Chapter 28
Bridie stood outside, staring at the door. Their excited chatter had died down to a whisper in anticipation as everyone waited for her to unlock it.
Bridie stared at the door and shivered slightly.
It wasn’t from cold, even though it was chilly.
She knew it was something else – the local rumour that the theatre was haunted.
She felt foolish for suddenly feeling apprehensive because of an imaginary ghost. Still, what came to mind was the actress who had disappeared during a production there, never to be seen again, and the rumour that she’d fallen, or jumped, into the sea.
She glanced at the gossip girls. Mabel and Marjorie were each armed with a pair of rubber gloves which they had just snapped dramatically over their wrists.
They didn’t look apprehensive one bit about the thought of stepping into the theatre.
In fact, they looked raring to go, the enthusiasm catching and at the same time comforting.
Bridie knew that there was nothing inside the theatre to be afraid of – apart from the memories that had come flooding back when she’d seen Jack.
Had she made the wrong decision all those years ago, giving up her teenage love to pursue her dream of working on the London stage?
Bridie decided she was only thinking that because things had gone wrong and she was back wondering what her life would be like now if she’d never left.
Would she be living a comfortable life with Jack, married with children?
Marjorie had clearly noticed Bridie staring. Bridie saw that she had a large flask under one arm. Mabel said, ‘We brought a big flask of tea in case the coffee machine doesn’t work.’
Hannah piped up, ‘Good plan. Electricity might not work.’
‘We’re going to find out soon enough,’ said Marjorie.
Bridie put all thoughts of Jack, and what might have been, to one side. As her grandad always said, there was no use crying over spilt milk. And besides, would she really have been happy with Jack, if it had meant giving up the other great love of her life – the theatre?
Bridie stopped ruminating on the past and cast her gaze around the people gathered at the theatre entrance. ‘You didn’t have to do this,’ Bridie said to them all.
‘Yes, we did,’ they all said in unison.
Hannah touched her arm, and said, ‘Remember, it takes a village …’
Bridie could feel tears welling up in her eyes. She wasn’t used to this – people helping her, believing in her.
Marjorie said, ‘We’re not just here to clean. We thought we’d all come with you for moral support.’
Bridie tried not to cry. ‘This is … a lot of moral support.’
‘You’ll need it,’ Oliver muttered, surveying the seafront theatre. ‘I’ve passed it countless times over the years, but I’ve never stopped to really look.’
Bridie sighed. ‘It’s pretty grim, isn’t it?’
Still, the sight of them – this mismatched, well-meaning group – gave her comfort. She was glad she wasn’t visiting the theatre for the first time alone after all.
The walk along the front was short, but her stomach had churned the entire way.
The few times she’d been inside the old theatre, she’d been a teenager.
The first time, she’d peered in through cracked glass imagining velvet curtains and applause, before she and her two friends had gained entry.
Then when the theatre had reopened briefly, some time later, it had been done up a bit, but Bridie imagined in the intervening years since it had closed down again, it would have deteriorated.
Now she was coming back as its … owner? Beneficiary?
Accidental custodian? She still wasn’t sure why she’d been given the place.
It looked even more defeated than she remembered – its paint blistered, the sign hanging by a single rusted screw. The wind coming in off the sea made the door rattle softly, like something inside was pacing.
‘Well,’ Reggie said, leaning on a broom handle, ‘shall we storm the castle?’
The key in Bridie’s hand was heavy, old brass, the kind that fitted into locks built before anyone had invented modern security. She felt everyone watching as she slid it into the keyhole. It turned reluctantly with a long, metallic groan.
The smell hit first.
Damp. Mould. Old things quietly rotting.
She pushed the door open with difficulty, looking into the gloom.
Although it was dark outside, the seafront was well-lit by street-lamps, and there were lights on in the windows of the homes and holiday lets along the promenade.
She realised too late that she’d forgotten to bring something with her.
‘Has anybody brought a torch?’ She turned to find everyone standing there holding up their mobile phones.
‘Oh, of course.’ Bridie covered her face from the glare, feeling quite foolish. She got out her phone and switched on the light too.
A couple of people who were passing by, walking their dogs along the promenade, stopped to look at them. Bridie raised her eyebrows. She wanted her companions to get inside before they attracted any more attention.
She pushed the door harder. Then Oliver and Joss took over and put their shoulders to the door, giving it a shove.
They discovered they’d been pushing against a mountain of flyers, local papers, and some sweet wrappers.
There was even a discarded chippie paper from the local chippie; Bridie recognised the logo – a blue fish on the paper bag.
Someone had posted it through the door as if the theatre was a rubbish bin.
‘I’ll sweep this lot up to start with,’ said Reggie, getting out a roll of black bin liners he’d brought with him.
‘No – wait! I want to see what they all are, in case there’s a letter addressed to the previous owner.’
Reggie looked at her. ‘Of course.’ He slapped his forehead. ‘I like your thinking. Let’s sort through it first.’
But nobody did a thing immediately. All eyes were staring around the foyer.
Dust drifted through the beams of mobile phone torches as if the place had been holding its breath for years.
Torn posters peeled on the walls. The red, patterned carpet squelched slightly beneath their feet.
Never a good sign, thought Bridie. The old-fashioned counter where there had once been rows of sweets and crisps, drinks, and a popcorn dispenser, were empty apart from a solitary discarded crisp packet – a brand that had been discontinued years earlier.
A gust of wind blew the pile of flyers and old newspapers around the foyer.
‘Someone shut that door!’ Reggie said.
‘It’s stuck!’ Joss was already trying to close the door.
Bridie sighed. ‘Leave it ajar. I don’t think anybody will notice. And besides, it could do with a bit of fresh air in here.’ The place smelt musty – and old.
Further inside, through double doors that led into the auditorium, rows of old velvet red seats sagged. Water had leaked through the roof, staining the ceiling in ominous brown blooms.
‘Bloody hell,’ Joss whispered appreciatively. ‘I can just imagine this theatre was quite something in its heyday.’
Imagine was right, thought Bridie. She swallowed. ‘It’s a bit worse than I thought.’
‘A bit?’ Thea said, looking at an usherette tray that would once have been brought out in the intermission stocked with ice-cream tubs, snacks and drinks for theatregoers. It was now full of nothing but dust and cobwebs.
For a moment they all stood there, silent, shining their phone torches around the theatre. Even Mabel and Marjorie, who rarely stopped talking long enough to breathe, were silent.
Then Bridie spotted a light switch near the door. On impulse, she reached over and flicked the switch.
The lights flickered, buzzed, groaned – and then, miraculously, came on. She had not expected that.
A cheer erupted, echoing off the water-damaged walls.
‘That,’ Oliver said, ‘is the most surprising thing I’ve seen all week.’
They all put their mobile phones back in their pockets and handbags.
Bridie let out a shaky laugh. Electricity. A good omen. A start.
The moment of optimism didn’t last long, though.
The state of the building stared back at them from every direction – damp, decay, neglect.
Years earlier, when they’d staged the school play in her final year of high school, it hadn’t seemed that bad, but in the intervening years since it had closed down again, the worst had happened – water had penetrated the roof and had caused quite some damage.
She’d expected a challenge, but this felt like a mountain. A big, mouldy mountain.
Hannah slid an arm around her shoulders. ‘We’ll figure out what to do.’
Bridie nodded, but panic curled in her chest. How? She didn’t know how to fix a leaking roof or restore a stage or – god help her – produce a play.
Before she could spiral, Mabel marched past her with a mop and bucket. She set it down. ‘Well,’ she declared, clapping her hands, ‘we’re not here to admire the mess.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Marjorie said. ‘I’ve never seen so much dust in one place. It’s practically an achievement.’
Mabel ignored her. ‘Rubbish first. Clear it, then we can take stock.’ She clicked her fingers at Reggie. ‘Why don’t you hand out the black bin liners, and we can all get cracking.’
Reggie unfurled the bin liners and did just that. Everybody took one and started picking up rubbish and debris strewn on and under the chairs, and up and down the aisles.
Everybody except Bridie. Despite the sisters’ encouragement, she stood rooted to the spot.
She realised that she, Oliver and Jack probably weren’t the only ones who’d done some urban exploring, venturing into this abandoned theatre.
The rubbish attested to that. And worse still, there was graffiti on the walls.
Reggie sidled up to Bridie. ‘Come on, pet. If we tidy up, and get rid of all the rubbish, it will be a start.’
But the start of what? Bridie raised her eyes to the ceiling. Were they going to climb up there and fix the roof next?