Meet Me at the Lighthouse Page 23

  “He never! What, while you were… shit, what a bastard.” She curled a comforting arm round my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, love.”

  I looked at her when I felt the friendly arm go round me. Her eyes were wide with a sympathy that told me she understood, and I felt a wave of warmth towards the woman.

  “You know, Ross was right. You are nice.”

  She laughed. “Not always, but I have my moments. So you want to share a taxi home now we’re besties?”

  “I can’t go without seeing him.”

  Her eyes flickered over to the alley I’d pointed out. “You sure? I don’t like to leave you.”

  “I’ll be fine. My mate Gary’ll look out for me.”

  “Well, if you’re positive. Take care of yourself, Bobbie.”

  “You too,” I said. “Thanks for… well, whatever this was tonight. It’s been nice. Or cleansing, anyway.”

  “Has, hasn’t it? See you soon, I hope.”

  Squeezing my shoulder, she grabbed her handbag and headed off to the taxi rank.

  Chapter 30

  Over an hour later, I was still waiting. I’d been staring at the club’s door since Claire left, not daring to look away even to text Jess.

  I had no idea what I was going to say to Ross. When I thought about what I’d suspected, that stupid, corrosive jealousy, my belly clenched with shame. But I felt elated too, my pulse racing like I’d somehow be seeing him for the first time. Now I knew he was just Ross, the deep, dark secret he’d been hiding not another woman or a cupboard full of body parts but a daft second job, all I wanted was to get him into my arms and make things right.

  If I could. The words burrowed lead-like into my brain. He’d forgive me… wouldn’t he? I mean, he had lied, neither of us could really claim the moral high ground.

  And in and amongst the worry, occasionally, randomly, I’d burst out laughing. Because my boyfriend wasn’t cheating on me. He was a bloody Elvis impersonator, and the whole thing was so completely absurd.

  Oh God… I felt my brain and stomach do a synchronised double-flip when Ross came striding out of the club, still in his ridiculous costume, looking around as if he expected me to be there. I ran to him before he could disappear.

  When I got close I saw that under his wig he looked a combination of puzzled, angry and hurt. I winced when I registered the last emotion. I’d hurt him. I could put it on Alex all I wanted but in the end it was me, me and my stupid suspicions.

  “Bobbie.” His tone was confused; accusing. “Did you follow me?”

  “Yes. Ross, I’m sorry.” It was with an effort I managed to keep from launching into his arms uninvited. “I’m really sorry, I – it was a mistake, that’s all.”

  “Let’s not do this here. Come round the side.” He took my elbow to guide me away from the front of the club, where Gary and a gaggle of interested smokers were watching us. Well, it wasn’t every day you saw Elvis having a barney with his girlfriend in the street. One of them was already holding up his iPhone to get a video.

  “No.” I jerked back as Ross tried to direct me down the little alley. “Not down there.”

  “Oh. Right.” His tone softened slightly. “Let’s go over to the seafront then.”

  He guided me across the pier to the railing overlooking the beach.

  “So how mad are you at me, on a scale of one to ten?” I asked quietly.

  “You’ve seen Spinal Tap, right?”

  “If you’re doing jokes you can’t be too angry.” I tried to put my arms around him, but he held me back.

  “You’re wrong, Bobbie, I am angry,” he said, his voice trembling. “But what I mainly am is confused. I want to make it right again, but –” He broke off, flinching with emotion. “God, do you know the torment it’s been, making it through this last hour? Wondering why you were here, what you were feeling, and still having to do –” he gestured down at his white rhinestone suit – “well, this. It’s not easy getting through all eight verses of In the Ghetto when you know your girlfriend doesn’t trust you.”

  I narrowed one eye. “Was that another joke?”

  “I’d call it gallows humour myself. Come on, tell me the truth. What did you expect to find when you came here tonight?”

  “I… don’t know. I thought – well, no, I was worried you were here with…” My voice faltered. “With Claire.”

  He shook his head, that ridiculous quiff wobbling in a way that would be comical if right then it wasn’t so bloody depressing.

  “We made a promise, Bobbie, to always talk things through. You said you trusted me.” He pressed his eyes closed. “And I believed you. What an idiot.”

  “I did trust you – I mean, I wanted to. I just needed my peace of mind back, that’s all. You were being so evasive.” I glared at him, my gaze lingering on the wide lapels of his disco suit. “And you’re not so innocent, are you? How long have you been lying to me, Ross?”

  He directed an ashamed gaze to the bare boards of the pier. “Since the beginning. It’s just such a daft thing, I didn’t know how to tell you.”

  “You told Claire.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not sleeping with her, am I?” He blinked, and when he spoke again his voice was choked. “In spite of what you thought.”

  “I didn’t, not really. It was just, after Alex – it was so similar. The excuses, the caginess about where you’d been.” I frowned at him. “Look, why didn’t you just come clean instead of letting me fret?”

  “I was embarrassed, wasn’t I?” he said, going bright red. “New girlfriend and everything. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility to think that sticking on a sparkly suit and thrusting my crotch like a twat at a room full of horny old women might damage my sex appeal to some extent.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “Nothing can do that, you good-looking bugger. Anyway, Elvis was pretty sexy. Well, he was for a bit.”

  “But Elvis didn’t look like an Elvis impersonator, did he? He looked like bloody Elvis.”

  “Listen, you could be a drag act for all it bothers me. I don’t care about that stuff, Ross, I care about…” I trailed off into an exasperated sigh. “Look. Mate. Can you take that daft wig off if we have to have a blazing row in public? Feel like I’m about to get papped by the National Enquirer.”

  He folded his arms and turned to face the railing. “No.”

  “Ah, go on, grumpy Elvis. For me.” I grasped his elbow and guided him round to look at me, my lip starting to quiver upwards. In a second it had caught him too, and before we knew it we were in fits of helpless laughter, stumbling instinctively forward into each other’s arms.

  “Can’t believe… I thought… you might be having an affair with your own wife,” I gasped, tears stinging my eyes.

  “Can’t believe I’m a fucking Elvis impersonator,” he snorted. “Oh Christ, Bobbie…”

  When the laughter subsided, he reached up to take the wig off and threw it down next to him. “There. Gone.” His voice was soft as he hugged me to him. “So now I’m me again, how about a make-up kiss?”

  “You were always you. Elvis wishes he was you.” I tilted my lips up to meet his, running my fingers through his own gorgeous rusty hair as we kissed.

  “I’m sorry, Ross,” I murmured when he drew away. “You’re right, I should have trusted you. You’re not Alex, I know that.”

  “No, it was my fault. It wasn’t fair, sneaking about like that when I knew what you’d been through. God, what were you supposed to think, really?” He sighed. “The whole thing just felt so bloody ridiculous, I didn’t dare ’fess up. Thought it might put you off me.”

  “Nothing could put me off you. Ever. You should know that, Ross.” I stood on tiptoes to plant a kiss of forgiveness on his nose. “Tell me how it happened then. I’m guessing the Elvis tribute scene isn’t something you just fall into.”

  “It kind of was actually. Answered an audition call in the Free Ads, about a month before we met again.” He snorted. “‘Wanted: talented baritone w
ith own guitar for Elvis act, costumes and wig supplied.’ Something like that. It was good money and the extra cash came in handy while I was waiting for the flat to sell. And then we needed investment for the lighthouse, Charlie’s funeral…” He breathed a heavy sigh. “Once the summer season started they told me I could have as much work as I wanted and I took the lot. More gigs, more sneaking around… God, what a pillock. Should’ve known it wouldn’t bother someone like you.”

  I squeezed him tighter, pressing my cheek against his heavily sequinned chest.

  “Can I tell you something, Ross?” I whispered.

  “Me first.”

  “Why you first?”

  “Because I can guess what you’re about to tell me, and I want to be first. Wanted to say it for ages, just…” He nodded at the wig on the ground next to him. “Worried about that daft thing, I suppose.”

  I sighed as I felt him nestle his face into my hair. “Go on then.”

  “I love you, Bobbie. Have done for so long. I hope you know that.”

  I found myself choking on a sob as the words wreathed around me.

  “God, Ross… I love you too. So much.”

  He pressed a kiss into my hair. “Come on. Let’s me and you have a romantic walk down the seafront holding hands like the old folk do, eh? I’ll buy you a candy floss from the kebab van. And then if you’re good I’ll let you take me home and ravish me.”

  “Oh, right. One candy floss and you think I’ll put out for anyone.”

  “And?”

  “Yeah, go on. I love candy floss.”

  “Thought as much,” he said with a smile. He ducked down to plant a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll just go change out of this God-awful suit first.”

  “And what if I prefer you to leave it on while I ravish you?” I said, grinning suggestively.

  “Seriously?”

  “Ha, no. Just wanted to see the look on your face. Go on, lover, take it off; you look a right tit.”

  “Oh right, ta very much. You know, just for that I think I will leave it on.”

  “Don’t you bloody dare, Disco Stu.”

  “Hey,” he said, bringing his mouth close to my ear. “I’ve got late ’50s Elvis at home.”

  I glanced up to meet his eyes. “The army uniform?”

  “Yep. Goes down well with hen parties.”

  “God, bet you’d look well hot in that.”

  “Ta. I do actually. So, you want to dress me up like GI Joe?”

  “No wig?”

  “No wig.”

  “Well… twist my arm,” I said, smiling. “You’ll have to keep the hat on, mind.”

  “Course. Hey, did you mean that about not caring if I’m a drag act?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “It’s just Sunday’s burlesque night, and, well, there was this Rocky Horror costume I had my eye on, with the fishnets and everything…”

  My eyes went wide. “You are kidding me.”

  “Heh, yeah. Just wanted to see the look on your face.” He leaned down for another kiss. “Back in a minute. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Ross.” I hugged myself as his rhinestones twinkled back into the club, feeling the sudden freedom that comes with a last barrier to happiness disappearing.

  Chapter 31

  I shot off a quick text to Jess before we went to bed, letting her know what had happened and that I’d fill in the details next day at The Cellar. Ross was booked to play there in the evening, and he’d also talked Trav into letting The Karma Llama, a young band who went to my mum’s youth club, play a set. They were just after him on the bill and since they’d never played to an audience before, Mum had asked us to go along and lend moral support.

  We picked up Jess in the Mini and parked up outside Travis’s mirror-panelled monstrosity around ten to seven. Ross, who was running late for his set, dashed off ahead to get ready, leaving us to make our own way.

  Inside, we found a surprise waiting for us.

  “Jesus, they’re everywhere!” I muttered to Jess.

  It was obvious this was some sort of theme night Ross had forgotten to mention. Goggles, brass and velvet top hats abounded. And cogs – oh God, so many cogs. I staggered backwards to let a well-bearded man in a leather kilt and colonial soldier’s helmet barge past me to the toilets.

  “Is this steampunk?” Jess whispered. “It’s a bit… rivety, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, that does seem to be a theme.” I giggled. “Hey, you ever wonder who Steampunk Zero was? Like some goth just woke up one morning, looked at himself in the mirror and thought ‘hmm… needs more pistons’?”

  Jess laughed. “Or a Newton discovering gravity thing. One day your goth was sitting in the pub when an antique blunderbuss fell on his head, and eureka! Steampunk.”

  We pushed past a man in red leather armour and a Hannibal Lecter-type face mask to get to the bar. Red leather bloke was chatting to a heavily tattooed woman in a Victorian wedding dress and Doc Martens, her face painted down one side to look like a Day of the Dead skull. The most surreal touch to the whole thing was when I overheard a snatch of their conversation, conducted in broad Yorkshire accents and apparently about the difficulties the woman was having finding a decent handyman to lag her pipes.

  “Ladies,” Travis said smoothly when we’d fought our way through. “Bit underdressed, aren’t you?”

  I glanced down at my black pencil skirt and skin-tight green top. I’d actually made a bit of an effort, but when the person behind you in the drinks queue is in a polished brass basque with an ear trumpet and part of a hairdryer sticking out of the breastplate it’s hard to compete.

  “Yeah, if Ross had told us you were having a theme night I might at least have stuck on a topper.” I grinned. “So you must feel right at home tonight.”

  “Actually it’s rubbish. There’s people who look even weirder than me, I’m getting bugger all attention,” he said. “This gear doesn’t come cheap, you know. Still, thought it’d be good to try something new, drum up a bit of business.”

  “Seems to be working.” I scanned the throng of customers, reluctantly impressed. “You know, for a confirmed perv you’re not a bad little businessman, are you?”

  “Thanks. So what can I get you?”

  “Couple of white wines please,” Jess said.

  “Coming up.” He turned to pour the drinks.

  “You’re very well-behaved today. Not got any lines for us?” I asked while he busied himself with the wine bottle. “I’ve probably got a ladder in my tights you could exploit for chat-up purposes.”

  “Sorry, Hannigans, I’m afraid The Orgasm Machine’s off the market.” He handed over our wines with a broad grin. “Met her at your festival. Tell your mum not to be too disappointed.”

  “Bloody hell.” Jess shook her head in disbelief. “What’s wrong with her then?”

  He pulled himself up with an affronted air. “Nothing, she’s a lovely girl. Chantelle.” He nodded to one of the tables. “That’s her.”

  I looked round, wondering if Chantelle came with either a labrador or a strait jacket. It was neither, but she did come with a distinctly Travisy vibe, steampunk with a flapper spin. She was all long pearls, fringed dress and purple hair, with the random addition of a golf club leaning against her chair. She also looked at least 45.

  “She’s a bit older than you, isn’t she?” I said to Travis.

  He shrugged. “Well I’m not going to start being picky now, am I? Mind you, if the pair of you want to reconsider that film offer…”

  “We’re good, thanks.”

  We paid and headed to a table before Travis could crank his lechery up a notch and his new girlfriend came over to sort us out with her vicious-looking nine-iron.

  “Right,” Jess said when we were seated. “You want to run that text you sent past me again? I’m still confused.”

  “Why’re you confused?”

  “Because last night at work I opened a text from my sister that basically read ‘All fine. Jus
t an Elvis impersonator. Off to bed.’ Which even by her standards is pretty crazy. What does it all mean, Bobs?”

  “What it says. He’s an Elvis impersonator, that was the big secret.”

  “Not an axe murderer?”

  “Nope. Just a little old Elvis impersonator.”

  Jess frowned. “What, like a closet one? Did you catch him parading round the bedroom in motorcycle leathers going ‘uh huh huh’ or something?”

  “No, duh. He’s been working down at Tuxedo’s.”

  “So this isn’t a sex thing?”

  “Thankfully, no.” I grinned when I thought back to the shenanigans of the night before. “Well, maybe when he’s in the army uniform.”

  “All right, never tell me.” Her eyes went glassy again. “Sorry, sis, you’ll have to go over whatever you just said again. I drifted off into the weirdest daydream where you said Ross Mason likes to dress up in a sequinned disco suit and pretend to be Elvis Presley.”

  “Yep.” I giggled. “That’s my boyfriend, all-round hottie and Elvis to the stars.”

  “I see.” She blinked a few times. “Ok, I’m not really down with what the kids are into these days, so maybe this is a stupid question. Still, humour your baby sister while she’s on a learning curve.” She paused to take a deep breath. “Why the fuck is he an Elvis impersonator?”

  “For the money, obviously,” I said with a shrug. “Apparently it pays quite well, the old impersonatoring. The club offered him all the work he wanted over the summer.”

  “Oh.” She paused, then gave a final shrug of acceptance. “Ok, makes sense. Better than standing down the docks selling favours to lonely sailors, I suppose. Although with his pretty face he could rake it in.”

  “You are not pimping out my boyfriend, young Jessica. Ask Gareth to do it if you’re so keen to get into the sex industry.”

  “Heh, he would as well. Fiver a scrum and 20 quid for a nice, hard tackle.”

  I snorted into my wine. “Stop it. You know I get giggly when you say tackle.”

  Her eyes glazed again, like she was still struggling to get her head around the whole thing. “God, does he have to wear the wig and everything?”