Summer Loves. Georgia Hill

why I’ve got to buy a duck?’

      ‘I think the idea is it raises money,’ another voice interjected. ‘For the Arts Workshop. Am I right?’

      Dora froze. She knew that voice.

      With difficulty, she turned her head to the left. The drunk man had a friend. A man who was sitting next to him and who had been screened out of her sightline by her ridiculous duck head.

      Shock reverberated through her. It was him.

      It was not the way she wanted to bump into the guy she’d fallen so hopelessly in love with in sixth form. Whose heart she had broken when her parents had insisted that Berecombe’s bad boy wasn’t good enough for her. The years spent acting in the States vaporised. She was seventeen again.

      Mikey Love.

      Still with that gypsy-dark hair, although it was now threaded through with silver and not quite so unruly. Still with those wicked blue eyes and the grin that made you go weak at the knees and completely at his mercy. Whatever that involved. Sheer charisma. She’d never met a man with as much, even in the torrid world of American television. She hadn’t seen him for years. Since leaving Berecombe. Had never set eyes on him again. Until this moment.

      ‘Someone up there must really have it in for me,’ she muttered, the yellow felt headdress muffling her words.

      Someone really had got it in for her. Millie and Tessa chose that moment to catch up with her. They’d obviously been treated to a drink and had given up all thought of fund- raising. Both held a glass of white in one hand, their duck head in the other. Deeply uncool, seeing as it was Tessa’s Arts Workshop they were raising money for.

      Her bad temper was affecting her judgement. It seemed she was wrong.

      ‘Ooh, laters, babes,’ Tessa cooed. ‘Just spotted Dennis. A local councillor should be good to cough up a few bob.’ She made her way through the crowded bar, cheerfully batting off the stares and wolf-whistles.

      Dora could admire the woman’s self-confidence, even if she found her loud voice grating. They must breed them tough in Birmingham.

      Millie came up to her with a kind smile. ‘Just sold my last number. What’s been holding you up?’

      Dora glared at her through the yellow. ‘Maybe you weren’t being molested all night,’ she hissed. ‘My legs will be black and blue after this.’

      ‘Oh I know, my lovely,’ Millie sympathised. ‘Me too. Swiped more than one bloke with a wing and then guilted them into buying a duck. How many tickets have you got left?’ she asked. ‘I’ll take a few and sell them for you. Actually,’ she reconsidered. ‘You know your trouble? You’re getting all hot and bothered. Take your head off.’ Without warning, Millie yanked off Dora’s headdress, leaving her marooned like a headless chicken, or rather duck. If anything, Dora now felt even more of a fool. At least, with her outfit complete, she made sense. Now, with an enormous yellow body out of all proportion to her head, she knew she must look ludicrous. What was more, with red hair and pale skin, Dora did not do heat in any way that was attractive. She knew perfectly well her face was scarlet and shiny with sweat and her hair flattened and greasy-looking. She scrunched up her eyes, waiting for the inevitable and tried to brave it out. With any luck, in this state she might be unrecognisable.

      ‘Dora!’

      ‘Fuck.’

      ‘Oh my God. It is isn’t it? It’s Dora Bartlett. Or should I say Theodora Bart?’ Mike sounded amused. ‘You’ve learned to swear in a very unladylike way since you left school.’

      ‘Oh my,’ said his friend. ‘Now we can see what the filly looks like. Or should I say duckling?’ He roared at his feeble joke.

      ‘That’s enough, Phil.’ Mikey stood up. ‘Forgive him, he’s had a bit too much to drink.’

      ‘Well, I had to try the cider now I’m in the West Country,’ Phil protested and turned to someone. Dora heard a very female giggle.

      She opened one eye to see Mikey staring at her. Oh, how she remembered those naughty blue eyes. What the hell was he even doing here? The last thing she’d heard, he was working in London.

      ‘Hello Mikey,’ she managed eventually. How could he still make her legs go weak, her insides churn around in the most delightfully revolting fashion, just as he had when she’d been seventeen and in his thrall.

      He came closer, or as close as the fat feathery costume allowed. ‘Hello Dora. It’s lovely to see you again,’ he said quietly.

      ‘Isn’t it,’ she mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.

      Millie, her eyes on stalks, interrupted. ‘Mikey, wow! Whatever are you doing back in Berecombe?’

      ‘Back working in the Regent,’ he said, naming Berecombe’s little theatre on the sea front. ‘Putting on Persuasion as a fund-raiser for it. The old place is looking a bit sad. Needed some cash input, so thought I’d help.’

      ‘Oh yes,’ Millie continued. ‘You’ve made quite a name for yourself, haven’t you? Directing or something. Up in London.’

      ‘I’ve had some success.’ The modest words belied his tone.

      He’d always been so sure of himself, Dora thought. Some said brave, bearing in mind his background. Some said cocky. It depended on your point of view.

      ‘How nice.’ She couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. She hated being wrong-footed like this. If she’d thought, coming back here, she’d bump into him, she would have gone to her villa in Siena. But something had called her back to Berecombe and, besides, her parents had been due a visit. If fate engineered a meeting with Michael Love, then Dora would infinitely have preferred it to be when she was looking at her best. In control. The very image of the successful actress.

      Millie was completely star-struck, however. She’d always had a soft spot for Mikey when they were all at school together. ‘Ooh lovely, one of my favourites. I love Persuasion. When’s it on?’

      ‘Later in the summer. Early days yet, we haven’t even cast it.’ Mikey directed his words to Millie, but his eyes were fixed on Dora.

      ‘Are you Theodora Bart? It is, isn’t it? Oh. My. God.’ A Sloaney female voice. Very young. Very gushing.

      The evening just got worse. A fan.

      The woman Dora had heard giggling with Cider Phil stood up and joined them.

      ‘I absolutely love you in The English Woman. I literally can’t wait for the next series. When’s it due out?’

      Dora tried to pin on a gracious smile but was desperate to get away. The duck costume was making her claustrophobic, her red tights were far too big and threatening to fall down and she couldn’t bear Mikey’s gaze. ‘Thank you,’ she said in cool tones. ‘I’m afraid I’m not sure about the next series.’

      ‘This is Kirstie Fielding, my first assistant director,’ Mikey explained. ‘And one of your biggest fans.’

      ‘I’ll say,’ Kirstie went on. ‘When I found out you and Mike came from the same town, went to school together, even, I was literally so thrilled. And I can’t believe I’ve met you! And in a duck costume too! I’ve just got to get a selfie with you.’

      ‘Phil and Kirstie?’ Millie laughed, thankfully interrupting. ‘Really?’ She turned to Mikey. ‘And you’re no longer Mikey?’

      He gave a regretful look. ‘Dropped the ‘y’ when I left Berecombe. We all need to reinvent ourselves, occasionally, don’t we?’

      He left the words hanging but Dora knew his inference. Panicking, she clutched at straws. ‘Look, I’m so sorry but we have to go. I’ve still got a ton of ducks to sell.’ As Kirstie got her phone out, she put up her hand. ‘No really, no pictures. The fund-raising isn’t about me. It’s about the Workshop.’