All You Need is Love

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All You Need is Love Page 13

by Carole Matthews


  The world better watch out for Sally Freeman, Single Mum and Superwoman!

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I’ve called a meeting. Mrs Kapur from along the corridor is here, as is Dora the Explorer. Dora’s having a nightdress day and has got Scary Mary hair, so I’m not sure how much use she’ll be to us. Debs is sitting on the windowsill having a smoke out of the window. I don’t mind her polluting her own flat, but she’s not turning mine into an ashtray. It’s slightly alarming that she’s perching on my sill ten floors up, but I try not to think of the health and safety aspects of that. I’ve got the kettle on and we’re all waiting for Johnny to arrive.

  As I make the brew the doorbell goes and the final participant is here plus dog. Ringo yaps hello and is told to shut up for his enthusiasm. Johnny looks tired; dark circles ring his eyes. He normally looks unkempt but, literally, he looks like he’s just fallen out of bed.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Bad night,’ he says with a stifled yawn. ‘Mam’s not so good.’

  ‘Want me to call in on her later?’

  ‘She’d like that.’

  ‘I’ll take Charlie with me, but we won’t stay long.’ My son could wear out the Duracell Bunny. ‘Is there anything she needs?’

  ‘A new house that’s not damp, an NHS that functions properly and twenty-four-hour care.’

  ‘I meant milk and stuff.’

  ‘No. Thanks for the offer. All that’s sorted. Just go along and sit with her for a bit.’

  I give him a hug as he looks like he needs one. ‘She’ll be all right, you know. She’s got you to look after her.’

  ‘I wonder how long she can keep soldiering on like this,’ he confides. ‘She never complains, but this can’t be much of a life for her. I just wish there was something I could do.’

  ‘You know if there’s ever anything that I can do, you only have to ask.’

  ‘Thanks for that.’ Goodness only knows, I owe him enough.

  ‘Have a KitKat.’ I thrust one into his hand to try to lighten the moment. ‘That’ll cheer you up.’

  Johnny gives me a weary smile.

  I’ve got ulterior motives, so I’ve bought in nice biscuits to sweeten up my friends and neighbours.

  ‘What’s all this about?’ Johnny asks, flicking a thumb towards my cohorts as he breaks open his KitKat.

  ‘All in good time. Help me take these mugs through.’

  We distribute the tea and I sit on the remaining chair while Johnny lounges on the floor between the two older ladies.

  ‘Ah, Johnny lad,’ Mrs Kapur says. ‘You make yourself comfortable. A rose between two thorns.’

  ‘I’m not a thorn,’ Dora pipes up. ‘I’m a little ray of sunshine.’

  ‘Course you are, doll.’ Mrs Kapur pats her knee.

  Ringo snuggles in next to Johnny, curling up at his side.

  It’s about time we got started otherwise we’ll be here all day. I clear my throat. ‘I brought you all here,’ I say, ‘because I wanted to tell you my news.’

  A look of alarm spreads over Johnny’s face.

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about!’ I laugh. ‘As you all know, I went to Cuba for the weekend.’

  ‘Aw, not again,’ Debs says, blowing out a stream of smoke. ‘Spare us the details.’

  ‘I didn’t know you went to Cuba,’ Dora says, frowning. ‘Where’s Cuba? Near Scotland?’

  ‘Maybe you are thinking of Cumbria,’ Mrs Kapur suggests.

  ‘It’s a long way away, Dora,’ I supply.

  Then, before I can continue, she adds, ‘What did you go there for?’

  ‘Sun, sea and no shagging,’ Debs chips in.

  Johnny sits up straighter at that. Even Ringo lifts an ear.

  Debs cocks her eyebrow at me in a challenging way.

  I ignore my supposed best friend and carry on, ‘It’s an amazing place. The country’s completely potless. Most of the people haven’t got a bean to their name, but the place is full of colour and music and flowers.’

  Only Mrs Kapur looks impressed by this revelation. ‘Sounds lovely, doll.’

  ‘It made me start thinking that maybe we could do something similar to liven the estate up.’

  ‘What kind of music?’ Dora asks nervously. ‘I don’t like all that loud stuff. You can’t tell what they’re singing these days, but you know it’s not nice.’

  ‘I didn’t really mean the music, Dora. More the flowers and the colour.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind some Frank Sinatra,’ she continues. ‘I like that kind of music. “Strangers in the Night” – I like that one.’

  ‘I like that one too, doll,’ Mrs Kapur says.

  ‘What about “Fly Me to the Moon”?’

  I wish I’d never mentioned the frigging music. It looks like Dora’s planning to run through the entire Frank Sinatra back catalogue.

  My bonkers neighbour starts singing her own rendition of ‘My Way’. She will definitely face her ‘final curtain’ if she doesn’t shut up.

  ‘Ssh, ssh.’ Mrs Kapur pats Dora’s knee again, quietening her down. ‘If we have music I’m sure Sally will let you be the one to choose it, Dora.’

  Thankfully, Dora looks placated. Mrs Kapur winks at me and I smile at her with relief. ‘I’ve been on to the Council this morning.’

  ‘I hope you told them that the lift’s still out,’ Mrs Kapur says. ‘I don’t think my old knees will take much more of those stairs.’

  ‘I did, actually,’ I reassure her. ‘But they still couldn’t give me a date when they’re coming to fix it.’

  ‘Bloody typical,’ the old lady mutters.

  ‘However,’ I press on, ‘that wasn’t my main purpose for calling them.’

  ‘Get on with it,’ Debs says, throwing her cigarette butt out of the window and coming to join us.

  ‘I spoke to a really nice fella called Richard Selley,’ I tell them. ‘He’s running a project called Urban Paradise. I found out all about it on the internet.’ I pause while they register that small achievement. ‘It’s a Government initiative. They’re providing funding in this area to regenerate sink estates, wasteland, that kind of stuff.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ Mrs Kapur says. ‘We could do with a bit of that.’

  ‘I thought the same thing,’ I tell her.

  ‘Oh no,’ Debs says, putting a hand to her head. ‘I can feel a lot of work coming on.’

  ‘They’ll give us ten thousand pounds.’

  ‘Ten thousand!’ Dora exclaims. ‘That’s a lot of money.’

  Think of all the nighties you could buy with that, Dora. ‘I know.’ I still can hardly believe it myself. ‘We’ve to spend it on plants, trees, maybe some street furniture.’

  Dora again: ‘Street furniture?’

  ‘Benches,’ Debs supplies.

  ‘Some of it can go on paint supplies.’ I glance at Johnny and he nods.

  ‘And the catch?’ he says.

  ‘We can’t spend any of it on labour. All the work has to be done by volunteers from the estate.’

  ‘The idea being?’

  ‘If people have invested their own time and energy in doing up the estate, then they’re less likely to sit back and see it succumb to vandals again. “Ownership” as the man at the Council put it.’

  ‘I used to be handy with a paintbrush,’ Mrs Kapur says. ‘I can help.’ Bless her, she looks too feeble to even lift one. ‘Perhaps we can get those little buggers who’ve broken our lift to take part.’

  ‘We could certainly give it a go. Even kids like that might see the point. Why wouldn’t people want to live in a nicer environment?’ Probably a thousand reasons, but I’m not going to let that notion rain on my parade. ‘I thought we could all talk to people who we know, have a meeting in the Community Centre on Saturday morning and then decide what we’d like to do. We’ve got to submit our plans to Urban Paradise for approval before we get our hands on the cash. And there’s a bit of paperwork to do, but they seemed pretty keen. Apparently this estate is
marked down as a Priority Neighbourhood in the Council’s Renewal Action Plan. It’s something that’s going on all across Liverpool.’

  Mr Selley told me that the Council are selling off the worst of the tower blocks to private developers who come in and completely renovate them – put in new windows, new wiring, kitchens, bathrooms, the whole shebang. I’d certainly like some of that for Bill Shankly House.

  ‘Sally, you’re a wonder,’ Mrs Kapur says. ‘Isn’t she clever? What a marvel.’

  Single Mum, Superwoman, I think you’ll find, Mrs Kapur!

  The old lady claps her hands together. ‘I can’t wait to get started,’ she says. ‘We can make this place spic and span again. Like it was in the old days.’

  ‘Johnny.’ I look to my old boyfriend. ‘Are you with us?’ I don’t think I could do it without his help.

  ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Count me in.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say gratefully. I know that I can rely on Johnny to watch my back.

  I turn to my bezzie. ‘What about you, Debs?’

  ‘If we’re going to be given ten grand by the Council,’ she muses, ‘does that mean I can spend the hundred quid I’ve got on shoes?’

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  ‘I thought you were avoiding me,’ Spencer says.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve been mad busy all week and it’s really difficult for me to get a sitter for Charlie.’ This time, Mrs Kapur has been pressed into service, much to Charlie’s disgust. I daren’t ask Johnny again. Really, I daren’t. You can push the bonds of friendship just too far. Besides, he’s got his mum to worry about at the moment.

  Spencer and I have seen each other at the computer course, but we don’t have much time to talk there – at least, not openly. We do exchange a lot of longing looks though. Now it’s Thursday night and we’re in a tapas bar in Liverpool, a place that used to be an old Catholic church. The gothic architecture makes a grand setting and huge church candles provide the mood lighting. Religious murals cover the walls – God, the saints, that kind of thing. Totally amazing. We’re sitting at the main altar that’s now a bar eating chorizo sausage, spicy prawns and little bits of filo pastry filled with goat’s cheese while drinking champagne. The place is busy and buzzy. I’ve been meaning to come here for ages with Debs, but have never been able to afford it.

  My date brushes my hair away from my face. He’s the most handsome man in the entire place. Every woman that walks past Spencer clocks him. And he’s mine. Hands off, bitches!

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he says, as he gently caresses my thigh.

  ‘I’ve missed you too. And I’ve got such a lot to tell you,’ I gush. ‘Cuba was sound and it gave me loads of ideas. I’ve been running around like a loony this week trying to get it all together.’

  He can tell that I’m bubbling over with excitement and smiles at me as he says, ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘I’ve got a grant fixed up for the estate from an organisation called Urban Paradise. They’re giving us ten grand to regenerate Kirberly. Ten grand! We’re going to plant flowers and trees. Give everything that doesn’t move a coat of paint.’

  ‘Sally,’ he says. ‘That’s a wonderful idea.’

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘And it was mine. I thought it up all by myself. But I want to thank you because you took me to Cuba and that’s what started me off.’

  ‘Glad to be of service.’

  ‘We’ll need loads of volunteers though. We’ve got our first meeting in the Community Centre on Saturday morning. I’m hoping that tons of people will come.’

  ‘Oh,’ Spencer says.

  That stops me burbling. ‘Oh, what?’

  ‘It’s just that I was hoping you’d be able to come away with me again this weekend.’

  ‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘Even if I wasn’t committed to this meeting, then I couldn’t leave Charlie behind again. The meeting’s at eleven o’clock. It will only last an hour or so, I’d guess.’ Then I decide to throw caution to the wind. ‘Maybe we could go somewhere and take Charlie with us?’

  ‘My friends are having a house party in the Cotswolds.’

  Now it’s my turn to go, ‘Oh.’

  Spencer purses his lips. ‘It’s not really a child-friendly type of get-together. I promised I’d be there.’

  I shrug. ‘Never mind. Another time.’ I haven’t been to the Cotswolds and I’d love to go. Bugger.

  ‘I thought you could meet all the gang.’

  Frankly, I’m not sure that I’m ready to meet Spencer’s gang, so there is a silver lining.

  ‘Maybe I could cancel and come to your meeting to support you,’ he says next.

  ‘No, no. Don’t do that,’ I insist. ‘You can’t let your friends down. And if this thing goes ahead, there’ll be plenty more meetings.’

  ‘If you’re sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. You go. Have a great time.’

  Spencer drains his glass, then checks the bottle. ‘Looks like the last of the champagne.’

  I tip my glass upside down. It’s fair to say that I’m a bit tipsy. Maybe a bit drunk on joy. ‘Mine’s empty too.’

  Spencer squeezes my hand and looks deep into my eyes. ‘Let’s go back to my place.’

  Time’s getting on and I should be thinking about going home. It’s way past poor Mrs Kapur’s bedtime, never mind Charlie’s. The old girl’s probably fast asleep on the sofa by now. ‘I can’t stay long,’ I say.

  We leave the Porsche in the centre of Liverpool – crazy! – and hail a cab back to the Albert Dock as Spencer’s had too much to drink to drive and I can’t drive at all, drunk or not.

  Back at his place, he makes us both strong coffee then we take it up to the roof terrace. On the way, Spencer grabs a chenille throw from the couch and carries it up the stairs.

  The night’s cool; menacing clouds scud across the sky. Maybe it will rain tomorrow. ‘Is it too chilly out here?’ he enquires.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I love this space.’ Already I’m wondering if ten grand will get us a sky-high roof terrace on Bill Shankly House. Maybe not. Dora’d only fall off the top anyway.

  Spencer lies down on one of the strategically placed sunloungers and pulls me towards him. ‘Come here.’

  I lie down next to him and he arranges the throw over us. My eyes are rolling and I need to try very hard not to get too comfortable and fall asleep. On the deck next to us, there’s a book which I pick up.

  ‘The World’s Greatest Love Poems,’ I muse. ‘Love poems? Is this your normal reading material?’ This from a woman whose only reading involves browsing Heat or Closer magazines on the shelves in Save-It.

  ‘Yes. Would you like me to read one to you?’

  ‘No one’s ever read poetry to me before.’

  ‘Then I’ll be delighted to be your first.’

  I hand the book to Spencer.

  ‘Maybe a little Elizabeth Barrett Browning, I think.’ And he flicks through the well-thumbed pages until he finds a poem for me. ‘Are you sitting comfortably?’ he teases, and I snuggle in closer.

  ‘“How do I love thee?”’ he begins, his voice softening. ‘“Let me count the ways”.’ And he goes on:

  ‘I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

  My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

  For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

  I love thee to the level of every day’s

  Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

  I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

  I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

  I love thee with the passion put to use,

  In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

  I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

  With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,

  Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,

  I shall but love thee better after death.’

  ‘That’s beautiful,’ I say. Tears aren’t far from my eyes.
<
br />   ‘And so are you.’ Spencer kisses me longingly. His hands, beneath the blanket, rove over me and I let out a shuddering sigh. ‘Sally,’ he whispers against my lips as he kisses me.

  I sink into the sensation and then a little alarm bell sounds in my head and I know that I can’t go any further. ‘This is so nice. Wonderful. But I have to go.’ I ease myself up and look at my watch. ‘I’ll get killed if I’m any later.’

  ‘Just stay a little longer,’ he murmurs against my neck.

  ‘I can’t. Mrs Kapur will be asleep on my sofa. She’ll probably have a permanent crick in her neck and it will be all my fault.’

  Spencer laughs. ‘She’ll be fine. You worry too much.’

  I think maybe he doesn’t worry enough, but I don’t say that. I’m spoiling the mood enough by wanting to hightail it out of here in the middle of an outpouring of passion. The bloke’s just read naffing poetry to me! ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I can’t. I have other people to think of.’

  My hot man looks at me and then lets out an exasperated sigh. ‘Okay.’ He holds up his hands. ‘I know when I’m beaten. I’ll phone a cab and take you home.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat. ‘Really sorry.’

  ‘Sally.’ Spencer frowns at me. ‘You do want this relationship to continue?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Of course I do.’

  ‘I had to ask,’ he says.

  ‘Spencer, you have taken my miserable black-and-white life and have filled it with colour.’ I take his hands in mine and kiss them, then hold them against my cheek. ‘Please be patient with me. This isn’t easy. I have other people in my life who have to come first.’

  ‘Forgive me.’ He kisses me again. ‘I fully understand.’

  But I wonder if he really does.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The cab pulls up outside Bill Shankly House.Now that plans are afoot to spruce up this area, it suddenly looks worse than ever. I bet the driver thinks I’m a prostitute or something. Otherwise, why would I be with a guy like Spencer. He gives me a look like he thinks I am.

 

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