. He’d been watching an interior design programme and was sure he’d met the host on some morning chat show once. The front door opened and he heard the two men he was staying with muttering, and carrier bags rustling. Last night they’d been kindness itself if a little star struck, but he was used to that. They must have been in bed when Robin called because when Nate arrived they were in matching striped pyjamas and fluffy navy dressing gowns. He hadn’t known what to expect from Robin’s description but when they welcomed him in, holding out a cup of tea, it was a strange moment of peace among the chaos of the night.

On the drive down he’d gone over and over things in his head, replaying the scene at the theatre, the faces of his colleagues, the mixture of shock and glee in the audience. Just as he thought his heart was broken and trashed beyond all feeling, Hannah had smashed it even more, taking his pain to a new level. He really needed to call the stage manager and say thank you for handling it so well. If she hadn’t taken charge, he didn’t know what he’d have done.

After his hosts had settled him in and shown him up to his room with kind, gentle words, he’d slept surprisingly well, exhaustion taking over. This morning he’d enjoyed looking out over the sea when he’d woken up. For a moment it had been like he was on location somewhere, but within seconds the realisation of what was actually happening hit him like a smack in the face and any rest had fled his body, leaving him aching and weary. After getting dressed and using the spare toothbrush laid out for him, Nate had come downstairs. He’d definitely fallen on his feet with these people and he must thank them properly when this was all over. If it ended well, that was. If it didn’t, he might not have any money to thank them with.

One of the guys poked his head around the living-room door. ‘Good morning, Mr Hardy. I’m just making tea if you wanted one?’

‘Yes, please, that’d be great. It was Geoffrey, wasn’t it?’ He followed him through into a large, bright and airy kitchen.

‘It’s Gregory actually,’ he corrected, and Nate felt a flush of embarrassment. ‘Come on, Mr Bennett,’ Gregory said cheerfully to the cat.

‘Right, sorry.’ Nate ran his hand through his hair and smoothed it back down, admonishing himself for not getting the name right. The man had taken him in at a moment’s notice. It was the least he could do and the height of bad manners to have got it wrong.

‘No problem, dear boy. I’m sure with everything else that was going on last night, your poor brain was a whirl. And this is Cecil.’

Nate laughed self-consciously and gave Cecil a small smile to show he’d registered his name. ‘Yes, it was all a bit … unexpected, but please call me Nate.’ The French doors were open onto a small courtyard garden filled with plants in brightly coloured pots, all flowering and falling into each other in a strange organised chaos. A small wrought-iron table had been laid with a milk jug, sugar and a biscuit barrel in the shape of a pig. Gregory and Cecil went out to the table and sat down facing each other, leaving Nate to sit between them. He followed and absent-mindedly tapped the side of the tea cup set out for him, wondering how much they knew and how much to tell them. He didn’t want people to think he was a creep, cheating on his wife, but he had an agreement with Emma he didn’t want to break. No one else was to know his marriage was already a wreck. He really needed to speak to her. What had happened last night had changed everything. Maybe once he’d had his tea, he’d call her and talk things through. If she’d answer, that was.

‘Tea?’ asked Cecil, his kind, bright blue eyes twinkling in his tanned face. He’d either been out in the hot summer sun that had stifled the country these last few weeks, or he had a bottle of instant bronzer in the bathroom. Nate made a mental note to check.

‘Yes, please.’

‘It’s just English breakfast tea. Nothing fancy.’

‘That’s the best kind,’ said Nate. He much preferred a good cup of tea to coffee.

‘Help yourself to milk and sugar.’

Mr Bennett strolled lazily out into the garden, flopping down in the sunniest spot, and a strange silence descended. Not uncomfortable, but not easy either. After adding milk to his tea, Nate clasped his hands together in his lap, feeling awkward. Gregory pushed the cheerful porcelain pig towards him. ‘Biscuit?’

‘No, thank you.’

The two men glanced at each other, clearly unsure what to say next. Nate cleared his throat before speaking. ‘I’m very grateful to you both for taking me in at such short notice. Hopefully I won’t be here very long.’

Cecil sat backwards. ‘I see,’ he said after a moment’s pause and Nate realised how ungrateful and rude that had sounded. He hadn’t meant it as an insult; the cottage was beautiful and the town, from what he had seen last night, seemed sweet and quiet. This was not going well. ‘I didn’t mean that rudely,’ he reassured them. ‘I just meant that hopefully I won’t be under your feet for too long. I really am very grateful for your help.’ Cecil relaxed back into his chair and Gregory smiled at Nate.

After a sip of tea, Nate tried a little harder at starting a conservation. ‘You have a beautiful house.’

‘Thank you, dear boy,’ Gregory replied, clearly warmed by the compliment. ‘We moved down here years ago. I used to be on the West End, but when my time was up, we decided to come down and start our little bookshop.’

‘Is that how you know Robin?’

‘Yes, we were around at the same time. We’d often go for the same roles, though he was far better than me, which is why I decided to give up and hideaway down here, but when his career started to wane, as happens ninety-nine times out of a hundred, he stayed and became an amazingly well-known agent. How do you like him?’

‘He’s great,’ Nate said without hesitation. He trusted Robin implicitly and had been with him since the very early days of his career, when the only roles he got were bit parts in Midsomer Murders or three lines on Casualty. If anyone could get him out of this scrape it was Robin. ‘Did you ever act together? You and Robin?’

Gregory nodded as he drank some more tea. ‘A few times. I hate to remember it though, he put me to shame. He really was a very fine actor in his day. I was nearly always relegated to the chorus if we went for the same role. Still, I wouldn’t change it for anything. I had a blast and to end up here, with Cecil, well, I couldn’t be happier.’ He reached out his hand and Cecil gave it a squeeze before returning to their respective cups.

Nate found himself smiling as he listened to Gregory talk of the stage. He hated that he would miss the last few performances of Of Mice and Men. It was odd that no matter how tired you became towards the end of a run, you still craved that thrill of stepping out onto the stage. When doing TV Nate missed the stage, and when on the stage he missed doing TV. Silly, really. The thought of losing both struck him again.

‘Have you spoken to Robin today?’ asked Gregory.

It was the first time they’d referred to what was going on and Nate felt himself stiffen defensively. He drew his arms in closer to his body as if to guard himself, and the muscles of his back tightened. But then he reminded himself that these men were Robin’s trusted friends and not reporters. Robin wouldn’t have suggested Nate stay with them if there was any risk they’d run to the papers. Nate caught them exchanging glances again at his silence, and felt guilty for being so suspicious. ‘No, I haven’t,’ he replied eventually. ‘I might give him a call when we’ve finished here and just see what’s happening. I’m sure it’s all over the papers now, but I daren’t look.’

‘No, dear, I wouldn’t if I were you,’ said Cecil. Nate looked up, expecting to see a gleeful face. It was what he’d come to expect from Emma and from critics, even fans sometimes. Everyone felt they had a right to judge you when you were in the public eye. But Nate was surprised to see a sympathetic, almost reassuring smile.

‘This will all pass, dear boy,’ Gregory said, pulling out a biscuit from the porcelain pig. ‘If you can be sure of anything, it’s that the press will soon find something else to write about and this will be old news.’

Nate’s voice was small and shaky, and he cleared his throat again. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’

‘Don’t tell him that, Nathaniel,’ replied Cecil, smiling. ‘He’ll only get big-headed.’

‘I am always right, though.’ Gregory grinned, and as they bickered playfully, Nate excused himself from the table and made his way upstairs to the cosy quiet bedroom to call Robin.

On the ninth attempt he finally got through. ‘Robin, it’s Nate. What’s happening, mate?’

‘“Good morning, Robin”,’ his agent said, pretending to be affronted at the lack of civility. ‘“I realise you’ve been working for hours and hours, most of the night in fact, trying to clean up my shit-show of a life, but I thought I’d check in and see how you are.”’

Somehow managing to find a trace of his sense of humour, Nate smiled. ‘I should really. You’re not as young as you used to be.’

‘That’s enough of that.’

‘But I do appreciate everything you’re doing, Robin. You know that, right?’

The fondness in Robin’s voice was evident. ‘I do. How are you, Nate? Have Greg and Cecil settled you in?’ Robin made it sound like this was a hotel, or some kind of wellness retreat for his own good and Nate felt a flare of frustration at the mess he’d created and all the extra work he’d caused Robin. Nate didn’t have time to be settled in here, he needed this all sorted so he could get back to London and get his career back on track. He took a deep breath, knowing it was tiredness and stress making him lose control of his emotions.

‘They’re very nice but I really need to know what’s happening there. What’s going on with Hannah? Is she gone? And have you talked to Emma yet? She’s—’

‘Wow, slow down, slow down.’ Nate drew back the net curtain and watched the sea shimmer in the light before rubbing his hot eyes with the heel of his hand. ‘We’re in a difficult situation with her. She’s threatening to sell her story to the tabloids. Hot News are offering a lot of money for it, but I’m in discussions with her agent.’

‘I thought that you paid her before and it was understood that she’d forget about it?’ Hearing himself say the words made him feel dirty and a complete scumbag. If only he could wind the clock back and stop himself from making such a stupid mistake.

‘We didn’t have a contract drawn up and signed, Nate. It was just an understanding. Normally that’s enough.’

A lump formed in Nate’s throat and he had to work hard to get the words out. ‘So what do we do now?’

‘I’m negotiating another payment to her. Her agent will make it clear she really has to let this go now.’

‘Do you think she will?’ He could hear Robin’s polished brogues tapping on the floor as he paced.

‘Yes, I think so. We don’t want to get all legal and make this more complicated than it needs to be. If the press were to pick up on something like that it’d look even worse for you. Has she made contact with you?’

‘What? Called?’

‘Yeah.’

‘No. Nothing yet.’ He rubbed his eyes again as the bright sun made them sting.

‘If she does, don’t answer her. She could record it and go straight to the press.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay.’ Nate nodded to himself. As horrid as it was to believe, Robin was right. ‘Robin, tell me honestly, how bad is this looking?’

‘Look, Nate, I know this feels like the end of your career and it is a blip, I won’t lie. It’s a big one. But you’re not the first man to have done this and you won’t be the last. It will all die down soon enough, and we’ll try and repair the damage. You haven’t Googled yourself, have you?’

‘No.’

‘Good. Don’t. Things will get nastier before they get better.’

‘Just give me the rundown.’ He had to know how the world was seeing him. How his fans were seeing him. It wasn’t vanity, it was that, stupidly, their opinion mattered to him. These people he didn’t know had sent him nice messages on his birthday. They hadn’t known that he’d been alone because Emma was out shagging her lover. Their messages had made him feel less lonely. He knew his actions had disappointed them. He’d let them down and he desperately wanted to say sorry, but he couldn’t.

Robin went on, ‘The papers are portraying you as a complete dick for cheating on your wife, who’s now the nation’s sweetheart by default. That’s no surprise and we’re sending out a press release just asking for privacy while you deal with recent events. We’re not saying you did or didn’t do anything at this stage. Then there’s outrage from those who were hoping to see you in the last few shows. Twitter’s gone mental, so turn off your notifications, and you’re now a meme thanks to some recording people took on their mobile phones.’

Nate sat down on the side of the bed, his shoulders slumped.

‘It’s all to be expected though, and within a week this will have calmed down if we keep up with the illness story and you and Emma show a united front. We’ll have to do some good PR and you and Emma are going to have to put off your divorce for a bit—’

‘Oh, she’ll love that.’ She’d hate him even more now, if that was possible.

‘It can’t be helped. An amicable divorce is far more acceptable to the public than something like this. A few public appearances together and then in six to eight months’ time you can divorce as planned.’ Nate smiled to himself at how Robin had it all figured out. It was why he was one of the best. ‘A couple of casting directors have politely withdrawn the offers of roles, but I don’t think you were going to do them anyway, so never mind that.’

‘Which ones?’ Nate asked, feeling a stone settle in his stomach and his intestines wrap around it.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ The fact that Robin didn’t want to tell him was worrying. ‘There’ll be more though, so be prepared.’

‘Have you spoken to Emma again?’ Nate asked cautiously. Though Emma didn’t love him and hadn’t for a while, his heart still ached. They’d been together for so long. A part of him still cared for her and wanted her to be okay. Robin didn’t answer. ‘Have you?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Sort of?’

‘I’ve made sure she’s okay, but I think you should talk to her about the plan to put off the divorce. It isn’t my place to go into that sort of thing.’

A wry smile pulled at Nate’s mouth. ‘You mean you’re scared of Emma blowing her top?’

‘Terrified.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll call her in a minute.’ Nate sighed.

‘Good luck,’ Robin replied. ‘Let me know what she says, especially if it changes things. I’ve got to get back to Hannah’s agent. She wants quite a lot of money this time. But, Nate, this will all be okay in the end, okay? Just give it time.’

‘All right. But I’ll pay anything, Robin. I just need this to end for mine and Emma’s sakes.’

‘I don’t know why you’re worrying about her after the way she’s treated you, but I’ll do my best. It’s all I can do.

‘I know, and I appreciate it. Truly.’

‘Just chill out there and stay out of sight. We don’t want the papers getting wind of where you are. Okay? Oh, and some clothes will be delivered to you shortly. I’ve sent them via courier.’

‘Okay, I’ll speak to you later.’ As the call ended Nate realised he was shaking. His hands trembled and his head pounded as he pressed the button to call Emma. It rang a few times before she answered. When she finally spoke, her voice was cold and harsh.

‘You’ve got a bloody cheek ringing me.’

‘Emma, look, I’m really sorry for all of it, but we need to discuss how we’re going to get through this. I’ve been speaking to Robin and he suggests we put off the divorce—’

‘What? For God’s sake, Nate, really? You know how serious things are between me and Stewart now.’ Christ, she was selfish sometimes. And cold. She’d always had an ice queen quality about her that, in the beginning, he’d found attractive. Her cool good looks – pale skin, blue eyes and light blonde hair – had set her apart from all the other girls. But as time had gone on, the coolness had become an impenetrable coldness freezing him out of her life. At first, she’d been happy to stay with him as he was getting more famous, hoping there’d be a knock-on to her career. But then she’d become jealous, jealousy had turned to anger, and anger had turned into affairs. Since things had got serious with her latest fling, divorce was suddenly on the cards. ‘Why shouldn’t I just do it now?’ she asked spitefully. ‘The world’s on my side remember, Nate. Every woman in the country is going to sympathise with me. Do you know how humiliating this is for me? A glamour model. I mean, how corny can you get? Every little detail of your sordid affair is going to come out if we’re not careful. Do you realise you’re dragging our name through the mud?’

Nate felt the heat of shame rise up his spine. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘But I think we can come out of this with some dignity though if we do what Robin says. He’s concerned that if we split now and the press go digging, they’ll find out …’ He searched for the right words, not wanting to openly mention her affairs and settled on ‘more’. Nate lowered his head, placing his thumb and index finger on his temples. Applying some gentle pressure, he tried to ignore the pounding at the back of his eyes. ‘I made a mistake, Emma, just like you did.’ He didn’t want to remind her that she’d begged him not to end their marriage when he’d discovered her first affair. The memory still stung. She’d asked him to keep it quiet, and he’d agreed to turn a blind eye for months now. ‘Please? All I’m asking for is a little … understanding.’ She scoffed. Emma loved to throw salt onto the wound and he was fed up of being a doormat, all for the sake of public image. ‘Listen, Robin is trying to speak to Hannah’s agent, offering her some money to keep this private. He thinks we should put off the divorce for another six to eight months and let this die down—’

‘Six to eight months? Are you fucking joking? I was thinking two at the most.’

‘I wish I was.’ The line went quiet while she considered it. She must know it was best. Making a bigger deal of things now with a messy split would only encourage the press to dig into their lives and see if he’d done it before, which would risk them uncovering her affairs and ruining her reputation. Her big-wig producer daddy would ruin his career forever if that happened. He’d already threatened that after one of her early affairs. They both needed this. He could picture Emma thinking, pushing her hand through her long, blonde hair. She was more likely to listen to a suggestion of Robin’s.

‘Fine,’ Emma agreed with a huff. ‘But, Nate—’

‘Yes?’

‘Get this sorted. Now.’ She hung up.

‘I will,’ he said to himself, placing his phone down on the bed. He had to. If he didn’t, he’d lose everything.

Chapter 5

Thank God it was Wednesday, Sarah thought, checking the work diary on her desk. The start of the week was always ridiculously busy at the doctor’s surgery where she worked as a receptionist. Somehow the townsfolk became super sick over the weekend and so, at eight-thirty each Monday morning, when the phone line switched from voicemail, the entire population of Greenley-On-Sea called up to see the doctor. Sarah loved her job, but she was always surprised at how open people were about their problems, even though she never asked. The things she’d heard had created frightening mental pictures. Pictures she could never un-see. She also suspected some of the more menopausal women had a crush on Finn too, because they insisted on seeing only him. Sarah couldn’t imagine anything more embarrassing than discussing hot flushes, dry lady bits, and hormone replacement therapy while Finn looked at you with his gorgeous brown eyes and smiled reassuringly with his lovely kissable lips. Realising she was chewing her pen lid and ignoring Mandy, the other receptionist, Sarah quickly pulled her attention back to the conversation.

‘So then,’ Mandy continued, ‘Harry says to me, “Don’t you think you should cut down, you’ll only moan about being fat later.” Bloody cheeky sod. So do you know what I did?’

‘What did you do?’ asked Sarah, smiling and switching on her desk fan. It was getting hot already. When the doors opened for the day their location on the seafront meant a cooler breeze would let some air in, but it was going to be another scorcher.

‘Well, I hit him over the head with my family bar of choccy and told him if he ever said anything like that to me again, I’d divorce him.’ Sarah could well believe it. She didn’t want to get on the wrong side of Mandy, as some of their more pushy patients had found out. Though a little bit scary she was an absolute joy to work with. She’d started at the surgery six months ago and was both scarily efficient and hilariously funny. They both liked Wednesdays best. The crazy Monday morning rush of emergency appointments had passed and it was all a little more relaxed come the middle of the week, which meant they could actually enjoy their jobs and catch up on the gossip. Even moody Dr Stephanie Shepherd was a little bit less horrible. Unlike Finn, Dr Shepherd didn’t like to take extra appointments, and from Monday through to Wednesday had a face like a constipated bear.

While Mandy regaled Sarah with a detailed account of the subsequent argument between husband and wife, a figure approached the automatic door and held up his hand in greeting. It was Dr Finn MacDonald and Sarah could feel the smile lighting up her face. She got up to go and open it, smoothing down her dress. Her favourite striped summer dress that stopped at just the right place, making her legs look long and lean. She reached down behind the fake plastic pot plant to switch the automatic door to open and let him in. He was in his normal black suit with a grey shirt, undone at the collar and no tie. His slightly curly strawberry blond hair fell onto his face and Sarah tried to play it cool. As soon as the gap was wide enough, Finn squeezed his tall, rangy frame through the doors. ‘Thanks. Morning, Sarah.’ He smiled and his eyes sparkled.

‘Morning, Dr MacDonald.’

‘Morning, Mandy.’

She broke off mid-sentence. ‘Morning, Doc.’

‘Nice weekend?’ he called over his shoulder as he strode towards the office.

Sarah’s mouth opened, ready to tell him all about Nathaniel Hardy but remembering it was a secret, closed it again. ‘Not bad, thanks.’ She tidied some magazines on the small coffee table next to a bank of chairs. ‘I didn’t really do much. You?’ He turned to answer her, walking backwards.

‘Oh, I met some friends but otherwise no, pretty quiet actually.’ The corners of his mouth lifted causing creases to form in his cheeks, then he spun back and went into his office. Sarah took her seat at the reception desk and tried to stop fantasising about kissing him, by tidying up her in-tray. About ten minutes later Finn came back out carrying a file and Sarah concentrated on her screen. The next thing she felt was him leaning down, his arm resting on the back of her chair as he placed the file beside her keyboard. His naturally husky voice sent a shiver down her spine. ‘Could you chase up Mr Robinson’s MRI results for me please? I need to call him today and they’re taking ages at the hospital.’

A husky voice asking her to chase up a crotchety old man’s MRI results shouldn’t make her leg twitch and get her all hot and bothered, but something about Finn MacDonald’s voice did that to her. She swallowed. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll do it first thing.’

‘Thanks. I’ll tell you what, I’ll make you a cup of tea in return.’ He picked up her cup emblazoned with the phrase, ‘There’s a fairly good chance this is gin’, and disappeared. It took every fibre of her being not to turn around and watch him go. Mandy teased her enough already.

In fact, Mandy was already holding her cup in the air, waving it madly and saying, ‘Oi, what about me?’ to which Finn came back and grabbed it.

‘How could I forget you, Mandy, hey?’

When he’d gone to the kitchen, Mandy looked over and gave Sarah a wink. ‘He likes you.’

‘Only as his receptionist,’ Sarah replied with an ache in her chest. Finn was the perfect man as far as she was concerned. She’d known him for a year so if anything happened it wouldn’t be a whirlwind romance. She wasn’t making that mistake again. People always said the best relationships begin at work but there wasn’t much chance of anything happening as far as she could see. ‘I don’t think he sees me as anything more. He’s been here for a year and hasn’t made a move yet.’

‘Well, he never flirts with me like that.’

‘He wasn’t flirting!’Was he? ‘He was making tea and asking for MRI results.’

Mandy shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s not sure how you feel about him?’

‘How can he not be?’ As much as Sarah hated to admit it, she knew she sometimes went bright pink when Finn spoke to her, and he must know, from the way she looked at him. But it wasn’t just his body she was attracted to. He was kind, caring, charismatic, and good with kids. You only had to see him with the young ones who were scared that something was really wrong with them. He always had them laughing and joking before they even entered his consulting room.

Oh, this was ridiculous. She could pretty much feel herself ovulating at the thought of having kids with Finn. They’d be bloody gorgeous.

Mandy gave her a knowing smile. ‘You wait,’ she said sagely. ‘Just you wait.’

Finn delivered them both cups of tea, pausing by Sarah’s desk. ‘It’s not gin, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s okay,’ Sarah replied. ‘I’ve got a hip flask in my top drawer.’

Much to her delight, Finn laughed at her joke. Making him laugh was one of the highlights of Sarah’s day. The way he lifted his head and tipped it backwards did something to Sarah’s heart. And the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down made her want to reach up and kiss him. She felt her cheeks grow hot.

‘I know where to come when I need a drop then,’ Finn replied. For a moment their eyes stayed on each other, as the gentlest of smiles played on his lips. If Helen’s face launched a thousand ships, then Finn MacDonald’s launched a thousand twitches, all filling Sarah’s body with such an intense heat she was actually relieved when he went back to his room. Goodness, she was worse than the menopausal posse.

***

Every day the surgery closed for an hour during lunch and once the last patient had gone, all the staff had lunch together in the staffroom. They were lucky that it was quite modern and airy with comfortable seats. Sarah had worked in some places where the staffroom was more like a dungeon designed to torture the good humour out of you. Mandy was always ready to start a conversation with whoever was near her and today she’d turned her attention to Finn.

Meanwhile, Sarah flicked through the weekly gossip mag that someone had left on the table. The front page was full of the Nathaniel Hardy scandal. Sarah still couldn’t quite believe he was in town, staying with Gregory and Cecil. The picture in the magazine had been taken as Nathaniel had left the theatre after his disastrous last performance. The poor man looked completely shell-shocked and Sarah wondered what she would say if she ever met him. There was no excuse for cheating in her book. The memory of the night she’d decided to surprise her ex, Vince, at his house, only to find him in bed with someone else, flitted through her mind before she could stop it. Could this be why she was struggling with playing Miranda in The Tempest, perhaps? Miranda fell in love for the first time in the play, and when Sarah had fallen for Vince she’d fallen hard, thinking it was the real deal. Remembering his betrayal still stung her heart.

To distract herself from the memory, Sarah tuned back in to Mandy’s conversation with Finn.

‘So, Dr Mac, who were these friends you met up with, hey? Was it a naughty weekend away?’ Sarah felt a slight flush at the innuendo and hoped it hadn’t been.

‘Just some guys I knew at medical school,’ Finn answered and smiled at the memory.

Maybe it had been a dirty weekend away. The way he was smiling, it seemed he was remembering something nice, but then he’d said, ‘guys’. Not girls, or women, or ladies.

‘They work in Nottingham so I went up to see them on Saturday, came back yesterday. Good thing, really. I needed yesterday to recover.’ Finn turned to Sarah, clearly eager to head off Mandy’s line of questioning. ‘How are rehearsals going, Sarah?’

‘Urgh, rubbish,’ Sarah replied, resting her sandwich in her lap. ‘I’m really struggling with The Tempest. I just can’t seem to get the hang of Miranda’s speech and I find it all a bit confusing.’ She felt a bit silly saying it, but at least if they knew now how much she hated it, they might excuse a bad performance later, which was undoubtedly what she’d give unless she could crack it. Finn chewed thoughtfully on a mouthful of crisps.

‘The Tempest is the one on an island isn’t it, with Caliban and Prospero?’

She nodded. ‘Do you remember it?’

‘Vaguely.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not great on Shakespeare and I know nothing about acting. I wish I could help.’

Sarah smiled. ‘Don’t worry, there’s a while to go yet. I’m sure I’ll get it eventually.’ Though it might mean facing up to feelings about Vince that she’d hoped had faded.

‘Of course you will,’ Mandy reassured her. ‘I’m sure you’ll be brilliant. Better than that Mrs Andrews, she’s a right old handful, isn’t she?’

‘She definitely has her moments,’ said Sarah, remembering the first time she’d met the MP’s terrifying wife. Mrs Andrews had wanted to play Beatrice in the Greenley Players’ first attempt at Shakespeare last year. They’d performed Much Ado About Nothing and it had been so bad it had nearly spelt the end of the Greenley Players and the theatre. It was only thanks to Lottie that things had kept going. A sudden hard knock on the door out in the reception area caught their attention. ‘Who can that be?’ said Sarah, checking her watch. ‘The guy who collects all the gross stuff doesn’t normally come till three and the town know we close for lunch. I hope it isn’t an emergency.’

The knocking continued.

‘If it’s a patient demanding to be seen,’ said Mandy, adjusting her posture as if she was readying for a fight, ‘I’ll be giving them what-for. We’ve got another fifteen minutes till we re-open. Everyone knows we close from one till two. Not a moment before or less.’ Three more decisive knocks echoed through the empty surgery. ‘Are they actually trying to break the bloody door down?’ Mandy asked.

They all made their way out of the staffroom, down the corridor and into the reception area. Everyone knew that the surgery closed for lunch; no one would bang on the door like this unless it was an emergency. Images flashed through Sarah’s mind of someone holding a child in desperate need of a doctor, or of someone bent double having run to get help for a road accident, but there’d been no sirens, no sign of trouble. When Sarah saw the figure outside the glass door, fist raised, ready to knock again, her heart stopped beating. Every muscle paused. No air filled her lungs, and she didn’t dare breathe. In that instant she knew that everything would be different from now on. That the life she had begun to love was about to change, and not for the better.

Finn carried on towards the door, his shoulders squared, carrying an air of authority. Mandy stopped when she realised Sarah was lagging behind. ‘What’s wrong, love? Christ, you’ve gone white as a sheet. What’s the matter?’

The man at the door had stopped banging and stood back with his hands in his trouser pockets. Clearly there was no medical emergency. The only emergency was the one suddenly happening in Sarah’s own life. The man looked like any normal customer they might see. Blond hair cut short, greying at the temples, wrinkled features.

‘Do you know him?’ asked Mandy, placing her hand on Sarah’s forearm. Sarah’s hands were covering her mouth. Finn turned around and waited for Sarah’s reply. His eyes were full of concern and a small line had formed where his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. ‘Sarah?’ Mandy asked again, giving her a gentle shake. Stuck in a moment of suspended animation, Sarah looked first at Mandy and then at Finn, knowing that if there had ever been any hope of something happening between them, that hope was about to be snuffed out like a lit match caught in a breeze. Everyone would know her secret soon, and she had no idea how to deal with it.

Under their concerned gaze, Sarah forced the words out of her dry mouth. ‘It’s my dad.’

***

‘Do you want me to open the door?’ asked Finn. ‘Or should I tell him to go away?’

A shiver ran down Sarah’s spine, carrying all the way to the tips of her fingers as she balled her hands into fists. Did she want to go out there and talk to him, or would it be better to speak in here? Should she speak to him at all? If he came inside everyone would know what he’d done. But then, if he was back, they were bound to find out sooner or later anyway. Her mind whirled with a million and one things as all the while Finn watched her.

‘You can speak to him in my room if you want,’ he said gently, and Sarah found herself nodding. Finn moved forwards and opened the door. Ben, Sarah’s dad, stepped forwards in his tatty brown suede shoes. He’d always worn shoes like that. Had he been allowed to wear them in prison? she wondered. Every sound was muffled but she heard Ben politely thank Finn for letting him in and say something about wanting to speak to her. Finn walked back towards the staffroom. As he passed Sarah he reached out and took her arm. ‘I’ll be in the staffroom if you need anything.’

Mandy followed him out, casting a concerned glance at Sarah. Though she tried to respond with a smile to show she would be okay, Sarah couldn’t seem to move her face. Her features were frozen in a mask of startled panic.

‘Hello, sugarplum,’ Ben said in a hoarse voice she barely recognised. But by calling her sugarplum she was suddenly six years old again, her dad reading her bedtime stories, or a teenager, and he was picking up the pieces after a boy had broken her heart. Sarah’s frozen body began to thaw but before it could her brain replayed one of the last times they had spoken. It had been on the phone because he was in prison. She was alone, dealing with her mother’s rapid decline from cancer. A sudden surge of anger hardened her jaw and made her teeth clench. How could he have left them to deal with everything alone? Left her? And even worse, how could he come back now?

Straightening up, she said, ‘We can speak in Dr MacDonald’s room.’

At her coldness Ben’s face fell, but she had no sympathy for him. He couldn’t have expected a warm welcome, and if he did, he was a fool. With a brisk turn on her heel Sarah marched into Finn’s room, leaving Ben to close the door behind him. He had barely taken his hand off the handle when she asked, ‘What are you doing here?’

Ben pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He’d always done that when he was nervous or thinking. ‘I was released from prison last week. I … I wanted to see you.’

‘Why?’ Her voice was harsh, with a hardness she hadn’t known herself capable of. The question shocked him and his head shot up, eyes full of hurt.

‘Because you’re my daughter.’

‘I’ve got nothing to say to you.’ Sarah crossed her arms firmly over her chest, unwavering.

‘Sugarplum, please—’

‘Don’t call me sugarplum. I’m not a child. And I have nothing to say to you. You’re not my father anymore.’

The wrinkles of Ben’s forehead collided as he knitted his brows together. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘Yes, I do. You selfishly stole money from your job and got yourself slung into prison leaving me to deal with Mum dying all on my own.’ There was so much more to mention but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She’d locked those things away, too much to deal with at the time and too scared to try now.

‘I know.’ He dropped his eyes and kept them on the ground. ‘I’m sorry. I—’

‘Sorry isn’t enough, Dad. Sorry can never erase my memories of watching Mum wither away. Of having to sort out the funeral all on my own, of having to pretend you’d left us to work abroad because it was easier than telling everyone you’d been sent to prison. Sorting out all of Mum’s clothes when she’d gone—’ Sarah’s voice cracked and tears pooled in her eyes. She squeezed them shut, willing the tears away. She’d vowed long ago not to cry over her dad anymore. Taking a quick breath in, she said, ‘How dare you come back.’

Ben hung his head in what Sarah hoped was shame and shoved his glasses back up. ‘I had nowhere else to go.’

‘Then find somewhere, because I never want to see you again.’ The room felt suddenly oppressive, like the world was shrinking, threatening to crush her. She needed to get out. To get away from him. Hurrying to the door, she flung it open and marched off.

Finn must have heard her raised voice, as he was waiting for her at the staffroom door. ‘He’s leaving,’ Sarah said without looking back. ‘Can you make sure he goes – please?’ He opened his mouth to speak but she headed him off, worried what he would think of her now. ‘I’ll be okay, I just need him to go.’

Whilst Finn escorted Ben out of the building, Mandy slid back into the staffroom.

‘Jesus Christ on a bike, that was intense,’ said Mandy. ‘What was all that about?’ Sarah turned but couldn’t speak. If she was going to tell anyone it would be Lottie and she hated the fact she was going to have to wait till tonight to do it. ‘Sarah?’

‘I’m sorry, Mandy. I can’t.’ A fierce heat burned her cheeks. ‘I just can’t right now.’

‘All right, love. But do you really have a hip flask in your top drawer? Because I could do with a drop now and I don’t even drink gin.’

‘No,’ Sarah replied, trying to smile and pretend everything was okay. She smoothed down her brown hair, her heart beating rapidly. ‘But I bloody wish I did.’

Chapter 6

Sarah stood in front of the theatre’s revolving doors wondering whether to go in or not. The theatre had become a safe, happy place for her and, as cheesy as it sounded, a home from home – a place full of friends. Well mostly, if you excluded Mrs Andrews. But even she wasn’t that bad underneath it all. Sarah took a deep breath and rubbed her forehead. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to go in after all that had happened today. She’d been supremely angry all afternoon, and as that had begun to fade, she felt nothing but tired and exhausted.

Somehow, she had managed to hold it together that afternoon at the surgery, smiling at the patients and answering the phone. She’d even managed to laugh with Mandy about the soap opera they both watched. Mandy had questions, but they were ones Sarah wasn’t prepared to answer yet. Finn had grabbed her once during a quick tea-making round to see if she was okay. As they stood together by the boiling kettle, a part of her had wanted to tell him everything. She just knew that he’d understand how angry she was and not judge her for it. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him anything at all. The risk of lowering his opinion of her made her shy away from opening up. But she was sure that when she left that day, saying goodbye to him across the empty surgery, there’d been something between them. He’d kept his eyes on her a moment too long and there’d been a spark in the air, something new that hadn’t been there before.

‘Are you coming in, Sarah?’ It was Luke, the guy playing Caliban. Without thinking Sarah took a step forward; it seemed she was going in after all. Besides, she still needed to tell Lottie what had happened. It was strange that after being so secretive for so long, she actually wanted to tell someone. She couldn’t imagine not telling her best friend and bottling everything back up. Lottie would know what to say to make her feel better. She always did. ‘Are you all right?’ Luke asked, giving her a concerned look when she didn’t move any further inside.

Sarah plastered on a smile. It was time to act normal, even if she didn’t feel it. ‘Yes, I’m fine thanks, Luke. Just a busy day at work.’ They entered together, making polite conversation about the weather and how the play was going, to see most of the main cast had already arrived. Sid and Lottie were setting the stage with a circle of chairs ready to have another read-through, whilst the other players stood around chatting or muttering their lines to themselves.

Sarah approached her best friend. ‘Hey.’

Lottie’s high blonde ponytail swished as she turned. ‘Hey, you.’ Her smile quickly faded. ‘Are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Sarah as Mrs Andrews waltzed in, waving to everyone like the Queen on a state visit. ‘Can we catch up later, though?’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Lottie replied, gently rubbing Sarah’s arm. Sarah gave a weak smile and forced down the anger and hurt still pushing up from her chest. Diverting her attention, she fumbled in her bag for her copy of The Tempest and climbed onto the stage to find a seat. She would have preferred talking to Lottie before the rehearsal, but they only had just under four weeks till showtime and there was a lot still to learn in that time.

The stagehands were busy painting the large jagged boards of wood at the back of the stage that were being made to look like rocks. Debbie McCray had already sketched out what they were to look like and two of the guys were painting them as instructed. It was like painting by numbers, just bigger. As a local artist Debbie was proving amazingly useful in designing sets. In the middle, between the boards, stood an MDF cut-out of a sparse, leafless tree. It was yet to be painted but even in this half-decorated state the theatre was coming together and that always sent a thrill down Sarah’s spine.

Debbie had just arrived herself, and her strong Scottish tones echoed around the theatre. ‘Sorry I’m late, everyone,’ she called, eyeing the work being done on stage. ‘I had a wee accident in the gallery.’ She lifted bright red hands, stained with paint, but her smile was wide and cheery. She was wearing a green tie-dye dress that clashed wildly with her newly dyed cherry-red hair. Quite possibly, it was this that was all over her hands.

‘Whatever happened?’ asked Mrs Andrews. Since last year Mrs Andrews had softened somewhat towards her fellow players, but that didn’t stop her being a right old snooty boots when it suited her, or trying to take over. She looked at Debbie as if she was a knife-wielding lunatic smothered in blood.

‘Och, I didn’t realise a tube of cadmium had a split in it until I squeezed some out onto my palette and the whole bloody thing exploded onto my hands. Now look.’ Debbie wiggled her fingers. ‘Never mind though, it’ll fade in a week or two.’

Mrs Andrews shook her head. There was no way she would have waited that long. She liked everything to be spotless; her housekeeper was working overtime dealing with the dust and debris from the kitchen extension.

Gregory and Cecil were the next to arrive in matching bright white loafers and long tailored shorts. They looked like they were on the Riviera rather than in Greenley; all they lacked were straw boaters. From the way they fidgeted, they were still incredibly excited about their little secret and took a seat either side of Sarah, grinning at each other like pantomime dames.

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