Luckily we’d done our homework and I didn’t think we did a bad job answering. Once Ross had been through our plans – the balconies and speakers we wanted to install, the workshops and open-mic nights for under-21s he was planning, all with his trademark energy and enthusiasm – I could see some of the stern expressions beginning to thaw.
“Right, are we done?” Langford asked the others when we’d answered all the questions. There was a hum of assent.
“In that case, would the two of you leave the room please?” he said to us.
“What?” Ross looked suspicious. “Why?”
“The council will need to discuss your case privately and take a vote on the allocation of funds.” He managed a joyless, tight-lipped smile. “All above board, I assure you, Mr Mason; it’s how these things are always done. We’ll call you back in when we’ve reached a decision.”
“Er, right. Ok.” Ross moved hesitantly to the door, me following. Before going out, he turned to face the council again. “Look… just quickly, before we go. You’ve got your bits of paper there with the details of what we want to do, and I’m sure you know your jobs. But I can promise you, there’s no one in this room the lighthouse means more to than me and Bobbie. And we won’t sell, not at any price – but we will work, hard, to make this thing happen. So if you want to get your precious lighthouse back to its glory days then it seems to me you’ve got no choice. You can allocate the funds or you can watch it rot. Your call, gentlemen.”
And with that parting shot, he left the room.
“Oooh. That was bloody good,” I breathed when we got back to reception, looking up at Ross admiringly. “Langford was all like, ‘It’s our lighthouse, mwahahaha! Sell it or you won’t get a penny, mwahahahahaha!’ and you were all like, ‘It’s my way or the highway so you can all go swivel, you bunch of knobs. BAM!’” I punched the air enthusiastically.
“That is literally exactly what I said.”
“Well, how’d it go?” the friendly receptionist asked when we’d wandered over to throw ourselves into a couple of the high-backed green Chesterfields in the waiting area.
“Awful,” I groaned.
“Arthur Langford?”
“Yeah. God, what a nightmare.” I shook my head. “You poor woman.”
“He doesn’t scare me. I’ve worked here long enough to know he’s all bluster and no trousers.” She flung me a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. The others’ll let him talk just to test your mettle, but he won’t influence them if they think he’s being unfair. As long as you made a strong case they’ll be on your side.”
I turned to Ross, who was leaning on his palms looking worried. “Did we make a strong case?”
“Dunno. I can’t remember a word except me telling them all to fuck off at the end there.” He groaned faintly, pushing his fingers into his hair.
“You didn’t tell them to fuck off. You said something super manly and dignified, like ‘so go suck on them apples, gentlemen’, then flounced out. It was proper sexy.”
“Oh. Great. As long as me buggering everything up for us turns you on.”
The receptionist jumped as the pager on her desk buzzed. “That was quick. They’ve got a decision for you already.”
“Is that a good sign?” I asked.
She hesitated. “Well… it can be. In you go, guys.”
***
“Thank you both for waiting,” Councillor Langford said, his tone suggesting we could’ve been out in reception weeks for his money. “The council has reached a decision.”
He paused, and at first I thought it was another ploy, the carefully timed hesitation to intimidate us. Then I examined his face and I knew: it wasn’t a power-play, not this time. Behind the stern frown, he actually looked glum. And I could see Alex, smiling slightly under his blonde mop as he tried to catch my eye…
Langford sighed and looked down at his notepad. “The vote came in at 18 in favour, two against. You’ve got the lot.”
My body vibrated with excitement. Sixty grand, we’d really got it! It was actually happening. The lighthouse project was actually, properly happening.
“Arghh! That was brilliant!” I said to Ross outside the town hall, giving his arm an enthusiastic squeeze. “God… I suppose it didn’t feel real until today. Hey, we can go ahead and book that clean-up company now.”
“Yeah, guess so.”
I frowned at his dismal expression. “Aren’t you excited? This is your dream, Ross.”
“I know.” He summoned a smile. “It went really well, didn’t it? Can’t believe we turned it round. I thought Langford had us shafted for a minute.”
But he sounded like his heart wasn’t really in his gloating.
“You sure you’re ok?” I asked. “Thought I’d have a job to stop you streaking through town playing a vuvuzela after that.”
“Just tired, that’s all. I am excited, promise. Didn’t mean to kill the mood.”
I shot a concerned glance at his baggy eyes. He did look drained. And I’d felt him flinch when I squeezed his arm, as if he was on edge.
“You’re burning yourself out,” I said gently. “You need to take a break, Ross. How about you come for a drink with me? We can swear off lighthouse talk for the afternoon and relax.”
“Hmm. Dunno, socialising with you’s always a dangerous business,” Ross said, his mouth twitching. “God knows what public building I’d wake up with.”
I laughed. “Well, I promise not to buy the Scout hut or anything. So you want to?”
He sighed. “Sounds fun, but I can’t. Work to do. Sorry.”
“Still on that big design contract?”
“Yeah, putting in a lot of hours. I can’t really afford to turn jobs down at the moment, to be honest. Money’s been a bit tight the last few months, paying my rent here and the mortgage on mine and Claire’s old flat. I thought it’d get snapped up once we put it on the market but the place seems to be taking forever to sell.”
And he’d just turned down a no-strings offer of £35,000, plus his half of the 20 grand sitting in our emergency fund. The project really must mean a lot to him.
“Then let me do more on the lighthouse,” I said.
“Would you have time?”
“I’ll make time. It’s the long summer break coming up anyway, then I’ll have two months off work to give to it.”
Ross smiled. “Always look out for me, don’t you?”
“That’s what partners are for.” I patted his shoulder. “Go on, get yourself home so you can finish your work and grab an early night. I’ll see you at the pub next week.”
“Ok. Cheers, Bobbie, you’re a good mate.” He chucked me under the chin by way of a goodbye and headed back to his car.
It was a glorious May day and the air was heavy with the seaside smells that always meant home to me: cigarettes and shellfish, saltwater and sweet things. And vinegar, always vinegar. In spite of the spirit-dampening conversation I’d just had with Ross, my heart lifted. It was a Punch-and-Judy world, but it was mine.
I inhaled appreciatively, hugging myself. It was too nice to sit indoors after nearly