Meet Me at the Lighthouse: This summer’s best laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

Ross crossed his arms too. “Abso-bloody-lutely we won’t. If Uncle Charlie wouldn’t sell to these people, there’s no way I’m going to.”

Langford smiled, a nasty ear-to-ear Grinch smirk, as he prepared to play his trump card. “We thought you might say that.” He paused. “£70,000.”

“You must be…” I trailed off. “Wait, what?”

“£70,000. That’s the figure this council has agreed upon as a fair offer. Not the full value, of course, but a neat little sum each, and far more straightforward than trying to sell on the private market with the lighthouse in its current state. Plus you’d have the pleasure of knowing you’ve done your civic duty by returning it to the town – finally.” He shot a loaded look Ross’s way. “One nod and the pair of you walk away with £35,000 each to do as you like with. No one in this room will think any less of you, I assure you.”

I turned to Ross. “It’s a lot of money,” I muttered in a low voice.

“It is, isn’t it?” he muttered back. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yep.”

“Can I do it?”

“Be my guest.”

“If the two of you would like to take a moment to discuss it –” the chairman began.

“No thanks, we’ve said all we need.” Ross glared at Langford. “So. If you’re willing to put up that kind of public money, that tells us you can easily afford the 60 grand we’re asking for, can’t you?”

“That’s not really how the funding works –” Langford said, but Ross cut him off.

“We’re not stupid, Councillor. We thought you might have some sort of offer for us, and we can see it for what it is: desperation. Well, listen carefully.” Ross leaned forward, enunciating his next five words with great deliberation. “We’re not going to sell. Not to you, not to anyone, not under any circumstances. And you know you can’t force us to, not legally. I’m not an old man you can harass with dodgy threats to sue.”

“And if we up our offer?”

“Sorry, Arthur.” Ross shot him a wry smile. “No deal.”

Langford narrowed his watery eyes, mask cracking to reveal some real anger simmering below the sternly calm surface. He was evidently a man used to getting his way.

“Fine. I had hoped you might be persuaded to put the town first, but clearly not. And please be aware, Mr Mason, that this council does not respond well to being held to ransom.” He turned to face his colleagues. “Now then, gentlemen. Any questions for these two –” he hesitated a fraction of a beat – “people before we vote?”

The other councillors’ questions were far more reasonable than any Langford had asked us. Alex asked about our Coastal Heritage grant and our other ally, Bill, made some helpful suggestions on potential funding sources for the rest of the renovation work. Another man wanted to know how child protection would be managed when the band performing contained minors, and an elderly councillor in a monogrammed blazer, who was very sweet and looked like he must’ve been elected some time during the reign of Queen Victoria, asked if we’d be having any brass bands on.

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.”

Chapter 7 (#ulink_554c559f-0151-5a74-917f-ef6e4c199fe8)

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.