Johnny shakes his head. ‘I was on my way back from the garage. There was no one around by then.’
‘This flaming place,’ I say bitterly. ‘I hate it. Why do we have to live in such a shit-hole?’Then, leaving Johnny standing in my wake, I follow Spencer down the stairs to look at the damage.
Chapter Fifty
Charlie was covered in grass stains and dirt. He walked along next to Johnny, football tucked under his arm. They were heading back to the changing rooms and a much-needed shower. Ringo was trotting obediently at their heels.
‘Well played,’ Johnny said. ‘We’ll get you a contract at Anfield yet.’
It was a lie. Charlie was a terrible footballer, but the kid looked like he needed something to lift his spirits. They’d been stomped on by the opposition today – a Catholic school from the other side of the estate who’d played dirty even though the match was supposed to be a friendly.
‘What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?’ Six–nil had to hurt in any league. There’d be as many bruised ten-year-old egos tonight as there were bruised shins.
‘I was crap,’ Charlie muttered.
‘There’ll be other matches. Then we’ll paste them.’
The boy stared off into the distance. ‘It’s not that.’
‘Gonna tell me what it is then?’
Charlie kicked at the turf. ‘I’m glad that Spencer had his tyres slashed.’
‘You don’t mean that,’ Johnny chided.
‘I do.’ Charlie sighed.
‘Any idea who did it?’
Charlie shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Your mum would kill you if she thought you knew who did it.’
‘I don’t,’ he insisted. ‘Mum doesn’t care about anything any more but him.’
‘That’s not true, Charlie.’
The boy turned an anguished face towards him. ‘You’re losing her, Johnny. He’s always round at our flat now. He’s stayed the night and everything.’ The boy’s eyes were round with horror. His nose wrinkled at the very thought of it. ‘He stayed for breakfast. He sat where you sit.’ He let out a heavy huff. ‘I think Mum loves him.’
Johnny put his arm around the boy. ‘She might do,’ he conceded. ‘But there’s nothing much I can do about that, lad.’
‘There is. I’ve talked to Kyle about it. He says you need to do something drastic.’
More drastic than learning salsa dancing? More drastic than getting off his arse and setting up his own painting and decorating business? ‘Like what?’
Charlie’s shoulders sagged. ‘He’s thinking about it.’
Johnny smiled to himself. ‘When he comes up with a cunning plan, you let me know.’
Johnny had done his first decorating job today. Not paid. Returning a favour for the loan of the compressor and airbrush stuff. But it was a start. Something to build up his confidence, get him back in the game. He’d been so long out of the workforce that it was daunting to be thinking about rejoining it again. Plus he’d have to let the DHSS know so they could arrange to stop his benefits. The stupid thing was, he’d probably be worse off working. It was how people like him got stuck in a rut and how people like Spencer got richer and richer.
He might outwardly shrug off what Charlie said about Sally’s new man, but inwardly it hurt to think that she was slowly but inexorably moving away from him.
‘Now you look sad,’ Charlie said.
‘Well, you know,’ Johnny replied. ‘You never like your own team to lose.’
‘If I get showered quickly,’ the boy suggested, ‘you could take me to the pub for a coke. We could sit outside in the garden. I don’t need to tell Mum.’
Johnny rubbed at Charlie’s dirty hair and laughed. ‘If you’re quick.’
Charlie started to run ahead of him. ‘Don’t you worry,’ Charlie said over his shoulder. ‘I’m staying over at Kyle’s tonight.’
‘At Kyle’s?’
Charlie nodded. Johnny thought that Sally must have lost her mind. But then, perhaps she had other plans for the evening.
‘We’ll talk about it then. He’ll come up with something. He always does. We’ll get Mum back for you.’
Great, Johnny thought. It was always reassuring to know that your future happiness was in the hands of a ten-year-old and his dysfunctional mate.
Chapter Fifty-One
I’m having a meeting with the man from the Council. Mr Richard Selley is very cute and he’s smiling over his desk at me and Debs. I’ve dragged my friend along with me for moral support. Currently, she’s making eyes at Mr Selley.
‘You’ve done a great job with the plans, Ms Freeman,’ he says, ignoring Debs’s attempts at flirting. ‘I’ll organise for you to have access to the funds as soon as possible. You’ll be able to begin work in a couple of weeks.’
‘A couple of weeks?’
‘Yes,’ he confirms. ‘We’re keen to push the Renewal Action Plan forward as quickly as we can and, as you know, Kirberly has been designated as a Priority Neighbourhood. We’re delighted that you’ve approached us first. That makes my life a lot easier.’
‘Wow.’ I sink back in my chair and try to take this in. Now I’m as panicked as I am thrilled. Two weeks to mobilise everyone on the estate. With Johnny’s help, I’m sure it can be done. And with Debs’s, of course. I put all the plans up in the Community Centre and there’s been nothing but praise for them – thank goodness. What would I have done if everyone had been set on having their own ideas? As it is, the residents seem happy enough to let someone else take control. I have to say that the designs we downloaded from the internet are pretty impressive. Mr Selley has suggested a few tweaks, but he’s more than happy with them too. Let’s just hope they look as good on the ground.
‘I’ll come down and help you to implement the scheme,’ he continues.
‘You will?’
‘It’s a lot to take on,’ he says, as if I didn’t know. ‘We can give you some assistance, help you to keep on track.’
‘That’s great.’
‘Anything else you need to know?’
Yes: how can I make my ten-year-old son like my fabulous boyfriend? But I realise that Mr Selley is solely concerned with my garden dilemmas not my personal ones, so I don’t say that. Instead, I shake my head and say, ‘I don’t think so.’
‘I’ll be in touch, then,’ he says and as I stand up, he leans over to shake hands with me. I realise my hand’s trembling. I’ve done it. I’ve got the money to regenerate the estate. Have you any idea how this makes me feel? I’m walking on sunshine, to quote Katrina and the Waves.
Debs barges me out of the way and grabs his hand too, letting her fingers linger a little too long. The poor bloke looks terrified.
‘Thanks,’ I say, dragging my bezzie towards the door. ‘We won’t let you down.’
Outside, on the steps of the Council offices, I do a little happy dance. ‘I can’t believe it,’ I shout out. ‘This is the only thing I’ve ever achieved.’ Apart from being mother to my wonderful, if moody, child, of course. ‘Come on,’ I say to my friend. ‘I’ll treat you to a coffee.’
‘We don’t need coffee, we need strong drink,’ Debs insists. ‘And you’re paying. You can claim it as expenses.’
So we head to the nearest bar, which looks like it’s just opened up for the day. Debs orders us both double vodkas and coke and – true to her word – I pay. Then we find a seat and take up residence.
‘All we’ve done is talk about bloody gardening for the last few weeks,’ my friend complains. ‘Though I’m glad I came today.’
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘Not for you,’ she informs me. ‘For the scenery. I could definitely have given that Council bloke one.’
‘I’m sure he’d have been delighted.’
‘Many men would,’ she says wistfully. ‘Actually, I’m thinking of asking Johnny out.’
I’m so horrified that I nearly spit out my drink. ‘Why would you ask Johnny out?’
She swigs
at her vodka and shrugs. ‘Because it’s about time that I did nice instead of nasty.’
‘But Johnny?’
‘Why not? He’s a sound bloke.’
‘I can’t say that I’d be very happy about it.’
‘It’s not really up to you any more, is it?’ my friend points out rather tartly. ‘You’re heading off into the sunset with Little Lord Fauntleroy.’
‘Don’t call him that.’
‘What does it matter to you what – or who – Johnny does?’
But it does matter. Perverse as it may sound, I don’t want him to go out with Debs. She might be my best mate, but she’s an awful girlfriend. She can’t stay faithful. Her hygiene habits are very suspect. If I was a bloke I wouldn’t want to go out with her. And I wouldn’t want Johnny going out with her either. Not that he would. He likes his women, well, different to Debs.
‘So, how is life with Little Lord Fauntleroy?’
‘Don’t call him that,’ we both say in unison, then laugh together.
‘He’s wonderful,’ I say in answer to her question. ‘He’s a hopeless romantic.’
‘I wouldn’t want a hopeless romantic, I’d want a decent one.’
‘You know what I mean. He can dance, he likes to read poetry, he knows his way round computers.’
‘Great in bed?’
I nod.
‘I think I might be in love with him too,’ Debs quips.
‘Now you can see why I’m smitten.’
My friend shakes her head. ‘He sounds too good to be true. You know what the women’s rule of thumb is – if it has tyres or testicles you’re going to have trouble with it. Spencer, as wonderful as he sounds, will be no exception.’
‘You’re wrong,’ I say. ‘This time I really think that I’ve found the perfect man.’
‘He’s not one of us,’ she tells me. ‘He’s rich. He’s posh. Why’s he hanging round our estate? Why’s he shagging a single mum with a kid in tow when he could have his pick of women? No offence.’
‘None taken,’ I say, offended.
‘Something doesn’t add up,’ my so-called friend says. ‘More vodka?’
And, before I can answer, she sweeps up our glasses and goes back to the bar leaving me alone with my nagging doubts.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Dinner is perfect. Spencer’s apartment is lit only by candlelight which dances in his eyes. There’s some kind of mellow mood music drifting over us. I wonder if I could slip into this lifestyle on a permanent basis, wave goodbye to Bill Shankly House for good.
Don’t get me wrong, I’d never be without Charlie now – he’s my life – but I can’t help thinking how different my lot could have been if I hadn’t got pregnant so young. Could I now be living in a place like this, drinking champagne as if it was Diet Coke, enjoying fine dining every night rather than eking out my benefit and scoffing beans on toast by the end of the week? What would it be like to have a life without responsibility, without money worries, with only yourself to please? What would my life be like if it was just me and Spencer?
My boyfriend – still not sure that I’m comfortable calling him that yet – pads about the apartment, tidying away the debris of our dinner. He’s wearing a loose white linen shirt, baggy grey combats and he’s barefoot. The thing that amazes me most about this man is how at ease he is with himself; the only times he shows any signs of discomfort is with my son. When I’m with Spencer I feel gauche, naive and not worthy of him. Yet it’s nothing that he does to make me feel like that. This is all down to my own insecurity.
Spencer comes back to the table with the champagne bottle. ‘More fizz?’
I nod and Spencer tops up my glass.
‘Happy?’ he asks.
‘Very. That was wonderful,’ I say with a contented sigh as my tummy strains against my skirt. The man’s an excellent cook too. The wild mushroom risotto was perfect. I’ll swear that the tiramisu we had afterwards was shop-bought, but Spencer reckons that it wasn’t. Says it was all his own work. Old family recipe. Not sure I believe that bit, but it’s something else I can brag to Debs about. ‘Is there nothing that you can’t do?’
He reaches out for my hand. ‘I can’t persuade you to come away with me for the weekend again,’ is his rejoinder which he softens with a kiss on my lips. ‘All the crowd will be coming to my place soon.’
‘Here?’
‘No, to my family home in the country. I’d like you to meet them.’
A family home in the country? How appealing does that sound? And I thought that I remembered Spencer saying that he’d been brought up on a nice estate. Perhaps his parents have retired there or something.
‘I have to ease into this. Slowly, slowly. I’ve let Charlie stay over at Kyle’s tonight,’ I remind him. Which, frankly, goes entirely against my principles. I’m sure Johnny would be furious if he knew that I was even considering letting him stay there. ‘A snatched evening on a school night. That’s a big deal. I’m not wildly happy about it. Kyle might be Charlie’s best friend, but that kid’s normally up to no good.’ I glance at my watch. ‘They should be in bed now, but I bet they’re holed up in Kyle’s room with a stash of porn or some X-rated Playstation game that involves extreme violence. No one keeps a proper check on that boy. I don’t really want my son mixing with him. But, for you, I’m letting go. This is emotionally very expensive for me.’
‘Thank you,’ Spencer says. ‘I appreciate the sacrifice. It’s so hard to get you all to myself and your son makes it very clear that he’d rather not have me around.’
‘Maybe all three of us could do something together this weekend,’ I suggest. ‘I’m sure if you got to know Charlie better then you wouldn’t find him so daunting. He’s quite grown up for his age. If he knew you better then he’d love you too.’
‘Just like he does Johnny?’
I sigh. ‘Johnny’s been in his life for a long time. He’s as near to a father as my boy’s ever known. You’re never going to replace him, but you could get along with Charlie just as well.’
‘You’re a very persuasive woman,’ Spencer says, and he leads me from the table over to the fire. It’s one of those modern ones, set into the wall. The flames flicker, licking at the shadows.
There’s a huge sheepskin rug spread out in front of it and Spencer eases me down into the soft wool. He takes my champagne glass and puts it on the coffee-table along with his while I kick off my shoes. We lie on the rug, basking in the heat of the fire, even though the night isn’t cold. His lips find mine and he kisses me deeply. I arch towards him in response. I can safely say that there have been very few times in my life when I’ve been happier than this. Spencer’s fingers find the buttons on my blouse and slowly undo them. My head spins and it’s not because I’ve drunk too much champagne. All thoughts of what Charlie might be up to, Johnny’s lurking presence, the problems on the estate, all fly away in the face of this tender assault.
‘Sally Freeman,’ Spencer says, ‘I think that I’m falling in love with you.’
I know this is too soon, too quick. It’s unwise to be swept away like this. But I feel as if I’m being carried along by a turbulent sea and I can no longer tread water. I can no longer tell where Spencer’s body ends and mine starts. We’re swirling together in the tide.
‘I think I might love you too,’ I answer.
Chapter Fifty-Three
This was probably a very bad idea. But Kyle Crossman, Kirberly’s self-appointed agony uncle, had decreed that drastic measures were required. How could Johnny argue with that? He’d tried wooing Sally back with sexy moves on the dance floor and had failed. She’d been equally unimpressed by his new career choice. Maybe this would do the trick.
Thankfully, not all of the streetlights in this area had been vandalised, so he could just about see what he was doing. Kyle, as yet, hadn’t come up with a marvellous plan, so Johnny had decided to take matters into his own hands.
He made a few more sweeping strokes with his paintbrush. Th
en, standing back, he admired his work. As this could also be classed as making a start on sprucing up the estate, it might please Sally on both counts. He couldn’t wait to get started on the project to regenerate the area. It was long overdue and he was so proud of Sally for having the energy and the vision to drive this whole thing forward. He’d always admired her determination and fighting spirit – this time she’d really come through for all of them.
‘What do you think, Ringo lad?’
The little dog barked his appreciation.
‘Do you think Sally will like it?’
Ringo wagged his tail.
‘What do you know?’ Johnny said. ‘You’re man’s best friend, but you’re useless when it comes to relationships. When did you last have a girlfriend, eh?’
The wagging didn’t stop.
The night was cold. If he had any sense, he’d be tucked up in his bed right now. But he had no sense at all when it came to Sally. Despite them being parted and her having another man – someone he hadn’t a hope in hell of competing with – he was still totally besotted with her. If only he’d shown her that more often when they were together, perhaps he wouldn’t be in this mess now.
He turned and checked Sally’s flat behind him. It was three in the morning and still she wasn’t home. A knot of jealousy tangled his guts. She must really like this guy if she’d risk leaving Charlie with Kyle Crossman overnight. Goodness only knows what the boy might have learned by morning. And yet, here he was, a grown man clutching at straws and taking Kyle’s advice himself. What exactly did that say about his state of mind?
He turned back to his handiwork. A few more strokes and he’d finished. Johnny checked it out again. It said all that needed to be said. He thought it looked great and hoped that Sally would feel the same. Satisfied, he tidied away his brushes and the paint, putting them into the cardboard box he’d brought along for the purpose. He’d clean off the brushes properly later on.
Then he crossed over the road to Bill Shankly House and settled down on the broad, concrete doorstep of the flats. He’d wait for Sally, make sure he was here when she discovered exactly what he’d been up to in the early hours of the morning.
All You Need is Love Page 17