Spencer is getting out of the cab behind me, paying the driver. ‘You don’t have to come up with me,’ I say. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘I want to make sure everything’s okay.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘Perhaps we could have a coffee here,’ he suggests. ‘The last one went rather cold.’
I laugh and relent. ‘Coffee it is.’
The cab drives off and I push open the door to the flats. Inside, the smell of piss is overpowering. In the corner of the hallway, three hulking great youths are lurking. Christ knows what’s in the food we eat these days, but why are all teenagers giants?
At this moment, I don’t want to ‘hug a hoodie’ as David Cameron suggests. Frankly, I’d like to deck one. Bet he’s never had a hoodie pissing in his Notting Hill hallway.
The heckles on the back of my neck rise and I say coldly, ‘Have you been peeing in my hall?’
‘Fuck off, bitch,’ the spottiest of all tells me.
‘Don’t speak to the lady like that,’ Spencer says, pulling himself up to his full height.
‘Fuck off, toff,’ another says to him.
This is in danger of turning nasty and I don’t want to ruin the mood of the evening further.
‘Leave it,’ I say to Spencer. ‘They’re not worth it.’
‘I can handle this, Sally.’
‘I can handle this, Sally.’ One of them mimics his cut-glass tones.
‘Grow up,’ I throw over my shoulder as I tug Spencer up the stairs behind me.
‘What ruffians,’ he says, and I start to laugh. Ruffians? Yeah, they’re ruffians all right.
‘Ruffians?’ I’m becoming hysterical. Wouldn’t they take the piss if they could hear him now?
Spencer looks offended. ‘Well, they are.’
‘Fucking little bastards,’ I say. ‘That’s what they are.’
‘Big bastards,’ he corrects. ‘Fucking big bastards.’
Then he laughs and we climb the rest of the ten floors clutching our sides.
In the living room, Mrs Kapur is curled up on the sofa snoring. For a little lady she has a very big snore. I take her hand and gently shake her. ‘Mrs Kapur,’ I say softly.
My neighbour starts herself awake and blinks up at me. ‘What time is it, doll?’
‘Late,’ I say. It’s nearly midnight. ‘I’m sorry, I should have been home earlier.’
‘It’s my fault,’ Spencer says apologetically.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ Mrs Kapur says, as she eases herself up. ‘Can’t stop the course of true love.’
We both flush at that. ‘I’ll just see her down the hall, Spencer. You put the kettle on. All the cups and stuff are in the cupboard above it.’ Then I turn to Mrs Kapur. ‘I’ll pop in and see Charlie while you get your things together. Has he been good?’
‘Sound as a pound,’ she says, as she gathers a half-empty packet of sweets, a trashy novel and her knitting. Clearly, she’d come prepared for a long night, which makes me feel even more guilty.
In Charlie’s cramped bedroom, I see the hump of my baby snuggled under his duvet. I go over, pull up the cover even though it doesn’t need it, and smooth down his hair. Then I kiss his head which smells of hair gel and it doesn’t seem long ago at all when it still smelled of baby powder. ‘Night, night, Charlie.’
He snuffles in his sleep.
I start to tiptoe out and then, in the corner of his room, I see his brightly coloured Super-Soaker propped up against the wall. Hmm. Picking up the machine-gun-styled water pistol, I take it out and prop it up in the hall. ‘Ready, Mrs K?’
‘Coming, doll.’ She wanders out to me, still looking slightly dazed.
I open the door and usher her out, collecting the Super-Soaker on the way.
‘Where are you going with that, Sally love?’
‘I’ve a little errand to do,’ I reply. ‘Can I fill it up in your sink?’
She nods sleepily, too tired to question why. I take her arm as we make our way to her front door. Mrs Kapur hands over her key and I let us in.
‘You go and get yourself ready for bed,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll fill this, then I’ll come in and see you right.’
My lovely neighbour shuffles off to the bathroom, while I nip into the kitchen and fill up the Super-Soaker, pumping it up to full pressure.
Then I go into Mrs Kapur’s bedroom and she’s there swamped by her white cotton nightie, climbing into bed. She snuggles down like a child.
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘Thanks for looking after Charlie.’
‘He’s a good lad,’ she tells me. ‘One of the best. Makes a nice cup of tea too. Besides, you do enough for me.’
‘Go on with you,’ I say. ‘I do nothing.’
‘You’re a good girl, Sally Freeman,’ she says, and I kiss her on the forehead.
‘See you tomorrow.’ I leave her to her sleep, and as I close her front door behind me, I can already hear her snoring.
Chapter Forty
Like some kind of ace Superhero, I take the ten flights in my stride, stealthily. When I get to the landing of the last flight, I can still hear the ‘ruffians’ giggling to themselves. I round the last corner.
One of them is pissing up the wall. The other two are writing on it with cans of spray paint. I point the Super-Soaker at their backs. ‘Don’t piss on my patch,’ I tell them, and without warning launch a Super-Soaker attack.
They emit loud screams as they’re soaked with cold water.
‘We’ll get you for this,’ one shouts over his shoulder at me.
‘I don’t think so,’ I say. ‘This is war. Unless you’re at the Community Centre on Saturday morning, I’m going to the police. I’ve had enough of you and your behaviour. We all have. And it’s not going to happen any more. Get it?’
Surprisingly, they look rather cowed.
‘Get it?’ I give them another blast for good measure.
‘All right, all right,’ one says. ‘Keep your knickers on, girl.’
‘I fully intend to,’ I retort.
They all scowl like the teenagers they are.
My water pistol is resting on my hip, still aimed at them. ‘Community Centre,’ I repeat. ‘Eleven o’clock, Saturday. I know who you are and I know where you live. If you’re not there I’m coming after you. And next time it won’t be with a Super-Soaker. Got it?’
‘Got it,’ they mutter.
‘Now git,’ I say in the style of a frontier-town Marshall.
Thankfully, they scurry out of the flats without argument.
I blow on the end of the Super-Soaker. If I had a holster, I’d probably holster it. Perhaps they’ll start to realise that I mean business. No one – I mean no one – messes with Sally Freeman.
Then a voice comes out of the darkness. ‘What exactly do you think you’re doing?’
I jump, spinning round, Super-Soaker at the ready. ‘Johnny?’
‘Put that thing away,’ he says. ‘It might go off in your hand.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was walking home from the garage. I’ve been thinking about the mural that you want me to do for the Community Centre. I heard a commotion and thought I’d stick my head in.’ Johnny smiles. ‘Should have realised that you’d be in the middle of it.’
I laugh. ‘Just trying to clear the bad guys off my turf.’
‘Be careful,’ Johnny says. ‘They might be nothing but big kids, but you never know when these big kids might be carrying knives these days. A Super-Soaker wouldn’t be much use against that.’
‘They’d have to get near to me first,’ I say with false bravado. Never thought that they might be holding. It’s always the same kids and they’re barely older than Charlie. I just think of them as over-grown naughty boys, not real criminals.
‘All quiet on the Western front then?’
‘For now,’ I say.
Johnny leans on the doorframe. ‘You could invite me in for a nightcap.’
I feel the guilty gu
lp travel down my throat. ‘You’re more than welcome to come up,’ I say. ‘But Spencer’s here. In the flat.’
‘Oh.’ Johnny’s face falls. ‘Why are you down here fighting your own battles then?’
‘I slipped away,’ I admit. ‘Spencer doesn’t know I’m here.’
He laughs sadly. ‘When will you ever realise that you don’t have to take on the rest of the world all by yourself?’
I don’t know what to say to that. My Super-Soaker is leaking onto the floor and my mouth seems to have gone dry. I shrug at my ex-lover. ‘I’d better go.’
‘Yeah,’ Johnny says. ‘Me too.’
‘I’ll call you tomorrow. About the meeting.’
‘Yeah.’ He gives me a cursory wave and I watch him walk out of the door, but still I stand there looking after him.
Now what? I have a hot man waiting for me upstairs who can show me a different side to life, help me to get out of the gutter. So why do I feel so awful when this is exactly what I wanted?
Chapter Forty-One
‘You’ve been a long while,’ Spencer says as I go into the living room.
‘Couldn’t settle Mrs Kapur,’ I say. ‘Ooo, coffee. Lovely.’ I turn down the lights so that you can’t see the damp patches on the walls and join him on the sofa. He’s found my knock-off Nora Jones CD and the soothing songs float through the flat. Picking up the remote, I turn it down a notch. ‘Can’t have it on too loud.’
‘Charlie,’ he says.
‘He sleeps like the dead usually, but he’s got school in the morning and I don’t want to risk waking him.’
Spencer slips his arm round me and I nestle into the crook of his shoulder. He sighs happily. ‘This is rather nice,’ he says. ‘It seems as if the most difficult thing to do is find time alone with you.’
‘I guess you’ve never dated a single mum before?’
‘No,’ he admits. ‘This is a new experience for me.’
‘I’m probably very different from the type of woman that you usually go out with.’
‘Yes.’ He smiles a little squiffily at me. ‘Most of the women I’ve had relationships with aren’t nearly as fiercely independent as you are.’
It’s maybe not a good idea to share with him that he’s the second man to mention that in a very short space of time tonight. What am I supposed to be? A clinging drip? Would they like that better?
‘I meant I bet you’ve never been out with someone living in a tower block, existing on benefits.’
‘No,’ he says. ‘But then you know that I’m not after you for your money.’
‘Me neither,’ I say. ‘I mean I’m not after your money.’
‘That’s the other thing that I like about you.’
‘I like the fact that you’ve got a flash car and can whisk me off to Cuba at the drop of a hat, but what would be the point of that if you were an arsehole?’
Spencer laughs.
‘I like you for you,’ I tell him. ‘I like you a lot.’
He turns to me and his lips find mine. ‘Do you like me enough to let me stay here tonight?’
I ease away from him. ‘This is a big decision for me,’ I admit. ‘The only person who’s ever stayed overnight here is Johnny and we went steady for nearly a year before I let him do that.’ I pluck absently at the cushion. ‘I’ve never wanted Charlie to be the sort of boy who has loads of “uncles”.’ God only knows there are enough of them on this estate, running wild because their mother wants them out of the way for a few hours to entertain her latest man. I’ve never been like that and never intend to be. I don’t want my boy brought up to think that his mother’s a slapper. ‘This has to be serious. If I let you stay, then you have to be around for a while. I can’t let you wake up here, use our bathroom, share our breakfast-table, if you’re then not going to call me. I can’t do that to my son.’ This is hard for me to say. ‘If I’m just another conquest, if I’m a bit of fun for you, then don’t do this. Tell me where I stand. We can keep this light and commitment-free, I’m okay with that. But if that’s the case, then no, you can’t stay here.’
‘Sally,’ he says. ‘This may be going too quick. For me, for you. For both of us. But I want you to be absolutely sure of my feelings.’ He takes my hand and toys with my fingers. ‘I think I’m falling in love with you and I want to be in your life. In Charlie’s life.’
Guess that makes it pretty clear. I smile at my guest and then stretch out and fake a yawn.
‘Tired?’ he says.
Gazing at the handsome man before me I say, ‘I think we should get an early night, don’t you?’ Taking Spencer’s hand, I lead him through to my cramped bedroom.
Going to the window, I look out over the estate, before I close the curtains. Spencer comes and stands next to me. I place my hands on his chest and feel his heart pounding beneath my fingers. ‘I love you,’ he says, voice husky.
Do I love Spencer? Maybe I do, but the words won’t come.
Instead, in silence, I slowly unbutton his shirt – his crisp, designer label, upmarket shirt – and slip it from his shoulders. I lift my arms while he tugs my T-shirt over my head. Unclipping my bra, I let it fall to the floor. He cups my breasts in his strong hands and I forget that I’m fiercely independent or that I’m on a one-woman crusade to save the world – and I let him love me.
Chapter Forty-Two
He knew it was wrong. He should have kept on walking. Gone home. As soon as he knew that Sally was all right, he should have left her to it. But he hadn’t.
Instead, he’d sat on the kerb outside Sally’s flat and tortured himself by imagining what might be going on inside. Ringo lay on the pavement next to him whining plaintively. For his pains, Johnny had been rewarded with a peepshow of his ex-girlfriend – and current love – and the Boy Wonder slowly undressing each other. It was too much to bear while sober. When Sally turned out the light, he knew it was time to leave, otherwise he might just go mad. So, he hauled himself to his feet and continued his journey one miserable plodding step at a time. He clicked his fingers at his dog. ‘Come on, boy.’ Ringo trotted along at his heel.
Johnny hoped that Sally knew what she was doing. It was clear that her new man was going to spend the night there, and he knew that was a big deal for her. It had taken ages for her to allow him to stay over, and the thought that she’d let this fella stay there so soon after meeting him depressed Johnny immensely. It was early days in her new relationship and while he appreciated that Sally was a grown woman and could make her own decisions, he was worried for Charlie. The boy hadn’t got over their split-up and already she was introducing him to someone else. It was too soon. Way too soon, if you asked him. Sally should have left it longer, maybe a year. Two would be better. Better still, she should never find anyone she got along with as well as him. Was that too much to ask? Johnny knew that Charlie wasn’t happy with the situation, but what could he do? He’d just have to be there for the boy and reassure him that this man wouldn’t replace Johnny in his life and that his mum wasn’t going to go off into the wide, blue yonder with Spencer Knight.
When he reached his mam’s house, he knew that he couldn’t stay there tonight. There was no way he was going to get any sleep.
As he opened the front door, his mam shouted from the dining room where her bed now was, ‘Is that you, Johnny Boy?’
He stuck his head round her door and saw her curled up in the bed. ‘Can’t sleep?’
‘Legs are giving me gip,’ she said. ‘I might put the light on and read.’
‘Shall I make you a cuppa?’
‘Aye,’ she said. ‘Make me one of your special brews that’ll send me to sleep. Where’ve you been to so late?’
‘Painting,’ he said. ‘Sally’s got an idea to do up the Community Centre and brighten up the estate. She’s ask me to do a mural. Apparently, she’s managed to get some money out of the Government.’
‘Good for her. She’ll go places, that girl,’ his mam said proudly. ‘Always got something on the go. S
he’s one of the best.’
‘Yeah,’ he agreed miserably. ‘We’ve got a meeting about it on Saturday.’
‘I’ll like to go to that,’ Mary said. ‘Give her my support.’
‘Yeah? We’ll get the wheelchair out then.’
‘You’re a good lad, Johnny. I’m glad that you’re helping her.’
Johnny clicked on the bedside lamp. ‘Here’s your book.’ There was a half-naked man on the cover with a flowing mane, entwined round some buxom, tousle-haired brunette in a gypsy blouse. It was one of those ridiculous romances, the ones where the girl always gets her guy and he’s always rich and arrogant, but with an understanding streak and an urge to do social good and be kind to small animals. Johnny hated blokes like that, but it broke his heart to think that his mam had never had anyone to treat her special in her life. It made him think of Sally and her new man. Who could blame her for wanting a piece of that? He should just get over her, move on, maybe ask Debs out – she’d give him more than enough trouble to keep his mind off Sally.
‘I’m just at a good bit,’ his mam said, as he plumped her pillows and helped her to get comfortable.
‘Does the girl get her guy?’
‘Ooo, they always do,’ she said. ‘That’s why I like them.’
‘I’ll go and get that kettle on.’
When he brought the tea back, he sat on the armchair in the room and flicked through the paper, not seeing any of the words, until she dozed off to sleep. What his mam didn’t know was that his own mug was filled with neat vodka and he was slugging it back to try to achieve oblivion.
Soon his mam had dozed off, book fallen into her lap. Maybe someone else’s fantasy love-life wasn’t that riveting, after all. Instead of achieving his own oblivion, the vodka had just helped to make him wired. He was buzzing and restless. Ringo had curled up on the foot of his mam’s bed. ‘Come on,’ Johnny said. ‘You’re supposed to be a man’s best friend.’
The dog cocked his ear, then opened one bleary eye.
‘I don’t want to do this alone.’ Ringo was off the bed and by his side in an instant. Johnny tiptoed out of the room, took the rest of the bottle and headed out into the night once more.
All You Need is Love Page 14