Chloe's Rescue Mission (21 page)

‘Honey, it’s all going tits up and there’s nothing we can do about it.’

Mum appeared from the sitting room, holding a piece of paper. ‘They’ve won. The theatre is condemned. It’s got to come down.’

‘No! It can’t be. The surveyors only said the dressing rooms and costume store were in a poor state. They can’t.’

‘Well, they have. Here.’

I took the letter and scanned the lines. Lots of bureaucratic terminology but there was no getting away from the official form entitled: Enforced Closure.

It was effective from today.

‘What exactly does it mean? They’re surely not moving in with the demolition ball tomorrow, are they?’

Mum looked me in the eye. ‘No more productions can be held in the theatre, while it’s deemed unsafe. Officially, we still own it…but the bank is calling in the debt. We can’t pay it so they’ll take the theatre, sell the land and give us the loose change. I’m afraid the developers have won. It’s over.’

I shook my head. ‘No, no, no! I’m not having this. We haven’t come this far to back down now. How much are the debts?’

‘Sixty-seven thousand.’

‘Can we sell Burgundy?’ I was talking about our family’s old stone cottage in France. It was shabby and desperately in need of renovation.

Beth put an arm round me. ‘We’ve discussed this before. It’s so decrepit we’d barely make thirty-five thousand. And that’s if we can sell it. We’ve run out of time.’

‘But they all know the effort we’ve put in. Jeez! What about the variety show? The council and the bank know about that. I don’t understand why it’s happening now.’

Neither of them could give me an answer.

At three in the morning, I was still awake.

We had not come this far to roll over and give up.

Nobody outside the family could know how important this was. Grandee hadn’t just stepped in and taken us on when Dad had died, he’d turned down any role which meant lengthy absences from Barnworth. He’d brought good directors to the theatre and taken on roles, which might not have been the best but put bums on seats. He’d invested time and commitment in the youth group, which had embraced Beth and me, and given us a place to go and another kind of family to grow with. In a way, the theatre had been our sanctuary as well as our learning ground. And it could do the same again – for other people. Yes. The Joshua Steele Theatre could be more than a place of entertainment, it could be a place of support. Like the women and children in Costa Rica had somewhere to go to help rebuild their confidence, I could offer the theatre’s facilities and my experience to families who needed it.

Again and again I considered asking Duncan to help out. Sixty-seven thousand would be peanuts to a company like his. Again and again I dismissed the idea. I had to try and do something, myself. There was a load of information on the Internet. Maybe if I looked really hard, and read enough small print, I could turn up a strategy for beating the bank and the council. Maybe there was a loophole. I had fourteen days to find one, before the repossession forms had to be completed.

At four o’clock I was scouring the Web for information. Finally, I googled VPW Construction, the development company intending to knock down the theatre and build a block of flats. How might they feel about cameras zooming in on their chief execs, while Evan asked probing questions?

Scrolling through the list of execs, I gasped.

Chairman: John D. Porter.

Warren’s name was Porter – a fairly common surname but the coincidence stretched belief. I delved deeper. There it was. VPW Construction – a company within the larger group – King Lloyd Holdings.

How had I been so stupid? I knew Warren’s Uncle John was a builder. It never occurred to me he could be in on this.

‘Warren, you conniving bastard!’

Once and for all, Warren Porter was going to get it from me with both barrels.

Later that day, as I drove into the car park, I could see Warren waiting on the theatre steps. I’d been non-specific about my reason for a meeting but stressed I really needed to see him. Mum had urged me to leave well alone, but that wasn’t an option. I’d run away from him last year. We’d backed down from his company’s offer last week. Today, I was going to face him, and give him a piece of my mind. More than that, I wanted to spell out that he was no longer a part of my future life.

‘Hello, Warren,’ I said more calmly than I felt, and jogged up the steps to the entrance. There were notices stuck to the doors and windows; Enforced Closure. ‘Nice,’ I said, smiling flatly, as I pushed a key into the lock. ‘It’s okay,’ I said, holding the door open for him. ‘I don’t think it’s going to collapse on top of us. Although of course, I might get arrested for entering a condemned building. That would just about finish the week off nicely.’

‘Sorry to hear about this, Chloe. I can imagine how gutted you must be.’

‘Oh, I’m beyond gutted. I passed gutted around four o’clock this morning. I’m much closer to fucking livid!’

‘Hey, don’t use words like…’

‘What? Livid? Okay, I’m fucking angry, fucking incensed, absolutely fucking outraged!’

He tilted his head to one side and tried a smile. ‘Please don’t be angry with me. I’m really not the problem here.’

‘No? You hid the truth from me, Warren. Your uncle is a very big part of the problem.’

‘Chloe, please don’t think I’m behind my uncle’s bid for the theatre. I told you, I wanted to help. I could have done. If you’d signed with us, the theatre would have been…’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah! I heard you: “ready by Christmas”. Odd though, that within days of not signing, we’re shafted by the bank and the council.’

‘That’s nothing to do with me. Maybe King Lloyd passed the information to VPW. I’m only an employee.’

‘Well you managed to set that proposal up pretty quickly. What was the plan…eh…for one of the workmen to start an “accidental” fire and destroy the whole theatre? It’s been done before.’

Warren snapped. ‘That’s rubbish! And it’s insulting. I don’t get you, Chloe. I tried. I really, truly tried to help you out with this. Of course I knew John was after the theatre. He’s a greedy bastard and rubs his hands together whenever he hears about another repossession, another bargain-basement acquisition.’ He was staring at me in that piercing, nasty way he did when he used to tell me not to show off on stage. ‘I had a chance to do something to stop him from bulldozing this place. I knew it wouldn’t be easy but I also knew I was the only one who cared enough at King Lloyd to do anything about it. I tried to persuade another colleague to meet you but he was busy on a more prestigious building in London. So I came, Chloe. I created a fake email signature to make sure you’d see me. That’s how determined I was to help you. Because, despite what you might have thought about our relationship, I valued it and I still care enough to want to help. I won’t apologise for that.’

He was breathing heavily and there was a pink dot on each of his cheeks. But there was moisture in his eyes as he turned away. I’d only had time to put the doorway light on, but I could see his reflection in the glass and as he dragged a hand across his face, he didn’t look like a man who had achieved any kind of victory.

I was breathing heavily, too. ‘I’m sorry, Warren. I thought…’

He nodded and turned back towards me. ‘I know what you thought. We spent nearly four years together and yet you imagined…you imagined I could be this callous?’

‘I didn’t…well, maybe I did. Maybe I thought…oh, hell!’ I flopped into a chair and hung my head.

‘What, Chloe? Please tell me what you were thinking, because I don’t want to walk out of here, thinking you believed that of me.’

Eventually, I looked up at him. ‘At first, I thought you were only doing it to get us back together. No, if I’m honest, I still think that was the reason.’

He nodded slowly, and put his hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall opposite. ‘Yeah, well, maybe there was an element of that.’

‘Especially with all that stuff about exclusivity in the contract.’

‘Not my doing, Chloe. But I promise you, my intentions were only ever good.’ Another moment of silence before he asked quietly, ‘Do you honestly believe I’m capable of plotting to destroy your grandfather’s theatre? Don’t forget, I knew him. He was a local hero.’

‘Warren, last year, when I told you our relationship had run its course, you wouldn’t accept it. You kept turning up at my apartment, and phoning me and sending me messages. I felt under siege. I had to get away. Then, when you appeared at the theatre, using a false name, did you honestly believe I would accept it as an innocent act of support?’

He shrugged. ‘We’d both had a year to put all the other stuff behind us. I imagined you’d moved on.’

‘But, had you?’

‘Some.’ He stepped forward slightly. I could see the faint shadow of stubble on his chin. ‘Chloe, we shared nearly four years of our lives together, doing some wonderful things. Remember the Lake District? I’ve never been happier than when we were tucked up in that tent at Ambleside. It was fun, wasn’t it? Please tell me I didn’t imagine it.’

Yes. It had been fun…in the first throes of love. He’d made ham and baked bean hash on the primus stove and, as we sat eating it on a chilly hillside, we’d agreed it was the most delicious meal we’d ever eaten. I’d thought him wacky, energetic and charismatic. I’d been fascinated by his intense appreciation of life. ‘No, you didn’t imagine it,’ I whispered.

He stared at me for a moment and shook his head. Then he turned away and walked over to the window and turned back. ‘Did I love you too much?’

‘Warren, it’s not about loving me too much. It’s more about letting the person you love be the person they want to be. Performing on stage is in my blood but…you didn’t want me to do it. You flipped when I was in
Cabaret
. You even had a problem with me wearing a grass skirt in
South Pacific
, for heaven’s sake! I would never have stopped you from going hiking or canoeing…’

‘That’s hardly the same thing, is it?’

We’d been here before. Hiking wasn’t a spectator sport. You didn’t hike in your underwear…usually. ‘Warren. You wanted me to be someone else. So you didn’t love me at all.’

‘I did. I suppose I still do,’ he added quietly.

‘No, Warren. Performing on stage is where I grew up. If the part called for me to strip naked, I’d do it.’ Actually, I probably wouldn’t but I had a point to prove. ‘You’d hate that – ergo – you’d hate me.’

‘Chloe, when I saw you on
Wake-Up!
I was so proud of you. Even after all this time, I thought: that’s my girl!’

‘I’m not your girl, not now.’

‘No.’

‘Out there is a wonderful woman, who loves hiking, loves canoeing, is happy eating Chinese take-away in a howling gale on the banks of Lake Coniston. And if you get out there and find her, Warren, you probably won’t feel the need to control her or change her. You’ll love her for who she is. I’m not that woman, Warren. I’m so not that woman.’

‘Are you Duncan Thorsen’s woman?’

‘You see!’ I stood up. ‘You can’t drop it, can you? I’m not your girlfriend and yet you’re still being possessive.’

He held his hands up. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s none of my business. None of my business, at all. I should go.’

I looked at the door and back at him. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out the way you hoped.’

His eyes softened. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t trust me enough to let me help the theatre.’

‘Warren, I couldn’t drop Thorsen Leisure, we were already too involved – the theatre, that is – not me and Duncan.’

He nodded, and tilted his head. ‘I really do hope things work out for you, Chloe. You’re special.’

For a moment I wondered if he might kiss me. I was even a little frightened I might kiss him back. Instead, he gave me a flat smile, pulled open the door and walked out.

I watched as he got into his car and leaned his head on the steering wheel. Moments later, he sat up, combed a hand through his hair and turned on the ignition. Only when the tail lights disappeared down the road, did I step forward and lock the theatre door. Then, as every muscle relaxed, I slumped to the floor and let out a massive groan of relief.

We had a meeting with our bank manager. Mum carried a sheaf of papers, which we hoped might support our case for a stay of execution on the bank loan. The manager looked like a boy scout in a designer suit but spoke like a car mechanic, prefacing most of his sentences with sharp sucking of air through teeth. ‘The bottom line, Mrs Steele, I…the decision has been made at head office level.’

‘I’m sure it has,’ Mum replied. ‘However it’s my understanding that your role as manager of this bank, our manager, is to do your utmost for us, the customer. And we’re making representations to you, today, to prove just how close we are to raising the funds required to settle the debt.’

‘Well, of course, I can take these particulars, summarise them and draft a report for head office but, at the end of the day, the debt remains unpaid. And if head office still sees fit to continue with the repossession, then I’m sure you’ll understand that my hands are tied.’

‘If we pay some of it off, will that help?’

Sucking, ‘Ooh, how much did you have in mind?’

We had already agreed we could manage on Mum’s salary, so long as my motoring expenses could be claimed against the theatre project. So we offered the bulk of my salary in monthly payments, along with a lump sum of three thousand pounds, which was all Mum could lay her hands on.

‘We have a PR company working on their contacts to get Mum some voice-over work…’

‘Does that pay well?’

Mum fixed him with a look. ‘I can probably get two hundred an hour, maybe more.’

He looked impressed. What she didn’t say was that commercial voice-overs usually only took an hour to record, so it was hardly our financial ship coming in.

‘We have a property in France to sell, but it’s not on the market yet,’ I added.

He brightened. ‘Ah, excellent. What’s the property worth?’

We looked at each other. Mum answered. ‘We believe it would pay off half the debt.’

‘Are those particulars here?’ He asked, leafing through the papers.

‘No, as I said, it’s not on the market yet.’

‘And Thorsen TV is giving me a spot in their next season of Business Angel. We’re setting up a theatre challenge.’ I went on to explain. ‘Like Anneka Rice.’

‘Oh,’ he said, brightening even more. ‘When does the new season start?’

‘September.’

His eyebrows dropped. ‘Well, you’ve certainly given me more to take to head office. Although, I must warn you, it’s not a done deal. We can’t overlook the fact that even if you pay off the loan, the theatre requires a much greater investment to render it safe, doesn’t it? I recall you mentioning figures approaching one million? And I believe there’s already an enforced closure notice served, so you won’t be able to use the theatre for any fund-raising.’ He paused for a huge vacuuming of air. He shook his head more vigorously. ‘I really can’t make any promises.’ He gave us a look loaded with condescension.

Mum stood. ‘Well, I’m sure we can rely on your best endeavours to fight our corner, Matthew,’ she said, offering her hand to shake.

‘Indeed,’ he said, taking it whilst remaining seated. ‘It’ll be my pleasure.’

‘How soon will we hear back from you?’ I asked.

Suck. ‘A week, maybe ten days. There’s a lot to process.’

‘Of course.’

Finally, he stood to show us out and, as the door closed behind us, Mum and I muttered, ‘Pompous Ass!’ and ‘Prat!’ respectively, before heading down to the river to share an ice cream.

Within the week, Matthew Connolly informed us, by phone, that head office had turned down our plea. ‘I will, of course, be confirming this to you, in writing, but I thought it only right to express my regret to you, personally. I’m very sorry, but I do hope you understand.’

The development company, VPW, had a fat offer sitting on the table, which meant that as soon as the repossession hearing was complete, there would be a big, thick wedge of dosh in the bank’s hands. Clearly, Matthew’s fingers were itching to snatch it up – so long as he didn’t inhale it first.

Depending on when the repossession hearing took place, there might only be weeks till the theatre was a pile of rubble.

Mum looked across at me. ‘So that’s it then.’

‘And it’s Grandee’s birthday today.’

‘Lordy, so it is.’

‘We should celebrate. Even if the theatre goes, Grandee left us a wonderful legacy in so many other ways.’

‘You’re absolutely right. Call Beth, tell her to bring Tom round and a bottle of wine. They can stay here the night.’

‘I’ve a better idea. Let’s tell her to meet us at the theatre. We can get a taxi home.’

We were singing at the tops of our voices, high-kicking across the stage, as the soundtrack to
A Chorus Line
came to a climactic and satisfying end. It was almost midnight and Tom was fast asleep on some cushions in the corner.

After taking a bow to the imaginary audience, we settled back around the remains of our picnic – two bottles of supermarket Cava, some hummus, taramasalata, guacamole, pitta bread and olives. A small, supermarket birthday cake with five candles – one for each of us, one for Tom and one for Grandee – was half-eaten.

‘D’you think, maybe, we should put the spotlight off, now?’ Mum asked, wiping her brow with a maroon paper napkin and leaving a streak of maroon dye on her forehead.

‘S’abit hot, innit?’ Beth slurred.

I lay back on the stage. ‘Let’s just bask in it. Soak it up. It’ll be gone soon.’

The other two lay back as well. We were breathing heavily from dancing so enthusiastically. The back of my eyelids were deep red from the spotlight shining on them. ‘I can picture Grandee, now, striding across this stage, giving Barnworth his you-know-who in the Scottish play.’

‘Macbeth,’ my sister intoned.

‘Don’t say that!’

‘What’s the point? It’s over for this place anyway.’

The red of my eyelids flickered and darkened. ‘What the…?!’ I opened my eyes and stared into the darkness at the back of the auditorium. The main spotlight was out. ‘Owen…is that you?’

We were all still for a moment, listening to the silence.

Beth leaned up on one elbow and gazed at the same place. ‘That’s so cool,’ she whispered.

‘Owen?’

Mum sat up. ‘Owen doesn’t have keys and we locked ourselves in.’

All three of us, lit only by lights at the side of the stage, were staring into the darkness.

I began, ‘Do you…I mean…is it possible?’

‘Darling, I’d like to think so, wouldn’t you?’

Beth leaned over to scoop up an olive. ‘It could just be the lamp conking out.’

I looked across at the others, and smiled. ‘I’ve got goosebumps.’

‘It is rather spectacular, isn’t it?’ Mum replied.

Beth selected another olive. ‘Maybe we should get one of those TV mediums in. A bit of publicity at the eleventh hour might do the trick.’

I shook my head. ‘It won’t bring enough cash in to save the theatre. In any case, everyone will think we made it up. Plus, there’s credibility; what medium wouldn’t know the story of the theatre and Grandee?’ At that moment, the stage was flooded with light again, making us jump. I shrugged, ‘See, it was probably just faulty wiring.’

Beth sat cross-legged, reeling a little from the Cava. ‘Grandee, you old trickster. Do something else.’

Nothing.

‘See,’ I said, ‘dodgy wiring.’

‘Shame. It’s the kind of thing he would do. Just like those spooky stories he always told us at Christmas.’

Mum groaned. ‘He drove me mad because you two were so spooked, you had to sleep with the light on for days. He would insist on telling them by candlelight, in front of the fire.’

‘And always in his deep, rumbling voice.’

There was a silence as we all remembered.

‘Once, when I was off school with flu,’ I began, ‘I watched
Tahitian Paradise
on DVD with him, and he wrapped us both up in my duvet and kept pausing the film to tell me stories about the actors and what they got up to when they weren’t filming.’

‘I dare say he exaggerated,’ said Mum.

‘He particularly relished the one about Michael Manson and his unfortunate incident with a fishing hook.’

Mum laughed. ‘That’s because Michael succeeded with Irena Volkoff, where Grandee failed. He rather hoped the fishing hook might have permanently put paid to Michael’s shenanigans.’

Beth raised her glass. ‘Grandee! You’re a legend. We salute you!’

We reached for our glasses, too. And as the spotlight flickered, dimmed and brightened, our glistening eyes found each others’ and we smiled knowingly.