Page 28 of The Love Game
‘Really? She was the woman who sold the pier to my grandparents?’
Vi scanned the far end of the pier, wondering if it was too late to run and catch up with Hortensia Deville. But then … what would she say if she did? What did she actually want to know?
‘She said something like the pier can be a cruel mistress. What do you think she meant by that?’
‘Violet, indulge me, I’m a very old man,’ Barty said, even though his Hawaiian shirt and Ray-Bans suggested otherwise.
‘I strongly suggest that you put that woman well and truly out of your mind. Hortensia’s always had a theatrical bent; played a bloody good Lady Macbeth in the local am-dram production in the eighties, mind you.
’ He paused. ‘And that notwithstanding, she dabbles in the occult.’
‘ What? ’ Violet squeaked. ‘In what way?’
‘Oh I don’t know.’ He batted the air and Violet got the distinct impression he was being deliberately vague. Then he laid his hands on the table and pretended to shake it. ‘Is there anybody there?’
Violet folded her arms, squinting against the bright sunlight.
She wasn’t stupid; Barty was trying very hard to make light of it, but there was something about his posture, the stiff set of his shoulders and his refusal to look her in the eyethat made Violet’s gut feel as if there was a python writhing slowly in there.
Something wasn’t quite right here, and it was obvious that Barty wasn’t going to let her in on what it was.
She smiled at a couple of teenagers coming towards her, and then belatedly realised that one of them was Charlie, Lucy’s son.
‘Hiya,’ she smiled. ‘Your mum’s in her studio, go on in.’
He nodded, chewing his lip as he glanced back towards the land end of the pier, his dark hair flopping in his eyes. ‘There’s something you should probably see back there,’ he said. ‘Or should I say, someone.’
Vi strained her eyes along the pier but couldn’t see what he was talking about.
‘Honestly, you should go and look.’
Charlie and his mate disappeared inside the birdcage. Leaving Barty at his welcome desk, she set off along the pier at a pace.
‘I should have guessed,’ she said, more to herself than anyone else as she stood beside the open iron gates to the pier and watched Gladys Dearheart.
She’d set herself up on a red-and-blue-striped deckchair slap bang between the gates, briefcase across her knees, and she was making it her business to heckle everyone who tried to pass either side of her with a loudhailer.
Violet watched as a couple in their forties approached, her in a black and pink sundress, him in jeans and Converse.
‘I see you, Meghan Montgomery!’ Gladys yelled, making the woman jump.
‘And you a primary teacher as well! And don’t think I don’t see you trying to hide behind your wife’s skirts, Alan Montgomery Junior!
’ The guy sighed and looked at his Converse, his arm around the woman, presumably his wife.
‘What will your boss at the council offices think of you fraternising with the enemy?’
Violet leaned on the gate and sighed. As far as she knew, no one at the council other than Gladys thought ill of the pier, but it was enough to make the Montgomerys think twice. They faltered, prompting Violet to jump forward and smile.
‘Please, come and look,’ she said, reaching out a hand, leaving them no choice but to shake it. ‘I’m Violet, and I’m so thrilled to be able to share the pier with you. Please, have a wander, feel free to enjoy it.’
‘Don’t be fooled, Meghan Montgomery,’ Gladys yelled, making the couple pause, staring at each other. ‘It’s the wooden bridge to sin city!’
Violet looked up at the blue sky and counted to five in her head before smiling broadly. ‘There’s coffee and cake.’
‘Coffee, cake and sex !’ Gladys roared, loud enough to make the driver of a passing white van slow down and shout, ‘Yes please love!’ out of his open window.
Gladys shook her fist, and the Montgomerys took advantage of her momentary distraction and shot off along thepier.
‘Look, Gladys,’ Violet started, walking across so she didn’t have to shout.
‘Lady Mayoress Dearheart to you,’ Gladys shouted through the loudhailer, even though there was no need.
Vi managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. ‘Lady Mayoress Dearheart,’ she said, through gritted teeth. ‘I’m sorry about what happened when you came the other day, it was most unfortunate. We were—’
‘Unfortunate for you that I caught you in flagrante, you mean.’ Gladys sucked her teeth, not unlike Hannibal Lecter. ‘Hussy.’
‘You really don’t need to speak to me with the loudhailer, I can hear you perfectly well without it,’ Violet said, ever so slightly testy because Gladys was drawing a bit of a crowd now.
‘I’m performing my civic duty,’ Gladys shouted.
‘Is that what you were doing when you illegally chained our gates together too?’
The Lady Mayoress glowered, feigning blustery innocence. ‘Chained your gates? Don’t put ideas in my head, harlot.’
Ideas? Violet didn’t challenge her because a public slanging match was the last thing she needed, but she shot Gladys an I’m wise to you look that she hoped got the message across.
‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave now,’ Violet said, admirably calm given the circumstances.
Gladys cackled as if terribly amused. ‘You can’t make me leave. This is a public pavement.’
Violet looked down at the ground. ‘You’re not on the pavement. You’re on my pier.’
Gladys peered over the arm of the chair, then back up at Violet, mutinous. ‘By all of three inches, young lady.’
Vi crossed her arms over her chest, holding her tongue. They eyeballed each other for a good ten seconds, and then finally Gladys snarled, and half shuffled, half dragged the legs of her chair forwards until she was no longer on the wooden edge of the pier.
‘Don’t do it, Brian Hancox!’ Gladys yelled, twisting suddenly in her chair towards an older guy who was trying to inch onto the pier without anyone noticing.
Unfortunately for Violet, Gladys clearly had a much stronger hold on Brian Hancox, because he veered back onto the promenade and walked away, rather like he’d been caught stealing flowers from someone’s front garden to give to his wife.
Melvin and Linda ambled up the pier arm in arm to see what was happening.
Violet smiled, glad of their friendly faces, even if they did exude a slightly eighties Dynasty glamour.
They were probably the least busy of the occupants of the pier for open day; sex therapy wasn’t really the kind of business people wanted to chat idly about.
‘Look, Gladys. You’re harming Cal’s business as much as anyone else’s by behaving like this,’ Violet said, and the thunderous look it earned her from the Mayoress confirmed that she’d hit a raw nerve.
‘It’s not a business ,’ Gladys hissed, putting down the loudhailer now she was talking about her own son. ‘It’s a hobby.’
Melvin cleared his throat. ‘Actually Glad, sex aids are a very relevant part of relationships today,’ he said, adjusting the knot of his tie. ‘We often recommend a basic bondage kit to spice up a lacklustre bedroom routine.’
Linda lowered her Jackie O glasses and winked at Gladys, then cracked an invisible whip against Melvin’s slack-clad backside. He jumped, and they both smiled broadly as if they’d demonstrated their point perfectly.
Violet stifled a laugh, and Gladys pressed her head so far back into her body that her neck disappeared.
‘Closed!’ Gladys yelled, back on her loudspeaker again now. ‘This pier is officially closed as of this very minute, by decree of the council!’ She was every inch the pantomime baddie, although her crowd refrained from booing or hissing.
‘You know you can’t do that, Mum.’ Cal appeared, taking both Gladys and Violet by surprise.
‘Now wait right there, young man,’ Gladys blustered at the sight of her son, putting her briefcase and loudhailer down to stand up and chastise him as she most likely had for most of his teenage years.
As she got to her feet and planted her hands on her hips, Melvin took the opportunity to fold her deckchair up quick smart as Linda picked up the loudhailer and looked in the wrong end of it.
The smattering of people who’d stilled to watch started to clap with delight, and Gladys mistook their applause as support for her cause.
‘Thank you,’ she said, bowing as she swung her arm out to encompass them.
‘They’re clapping us, not you, daft bat,’ Linda said into the megaphone, more loudly than she probably intended to, causing everyone to stare, most notably Gladys, who swung slowly round to find Melvin clutching her deckchair and Linda looking at the megaphone with surprise.
She paused, taking it all in, and then looked from face to face. Melvin, Linda, Violet, and then Cal.
‘I suppose you’re enjoying this,’ she said, her red helmet of curls quivering. Violet couldn’t help but momentarily feel sorry for Gladys; she’d gone from pantomime baddie to spurned mum.
‘I’m not, actually,’ Cal said, low and calm as he gathered his mum’s chair and loudhailer from Melvin and Linda. ‘Come on. I’ll carry these back for you.’
For a horrible moment it looked as if the Lady Mayoress might cry, but then she pulled in a long, deep breath, snatched up her briefcase and strode off without a word.
Cal looked at Violet.
‘Sorry,’ he said, shrugging even though his face suggested his mother’s behaviour had got under his skin. ‘I’ll be back in half an hour.’
The rest of the day flew by without further incident. Barty’s carrot cake was a roaring success, and the benches set along the pier were rarely ever unoccupied. The locals came, couples, families and elderly groups keen to share yesteryear memories about the pier.
Violet’s heart swelled with pride whenever people spoke fondly of Monica and Henry; she might be a relatively new addition to Swallow Beach, but she wasn’t a stranger to the older generation; she was Monica’s granddaughter.
She lost track of the number of people who exclaimed on her similarity to her grandmother, and every time it happened a tiny gossamer stitch wove Violet and Monica closer together across the years.
Two artistic, impulsive brunettes with eyes almost the exact shade of the sea that surged beneath the pier they loved.
‘Any dinner plans?’ Cal said, as they trudged up the stairs to the top floor of the Lido. They’d finally locked up the pier just after seven thirty, and Violet was sore-faced from smiling and her feet were killing her; she’d walked for miles that day, back up and down the wooden boards of the pier.
‘Bath, scrambled eggs and bed,’ she said, feeling for her keys in her bag. ‘Rock and roll, eh?’
Cal shrugged, looking out of the landing window towards the beach. ‘Sounds like a good Saturday night to me.’
Was he being sarcastic? Violet wasn’t sure. And then she was, because he looked down at her and said, ‘Come to mine? I’ll throw a glass of wine and a movie in with the scrambled eggs.’
She looked at her door. Silence and solitude lay beyond it, which she kind of needed after such a full-on day. She’d planned a bath, an easy dinner and an early night. But then she looked at Cal, and his dark eyes invited her for a different kind of evening, and suddenly she wasn’t tired after all.
‘Let me just go and grab a quick shower.’ Then she sighed, because she remembered that she didn’t have a shower. ‘A bath, even.’
‘You can use my shower if you like?’ he offered, then rushed in with, ‘I mean that in a totally non-pervy way, just because you don’t have a shower in there.’
It was a bit of a ridiculous conversation, and they both laughed a little.
‘I could bring my PJs to change into afterwards,’ she said, because actually a hot shower sounded heavenly. Exotic as her grandmother’s bathroom was, the tub took forever to fill and washing her hair was a nightmare with a cup in the sink. ‘I’ve never been to a slumber party.’
‘Me neither,’ he grinned. ‘Do I get to pick the movie?’ he asked, narrowing his eyes.
‘Only if you have popcorn,’ she said. A TV was another of the things that her apartment lacked. This was shaping up into a pretty decent Saturday night plan.
‘Okay,’ he said, drawing the word out as he pulled his keys and his phone from the back pocket of his jeans.
‘I’ll just go and … you know … do things,’ Violet said, nodding towards the door.
‘No rush,’ he said, casual. Light. ‘Just friends having scrambled eggs.’
‘And a movie,’ she nodded.
He touched his fingers to his forehead, a tiny salute, then turned and headed for his door.
‘Come over whenever you’re ready,’ he said, then disappeared inside.
Cal listened for Violet’s door to close, and then opened his again and took the stairs two at a time. He needed to buy eggs and wine and popcorn.
In her own apartment, Violet picked up the mail and made a much needed cup of tea, flicking open a hand-addressed envelope as she reached for a mug.
An electrician’s business card fell onto the work surface, and the brief letter asked her to keep the sender in mind if she ever needed any work done.
Vi folded it and slid it in the kitchen drawer with the menus and other business flyers.
She admired anyone enterprising enough to run a small business and always tried to employ them where she could, hoping for cosmic karma to inch her closer to her long-held dream of providing costumes for the Moulin Rouge.
Picking up her cuppa, she wandered through to the bedroom to drink it in the armchair looking out over the bay.
It seemed forever since she’d sat there just that morning watching the sun come up.
It was after eight thirty in the evening now and the day was fading, the sun low and gold over the sea.
It was an ever changing view; Vi wondered what it would be like in winter, tried to imagine this sun-bleached scene blanketed in snow instead.
It wasn’t easy; Swallow Beach seemed to be the kind of place that existed only for summertime.
Or maybe it was more that Violet saw her stay there as only temporary after all, her Amish Rumspringa summer.
Picking up her grandmother’s diary from the small round table beside the chair, she began to read the entry from May 27th, exactly forty years previously.