Before and After by Laura Lockington

on this last word, but recovered myself in time) “Mr Carlton is taking his yacht to Brighton Marina, and he suggests that we meet him there. Do you know him? No? Well, in that case, just a few words to the wise before we arrive perhaps. A dear man. A very dear man. But a trifle, well, what shall I say? Perhaps the word might be nervous . Still, as long as none if us mention the incident , I’m sure he’ll be fine. Oh, and of course, it goes without saying he’ll probably be rather scarred from all the surgery so we won’t be so bad mannered as to stare, will we?”
    Archie and Sylvia exchanged glances, whilst Hal and Bella giggled. That was fine by me. Anyone who giggled at Mr Carlton ( not his real name – naturellement ) was far too young to remember what crime the man had committed.
    “Brighton!” exclaimed Bella, shooting a glance of amusement towards her brother, “Isn’t that where you and mummy went on that-“
    “It was a business conference and your mother came with me, that’s all,” Archie said in a voice that brooked no interruption.
    I narrowed my eyes. What had gone in Brighton then? I cursed the loss of my notes. I glanced at Sylvia and saw a slight blush creep over her face. Damn. I’d have to ask . (I’d already ascertained with a little light snooping that neither Sylvia nor Archie kept anything as useful as a diary.
    “Oh, so you know the Prince Regent’s favourite spa?” I asked sweetly, shooting an enquiring look at Sylvia.
    “Oh yes, we had an interesting time there, didn’t we darling?” Sylvia said swiftly, remembering the highly-alcohol fuelled business dinner that they’d had with Sir George and the amorously awful Lady Pat.
     
    Archie cleared his throat and said in a man of the world tone of getting back to the business in hand voice, “Umm, so who exactly is this man that we’re going to see then?”
    I let the past memory of Brighton go and laughed, “That’s it! I’m so glad you’ve entered the spirit of the thing. You’ve got it exactly. Who is he? Well, we all know and yet as you so wisely say who is he exactly ? Who can say or rather who would want to say?”
    With that irritating little speech I left the room to pack for a weekend by the briny. I do so love English seaside towns, don’t you? Of course some of them are sad, and some not worth seeing at all, but Brighton at its rakish best is always a treat. I was so glad that I was in my floaty black wardrobe, I always think that the true colours of Brighton would be black and gold. Forget that whimsical nonsense of everything being daubed blue or turquoise just because we’re beside the sea. It matters not a jot. All cities have their own true spiritual colours. London would be moss green, with a hint of pewtery silver somewhere lurking round the edges. Bath? Oh, I think deep yellow and cream. Edinburgh? Hmm, well, I think a tweedy mauve if you know what I mean. Have you got the hang of it yet? Good. Birmingham, I hear you ask? Birmingham ? I leave it to your doubtlessly vivid imaginations. Really.
    Bella knocked on my door as I was flinging some papers into my overnight bag.
    “Yes?” I said smiling at her.
    “Pa wants to know if we should get the car out?” Bella asked.
    “Good god no! We’ll hop on the train,” I said, snapping my case firmly together.
    “The train !” Bella said, savouring the word as if I had told her we were travelling by camel caravanserai over the Gobi.
    “Yes darling, the train. It will do you good to see how the vast majority of the country travels, without the help of a large fuel guzzling monster of a motor car. Some poor people do it every day you know. It’s called commuting.”
    Bella looked doubtfully at me. “I don’t think that ma will be very happy about it –“
    “Rubbish. It’ll be great fun, I promise. Now do go and get packed and don’t forget a hat. Brighton can be frightfully windy.”
    Before I exited my room I hid my jar of marbles. You may think