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Gabriel chafed every day about his own situation, but he knew that his family had always been there for him and had his best interests at heart, even if his father was a control freak who couldn’t move on from the past. Georgygirl’s story had made him appreciate that for the first time in a long while.
Maybe, he typed back carefully, this is his way of apologising. Even if it is from the grave.
More like trying to buy his way into my good books? Apart from the fact that I can’t be bought, he’s left it way too late. He let my mum struggle when she was really vulnerable. This feels like thirty pieces of silver. Accepting the bequest means I accept what he—and my grandmother—did. And I *don’t*. At all.
He could understand that.
Is your grandmother still alive? Maybe you could go and see her. Explain how you feel. And maybe she can apologise on his behalf as well as her own.
I don’t know. But, even if she is alive, I can’t see her apologising. What kind of mother chucks her pregnant daughter into the street, Clarence? OK, so they were angry and hurt and shocked at the time—I can understand that. But my mum didn’t know that my dad was married or she would never have dated him, much less anything else. And they’ve had twenty-nine years to get over it. As far as I know, they’ve never so much as seen a photo of me, let alone cuddled me as a baby or sent me a single birthday card.
And that had to hurt, being rejected by your family when they didn’t even know you.
It’s their loss, he typed. But maybe they didn’t know how to get in touch with your mother.
Surely all you have to do is look up someone in the electoral roll, or even use a private detective if you can’t be bothered to do it yourself?
That’s not what I meant, Georgy. It’s not the finding her that would’ve been hard—it’s breaking the ice and knowing what to say. Sometimes pride gets in the way.
Ironic, because he knew he was guilty of that, too. Not knowing how to challenge his father—because how could you challenge someone when you were always in the wrong?
Maybe. But why leave the property to *me* and not to my mum? It doesn’t make sense.
Pride again? Gabriel suggested. And maybe he thought it would be easier to approach you.
From the grave?
Could be Y-chromosome logic?
That earned him a smiley face.
Georgy, you really need to talk to your mum about it.
I would. Except her phone is switched to voicemail.
Shame.
I know this is crazy, she added, but you were the one I really wanted to talk to about this. You see things so clearly.
It was the first genuine compliment he’d had in a long time—and it was one he really appreciated.
Thank you. Glad I can be here for you. That’s what friends are for.
And they were friends. Even though they’d never met, he felt their relationship was more real and more honest than the ones in his real-life world—where ironically he couldn’t be his real self.
I’m sorry for whining.
You’re not whining. You’ve just been left something by the last person you expected to leave you anything. Of course you’re going to wonder why. And if it is an apology, you’re right that it’s too little, too late. He should’ve patched up the row years ago and been proud of your mum for raising a bright daughter who’s also a decent human being.
Careful, Clarence, she warned. I might not be able to get through the door of the coffee shop when I leave, my head’s so swollen.
Coffee shop? Even though he knew it was ridiculous—this wasn’t the only coffee shop in Surrey Quays, and he had no idea where she worked so she could be anywhere in London right now—Gabriel found himself pausing and glancing round the room, just in case she was there.
But everyone in the room was either sitting in a group, chatting animatedly, or looked like a businessman catching up with admin work.
There was always the chance that Georgygirl was a man, but he didn’t think so. He didn’t think she was a bored, middle-aged housewife posing as a younger woman, either. And she’d just let slip that her newly pregnant mother had been thrown out twenty-nine years ago, which would make her around twenty-eight. His own age.
I might not be able to get through the door of the coffee shop, my head’s so swollen.
Ha. This was the teasing, quick-witted Georgygirl that had attracted him in the first place. He smiled.
We need deflationary measures, then. OK. You need a haircut and your roots are showing. And there’s a massive spot on your nose. It’s like the red spot on Mars. You can see it from outer space.
Jupiter’s the one with the red spot, she corrected. But I get the point. Head now normal size. Thank you.
Good.
And he just bet she knew he’d deliberately mixed up his planets. He paused.
Seriously, though—maybe you could sell the property and split the money with your mum.
It still feels like thirty pieces of silver. I was thinking about giving her all of it. Except I’ll have to persuade her because she’ll say he left it to me.
Or maybe it isn’t an apology—maybe it’s a rescue.
Rescue? How do you work that out? she asked.
You hate your job.
She’d told him that a while back—and, being in a similar situation, he’d sympathised.
If you split the money from selling the property with your mum, would it be enough to tide you over for a six-month sabbatical? That might give you enough time and space to find out what you really want to do. OK, so your grandfather wasn’t there when your mum needed him—but right now it looks to me as if he’s given you something that you need at exactly the right time. A chance for independence, even if it’s only for a little while.
I never thought of it like that. You could be right.
It is what it is. You could always look at it as a belated apology, which is better than none at all. He wasn’t there when he should’ve been, but he’s come good now.
Hmm. It isn’t residential property he left me.
It’s a business?
Yes. And it hasn’t been in operation for a while.
A run-down business, then. Which would take money and time to get it back in working order—the building might need work, and the stock or the fixtures might be well out of date. So he’d been right in the first place and the bequest had come with strings.
Could you get the business back up and running?
Though it would help if he knew what kind of business it actually was. But asking would be breaking the terms of their friendship—because then she’d be sharing personal details.
In theory, I could. Though I don’t have any experience in the service or entertainment industry.
He did. He’d grown up in it.
That’s my area, he said.
He was taking a tiny risk, telling her something personal—but she had no reason to connect Clarence with Hunter Hotels.
My advice, for what it’s worth—an MBA and working for a very successful hotel chain, though he could hardly tell her that without her working out exactly who he was—is that staff are the key. Look at what your competitors are doing and offer your clients something different. Keep a close eye on your costs and income, and get advice from a business start-up specialist. Apply for all the grants you can.
It was solid advice. And Nicole knew that Clarence would be the perfect person to brainstorm ideas with, if she decided to keep the Electric Palace. She was half tempted to tell him everything—but then they’d be sharing details of their real and professional lives, which was against their agreement. He’d already told her too much by letting it slip that he worked in the service or entertainment industry. And she’d as good as told him her age. This was getting risky; it wasn’t part of their agreement. Time to back off and change the subject.
Thank you, she typed. But enough about me. You said you’d had a bad day. What happened?
A pointless row. It’s just one of those days when I feel like walking out and sending off my CV to half a dozen recruitment agencies. Except it’s the family business and I know it’s my duty to stay.
Because he was still trying to make up for the big mistake he’d made when he was a teenager? He’d told her the bare details one night, how he was the disgraced son in the family, and that he was never sure he’d ever be able to change their perception of him.
Clarence, maybe you need to talk to your dad or whoever runs the show in your family business about the situation and say it’s time for you all to move on. You’re not the same person now as you were when you were younger. Everyone makes mistakes—and you can’t spend the rest of your life making up for it. That’s not reasonable.
Maybe.
Clarence must feel as trapped as she did, Nicole thought. Feeling that there was no way out. He’d helped her think outside the box and see her grandfather’s bequest another way: that it could be her escape route. Maybe she could do the same for him.
Could you recruit someone to replace you?
There was a long silence, and Nicole thought maybe she’d gone too far.
Nice idea, Georgy, but it’s not going to happen.
OK. What about changing your role in the business instead? Could you take it in a different direction, one you enjoy more?
It’s certainly worth thinking about.
Which was a polite brush-off. Just as well she hadn’t given in to the urge to suggest meeting for dinner to talk about it.
Because that would’ve been stupid.
Apart from the fact that she wasn’t interested in dating anyone ever again, for all she knew Clarence could be in a serious relationship. Living with someone, engaged, even married.
Even if he wasn’t, supposing they met and she discovered that the real Clarence was nothing like the online one? Supposing they really didn’t like each other in real life? She valued his friendship too much to risk losing it. If that made her a coward, so be it.
* * *
Changing his role in the business. Taking it in a different direction. Gabriel could just imagine the expression on his father’s face if he suggested it. Shock, swiftly followed by, ‘I saved your skin, so you toe the line and do what I say.’
It wasn’t going to happen.
But he appreciated the fact that Georgygirl was trying to think about how to make his life better.
For one mad moment, he almost suggested she should bring details of the business she’d just inherited and meet him for dinner and they could brainstorm it properly. But he stopped himself. Apart from the fact that it was none of his business, supposing they met and he discovered that the real Georgygirl was nothing like the online one? Supposing they loathed each other in real life? He valued his time talking to her and he didn’t want to risk losing her friendship.
Thanks for making me feel human again, he typed.
Me? I didn’t do anything. And you gave me some really good advice.
That’s what friends are for. And you did a lot, believe me. He paused. I’d better let you go. I’m due back in the office. Talk to you later?
I’m due back at the office, too. Talk to you tonight.
Good luck. Let me know how it goes with your mum.
Will do. Let me know how it goes with your family.
Sure.
Though he had no intention of doing that.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_8b39852b-6a2f-552a-b3cf-f3536c41d679)
BY THE TIME Nicole went to the restaurant to meet her mother that evening, she had a full dossier on the Electric Palace and its history, thanks to the Surrey Quays forum website. Brian Thomas had owned the cinema since the nineteen-fifties, and it had flourished in the next couple of decades; then it had floundered with the rise of multiplex cinemas and customers demanding something more sophisticated than an old, slightly shabby picture house. One article even described the place as a ‘flea-pit’.
Then there were the photographs. It was odd, looking at pictures that people had posted from the nineteen-sixties and realising that the man behind the counter in the café was actually her grandfather, and at the time her mother would’ve been a toddler. Nicole could definitely see a resemblance to her mother in his face—and to herself. Which made the whole thing feel even more odd. This particular thread was about the history of some of the buildings in Surrey Quays, but it was turning out to be her personal history as well.
Susan hardly ever talked about her family, so Nicole didn’t have a clue. Had the Thomas family always lived in Surrey Quays? Had her mother grown up around here? If so, why hadn’t she said a word when Nicole had bought her flat, three years ago? Had Nicole spent all this time living only a couple of streets away from the grandparents who’d rejected her?
And how was Susan going to react to the news of the bequest? Would it upset her and bring back bad memories? The last thing Nicole wanted to do was to hurt her mother.
She’d just put the file back in her briefcase when Susan walked over to their table and greeted her with a kiss.
‘Hello, darling. I got here as fast as I could. Though it must be serious for you not to be at work at this time of day.’
Half-past seven. When most normal people would’ve left the office hours ago. Nicole grimaced as her mother sat down opposite her. ‘Mum. Please.’ She really wasn’t in the mood for another lecture about her working hours.
‘I know, I know. Don’t nag. But you do work too hard.’ Susan frowned. ‘What’s happened, love?’
‘You know I went to see that solicitor today?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve been left something in a will.’ Nicole blew out a breath. ‘I don’t think I can accept it.’
‘Why not?’
There was no way to say this tactfully. Even though she’d been trying out and discarding different phrases all day, she hadn’t found the right words. So all she could do was to come straight out with it. ‘Because it’s the Electric Palace.’
Understanding dawned in Susan’s expression. ‘Ah. I did wonder if that would happen.’
Her mother already knew about it? Nicole stared at her in surprise. But how?
