Widows & Orphans (24 page)

‘That's a relief. There's a limit to how often I can pack up and leave a town in disgrace.'

Linking arms, she led him out of the Centre. They drove to the library, heading straight for the Reference Section where the architectural drawings for the renovated pier were newly on display. Duncan edged through the room to inspect the intricate floor plans, elevations and cross sections, with the seemingly innocuous labels: Revue Bar; Museum; Cinema 1. Turning to the crowd, he spotted Glynis and Bill Kingswood looking like the agents for a defeated parliamentary candidate; Ken Newbold holding an ominously empty glass; Vivien Pilling taking a rare evening off from her café; and Henry Grainger in animated conversation with his Methodist counterpart. Conspicuous at the centre was a trio of Weedons: Frances, exuding her unique brand of sprayed-on glamour, talking to a dumpy woman in a sari; Geoffrey subtly deferring to two sober-suited businessmen, whose very anonymity gave cause for alarm; and Derek showing a large polystyrene model of the proposed reconstruction to Ralph Welch.

Scenting conspiracy, he sought out the one Weedon he could trust. ‘Is Ralph Welch your bank manager?' he asked.

‘I've no idea,' Linda said, bristling at the brusque greeting. ‘I bank on line.' She turned to Ellen with whom, to Duncan's surprise, she was now on kissing terms.

‘You weren't sure you'd find a sitter,' Ellen said.

‘My long-suffering mum. I had no choice. It's Derek's big night.'

‘Not to mention Geoffrey's,' Duncan said.

‘Try not to pick a fight with him, Duncan, please.'

‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention.' Lorna Redwood's voice sputtered over the microphone, accompanied by a loud whistle. ‘If you'll take your seats, we're ready to start.'

‘Catch you later,' Linda said, as she moved to join Derek.
Eschewing his usual choice of a middle-row seat, Duncan escorted Ellen to the front, where they sat opposite the Weedons like feuding in-laws at a wedding.

‘To anyone who doesn't know me,' Lorna said smugly, ‘I'm Lorna Redwood, Chair of the Council's Leisure and Recreation Committee.' This triggered a lone cheer from one of the librarians, of which she feigned disapproval. ‘I'm delighted to have been asked to chair this meeting, but I must stress that I'm here in a purely private capacity. While the Council has been eager to seek the widest possible consultation on a matter of such intense public interest, it has no power to impose one, and, indeed, it has played no part in organising this evening's event. Now without further ado let me pass you over to Geoffrey Weedon.'

There was a smattering of applause dragged out by Derek, while Frances kept her hands in her lap as if they had just been manicured. Geoffrey stepped up to the microphone and Duncan took some satisfaction from seeing that, for all his success, he still felt the need for a comb-over.

‘Thank you all for coming. It's great to have such a large turnout. As Lorna said, we're under no obligation to hold this meeting, but at Weedon's we've always believed in transparency. So whatever you may have heard, this is no PR stunt. The designs aren't set in stone. Miss Nisbett and her team have kindly agreed to display them here for the next four weeks. There are message boxes sited throughout the room.' Derek stood up and pointed them out as if they were emergency exits. ‘Yes, thank you,' Geoffrey said, visibly irked by the interruption. ‘So please do have your say. I guarantee that every comment will be taken into account before we submit our final plans to the Council.

‘As you know, a lot of water has flowed under the bridge – or should that be on to the beach?' – he paused for a laugh that was not forthcoming – ‘since the pier was closed in 2008. The FPT has fought hard to maintain it as a public amenity and I
commend their efforts, but it was never a viable proposition. Like other outmoded Francombe institutions, the structure needs a complete overhaul.' Duncan could not decide whether Geoffrey was looking directly at him or merely in his direction. ‘Our feasibility study proves that it's impossible to retain the pier as an all-purpose family recreation complex. Quite apart from the enormous costs involved – at a conservative estimate, around £50,000,000 – where are the families we'd have to attract? I'll tell you where: sitting in front of their home entertainment systems, eating takeaway pizzas, watching satellite TV, playing video games and listening to iPods. They don't want variety shows, fruit machines, winter gardens or tea rooms. The old-fashioned family pier is as obsolete as the old-fashioned family.

‘The FPT has described the pier as a community asset. But the world has moved on and it's our kids who are leading the way. They don't have communities; they have networks. Their friends are as likely to live in New York or Sydney as in the next street. Far from being an asset, the pier is a liability: a white elephant – or should that be a beached whale?' Once again he paused to no avail. ‘So do we leave it to rot: a blot on the landscape and a drain on the public purse? Or do we think outside the box? Do we find our USP and transform it into Britain's first X-rated pier?' He allowed time for the collective gasp. ‘Think about it! Seaside resorts have always been a bit edgy – a bit risqué. Look at Donald McGill postcards and What the Butler Saw machines. We're just taking it a stage further. So we'll replace the ghost train with a love train and the variety shows with erotic revues. We'll sell latex and lingerie instead of rock and toffee apples. We'll put a tantric therapist in the fortune teller's booth, pole dancers in the fun fair and a sex museum in the Winter Garden. We'll have strip shows, adult cinemas and naked volleyball – remember, we're the ones who brought women wrestlers to Francombe. We'll cater for stag and hen nights, swingers, and the respectable
end of the fetish market. We'll sell Kiss Me Quick hats that mean what they say. You don't need me to tell you that Francombe needs a facelift.' Duncan sneaked a glance at Frances, whose smile was as stiff as her skin. ‘With the carpet factory closed, there's no more light industry. Our fishermen are drowning in EU regulations. The only thriving tourist facilities are the caravan parks, and how much income do they generate for the town? At last we'll give people a reason to come here. And they won't just be day trippers. With our late-night entertainment, they'll be wanting to stay. No wonder the Chamber of Commerce and the Hoteliers Association are backing us every step of the way. I'm counting on all of you to do the same.' Duncan raised his hand. ‘Well, maybe not all of you,' Geoffrey said with a thin smile. ‘I'd hoped that even our most diehard opponents would take a moment to reflect. But at least have the courtesy to hold fire until Archana Nayar has shown us her drawings … You'll know Archana by reputation,' he said, neatly wrong-footing the ignorant. ‘Not least for her prize-winning contribution to the 2012 Olympic Park. We're honoured to have her on board.'

Acknowledging the applause, Archana stepped on to the dais, and Duncan understood why Frances had been so attentive to a woman whose dowdiness would otherwise have dismayed her. After thanking Geoffrey for his generous tribute and insisting that it was she who felt honoured to be associated with such an innovative and exciting project, Archana asked for the lights to be dimmed (which in practice meant switching off the fluorescent bar nearest the screen). Then, in a deft display of computer graphics, she led the audience on a virtual tour of the remodelled pier, explaining the various shaded areas as clinically as an oncologist.

‘It's easy to be sentimental about the pier,' she said. ‘Contrary to popular belief, it's only the steel frame that dates back a hundred and forty years. Everything else has been rebuilt, often several times: the Moorish pavilion (which some might
regard as a relic of cultural imperialism) after the fire of 1954; the Winter Garden after the roof collapsed in the early Seventies; the bandstand after the great storm of 1987. Even the decking was completely refurbished in the mid 1990s. So please, let's hear no more about the architectural integrity. What about environmental integrity? Throughout the design process, I've been at pains to integrate the pier with its surroundings so that for the first time it will both enhance the vista from the bay and reflect the existing seafront. Thank you.' She returned to her seat amid warm applause. ‘One thing I forgot to mention,' she added from the floor. ‘The entire site will be disabled-friendly.'

‘Haven't they suffered enough?' Duncan whispered to Ellen, who shushed him. ‘Seriously, does it just mean ramps and extra-wide doorways or will there be special cars on the love train and booths in the erotic revue bar? How about lower nets on the volleyball court?' he added, warming to his theme. ‘Or would that be the disreputable end of fetishism?'

‘They're watching us!' Ellen hissed.

Duncan looked at the stony faces of Geoffrey Weedon and Lorna Redwood as the latter announced that she was opening the floor to questions. ‘Duncan Neville from the
Mercury
,' he said, shooting up his hand.

‘I'm sure you need no introduction, Mr Neville,' Lorna said, admitting him to that select band of luminaries in which she had recently placed herself.

‘Thank you. Can you tell us if the Council knew about these proposals when it agreed to sell the pier to the developers?'

‘For the last time,' Lorna said with a sigh, ‘I'm not here tonight to speak on behalf of the Council. The proposals will go before the Planning Committee, which will rule on them in due course.'

‘Why, when everyone knows it's already a done deal?'

‘If you'll allow me, Madam Chairman,' Geoffrey said, rising to his feet. ‘I've emphasised the economic benefits of
the development, but many experts see our regeneration of the pier as an end in itself. I have here a letter from the National Piers Society endorsing the project. Even the Victorian Society has given us its blessing now that we're committed to retaining the original frame. I'm happy to pass both letters on to Mr Neville and expect that, in the best tradition of independent journalism, he'll print them in full.'

Duncan sat tight-lipped, trusting that other objectors would fare better. He was reassured by the first name that Lorna called.

‘Dr Kingswood.'

‘May I ask if Mr Weedon appreciates the weight of opposition to his cultural vandalism?' Glynis said.

‘Of course our plans won't be to everyone's liking, any more than they would if we rebuilt the pavilion as a hotel or a casino. Just because those who oppose the scheme make a lot of noise doesn't mean there aren't hundreds – thousands – who support it. I'm a great believer in the silent majority.'

‘Shouldn't that be the apathetic majority?' Glynis asked.

‘If you say so. Personally, I have more respect for my fellow townspeople,' Geoffrey replied to a murmur of approval that in other circumstances Duncan would have echoed.

‘But why the pier?' the Methodist minister asked. ‘Build your pornographic theme park if you must, but build it somewhere without such a rich history.'

‘First, let me assure Your Reverence that it won't be in any way pornographic. All the attractions will be strictly policed and no one under eighteen will be admitted. Second, it's precisely because of its history that I've taken on the project. I grew up with the pier and I want to preserve it.' His eyes narrowed. ‘Isn't it odd that the people who make the most fuss about Francombe's decline are the first to cry foul at anyone who tries to reverse it? They call themselves conservationists; I call them dinosaurs … well, I call them something else, but not in public. Just because they choose to live in the past, do
they have to drag the rest of us back with them? I don't want to personalise the debate but it's no secret that the opposition to this scheme – along with almost everything else I've done for Francombe – has been orchestrated by the
Mercury
.' Feeling Ellen tense beside him, Duncan clasped her hand. ‘It didn't take a genius to realise that the old arguments would resurface tonight so I've done a little digging and you might be interested in what I've found. How many of you know that the very facilities Mr Neville is now so anxious to restore were once bitterly attacked by his paper? In the 1920s the
Mercury
denounced the owners of the pavilion when they proposed to turn it from a concert venue into a dance hall. In the Seventies it was back on its high horse when the new owners – or maybe they were the same? I don't know – turned it into a roller-skating rink. And in the 1980s it waged a war of words when, in a final transformation, the rink became a disco. This is from one of its leading articles: “Has any engineer studied the effect on the pier's foundations of hundreds of young people leaping into the air to the beat of the latest
popular music
hit?” And, yes, ladies and gentlemen, popular music is in italics.'

‘That was written by the previous editor,' Duncan interjected.

‘Who was, of course, your father. Three cheers for nepotism!' Duncan felt Ellen's fingers digging into his palm. ‘I've been painted as a johnny-come-lately, an opportunist out for all he can get and, frankly, I resent it. I love this town. True, Francombe has been good to me, but I like to think I've been good to it in return.'

‘Hear hear!' a voice shouted from the back of the room.

‘Now I want to do more. This development is the biggest opportunity to come our way since the building of the railway in the 1860s. Do we grab it and make Francombe proud again, or do we let it slip and condemn ourselves to terminal decay? It's your call. Are you with me?' His appeal prompted a surge
of ‘yeses' and a solitary ‘no', which Duncan took to be a misunderstanding rather than genuine dissent.

Geoffrey sat down, and Duncan knew that he was beaten. The nepotism jibe had stripped him of even the dignity of defeat. As the applause swelled around him, Geoffrey signalled to a young man crouching at the edge of the dais, who flicked a switch, flooding the model pier with hundreds of minuscule lights.