“You could try the local history group,” the helpful librarian suggested when Callie told her that she was looking for information about the history of the amusement arcade by the pier and how little she had found. “I know they tend to be interested in things from further back in time, but there might be someone who knows about it.”
It seemed like a good idea, so Callie made her way back to the Old Town and Hastings History House, a small museum in Courthouse Street where the local history group was based.
Going through the small glass door, Callie was ashamed to realise that despite living in the town all these years, she had never been inside the house. She was fascinated by the displays and information about the town through the ages that she found, and soon got talking to an elderly man who was there to answer questions from the public, and make sure than no one made off with any of the exhibits.
“I was actually looking for information about the history of the amusement arcade, and its ownership over the years,” she explained to the man who had introduced himself as Mr Simpson.
“Which one?” he asked.
“The one opposite the funfair,” she explained.
“That’s relatively new,” he continued, dismissively. “Only built in the sixties. Now the one in George Street has more history−”
“So, who developed the seafront along there?” Callie managed to stop him, gently, and steer him back to talking about the arcade owned by Claybourne.
“I see.” He smiled. “You are you are interested in the post-war developments of Hastings then.” Mr Simpson then went off into a long discourse about poor planning decisions and the clearing of slums to make way for the new London Road. Callie realised that he would soon get onto the sheer vandalism of building a shopping centre on the cricket pitch if she didn’t stop him quickly.
“I’m really only interested in the arcade development, perhaps you could put me onto someone who might know about it, if you don’t?”
He looked affronted.
“It’s not really historic. Why on earth would you be interested in that?”
“Family history,” she replied, not mentioning that it wasn’t her family she was talking about.
“Well, I don’t know that anyone−”
“Dr Hughes!”
Callie and Mr Simpson both turned and Callie smiled to see a patient of hers, Harry Wardle coming towards them.
“Do let me show you our new exhibit, Doctor.” Wardle firmly took her elbow and led her away from Mr Simpson. “Boring old fart,” he whispered by way of explanation as they walked to the back of the room and he pointed to an early photograph of a fisherman mending his nets, pretending to be telling her about it.
“So, I gathered,” Callie whispered back in a conspiratorial way.
“Now what can I help you with?” he asked.
Callie again explained her interest in the arcade.
“I’m afraid Mr Simpson is right, it’s not really history,” Wardle told her with a smile. “Not when I remember it so well. Now, are you wanting the official facts or the gossip? Because if it’s the latter, I suggest we go to the café on the corner and discuss it over a pot of tea.”
Which is exactly what they did.
“You should have told our Mr Simpson that you are a GP and he could have given you all the gory details about his hernia op,” Wardle teased her.
“That’s exactly why I tend not to let on about it. I get quite enough of that at work.” Callie laughed.
“So, why are you interested in the gossip about the arcade?” he asked her in a more serious tone as they sipped their tea and Wardle ate a toasted tea cake that was dripping with butter.
Callie hesitated.
“I can’t really tell you that. I’m sorry.”
“Ah, I suppose it has something to do with your other job, the police work. Not to worry.” He took another sip of tea. “Now, let me see. Eric Furnow was a jobbing builder, and not very good at it, either. Never had two pennies to rub together, and when he did, he spent it all on drink. Then, one miraculous day, he won the pools. Suddenly, he seemed to have a lot of friends he’d never had before. Peter Claybourne was one of them.”
“Let me guess, Claybourne persuaded Furnow to buy the arcade.”
Wardle nodded.
“Well, the building, anyway, it wasn’t an arcade then. And Peter helped Eric get all the permissions he needed for change of use. To be fair, Eric would never have been able to manage that himself.”
“So Claybourne did legitimately help?”
“Absolutely, can’t take that away from the man.” Wardle looked as if he would have liked to do just that. “As I said, Eric was a drinker and suddenly he had loads of money to do it. He spent most of his time in the pubs, buying everyone drinks, and giving money away. Most sensible thing Maggie did was divorce him. She had a small child to think of and the settlement meant that she was at least able to buy her own home, and put a bit of money away, out of Eric’s reach, because he worked his way through the rest pretty quick.”
“But he still had the arcade?”
“Yes, that was up and running by then, and managed by Peter Claybourne, but apparently, wasn’t making any money.” Wardle gave her a long look. “Seemed busy enough to me.”
“You think Claybourne was cheating Eric Furnow?”
“That’s a strong word.” He hesitated before continuing. “But, let’s face it, it wouldn’t have been hard.”
“What happened after that?”
“Eric was seriously unwell by then. There’s only
