Meet Me at the Lighthouse Page 17

  I bit my tongue, willing back the giggle I could feel rising. Mum, noticing me struggling, came to my rescue and grabbed the conversation.

  “Really, Anthony?” she said with forced brightness.

  “Absolutely, my dear. I’m certain that if it hadn’t been for that blasted sitcom I’d have had a knighthood in ’76.” He sighed melodramatically. “And instead I was pipped to the post by that bastard Attenborough. Yet there he is, with his bloody dinosaurs…”

  Mum had a persecuted aura, like a woman who’d heard enough knighthood stories for one afternoon. I could see her eyes darting about, looking for someone to palm the old man off on to. They narrowed meanly as they lighted on Travis, who was just entering the lighthouse with more stock for the bar.

  “Anthony, have you been introduced to this young man yet, Travis?” she said. “He’s, er, very interesting.”

  Interesting was certainly one word for it. The gothic Gatsby had really outdone himself: tartan plus-fours and a straw boater, like a Wodehouse character whose valet was off his tits on magic mushrooms. Hearing his name, he glanced over, smirking suggestively when he spotted my mum. Over the course of the day, he seemed to have taken a bit of a shine to her.

  “Talking about me, Ms Hannigan?”

  She grinned back. Poor Travis, too innocent to know that was never a good sign.

  “Certainly am. There’s someone I want you to meet.” He put down his crate of Heineken and swaggered over, looking pleased with himself.

  “Travis, this is Anthony St John, the actor,” Mum said. “Anthony, this is an oddly dressed pervert called Travis.”

  “Delighted to meet you,” Anthony said, holding long, white fingers out for Travis to shake. “You’re an interesting sort of young person, aren’t you?” He examined Travis’s Edwardian getup as if the younger man were a frantically flapping butterfly he was about to staple through the middle. “I assume you take both male and female lovers?”

  Travis goggled at the casually personal question. I think it might’ve been the first time he’d met someone more genuinely Bohemian than he pretended to be himself.

  “Er, neither, usually,” he managed.

  “But not through want of trying, eh Trav?” I said with a wink.

  “You really should, darling.” Anthony leaned confidentially towards him. “Let me give you a few words of advice from my 80 years treading the boards. Try everything once, be beautiful if you possibly can, always give of your best in life as in art, and get yourself up someone at least twice a week. That’s the secret of a long life.”

  Behind Travis, Jess spluttered alarmingly. Gareth slapped her on the back, eyes watering as he bravely held back a snort of his own.

  “Well, aren’t you two getting along?” Mum said from behind her fixed smile. “Tell you what, Travis, why don’t you take Anthony for a stroll around the clifftop? He’s just told me he’s gagging for some fresh air.”

  Travis’s face was a picture. “What, on my own?”

  “Mayn’t that young man accompany us?” Anthony asked, nodding over Travis’s shoulder.

  Gareth’s smile vanished. “Who, me? Why?”

  “You look like a person of sentimental disposition.” The old luvvie gave an artificial-sounding sigh. “You remind me of someone I knew well in my misspent youth. I should like to share with you some of my latest works.”

  “Your… sorry, what works?”

  Anthony tossed his white-maned head flirtatiously in Gareth’s direction. “Why, my poems, you charming young rogue. Of course you know I write?”

  I saw Jess nudge Gareth surreptitiously in the ribs with a look that said “humour him”. I sent a look of my own to telegraph the same. Anthony was the only celeb we’d got, and I wasn’t above pimping out friends and family to keep the old man sweet. If he wanted to read Gareth poetry and tell him he had beautiful eyes that was fine by me.

  “Oh. Right. Er, yeah, course… big fan, mate,” Gareth said, smiling weakly.

  “Really?” Anthony brightened. “Which do you favour?”

  Gareth’s eyes darted from side to side in panic, but there was no help forthcoming from any of us. We were all watching him with amused expressions – apart from Travis, who was sneakily trying to edge out of Anthony’s eyeline.

  “Oh, er… what was that really good one you did?” Gareth fumbled.

  “I take it you mean my epic narrative in iambic tetrameter, The Summer of Healing Hydrangeas?”

  “Um, yeah, the epic wossit with the healing thingummies. Love it. Perfect beach read.”

  Anthony smiled indulgently at poor Gareth, but I’d noticed a twinkle in his eye. “Well I would be perfectly charmed to lend my moniker to your copy, if you happen to have it about you.”

  “Who’s Monica?” Gareth whispered to Jess out of the corner of his mouth.

  “He means he’ll sign it for you,” she muttered back, trying to suppress a giggle.

  “Oh.” He looked across at Anthony. “Er, you know what, it’s – at home. Another time, yeah?”

  Anthony’s face spread into a mischievous grin. “You really are the most magnificent liar, darling.” He nodded approvingly at Jess. “You have what we all secretly crave, dear lady. A beautiful young man who’ll lie to you every day of your life.”

  Gareth’s big, open face was a sight now, bright red and gaping like a tuna. Anthony was smirking all over, relishing the discomfort he’d created. Different as they were, I could see why him and Charlie Mason might get along.

  “I won’t, Jessie, promise,” Gareth managed to gasp.

  Jess grinned. “Ignore him, love. He’s just winding you up.” She turned to Anthony. “Come on, you old bugger, I’ll mind you for a bit. You’re kind of a laugh under your Oscar Wilde act, aren’t you?”

  “Pfft. Wilde.” Anthony waved a dismissive hand. “A poor man’s wit. If you wish to insult me, by all means compare me to Wilde.”

  She laughed and came round to link his arm. “All right, Noel Coward then. Let’s get you some air before you drink the bar dry.”

  “Chip shop? Seriously?” I muttered to Ross as the two of them disappeared outside.

  “Yep. It was his job to fillet the pollock.”

  “Well that was a lucky escape,” Travis said to Gareth. “Thought he was going to drag the pair of us off for a poetry-recital-cum-threesome for a minute. Even I’m not hard up enough to be hitting the OAP crowd.”

  Gareth was still blinking. “Er, yeah – sorry, what just happened? Are my Jessie and the old actor bloke who fancies me best friends now?”

  Ross grinned. “Sorry, Rugby, looks like it. She’ll probably invite him round for Sunday dinner with us at Janine’s next week. You two can play footsie under the table.”

  ***

  By the time the two security lads flanking the gap in the mesh fencing started ticket-checking, there was a huge queue buzzing excitedly.

  I nudged Ross, standing next to me in an alcove by the stage.

  “This is all right, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. I reckon we’re looking at a full house.” He blanched suddenly and gripped my hand. “Oh God. Can’t believe you’re making me play a set.”

  “You’ll be fine. You’ve got two hours yet to psych yourself up.”

  I noticed his face suddenly change, eyes narrowing as he watched people filter in. I followed his gaze to Alex, who was buying a ticket on the door.

  “Oi. Be nice,” I said, nudging him. “Alex did us a big favour getting all that paperwork fast-tracked, and the generators too. No glaring.”

  “Yeah,” Ross muttered darkly. “Very committed to this project, isn’t he?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Just nice to see so much public spirit, that’s all.”

  I frowned at him. “Ross…”

  He sighed. “Come on, Bobbie, I’m not blind. He still has feelings for you, it’s obvious.”

  “What? Don’t be daft.”

  “Then why�
��s he doing all this?”

  I watched Alex as he made his way through the thickening crowd to the lighthouse bar.

  “He feels guilty about what happened, I think. Wants to make it up to me.”

  Ross snorted. “How can he make up for that?”

  “Maybe he can’t. Still, at least he feels badly enough to try. That’s something.”

  “Does he know about me and you?”

  “Spose he must do by now. We’ve not exactly made a secret of it.”

  “Right. But you haven’t told him.”

  “Well, no,” I said. “Last time I called him it was about generators, it didn’t seem the time for a chat about relationship statuses. Look, behave, Ross, please. I can’t run a music festival while you’re sulking.”

  “Why’re you always defending him?” he demanded. “If someone had treated me the way he’d treated you, damned if I’d be having cosy little chats about bloody generators with them.”

  “I’m not defending him. I want a quiet life, that’s all. Let’s just try to be polite and stay out of his way, eh?”

  But Ross wasn’t listening. He’d been distracted by something happening over at the entrance.

  I glanced over to see Claire, arriving arm in arm with Molly Mason, Ross’s mum. She was all dressed up like a poodle’s dinner again, festival glam in a pair of skinny jeans, low-cut top and some of those pink wellies with jewelled things on that morons wear to Glastonbury.

  I turned an accusing gaze on him. “Oh no, Ross. You didn’t invite her.”

  He looked down at the ground, kicking his feet against the stubby grass. “My mum did, all right? She won’t be any trouble. I told you, she’s a nice lass.”

  “Nice lass who hates me.”

  “Come on, don’t be jealous. You’re not allowed, not when you just told me off.”

  “I’m not jealous. I’m pissed off, it’s different.” I sighed. “Ok, ok, you’re right. I guess I can be an adult about it if you can.”

  “Thanks, Bobbie,” Ross said with a grateful smile. “I should probably go say hello to them. Can you babysit the first act for ten minutes?”

  I forced an answering smile, pushing back the swell of jealousy rising in my gut. “Course. Take as long as you want, I’ve got it covered.”

  Still. I couldn’t help feeling as I watched his shapely backside head in Claire’s direction that trying to be the perfect girlfriend was a royal pain in the arse.

  Chapter 22

  Twenty minutes later, Anthony had managed to open the festival – albeit with the slightly slurred speech of a man who’d had a few too many whiskies for that time in the afternoon – and the first band had started up. Crooked Sixpence were a local four-piece who did a good line in Yorkshire folk-punk. I wasn’t quite sure I believed in Yorkshire folk-punk, despite Ross’s assurances it was a real thing, but it still sounded pretty good.

  Ross was still with Claire. I was still in my alcove, minding the band and doing a bit of shifty side-eyes spying on my boyfriend and his wife. Which was one fucked-up sentence, when you thought about it.

  Molly had left them to seek out her husband and older sons, all among the volunteer stewards wandering in high-vis vests through the crowd. Ross had just been to the bar to get Claire a drink and she was swigging red wine while she rested her emerald-green nails on his arm, just like I remembered her doing in the caf months ago.

  She started laughing at something he’d said, jutting her sizeable cleavage in his direction like there were Ross-seeking magnets in her nipples. I couldn’t hear what she was saying but I imagined it was something like “Oh sweety, you’re soooo funny, do you like my enormous knockers? How about you leave Bonnie or Bessie or whatever and come back to mine for a Disaronno and a shag?”

  “Ow,” I said when I felt a dig in the ribs. I turned to find high-vis Mum, fixing me with one of her knowing looks.

  “You know, if the wind changes that frown’ll stick,” she said, pushing my grumpy expression into a stretched-mouth smile.

  “Mmmf. Geroff.” I batted her hands away from my face. “Thought you were babysitting. Where’s Anthony?”

  “He’s fine. Well, pissed, but he’s used to that. Your sister’s calling his car for him.” She nodded at Ross and Claire. “I take it she’s the one.”

  “Yep. The other woman.”

  “Technically that’s you. You know, legally speaking.”

  I grimaced. “Thanks for the reminder, Mother. I’ve always been fond of the word ‘adultery’, the way it rolls off the tongue.”

  “I don’t know what you’re being all jealous for anyway. You know Ross isn’t like that.”

  “She is though. Look, she’s got her posh city-girl fingernails all over him.”

  Mum shrugged. “So? He’s with you now, love. Doesn’t matter where she sticks her fingernails.”

  “Mm hmm.” My gaze was still fixed on Claire feeling up my boyfriend’s arm.

  “You. Look at me,” Mum said, tugging at my sleeve.

  I sighed and turned to face her. It was easiest if you didn’t try to resist, I’d learned while Jess and me were little.

  “What? I’m not doing anything, am I? Just watching.”

  “I know you,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t you dare bugger this up with your trust issues, our Bobbie. Ross wouldn’t cheat on you, no matter how many pretty girls poke their tits out at him.”

  “That’s not just any pretty girl though, is it? It’s his bloody wife. How am I supposed to feel watching her touching him up? Thrilled to pieces and up for a threesome?”

  “Oi.” She reached up to cuff my ear. “None of your smut, stroppy. Listen, I’ve known that lad since I held him in my arms as the tiny puking thing Molly Pennyman shoved in my direction to help me get some practice in for you two foetuses. I know what he’s capable of and it isn’t that.”

  “You don’t know. He’s been away ten years.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You can’t change someone’s heart.”

  I pulled a face. “Eurgh, did you really just say that? You’re like daytime soap opera Mum today.”

  “Yeah, all right, that did sound daft,” she admitted. “I’m right though, take it from someone notoriously hard to please when it comes to daughters’ boyfriends. Married or not, he wouldn’t hurt you; not on purpose.”

  “I know. I mean, I think I know. It’s just tough, seeing the two of them still so close.” I nodded to Ross’s mum, talking to her middle son Will near the lighthouse. “Claire and Molly seem pretty thick too. They were arm-in-arm when they got here.”

  “Molly’s known her a long time, I suppose.”

  “Yeah, and she’s known me all my life. She could make a bit more effort to bond with the current girlfriend. Claire swans around like one of the family when I’ve not had so much as a drinks invitation.”

  “I can have a word if you want? She probably hasn’t realised it’s upsetting you.”

  “No, don’t make a fuss. Spose I’ve just been feeling it more since Claire turned up.” I sighed. “So have you heard from Corinne lately? Been thinking about her.”

  Mum shook her head. “She can’t write now her eyesight’s going, poor lamb. I went to see her at the new place the other day though.”

  “Care home, is it?”

  “Sheltered housing. She’s got a lady who comes to help her out. There was a pile of washing up in the sink when I went round though, and no one had hoovered for at least a week. I sorted it, but think I’m going to have to have a word with the people who run the place.”

  “It’s surreal, isn’t it?” I said dreamily, my gaze still fixed on Ross and Claire. “You two getting so close. No offence, but if my husband had done that to me, you’d be the last person I’d want to see.” My brow lowered as I thought about James. “Well, second to last.”

  “Your dad hurt us both. I think in the end it brought us together.” She squeezed my arm. “But I can never bring myself to hate him completely. Not when I got my baby g
irls out of it.”

  “No, but I can,” I said darkly. “Poor Corinne. You want me to come with you next time? I can get the place tidy while you two do the tea and chat thing.”

  “Best not, chick. I know she’d love to see you, but it’ll only make her upset.”

  “Spose so.” I thought back to the one time we’d met, and her whisper when she hugged me: you should’ve been my little girl. “Can you imagine staying with someone after they’d done what he did to her? I can’t.”

  “She doesn’t see it the way you do though,” Mum said. “You’re young. It’s hard to imagine how it affects you mentally, decades of being wholly dependent on one person. And trust me, your dad was a very magnetic man.”

  I forced a laugh. “So that’s where I get it from.”

  Mum scowled. “What you’ve got is all your own. You didn’t get anything from him except life, and that only by accident.”

  “Good. I don’t want anything off him.”

  “That’s my good girl.” She gave me another squeeze. “Wherever there are bastards there are cheating bastards, Bobbie. Married, single, men, women: there’s Jameses and Alexes waiting for all of us who aren’t savvy enough to spot them.” She nodded to Ross. “But trust me, that lad isn’t one.”

  “I know. I do know.” I sighed. “Mum?”

  “Yes, my love?”

  “Do you think it was right, not waiting? I thought I was being silly, letting the James thing run away with me, but now she’s here it seems… Ross says it’s all just paperwork, but I can’t help feeling I’m doing something wrong.”

  She hesitated. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “You’re not doing anything wrong, don’t let that worry you. They’re not a couple in any real sense. But waiting would certainly have made it all simpler.”

  “You think she still has feelings for him?” I asked, nodding to Claire. She was gazing at Ross while he talked, apparently rapt with adoration. Either that or her eyes were glazed with too much wine, but my money was on adoration.

  “Maybe,” Mum said. “But he doesn’t for her.”

  “How do you know?”