Chapter 49
Oliver and Bridie were already halfway along the promenade when Jack realised that Bridie hadn’t locked up the theatre.
‘Bridie!’ he called after them. ‘What about locking up the theatre?’
If they heard him at all, neither turned around. The wind had picked up, whipping in hard from the sea, the waves crashing violently against the shingle below. The evening had drawn in fast, the sky bruised and threatening, the lamps along the promenade casting long, distorted shadows.
They disappeared into the darkness.
Jack stood there for a moment, hands on his hips, irritation prickling beneath something colder.
He didn’t have the spare key Bridie had given him to use while he oversaw the renovations.
If someone really was still inside the theatre, if someone had been tampering with the electrics, then leaving it unsecured was madness.
And if he didn’t find out who it was, he couldn’t prove he’d had nothing to do with it.
He exhaled sharply and turned back. ‘I’ll deal with it,’ he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. The trouble was, he didn’t have his phone. He’d carelessly tossed it on the desk in his study. All he had was the small torch attached to his keyring – a weak beam, but better than nothing.
He stepped inside, swept the torch around the foyer and stopped short. Someone had been busy. Very busy.
The little shop area was stocked, neatly, thoughtfully, with sweets, crisps, popcorn. A drinks machine stood quietly in the corner, offering tea, coffee, hot chocolate. Jack frowned, genuinely taken aback. None of that had been there when he’d last been in.
He moved into the auditorium. The beam of light slid across rows of seats, up the walls, over the balcony. The place was immaculate. The dust sheets were gone. The paint pots, brushes, mops, buckets – everything was cleared away. The air even smelled clean.
On the stage, painted scenery glowed faintly in the torchlight – detailed, imaginative, alive with colour. Whoever had done this knew what they were doing.
Jack felt a reluctant flicker of admiration.
Then he heard something. A sound. Soft. Indistinct.
‘Hello?’ he called.
Nothing.
He wasn’t surprised. If someone had been sabotaging the place, they weren’t going to announce themselves now.
He made his way backstage, his footsteps echoing unnervingly. He knew exactly where the fuse box was – he’d overseen the electrical work himself. When he opened it, his jaw tightened. The switch had been deliberately pulled.
‘So, it wasn’t a power cut,’ he murmured. His electricians had done a solid job. He’d made sure of that.
He reached to flick the switch back on – then paused. If someone was still there, restoring the power would announce his presence. There was another explanation, one he didn’t care to dwell on.
Jack suddenly shivered, thinking of the rumour that the theatre was haunted. He said under his breath, ‘I do not believe in ghosts,’ though his skin prickled.
Then he saw her. Or thought he did. A figure, down the hallway. A woman, pale and indistinct, appearing and vanishing in the gloom.
Jack’s breath caught. For a split second, every instinct screamed at him to bolt. Instead, he snapped the switch up.
The building flooded with light.
The corridor was empty.
No one stood there. No one moved.
But he could have sworn he’d heard a door close.
‘Hello?’ he called again, his voice tighter now. ‘I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I want to speak to you.’
He swallowed and squared his shoulders. ‘I do not believe in ghosts,’ he told himself and started down the corridor.
He opened door after door, shining his torch into rooms where he couldn’t immediately find switches; prop rooms thick with dust, costume racks draped in sheets, empty changing rooms marked His and Hers.
Storage rooms untouched for years. He had booked professional cleaners to come in and clean the entire theatre, including these rooms. If they needed redecorating, then he’d send in the painters and decorators too.
Jack’s priority had been the auditorium.
But Bridie wouldn’t want him there, or his tradespeople, unless he could prove it wasn’t true – he’d had no hand in sabotaging the place.
But so far, he hadn’t seen another soul. Jack frowned. He wished he hadn’t discussed his original plans with Jade. His wife had no idea he’d changed his tune completely and had no intention of getting rid of the theatre.
Jack kept walking. He couldn’t remember where the back door stage entrance was, the one they’d sneaked into as teenagers. He imagined that whoever it was had left by now through that door.
He reached the last door, which had a single star painted on the wood. A lead dressing room. He opened it and shone his torch inside without stepping in. He was about to close it when something felt … wrong.
He pushed the door open fully and flicked the light on. Unlike every other room, this one was spotless.
Jack frowned. ‘How odd.’
He stepped inside and caught the scent immediately. ‘Is that … mint tea?’ A cup sat on the dressing table. He touched it. The cup was still warm. His eyebrows shot up.
He turned slowly and saw the curtain – heavy cotton, an old-fashioned floral print, drawn across the width of the room on an extendable pole. The curtains were drawn closed, dividing the room.
Jack crossed the room and pulled it aside. He stepped back in surprise. Behind it was a makeshift bed; a chaise longue repurposed with care – sheets, blanket, duvet neatly arranged. At the end of the bed was a bookcase crammed with novels. A lamp. An old suitcase, open, filled with clothes.
Near the end of the bed was a small table with a tablecloth, a kettle with a box of mint teabags, and a small vase with a bunch of fresh flowers. There was also a small camping stove which Jack imagined was used for the kettle.
A microwave perched on a small fridge. He opened the fridge. Every shelf was stacked with ready meals.
Jack stared at it all with the dawning realisation that someone was living there. Bridie had a squatter in her theatre – not a ghost.
A glint at his feet caught his attention. He bent and picked up a necklace, the chain delicate, the pendant swinging. It was a gold locket engraved I.R. He unclipped it. Inside were two photographs – a baby and a young man. Jack stared at the second image. ‘Reggie,’ he murmured.
‘You’re not a ghost at all … are you, Isobel Raine?’ A grin spread across his face. He had his answer. And his proof. He’d found the person who’d been sabotaging the theatre.
Clutching the locket, Jack ran. Out of the theatre, down the promenade, heart pounding, not with fear now, but with triumph. Isobel Raine wasn’t dead. She had disappeared years earlier, but she’d come back. And she’d been living there all along.
He burst into Cobblers Yard and headed straight for the art and craft shop. Then he stopped dead. Through the window, he saw them, Bridie and Oliver, sitting together on the sofa. He wasn’t surprised she’d invited him in for a cup of coffee after walking her home.
He was about to burst in when he saw Bridie get up and hold out her hand. He stepped closer, breath held.
Oliver took her hand.
They disappeared up the stairs.
‘No,” Jack whispered, his palm flattening against the glass.
His chest ached.
He remembered the locket still clutched in his fist. For a moment, he considered throwing it away, but instead he hung it carefully over the shop door handle.
Then he stepped back and saw the light flick on in Bridie’s flat upstairs.
Oliver followed Bridie up the stairs and paused at the top. ‘Bridie?’
‘I’m here,’ she said, emerging from the kitchen. ‘I was just opening this.’ She held up a large bottle of red wine. ‘Will you join me?’
‘On an empty stomach?’
‘You had a sandwich, didn’t you?’
‘I thought you were inviting me up for dinner.’
‘I’ll take that as a no, then.’ Oliver heard the pop of the wine bottle cork in the kitchen and the sound of wine being poured into a glass.
Bridie reappeared, draining the glass. ‘Wow. That hit the spot.’
‘Take it easy,’ Oliver said, watching her refill.
‘Did you just say take it easy?’ she laughed.
‘You were always the sensible one out of the three of us, weren’t you?
Always looking out for us. Such a good friend.
’ She looped her arm in his, managing to pour another glass as she guided Oliver down a short hallway, passing the lounge. They stopped at her bedroom door.
Oliver turned to her. ‘What’s going on?’
She tugged him inside, set the bottle down on the bedside table, drained another glass, put that down next to the bottle, and turned to him. ‘We’re having sex,’ she said matter-of-factly, unbuttoning her shirt. ‘It’s what you always wanted, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ he said carefully. ‘But not like this.’
‘Like what? Oh, you don’t like it here in the flat?’
‘No, not at all. It’s not your flat – it’s you.’
‘Oh,’ Bridie stopped fumbling with her buttons and looked up at him. ‘But I thought you wanted me?’
‘I do. But only if you want me, Bridie.’
‘But I do!’ She reached for the bottle again.
Oliver gently took the bottle out of her hand and reached for her blouse.
‘Good idea,’ said Bridie. ‘My fingers are not working for some reason. You undress me.’
Oliver did up the buttons on her shirt.
She laughed, ‘And I thought I was the one who was a bit tipsy – you’re going the wrong way.’
‘I don’t think so, Bridie. Why don’t you lie down?’
Bridie lay down on her bed.
‘Let me take off your shoes.’
‘All right,’ Bridie said, yawning.
He removed her shoes.
‘I don’t want to be alone tonight,’ she murmured.
And there it was – just what Oliver suspected. She was lonely, and no more so than now she’d found out the real love of her life had betrayed her. Oh, how he wanted to punch Jack’s lights out. But it wasn’t Jack’s fault that she loved him and always would.
Oliver gently covered her with the duvet and lay beside her on top of it, fully clothed. Barney appeared, paws on the bed, whimpering. They both lay there, staring up at the ceiling.
‘This is nice,’ she said before turning over onto her side.
Barney appeared, paws on the bed, whimpering to join them.
Oliver leaned over the bed and reached for the pup. Barney wormed his way between them.
Bridie and her pup fell asleep moments later.
Oliver turned off the lamp. And with it, the last fragile hope he’d been clinging to for so many years.
Outside, Jack made the mistake of looking back on his way out of the yard. He saw the lights upstairs go out. His dream of a second chance with Bridie, no matter how fantastical after all these years, shattered in an instant.