And here a little sneak peek!

Synopsis

It’s ten years on from The Road to Cromer Pier, and Summertime Special Show Director Karen Wells has two potential headliners, but both have issues. Dare she take the risk? And Karen herself is at a crossroads. Will her mother Janet ever retire and allow her to run the pier theatre?

Meanwhile Janet’s nemesis, businessman Lionel Pemrose still has designs on the pier theatre, but he is facing growing financial problems. Bank manager Peter Hodson is haunted by a past indiscretion, and calls in recently widowed turnaround expert Tom Stanley. Can he keep the indiscretion a secret?

Tom is bereaved and has recently been made redundant from his own firm. He is too young to retire, and after years of long hours, suddenly finds himself unemployed. He pours his energies into the assignment, which could be his last hurrah.
Old enmities, loyalties and past mistakes surface as the future of the pier theatre is once again under threat, and those involved must deal with unresolved issues in their lives.

Extract

Lech Wojiek:

Lech is one of my favourite characters, featuring in both books. Here is his introduction in the second book, arriving in England from his native Poland. I guess it could be criticised by the ‘show don’t tell’ gurus, but I need to bring in the back story of the first book here. He is naturally funny, has the comic rubber face and uses his deficiency in English as a part of his act. Originally hapless and incompetent, ten years on he is slick and professional, a master of his craft. But above all he is a well loved team player.

Extract:

Lech Wojiek flew into Norwich that afternoon. The affable Polish comedian-come-hapless-magician had been hired as the compère for the season’s Summertime Special show. As his flight landed, he removed the headphones from his ears and got ready to extract his six-foot-five frame from the lamentably small space in economy class. He could have afforded a seat with more legroom, but was not about to pay any more than necessary to Mr Ryanair, as he called the budget carrier.

He’d been reading some material Les Westley, a fellow comic and formerly the director of the show, had emailed to him. They were firm friends, although as Les was now Lauren’s manager and partner, they didn’t meet often. 

Lauren had done three nights in Warsaw over the winter, and they had shared a lovely meal in Lech’s favourite restaurant. Lech recalled that it was now ten years since he had first visited Cromer as a young and inexperienced magician with an unintended habit of bungling his tricks. Les had recalled a comprehensive dressing-down he’d given him in that first week.

Lech laughed at the memory. At the time, he hadn’t understood more than half of what anyone said to him in English, but regular visits had made him pretty fluent in the language, although it was still very obviously not his native tongue. His wife Marina would be joining him in a couple of months with their daughter.

His career in England had been good. He now played the haplessly incompetent magician act for laughs, behaving as though he knew very little English. He’d come to enjoy British sitcoms too, and adopted Manuel of Fawlty Towers as a kind of role model. His ability to poke fun at the English had won him some comedy awards, and his one-man show at the Edinburgh Fringe had been particularly successful. He had no difficulty getting work in pantomime either, and enjoyed that particular piece of Britishness.

He had even thought about moving to Britain full-time. He loved the country which had given him a successful career doing what he loved. He was confused by this Brexit business, but knew it was off- limits in his act. Too many people had too many strong opinions to find jokes about it funny.

He walked through the main exit of the airport and out into the grey afternoon to collect the car he’d rented for the season, still a little confused by the right-hand drive. This time, he’d plumped for an automatic to avoid at least one of its complications.

He drove out of the gates of the airport and followed the signs for Cromer. He had rented Les Westley’s old place for the season at mate’s rates. It was rather more comfortable than that musty old mobile home he’d rented so cheaply when he had first visited all those years ago.

He had other offers now, of course. He had quite a following, and his agent had talked of television. His huge, shiny bald head and rubber comedian’s face was so distinctive that he stood out from the crowd and could turn his hand to most things. But Lech still felt a loyalty to Cromer Pier Theatre that had taken a chance on him when he was a complete nobody. So now, having done other things in previous years, he’d been offered the compère role in the show. 

He would shop for food the following morning. Karen would have helped by buying in a few basics for him. It was hard to think of Karen as his boss, because she had been in the show with him as dance captain when he first joined the cast. He was meeting her the following day to discuss plans for the show. 

He would have the English fish and chips he loved tonight, washed down with warm beer. He parked the car and went into the first-floor flat he would call home for the next few months. The wind had got up and the tide was in, with waves crashing onto the promenade near the pier. He never tired of the view, with the little theatre on the end of the pier seeming to smile benignly at him in the teeth of the gale. He felt like he’d come home.

He showered and called Marina to say goodnight to the family before walking into town. He said hello to a couple of guys he recognised at the amusement arcade where he had worked some years before, when he was still scrabbling for every penny to send home. It still bore the name PemroseAmusements. But Lech didn’t find Lionel Pemrose amusing at all; he was the racist bigot who had fired him, simply for being a migrant. 

He bought his fish and chips and, since the wind had abated somewhat, headed for the pier to eat them there. Sitting out of the wind in one of the shelters, he ate hungrily. He watched the fishermen as they tended their rods. He had tried his hand at fishing one time, thinking that he might save some money by catching his tea, but the fish had proved elusive. 

As he binned his fish-and-chip paper, he saw a leaflet stuck to the wall advertising the previous night’s Amy Raven concert. He remembered when they had both been new to the show, back in 2009. He recalled that Amy was a local girl, with jet-black hair, hence she’d adopted the stage name Raven.

He walked to the theatre, and as he walked in through the door, he saw a friendly face. Debbie was the bar manager, and he’d often enjoyed an after-show drink with her in the past, at a time when he’d had no other friends.

‘Hi Lech, what are you doing here? Just before closing time as usual,’ she said.

Lech smiled. ‘I am looking for my favourite girl, and a pint of your Woodforde’s Wherry please, Debbie.’

Debbie obliged, and as she handed it over, she asked the obvious question.

‘You in the show, then?’ she said.

Lech drank a third of his pint in one swallow and then paused, setting the glass down with a look of appreciation.

Debbie smiled. ‘You don’t get that in Warsaw,’ she said.

Lech held the glass up in appreciation. ‘Even worth flying with Mr Ryanair for,’ he said.

He could see that she was vexed, hands on hips. ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ she said.

Lech paused. It wasn’t official yet. 

He adopted a James Bond voice as he spoke in furtive tones. ‘If I told you, I’d have to kill you, Miss Moneypenny.’

Debbie laughed. ‘Like I’m shaken but not stirred. I know these things. There are no secrets from me.’

He left it there. Debbie tidied up, bid goodnight to her last two customers and locked the door.