Page 37 of A Summer Scandal

‘Okay,’ she said, once they were all settled with a drink in hand. ‘Thanks for coming, everyone, I wanted us to all get together tonight to meet each other properly. Firstly, I want to thank you all for having faith in me and the pier project, especially given that we’ve come up against some resistance from certain factions in Swallow Beach.’

She paused for breath, not glancing at Cal when she alluded to his mother’s campaign. It was showing no signs of abating; just that morning the local magazine had landed on her mat with a picture of Mayoress Gladys on the front and an outraged quote from the double-page spread. Violet had read it with a sinking heart. Gladys shared her fears for the morals of the impressionable youth of Swallow Beach if the salacious nature of the pier went unchallenged, and she felt it her civic duty to protect her subjects – or something to that effect.

‘I want to assure you all that I’ve made sure all of the boxes are ticked and all of the legal hoops have been jumped through where the pier is concerned,’ Violet continued. ‘It’s insured and good to open as soon as you’re ready. I’m going to set my workshop up tomorrow, and as of Thursday I’ll be there full-time. I’ll make sure the pier is unlocked by seven thirty, and we can talk about times to lock up when everyone’s in and got more of an idea. I only live over the road so it’s no trouble for me to come over and lock up late on if needs be. I want it to be really flexible and kind of fun, you know?’

Beau raised his glass and the others followed suit. ‘To Swallow Beach Pier,’ he said. ‘I for one can’t wait. Let’s work hard and play harder, people.’

Vi laughed, clinking her glass. She appreciated Beau’s American zest for life. She’d met him only briefly the day before at the pier, but she already knew he was a perfect fit for the pier. He exuded a calm, chilled-out vibe, as if no problem was going to be insurmountable, or no council sticky beak enough to derail things.

Each of them spoke a little about their plans, and it became clear that Beau and Cal often worked together to produce bespoke items for adult clubs both in the UK and internationally. Clear pride ran through their words as they spoke; they were businessmen, and rightly unembarrassed by the nature of the goods they produced. Lucy was next up, pulling her portfolio from her bag to hand around.

‘Everyone in there is happy for their pictures to be in my workbook,’ she added, because some of the photographs were pretty sensual, and some of the women weren’t wearing all that much.

‘It’s not especially about making women look sexy, although they invariably do,’ she said. ‘I do what I do to empower women, to encourage them to feel fabulous in their own skin, regardless of size or shape. It’s about being confident and bold and not letting anyone tell you who you are or how to be.’

When she spoke about her work, Lucy lit up, full of grit and determination. It was impossible not to see the fire in her eyes, and Violet found herself wondering what fuelled Lucy’s fire. All she knew about the other woman was that she was a single mum with a teenage son at the local high school, and she lived in the next town along the coast to Swallow Beach. For now that was enough, but she was keen to know more.

‘Maybe you could sit for me some time,’ Lucy said, looking from Keris to Violet and back again. ‘Get a true feel for how I work.’

Violet’s automatic response was to say no, but then she found herself wonderingwhy not? And glancing across the table at Cal, she found his eyes on her, looking at her in a way that made her skin start to tingle. Was he imagining her posing in her undies like the women in Lucy’s portfolio? Or in his shirt, as it looked like in one of the shots?

‘And you, Keris?’ Violet said, turning to her friend to change the subject. ‘How are your plans for the shop looking?’ She knew the answer to the question already, because she and Keris had talked at length about the proposed layout and the website design.

‘Good,’ Keris said, topping up their wine glasses. ‘Being across the front of the building means the shop space is big enough to display a couple of Beau’s bigger pieces, and I’ve picked up a gorgeous vintage glass-topped display case for Cal’s things.’ She grinned. ‘I think it was originally from a sweet shop.’

‘Very fitting,’ Cal laughed.

Vi let the conversation wash over her, feeling more and more sure that she was doing the right thing with the pier. She wasn’t quite sure how it had all come together so quickly, she was just glad to have these people around her. Safety in numbers.

In bed that evening, she allowed herself to read a few more pages of her grandmother’s diary, further into the early weeks of the year. It had been a punishing winter in Swallow Beach, and Della had been unwell so had missed the first week of school. Monica said that she was secretly glad to have her little girl at home for a few extra days, and described how they’d baked animal-shaped biscuits and iced them messily; bright pink flamingos and blue and yellow parrots.

The entries were both beautiful and difficult to read; everyday recollections rendered heartbreaking because Violet knew that her grandmother wouldn’t live to see another Christmas in Swallow Beach. Those were possibly the last biscuits she baked with her daughter, the last snowfall she saw, the last new bottle of nail varnish chosen. Violet read the words slowly, feeling closer to Monica with every sentence.

Then, towards the end of January, an entry caused Violet to pause, chilled without really understanding why. All it said was:Met T again today. I know it’s wrong.

Reading the scant entry over for a second time, Violet shut the diary hurriedly. She shouldn’t be reading this. Who was T? Not her Grandpa Henry, that much was for sure. She flicked the lights out and slept fitfully, and although she couldn’t remember her dreams, she woke with a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, as if trouble lurked just around the corner.

By five o’clock on Thursday afternoon, Violet had transformed her empty workroom at the pier into a light-flooded studio. Beau and Cal had stepped up to the plate to help her move the heavier things, most notably the beast of a sewing machine, which now stood on a sturdy table that had been left behind when the pier was closed up for the last time in 1978. Lola the go-go dancer had also made the journey across from the Lido, and now stood in the far corner, a headless siren in red and gold feathers luring sailors in. All of her materials, feathers and threads had been sorted into a large shelving unit with baskets across the back wall – it was, in short, perfect. Vi stood in the centre, her hand resting on top of the sewing machine, and let a great whoosh of air leave her lungs. She wasn’t going to worry about who T was any more. It was history, and not hers to discover or attempt to understand. Who was she to judge?

Wandering from her room, she went to see how everyone else was getting on with their own studios.

‘Lucy?’ She tapped and waited to be invited in, even though she knew that Lucy didn’t have anyone in there yet. Like Melvin and Linda, Lucy was officially opening her studio on the pier after she’d served her month’s notice at her old rental. It was kind of nice actually, it meant they could have a soft launch rather than hit Swallow Beach with an all-singing, all-dancing pier.

She knew a handful of residents had grumbled that the pier’s new use wasn’t more of a community project; an amusement arcade, say, or a mainstream shopping arcade. She took their point, but also she felt strongly that there was nothing shameful in what any of them did and she was happy for anyone who wanted to to come and have a look around. At least this way the pier would be open again. People would be free to wander along the boardwalk, to sit on the ornate metal benches set into the sidings, to enjoy the sea. She’d done that exact thing herself for a few minutes every day since she’d arrived here; just sat and looked out towards the horizon, a cup of coffee in her hand. Maybe she could do that; have a coffee machine put just inside the entrance to the birdcage, one of those fancy self-serve ones that offered a million different ways to enjoy your brew. That might work, and it would certainly go some way towards appeasing the locals.

‘Come in,’ Lucy called, shaking Violet from her daydreams.

Pushing the door open, Violet stepped inside and looked around approvingly.

‘I like what you’ve done with the place,’ she said, as if looking at someone’s new home rather than workspace. But then Lucy’s studio did look quite homely, with a big red velvet chaise begging to be draped over with a good book, and a table and chairs too.

‘Props,’ Lucy said. ‘And somewhere for Charlie to do his homework when he comes by.’

Charlie, Lucy’s fourteen-year-old son, had been by a couple of times since Lucy had signed the lease, and on both occasions Violet had been struck by the tight bond between mother and son.

‘You’re not worried for his moral well-being if he spends time here?’ Violet smiled, and Lucy laughed lightly.

‘Fourteen-year-old boys today know more than most adults,’ she said drily. ‘Besides, Charlie’s got his head screwed on. He’s had to have really, being just us for the last ten years.’

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