The Club (4 page)

‘Cool,’ Vibes said, putting his stuff down. ‘Never remember it off the top of my head, though, so you’ll have to give me a minute to find my phone.’ Searching through his pockets then, he frowned. ‘Damn! Don’t tell me I lost it again.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Fabian jumped in quickly. ‘I’ll have to take Jenna up to the office to show her the books anyway, so I’ll give it to her from the file. You can get off now, if you’re done,’ he said then, giving Vibes a pointed look. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

Giving him a knowing half-smile, Vibes shared a brief conspiratorial look with Jenna which conveyed his question:
Are you all right with that?
and her answer:
Don’t worry, I can handle him.

‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ he said, picking up his things. ‘Nice meeting you, Jenna.’

‘You, too. I’ll give you a ring within the week.’

‘Much appreciated.’ Nodding goodbye, Vibes opened the door and left.

Relaxing now that the competition for Jenna’s attention was gone, Fabian downed what was left of his drink and put the glass in the small sink. Then, waving her through the opening in the counter, he said, ‘Shall we?’

Jenna hadn’t intended to stay long, but she decided that she might as well get this over with now rather than have to arrange to come back and meet Fabian at another time. He had the air of a man who was used to women falling all over themselves to get to him, and – handsome as he undoubtedly was – she found that kind of arrogant presumption incredibly off-putting.

Unlocking a door marked
Private
, which led to the upper floor where the offices, staff bathroom and boardroom were located, Fabian led her to an office part-way along the first-floor corridor.

‘This was your dad’s,’ he told her, unlocking the door and reaching in to switch the light on. ‘Sorry about the mess, but we thought we’d best leave it alone for the time being. He was in the middle of having an en-suite bathroom built into the cupboard space, you see, but they hadn’t quite finished when he died.’

Stepping in, Jenna gazed around in dismay. Fabian was right about the mess, but it wasn’t the builders’ debris that bothered her, it was the personal stuff. Just like at the house, there were dirty clothes, newspapers, and empty whisky bottles all over the place.

‘Was he sleeping here?’ she asked, frowning when she noticed the sleeping bag and pillow spread out on the small leather couch.

‘He’d started to over the last couple of months,’ Fabian replied, shrugging as he added, ‘I guess he just got too tired to bother going home towards the end. But he figured he had everything he needed close at hand, so he was fine with it.’

Jenna felt the guilt that was already eating away at her intensify. How could she have let her dad come to this? He must have been feeling really ill, but he’d never said a word. All those times she’d phoned him, crying over Jason and ranting about her petty little troubles, he’d never once told her to shut up, or pointed out that there were worse things that could happen – like losing the will to go home to your own bed at night.

Seeing the distress in her eyes, Fabian gave her a reassuring pat on the arm, telling her gently, ‘If it’s any consolation, I was keeping an eye on him. And I know it looks bad, but, honestly, he was doing okay, so don’t upset yourself.’

Sighing, Jenna nodded. ‘Thanks.’

‘No problem.’ Smiling, Fabian edged past her into the room and did a quick clean-up – tossing the guilt-inducing sleeping bag and pillow out of sight down the side of the couch and sweeping the mess of coffee cartons and sandwich wrappers off the coffee table into a plastic bag.

Walking behind the desk, Jenna sat down on her dad’s battered old leather chair – where, the solicitor had told her, he’d been found the morning after he died. Running her hands over the scuffed arms, she gazed around the room, trying to envisage what he’d been looking at when it happened. The builders’ mess to the left, or his own mess to the right, perhaps? Or maybe the framed black and white print on the opposite wall of an old tramp on a park bench, wearing a filthy old coat and a huge toothless smile as he waved his bottle of cider in the air. Had he been thinking about work, she wondered. Or reminiscing about his life, and the family he had all but lost. Or maybe he had simply fallen asleep and slipped away with his dreams.

Jerked back to the here and now when Fabian took several folders out of the filing cabinet and dropped them onto the desk, Jenna sat up straighter and tried to focus her attention as, for the next hour, he talked her through the paper-life of the club. But the more she heard, the more concerned she became, because it seemed that her dad had died owing thousands.

‘The drinks suppliers are by far the biggest creditors,’ Fabian told her. ‘But I’ve put them in the picture about the situation and they’ve agreed to hang fire until we know where we’re at.’

‘What about these?’ Jenna asked, reaching for the letters that her father had obviously been ignoring because he hadn’t even opened them. They were from the electricity company, the water board and BT, all threatening imminent disconnection and legal action to recover the debts.

‘I have spoken to them, but you should probably think about sorting them out quickly to save having everything cut off and having to pay reconnection fees,’ Fabian said. ‘Everything else is in order, and the staff are paid to date,’ he went on, adding, ‘but we shouldn’t leave them hanging too long, because some of them have already found new jobs, and it might not be so easy to tempt them to come back once they get settled.’

‘Come back?’ Jenna gazed at him, a deep frown creasing her brow. ‘For what?’

‘When we reopen,’ Fabian said, jumping in at the deep end. However she responded, at least he’d know where he stood.

‘I’m not sure it’s even worth considering,’ Jenna murmured, clasping her hands together. ‘It would cost an absolute fortune to fix it up. And if most of the staff have already gone, what’s the point?’

‘I know it’s a lot to take in, but it looks far worse than it actually is,’ Fabian said. ‘We went through a bit of a rough patch, but it’s been getting better, and we’ve seen a massive upturn in customer numbers since we got the new DJs in. Particularly Vibes,’ he added truthfully – much as it pained him to compliment the man. ‘Fiddy and Marky Day are good, but Vibes is the best in Manchester, without a doubt. And that’s half the battle won, because people don’t go to clubs for the quality of the booze or the look of the place – they go to see their favourite DJs.’

‘And he’s that good?’ Jenna asked doubtfully, sure that Fabian was just doing a hard sell because he wanted her to keep the club on.

‘The best,’ he affirmed. ‘You’d have to see him in action to believe it. And it’s not just women who love him, the other DJs pop in if they get a chance on their nights off to see what he’s playing – and that doesn’t happen unless they’re really hot. Believe me, the guy is solid
gold
.’

Smiling at his description, Jenna said, ‘Well, I’m sure you’re right, but I can’t see him being the answer to this mess.’

‘He’s a definite part of the solution,’ Fabian countered bluntly. ‘With a bit of effort, we could take this place to the top.’

‘With respect,’ Jenna said, ‘I think it’s going to take a damn sight more than that.
I
wouldn’t go out of my way to come here – not when there are so many
decent
clubs in town to choose from. It looks disgusting from the outside, and it’s absolutely horrible inside.’

‘Your dad loved it,’ Fabian persisted. ‘And, all right, so, he let it slip a bit cosmetically, but there’s a real soul to the place.’

‘It’s a dive,’ Jenna cut in. ‘My dad hasn’t changed a single thing since he bought it.’

‘Because he loved it exactly as it was,’ Fabian pointed out. ‘But it’s yours now, so you can do whatever you like with it. Imagine it . . .’ he went on, getting into his stride now. ‘You get the builders and decorators in to revamp the interior, then you get the outside cleaned up, have a new door and sign fitted, and –
voilà
! It looks amazing, and everybody wants in.’

Sighing, because she was getting tired now, Jenna held up her hands to stop him. ‘Look, I appreciate the advice, but I just can’t see it, to be honest. I was considering selling up before I came here today, and now I’ve seen the state of it I really think that’s the best bet.’

Peering at her across the desk, Fabian shrugged. ‘It’s your decision ultimately. But if you don’t mind a bit more advice, I’d really think about it before you jump into putting it onto the market just yet, or you might end up losing out
big
time.’

‘I’ve already thought about that,’ Jenna told him. ‘And I reckon I should get a fair price just for the location.’

Shaking his head slowly, Fabian said, ‘I don’t think you understand what I’m getting at. It’s a given that the club’s in dire need of modernisation, but you’ve got no idea what kind of shape it’s in below the surface. A potential buyer would contract a surveyor to do a thorough inspection, and if they concluded that it’s in as bad shape structurally as it is cosmetically, they’d have no option but to report it to the relevant authorities – and you might find yourself slapped with a condemnation order. If
that
happened, not only would you not be allowed to sell, you’d have to pay for the repairs – or, worse, demolition, which would be a
major
expense. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?’

‘Bloody hell!’ Jenna gasped. ‘Could that really happen?’

‘I’ve seen it happen to places in better shape than this,’ Fabian replied. Shrugging then, he said, ‘Your choice, but I know what I’d do if it was me. I’d keep it on and bring it up to scratch, then open up and see how it went for a year or so. And if I still didn’t want it at the end of that,
then
I’d think about selling, because it would be worth far more by then.’

Shaking her head, Jenna slumped despairingly down in her seat. There was an undeniable logic to what he’d said, but she just didn’t want to move back to Manchester permanently. She’d only been toying with the idea because of the guilt factor, but if she did as Fabian was advising, she’d have no choice but to come back.

‘Look, why don’t you take some time to think it over?’ Fabian suggested, seeing that she was becoming bogged down with it. ‘It’s still going to be here tomorrow, isn’t it?’

‘I suppose so,’ Jenna agreed, sighing heavily.

Her dad had obviously thought he was doing a wonderful thing by her but, by
God
, she wished he hadn’t bothered!

‘Out of interest,’ she said, reaching for her bag, ‘can I ask why you closed down before you knew what I was going to do? Surely the staff would have been better off if you’d stayed open until I’d got here, and there’d have still been money coming in to pay off those debts.’

‘I couldn’t,’ Fabian told her. ‘Your dad held the licence, so it would have been illegal to sell alcohol or provide entertainment. I could have applied for a temporary change of DPS, but the solicitor was away and his secretary wouldn’t give me your number so I couldn’t get hold of you to get your authorisation.’

‘What’s a DPS?’

‘Designated Premises Supervisor,’ Fabian explained. ‘
You
could apply for it now, if you wanted to. Or, if you didn’t want the hassle, you could okay it for
me
to do it. It is a bit of a ball-ache, though,’ he said then – seeming, Jenna thought, to be trying to persuade her to do the latter. ‘The police do a thorough background check on you, for convictions and what-have-you. And then the licensing panel demand all sorts of references and credit checks and stuff. But I don’t mind putting myself through it if you can’t face it.’

‘I have nothing to hide from the police,’ Jenna told him, smiling as she stood up. ‘Anyway, thanks for your help, I really appreciate it.’

‘Any time,’ Fabian said. ‘And if you need to talk before I see you again, feel free to give me a ring.’ Reaching for a notepad, he jotted two numbers down and handed them to her. ‘Home and mobile – you’ll always catch me on one or the other. Day
or
night,’ he added with a slow half-smile. ‘I’m a very light sleeper.’

Thanking him, Jenna slipped the numbers into her bag. Then, remembering that she’d promised to ring Vibes, she located his number in the staff file and wrote it down.

‘Right, then,’ she said when she’d done. ‘I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve made a decision. And in the meantime, I’ll sort out those bills.’

‘Good idea,’ Fabian said, getting up to open the door.

Walking her down to the front door then, he let her out and waved her off, calling, ‘See you soon – I hope.’

Arriving back at her dad’s house a short time later, Jenna groaned when she saw the
For Sale
sign in the garden. The estate agent had been round earlier that morning to do a valuation, but she hadn’t expected him to come back so soon. It felt like she was being rushed from all sides: Claudia rushing her to sell up; Fabian rushing her into making a decision on the club; and now the estate agent rushing her out of house and home.

Not that she
wanted
the house, because it held far too many painful memories for her to ever be truly comfortable there. But if she was going to be forced into staying around she’d need somewhere to sleep at night, and if the house went as quickly as the estate agent had predicted she’d find herself shelling out for hotels before she knew it – and that was an expense she definitely didn’t need right now.

Making herself a coffee, she carried it through to the lounge and sat down. Kicking off her shoes, she reached for the phone and dialled the solicitor’s number, hoping to sound him out about the stuff she’d discussed with Fabian. Getting no answer, she called Ruth Wolff instead.

Ruth was the only person she could think of who had known her dad for longer than she herself had. Almost seventy years old, she was still as sharp as a butcher’s knife. She was also one of the most honest, no-nonsense people Jenna had ever met and, having been married to a solicitor for so long, she would have much more of an idea about the legal aspects of this situation than Jenna.