“This could put us on the map,” I said to Langford, sensing the tourism angle might be the way to win them round. “How many seaside towns have got their own music venue inside a lighthouse? Cragport could have something nowhere else in the country – the world, maybe – has got.”
I thought that was a pretty strong argument, but if Langford was impressed he didn’t show it. He was sneering again, not bothering to hide it now. “Right. And this madcap plan you concocted over, what, a couple of beers in the pub is something you think the two of you, with next to no experience, can pull off?”
In the pub … shit, he only bloody knew, didn’t he? We should have realised the ever-restless town tongue-waggers would’ve been at work. Well, that was it then. He’d clearly made up his mind against us. Unless we could win round the other grave, silent men at the table, it looked like it was game, set and fucked to Councillor Langford.
Alex had been trying to catch my eye all the time we’d been talking, and so far I’d done pretty well ignoring him. I’d spent a week mentally preparing myself for seeing him, knowing full well I needed to stay calm and professional if we were to have any shot at the funding. But he finally managed to arrest my gaze, flashing me a warm smile before he turned to face his chairman.
“Sorry, Arthur, I have to take issue with you. I think you’re being rather harsh.” Alex patted the paperwork in front of him. “No matter where the idea came from, Bobbie and Ross have come to us with a solid, well-researched plan. That alone should deserve applause from us rather than censure, whatever our ultimate decision.” He caught my eye again, but I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead. If he thought that little intervention was enough to earn him a place in my good books, he could think again.
“I agree,” another man joined in. “I think this music venue idea is capital, something the whole community can benefit from. Vital as it is to our economy, I’ve long argued this council needs to think less about tourism and more about the people resident here all year round.”
“They already have a sizeable grant from the Coastal Heritage Fund,” Alex said. “If that body were willing to put their faith in this project, I see no reason we shouldn’t be.”
There was a rhubarb-rhubarb murmur around the table, but whether it represented assent or disagreement I couldn’t tell.
“Questions from the council at the end, gentlemen,” Langford said, not taking his eyes off me and Ross.
“My granddaughter’s in a band, they’re very good,” the second councillor went on, ignoring his chairman and speaking directly to us. “This sounds like it could be just the thing for her. She’s always saying how hard it is to find anywhere to practise.”
Alex nodded. “Very true, Bill. I’m sure lots of young people would benefit from somewhere to rehearse without disturbing people. It’s about time the council started encouraging creativity instead of punishing it.”
“Questions at the end,” Langford repeated firmly, turning to frown at Alex. “Due process, please, Councillor. Keep to your agenda.”
“Yes. Sorry, Arthur.” Alex looked down at his papers, but I saw him flash me a smile as the chairman gave his attention back to us.
“I repeat,” Langford said. “What makes the two of you believe you can pull off this little scheme?”
Ross glared at him. “We’re perfectly capable, thank you, Arthur – er, Councillor. We’ve got drive, energy and incentive: the rest of it we’ll learn as we go. Anyway, it seems to me you don’t have much of an alternative, do you?”
“There is one alternative, one your uncle always stubbornly refused to countenance,” Langford said, his mouth twisting into an unpleasant half-smile. “You could sell the lighthouse to us. The two of you would get a tidy payout each and the lighthouse would get the future it deserves.”
“Future? What future?”
“A visitor centre, like lighthouses the country over. Pay a pound to see the view from the top, get a sandwich and a cuppa in a little tearoom at the bottom. It’s a relic and it ought to be preserved, not filled with feral adolescents doing God knows what damage.”
Ross looked angry now. “It bloody well isn’t a relic. It deserves better than that. It’s …” He paused.
“It should be alive,” I chimed in. “Not just a pretty thing to be kept in bubblewrap. It was someone’s home, once. It’s saved lives –”
Langford scoffed. “You’re too sentimental, my dear. It’s a building, not a pet. A historic building, which should be admired as just that. Not used as a –” he paused, fumbling for the word – “a damn … speakeasy.”
“Performance space.” I crossed my arms. “And you can’t just buy us off. We won’t sell and that’s that.” I turned to Ross. “Will we?”
Ross crossed his arms too. “Abso-bloody-lutely we won’t. If Uncle Charlie wouldn’t sell to these people, there’s no way I’m going to.”
Langford smiled, a nasty ear-to-ear Grinch smirk, as he prepared to play his trump card. “We thought you might say that.” He paused. “£70,000.”
“You must be…” I trailed off. “Wait, what?”
“£70,000. That’s the figure this council has agreed upon as a fair offer. Not the full value, of course, but a neat little sum each, and far more straightforward than trying to sell on the private market with the lighthouse in its current state. Plus you’d have the pleasure of knowing you’ve done your civic duty by returning it to the town – finally.” He shot a loaded look Ross’s way. “One nod and the pair of you walk away with £35,000 each to do as you like with. No one in this room will think any less of you, I assure you.”
I turned to Ross. “It’s a lot of money,” I muttered in a low voice.
“It is, isn’t it?” he muttered back. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Yep.”
“Can I do it?”
“Be my guest.”
“If the two of you would like to take a moment to discuss it –” the chairman began.
“No thanks, we’ve said all we need.” Ross glared at Langford. “So. If you’re willing to put up that kind of public money, that tells us you can easily afford the 60 grand we’re asking for, can’t you?”
“That’s not really how the funding works –” Langford said, but Ross cut him off.
“We’re not stupid, Councillor. We thought you might have some sort of offer for us, and we can see it for what it is: desperation. Well, listen carefully.” Ross leaned forward, enunciating his next five words with great deliberation. “We’re not going to sell. Not to you, not to anyone, not under any circumstances. And you know you can’t force us to, not legally. I’m not an old man you can harass with dodgy threats to sue.”
“And if we up our offer?”
“Sorry, Arthur.” Ross shot him a wry smile. “No deal.”
Langford narrowed his watery eyes, mask cracking to reveal some real anger simmering below the sternly calm surface. He was evidently a man used to getting his way.
“Fine. I had hoped you might be persuaded to put the town first, but clearly not. And please be aware, Mr Mason, that this council does not respond well to being held to ransom.” He turned to face his colleagues. “Now then, gentlemen. Any questions for these two –” he hesitated a fraction of a beat – “people before we vote?”
The other councillors’ questions were far more reasonable than any Langford had asked us. Alex asked about our Coastal Heritage grant and our other ally, Bill, made some helpful suggestions on potential funding