Starlight on the Palace Pier: The very best kind of romance for the Christmas season in 2018. Tracy Corbett
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      ‘Yeah, well done,’ Jodi said in a sarcastic tone. ‘Just as well you didn’t quit.’

      Becca poked her tongue out at her cousin. ‘So what do you suggest? It’s not like I can fast-track through years of teacher training ahead of next week’s class, is it?’

      ‘No, but you can do other things.’ Jodi followed her into the bedroom, leaving her mum wringing out her wet sleeve. ‘There’s heaps off stuff on the internet. You’re bound to find videos on teaching and people-management. You just need to dig deep and persevere.’

      Becca flopped onto the bed. ‘You make it sound so easy.’

      Jodi glared at her. ‘Did you seriously just say that to me?’

      Becca propped herself up on her elbows. ‘Sorry, you’re right. I’m a crap cousin.’

      ‘You are, but you’re forgiven.’ Jodi sat down next to her. ‘Nothing will be as bad as the first lesson.’

      She raised an eyebrow. ‘You think?’

      Jodi’s expression turned ponderous. ‘It’s a bit like sex. You can read about it, watch other people doing it, study the mechanics of it, but nothing prepares you for the real thing. The first time is always a bit of a disaster.’

      Becca laughed. ‘I can’t believe you’re comparing teaching to fu—’

      ‘Oi! I can hear you,’ her mum called from the en suite.

      ‘Sorry!’ Becca pulled a face at her cousin.

      Jodi grinned. ‘As I was saying, you need to muddle through as best you can. Next time will be better. You just need to practise, like you do with—’

      ‘I’m still here!’

      ‘—learning to play the piano,’ Jodi said, making Becca laugh. ‘Keep at it. And then once you’re feeling more confident, we can look at ways to increase attendance. Maybe design an advertising strategy.’

      ‘Very corporate.’

      Jodi swiped her with a pillow. ‘Don’t take the piss.’

      Becca squealed when Jodi poked her in the ribs. ‘I’m not.’

      ‘You are. I worked bloody hard for my degree.’

      Becca grabbed a second pillow. ‘I know you did. You were a model student. I bow down to your superiority… Ow, stop it!’

      ‘Then stop being sarcastic. As the new business manager at the playhouse, I want none of this quitting nonsense, okay?’ Another blow dislodged one of Becca’s bunches. ‘You need to listen to someone with the necessary skillset in business management.’

      Becca retaliated, swiping at her cousin with the pillow. ‘Know-it-all-knickers.’

      Jodi threw the pillow, but Becca ducked and it connected with her mum as she walked out of the en suite. ‘Oops! Sorry, Aunty Ruby.’

      They were subjected to ‘the stare’. It was a look they’d experienced many times during their teens. It was usually followed by a grounding.

      Becca hid behind her cousin. ‘You’ve done it now. Mummykins isn’t happy.’

      Jodi nicked Becca’s pillow and resumed hitting her. ‘Arse-lick.’

      Becca fell back onto the bed laughing, relieved when she saw her mum laughing too.

       Chapter Seven

       Tuesday 19th September

      Tom buttoned up his three-piece suit and straightened his wig and gown ready for the first hearing of the day. Wearing a double-breasted jacket was a requirement of all barristers when appearing in the Crown Court. If you turned up wearing a single-breasted, or heaven forbid, you weren’t wearing a waistcoat, then you’d be strung up by the judge and sent packing from the courtroom. He’d learnt that the hard way.

      His client today was a twenty-five-year-old man charged with affray. Together with seven of his mates, his client had got completely pissed whilst out on a stag do and managed to get into a massive fight with another group of lads also celebrating their forthcoming nuptials. Their fiancées must be so proud. Unfortunately the fight was caught on CCTV, so there was little Tom could do in terms of mounting a defence.

      Cases involving alcohol never sat well with him. It was too close to home. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d been contacted by the police to inform him that his mother had been found wandering down the road inebriated and was currently sleeping it off in a cell. He’d jump in his car, race down to Brighton and assure the desk sergeant that it wouldn’t happen again. But of course, it would. His mother’s reaction to waking up in a police cell varied from mortification and tearful apologies, to angry insults and accusations. ‘I have it under control,’ or ‘You never want me to enjoy myself,’ were common. ‘It’s your fault I’m this way,’ stung the most.

      He knew that shifting the blame, manipulating loved ones and becoming abusive were all part of the illness, but it didn’t make it any less painful. The idea that one day her behaviour might result in her appearing in front of a judge made him sick to his stomach.

      But the upside of today’s case was that it was being heard at Snaresbrook, one of his favourite courts. It was situated in the borough of Redbridge and was a beautifully ornate building with wonderful gardens and even a lake. Inside it was like Hogwarts, with its magnificent staircases, impressive turrets and mysterious locked doors. It was a showcase for how a Grade Two listed building could look if money wasn’t an issue. Next to Snaresbrook, the Starlight Playhouse looked like a rundown brothel.

      He’d just left the Robing Room when he heard his name being called.

      At first, he didn’t recognise the voice. Why would he? He hadn’t spoken to his father for several years. It was only when he turned and saw Harvey Elliot walking towards him that his brain made the connection. His initial instinct was to run, but that wouldn’t be overly mature, and besides, his feet wouldn’t cooperate.

      ‘When I saw your name listed today, I hoped we’d bump into each other,’ his father said on reaching him. ‘Good to see you, son.’ He held out his hand.

      Tom stared down at his father’s outstretched hand, wondering if someone had transported him to a parallel universe – one where they weren’t estranged and his father hadn’t walked out on his mother eight years earlier. Tom’s gaze lifted to his father’s face, visibly older than when he’d last seen him, his hair and moustache silver-grey, his eyes surrounded by wrinkles and framed by thick-rimmed glasses with bizarre purple-tint lenses.

      His father was a Silk. Queen’s Counsel to use its proper title. Their gowns were made of silk – hence the name, and they were considered the heavyweight boxers of the criminal justice system. They strutted and postured in court like sprinters before a hundred-metre final, acting as though they were intellectually superior to everyone else in the room.

      His father’s attitude СКАЧАТЬ