Tracy Corbett - Starlight on the Palace Pier - The very best kind of romance for the Christmas season in 2018

‘Inviting your mum to join us? You’ve never done that before.’

Becca shrugged. ‘I thought maybe she needed cheering up.’

Jodi stopped walking. ‘Why? Has something happened?’

‘I was hoping you’d tell me. She seems a little…off. You know, sad. She looks tired and she’s lost weight. She says she’s fine, but I think she’s hiding something.’

‘I hadn’t noticed.’ Jodi looked stricken. ‘I’m a terrible niece.’

‘No, you’re not. And it’s always easier to spot something when you’re not around all the time.’ Becca followed her cousin into The Beach Room. The turquoise room was huge and sea-facing, with white shutters and a large ceiling fan to keep it cool during the height of summer.

Becca kicked off her boots and opened the double-slated doors leading to the built-in wardrobe. ‘What do you fancy for tonight, bohemian chic, or racy reggae?’

Jodi sat on the bed and unlaced her Converse trainers. ‘Don’t care. Nothing too revealing. Last time I spent half the night with my boob hanging out and not realising until the barman handed me a bulldog clip.’

Becca laughed. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’ She flicked through Jodi’s meagre collection of clothes. Mostly jeans, a few summer dresses, some nice items from the local boutiques in Brighton that her mum had bought her for various Christmases and birthdays. And then something caught her attention. She pulled out an orange tunic emblazoned with the words Pho-King Good on the front and laughed. ‘Why on earth have you still got this?’

Jodi didn’t reply, but her cheeks flushed.

Becca immediately stopped laughing. ‘Oh, God, you’re still working there, aren’t you? I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because it’s embarrassing?’ Her cousin looked mortified. ‘It’s not great as jobs go, but Mr Pho trusts me and I’m earning money, even if it’s minimum wage. It’s better than being unemployed.’

Becca went over and squeezed her hand. ‘It’s so unfair that no one will give you a job. You have so much to offer.’

Jodi shrugged. ‘That’s the way it is. You know the worst part?’

Becca shook her head.

‘When the judge sentenced me to six weeks in prison, I didn’t think it was such a big deal. I’ll do my time and make amends, I thought.’ Tears appeared in her eyes. ‘When I was released, my probation officer told me I’d been given a second chance. I’d paid my debt to society and it was up to me whether I continued with a life of crime, or resisted reoffending and turned things around.’

‘And you have, Jodi.’

‘As far as everyone else is concerned, I can’t be trusted. I’m a risk that isn’t worth taking.’

Becca slid her arm around her cousin. ‘I wish there was something I could do.’

Jodi rested her head on Becca’s shoulder. ‘There is. Take me out and get me drunk.’

Becca hugged her. ‘That, I can do.’

Friday 8th September

Jodi washed her hands in the dingy restaurant bathroom, trying to remove the smell of burnt oil, lemongrass and fermented fish that had saturated her clothes and skin. It didn’t matter how many times she washed her tunic, there always seemed to be a hint of Thai curry invading her wardrobe. She didn’t mind working at the restaurant, she was grateful for the income, but waiting tables wasn’t her dream job.

She dried her hands and removed her tunic, rolling it into a tight ball and stuffing it into her bag, trying to contain the potent smells. Maybe she didn’t deserve a dream. Perhaps she’d given up her right to lead a better life when she’d gone off the rails and ended up in prison. Maybe karma was wreaking its revenge.

But if that was the case, then she wouldn’t have been offered a job at the Starlight Playhouse, would she? It might not be permanent, but it was the type of job she’d always wanted.

When she’d attended the interview, she’d assumed it would go the same way as all the others. The interviewer would switch from being impressed by her first-class business degree and glowing references from her tutors, to discovering her criminal record, and the vibe would instantly change. Awkward glances would be exchanged, followed by concerns about her ‘lack of work experience’ or ‘suitability for the position’.

No matter how hard she’d studied, how many nights she’d volunteered at the homeless shelter, or how much commitment she’d shown over the years waiting tables for Mr Pho at the local Thai restaurant, she couldn’t seem to escape her past.

But Carolyn Elliot-Wentworth hadn’t been put off by Jodi’s stint in prison. And if she’d remembered Jodi from her days spent attending the youth club at the Starlight Playhouse a decade earlier, she hadn’t acknowledged it. Instead, she’d offered Jodi the position of business manager for a fixed three-month period. The salary wasn’t great, and it was only twenty hours a week, but it would give her some much-needed office experience.

Plus, if Becca could be persuaded to apply for the dance teacher position being advertised, she might even get to work alongside her cousin. It was almost perfect.

Jodi had one reservation. It meant working at the scene of her teenage misdemeanours. Was that a good or bad thing? She didn’t like being reminded of her past. But maybe that was the point. It was karma again, ensuring she could never escape her mistakes. A daily reminder that she needed to stay on the straight and narrow.

She said goodnight to Mr Pho and headed into the street, unsurprised to find it full of revellers. It was Saturday night. The party had only just started.

Like most of the locals, she usually avoided using the main road that led away from the railway station down to the seafront. The area was frequented by pale-skinned out-of-towners who’d travelled down for the weekend, eager to get pissed, hook up and start fights. The Pho-King Good restaurant was situated in the heart of the tourist area. As such, it attracted large groups of twenty-somethings, eager to line their stomachs with cheap curry before consuming barrel-loads of booze.

One such group were hanging around outside the restaurant. They’d been in earlier, already drunk, making her job torturous. She was used to dealing with unruly behaviour, attempts to chat her up and ask whether she had a boyfriend. It was all part of the job. But she’d be lying if she said it didn’t upset her when reference was made to her ethnicity. They say alcohol makes a person tell the truth, that inebriated people become brutally honest and offer unfiltered opinions. Whereas a sober person would keep their prejudices under wraps, a pissed person might not.

One of the guys whistled as she walked by. ‘Hey, sexy.’

He stunk of smoke. Yet another pungent smell to add to the stench infiltrating her clothes.

‘Anyone ever told you, you look like Thandie Newton? I wouldn’t kick her out of bed,’ he said, showing off to his mates.

Jodi ignored him.

Her relationships with men had been influenced by several things, most of which revolved around her upbringing. Apart from witnessing her mum shacking up with numerous blokes, her own destructive behaviour had attracted a certain ‘type’ – one she was no longer interested in. As with job hunting, man hunting had proved disappointing. She’d had one semi-serious relationship in her early twenties, but the moment she’d plucked up the courage to tell Ned about her criminal past, he’d suddenly developed a desire to go travelling. Despite promising to contact her on his return, he never did.

And that was the problem: if they were decent blokes, they didn’t want a girlfriend with a criminal record. And who could blame them?