a tough business, but you did your best and that’s all that matters.’
She loved her mum’s positivity, but she felt too raw to be rational. ‘Doesn’t matter now. It’s over.’
Her mum looked pained. ‘So what are you going to do?’
That was the million-dollar question. What the hell was she going to do? ‘I have no idea.’
Life after dance was always going to be hard, but in hindsight, she should have come up with a contingency plan. Both her flatmates had combined dancing with studying for degrees, but Becca had barely scraped through GCSEs. Maybe she would have done better at school if her life hadn’t been turned upside down so cruelly. But the combination of her dad dying and getting her heart broken at sixteen had made focusing on school impossible.
Her mum rubbed her forehead, leaving a smudge of flour. ‘What about pursuing a career away from dance? You’ve tried a few things over the years.’
‘I’m not sure cleaning up after goats at London Zoo, or selling newspapers at Waterloo station count as viable career options.’
Most dancers took other jobs at some point during their careers, but she’d had more than her fair share of ‘filler jobs’, reluctant to commit to anything long-term in case her big break was just around the corner.
Her mum smiled. ‘Whatever you decide, you have my support – you know that. Take your time, lick your wounds and when you’re ready, get back out there. You’ve got a lot to offer; you just need to find a new dream.’
A new dream? Her mum made it sound so simple. What could possibly replace the buzz of performing? Dancing was a drug. It was all she’d ever been good at.
They were interrupted by Dr Mortimer yelling from the dining room. ‘I’m ready for my coffee, Mrs Roberts!’
‘Be with you in a tick!’ Her mum rolled her eyes. ‘Bloody man.’
Becca hopped off the stool. ‘Talking of dreams, what’s with the sewing room? I thought you had plans to open it up for guests?’
Her mum filled the cafetière. ‘I did, but there’s not much point when I only have two people staying. And besides, I enjoy sewing. I decided it was better to keep the space for myself.’
Becca loaded up the tea tray. ‘Fair enough, but there’s still quite a lot of refurb to be done on the guest house and you’re not—’
‘If you dare say “getting any younger” I’ll throttle you.’ Her mum’s gaze narrowed.
Becca held up her hands in mock surrender. ‘I was going to say…you won’t be able to finish the other rooms if you don’t bring in enough income.’
Her mum went over to the hob, rubbing the small of her back. ‘Yes, well, my plans have been put on hold for a while. Like I said, with only two guests it seems pointless to furnish extra rooms when there’s no demand.’
Becca wondered what was going on. The guest house boasted nine rooms, all with en suite facilities and separate living areas. It was situated in a prime location on the seafront. And although there were still two rooms unfurnished, the place was normally full, even during the winter months. ‘But without extra rooms, you won’t be able to expand if demand picks up.’
‘The Carpenter’s Room and the Floral Suite are available.’
‘Which are both single rooms. You need at least another double.’ Becca filled the kettle, trying to be useful. ‘What’s going on? Is there something wrong?’
‘There’s nothing wrong.’ Her mum was a terrible liar.
She tried again. ‘Are you having money problems? Is that it?’
Her mum turned to face her. ‘I’m fine, sweetheart. Really. There’s nothing for you to worry about.’
Becca recognised the expression on her mum’s face; it was the one she wore herself when trying to convince the world she was okay about her dance career being over. A brave façade concealing the pain lying beneath. Well, she wasn’t fine. And neither, it seemed, was her mother.
But further delving would have to wait, as her cousin appeared in the kitchen. Becca rushed over and threw her arms around her. ‘It’s so good to see you!’
Jodi hugged her back, and then pulled away. ‘What the boggin’ hell have you done to your hair?’
Becca grinned. ‘Like it?’
Her cousin studied Becca’s blue-tipped hair tied into high bunches. ‘On anyone else it would look bonkers. On you it looks ridiculously cool…even if you do resemble a Smurf.’
Becca laughed. ‘Talking of hair.’ She fluffed up Jodi’s mass of black curls. ‘What happened to the cornrows?’
‘Too high-maintenance. I decided it was time to embrace the ’fro.’
‘I like it. It’s bang on trend.’
Jodi laughed. ‘Listen to you, Gok Wan.’
‘When you’re stuck working in a newsagent’s booth at Waterloo station all day there’s not much else to do other than flick through magazines. The natural look is in, you’ll be pleased to know.’
Jodi laughed. ‘Yippee, fashionable, at last.’
Becca slipped her arm through Jodi’s. ‘I hope you don’t have plans tonight, because we have some serious catching up to do. You up for a night on the town?’
Jodi raised an eyebrow. ‘Does the Pope wear a silly hat?’
Becca laughed. ‘Excellent. I was thinking the Gin Tub. They have a tasting event.’
‘Sounds suitably inebriating. I could do with getting obliterated.’
Becca gave her a questioning look. ‘Didn’t the interview go well?’ She knew her cousin’s efforts to find a job were proving hard work.
‘Actually, it went okay. But it’s only a temporary position. I should hear tomorrow.’
They were interrupted by a screech. Maude had appeared and leapt into the air when the steam from the oven startled her.
Jodi intercepted and grabbed the cat, dangling her in front of Becca. ‘Fancy a cuddle?’ she said, enjoying an opportunity to tease her cousin.
Becca backed away. ‘No, thanks.’
‘She’s just being friendly.’ Jodi stroked the cat’s orange fur.
‘I’m serious, Jodi. Don’t you dare let her go. She’s out to get me.’
Jodi looked down at Maude. ‘Is Becca being a tinsy-winsy bit paranoid?’
When Jodi pretended to throw the cat, Becca ran over and hid behind her mum. ‘Mum, tell her!’
‘I’m not getting involved,’ her mum said, laughing. ‘Honestly, it’s like
