‘I brought something specially,’ I say as I delve into my voluminous handbag. With a bit of rooting, I then pull out two plastic beakers and a half-bottle of champagne. It was on offer at Save-It and it’s probably not even proper fizz, but beggars can’t be choosers. This could, however, be the last bottle of cut-price champagne that I ever drink.
Spencer pops the cork, letting it sail out over the Mersey where it disappears, consumed by the waves. He splashes the fizz in the beakers and then holds his up for a toast. ‘To us,’ he says. ‘Mr and Mrs Spencer Knight.’
‘To Mr and Mrs Spencer Knight,’ I echo, and our cups knock together, the rain mingling with my tears.
‘I should have had a ring organised.’
‘You didn’t know that I was going to spring this on you,’ I remind him. ‘And you know that I’m not bothered about that kind of thing.’
‘That’s why I love you,’ he says, and kisses me again.
We toast ourselves once more.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Spencer tells me as he leans on the rails and looks back towards Liverpool. ‘You’ve made me the happiest man alive.’
I wipe my face on my sleeve and snuggle into him again, faces close together. ‘And I’m the happiest woman.’
‘Have you discussed it with Charlie yet?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘That’s the only cloud on the horizon.’ Well, not quite the only one but, I guess, the most important one. ‘He’s not very happy.’
‘He’ll come round,’ Spencer assures me.
‘That’s what I’m hoping.’
‘He’ll love Alderstone. I did as a boy. I couldn’t wait to get home from school for the holidays.’ Spencer laughs. ‘We’ll get him into my old school – he’ll love it there. Every generation of Spencer as far back as we can remember has been to Langley. It will be nice for Charlie to carry on the tradition.’
‘Sounds great.’
My future husband smiles contentedly. ‘It’s only about an hour’s drive from Alderstone, maybe a little more. He could even come home for occasional weekends until he settles. Though I never wanted to once I’d got used to it.’
The shock makes my lungs fill with cold air and rain, and I start to cough frantically. ‘You want to send Charlie away?’
Spencer frowns. ‘Not away,’ he says. ‘To school. I told you, every generation of Knight has been to Langley. Charlie should go there too. He must go there.’
‘No way,’ I say. ‘We can find somewhere local. There must be decent schools around Alderstone. I want my boy at home with me. That’s final.’
‘I never knew that you felt so strongly,’ Spencer says.
‘Well, I do.’ I realise that perhaps there are a lot of things that our conversations have only skirted around.
‘Let’s not talk about it now,’ my boyfriend says. ‘There’s plenty of time to make arrangements. We can discuss it at a later date.’
But I still won’t change my mind, even at a later date. Spencer must know that. Charlie’s my life. How could anyone contemplate sending their ten-year-old kid away to school? It’s cruel, if you ask me. Don’t have them if you can’t be arsed to bring them up yourselves, that’s my opinion. Don’t farm them out to some posh school just because it’s a family tradition. My heart’s banging in my chest, excitement all but forgotten. It brings it into sharp relief that there are so many differences between us – things that I don’t yet even realise.
Spencer touches his beaker to mine again, but somehow the moment’s gone. I smile anyway. That always hides a multitude of sins.
‘It would be good character-building for Charlie,’ Spencer muses, even though the subject is supposed to be closed. ‘It wouldn’t hurt for him to be more independent.’
Then it occurs to me that maybe Spencer views my one and only son as I see Johnny’s little dog, Ringo. He’s always around, getting under your feet and, while he may be cute enough in his own way, he can be really annoying too. He’s there all the time, even when you don’t want him to be, wagging his jolly little tail and depending on you for affection and approval. And I just can’t see why Johnny adores him so much and it pains me to think that’s exactly how Spencer views my own son, Charlie. Does he just see my child as a necessary nuisance? Quite nice in his place, but to be tolerated rather than cherished. Does he think that life would probably be better without him around? Perhaps he does – and the thought makes my blood run cold.
Chapter Ninety-One
‘I’ve got to go away,’ Charlie told Kyle as he blew out a stream of smoke. They were supposed to be helping his mum with the gardening again. They’d been to collect their spades from the Community Centre and were on their way back, but Kyle said he needed a fag break first. They were hiding in the stairwell in Bill Shankly House and his mum would kill him if she could see him – especially as he’d promised her that he’d be good from now on. But then she was taking him away and he didn’t feel like being good any more.
His friend frowned and took the cigarette from him. ‘Where to?’
‘To Surrey.’
‘Frig.’ Taking a long drag of the cigarette, Kyle gazed thoughtfully out into the middle distance. ‘Where’s Surrey?’
‘I don’t know,’ Charlie admitted. ‘But it sounds like it’s a long way away.’
He was surprised that his mum wanted to move now that she’d made the estate look so nice. Why do all that hard work when all you wanted was to go away? It didn’t make any sense. But then a lot of what grown-ups did made no sense at all.
‘We’ll never see each other again,’ Kyle said. ‘We can’t learn to drive for another seven years and then we’ll have forgotten about each other.’
‘I know.’ He didn’t really know, but he could trust Kyle on these things. ‘What car would you get?’
‘I’ll probably get a BMW. A black one.’
‘I’d like an Aston Martin.’ Like James Bond. That would get him back from Surrey quickly. ‘We could MSN each other.’
‘That’s for girls,’ Kyle said, pouring scorn on the idea. ‘And this is all because your mum’s marrying that posh fella?’
‘Yeah.’ Charlie scuffed his shoe along the concrete – even though he knew his mum would go ballistic about that too. He knew that his mum wanted to get him away from here and, if he told the truth, away from Kyle too. ‘I want to stay here and live with Johnny, but she won’t let me.’
Charlie was really pleased that they’d taken the paintings to the gallery. That had been a good thing, even though it had got him into a lot of trouble. Mum said he wasn’t to worry about Johnny, that they’d still see him often. But a lot of stuff that grown-ups said didn’t happen. They just pretended, to make you feel better.
‘You could probably live at our house,’ Kyle offered. ‘My mum likes you. I think she likes you more than she likes me. She says that I’ve been Nothing But Trouble From Day One.’ Funny, but Charlie’s mum said the exact same thing about Kyle too. Charlie had never found Kyle to be Nothing But Trouble – he thought his best mate was a lot of fun. And he knew stuff.
‘So what shall we do?’
‘We could run away together.’ Kyle’s eyes brightened at the thought. ‘Just me and you. We could clear off – go somewhere that they’ll never find us, and then they’d all be really worried.’
‘But where would we go?’ Charlie wanted to know. ‘What would we do for money?’
‘It’s not a properly formed plan yet,’ Kyle admitted. ‘But I’d like to live by the seaside, wouldn’t you?’
‘Perhaps Surrey is by the seaside.’
Kyle looked a bit disappointed at the thought of that.
‘We’d better go,’ Charlie said. ‘Otherwise they’ll wonder where we are.’
‘They’ll wonder where you are,’ Kyle corrected.
‘Your mum and stepdad seem to like you now,’ Charlie pointed out. ‘They’ve been digging with us and everything.’
‘Yeah,’ Kyle conceded.
‘Pe
rhaps one day you might think of your stepdad like I think of Johnny.’
His friend wrinkled his nose, but he didn’t laugh as Charlie thought he would. ‘Might do,’ he shrugged.
Then he passed Charlie the butt of the cigarette and Charlie took the last puff before he ground it out under his heel. ‘You know,’ he said to Kyle, ‘I think that I won’t smoke any more. I don’t really like it.’
His mate looked horrified, but Charlie just laughed.
Charlie’s mum said that he’d find better friends in Surrey – nicer friends. But he was sure that he’d never, ever find a friend like Kyle Crossman again.
Chapter Ninety-Two
‘Mixed marriages never work,’ Debs advises me. ‘One man, one woman – can’t be done. Whoever thought that one up should have been shot.’
And I was simply concerned that she thought our backgrounds were too different.
My friend and I are sitting in the newly-created garden behind Bill Shankly House. It’s still a work in progress. The hoodies – Jason, Daniel and Mark – are currently getting lessons in how to lay paving slabs from Ted, Brian and Jim, the allotment guys. It’s so gratifying to see how attentive and helpful the boys can be when they’re occupied by something they’re interested in. You never know, I could be seeing the blossoming of the next generation of allotment blokes, and it makes me smile to think of it.
The bench was put in this afternoon at the back of the garden on a small but perfectly formed patio, but the rose arbour has yet to go over it. Already, I’m visualising a profusion of sweetly-scented blooms next summer. If only I were going to be here to see it. By the time that the roses are blooming and Mrs Kapur and Dora the Explorer are sitting beneath them, I’ll be Lady of the Manor in the depths of Surrey. I should be excited by that, shouldn’t I?
Debs and I are supposed to be arranging gravel around the slabs, but we’re currently road-testing the bench, enjoying the last bursts of sunshine.
‘I’m discussing this with you because I want reassurance,’ I tell her.
‘You shouldn’t need reassurance,’ my bezzie mate points out. ‘If you’re mad enough to get married, you should be absolutely dead certain.’
‘I’m not,’ I confess. At the moment, I’m having a fit of the wobbles every five minutes.
‘And this is because you think Spencer’s trying to sideline Charlie.’
‘Yeah. He wants to send my son away to school.’
Debs shrugs. ‘Sounds great to me.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I take it there’s been no talk about Little Lord Fauntleroy trading in the Porsche for a Renault Espace when you up sticks and move to Outerbumblefuck?’
I shake my head. ‘I still don’t think that the reality that I actually have a child has quite permeated Spencer’s brain.’
‘Will it ever?’
Now it’s my turn to shrug. ‘Perhaps it will be better when we’re all living together permanently.’ Spencer can hardly pretend that Charlie doesn’t exist then, right?
‘The thing I find is that women marry because they believe men can change. Men marry because they believe women never change. Both are usually mistaken.’
This does nothing to cheer me up.
I cup my chin in my hands. ‘I just think that I’d be completely bonkers to pass up this opportunity.’
‘Do you love him?’
‘I adore him! What’s not to love? He’s gorgeous, he’s intelligent, he’s funny . . .’
‘He’s loaded.’
‘As a man he’s ninety-nine per cent perfect.’
‘That’s a pretty high percentage. They don’t come along very often.’
‘No,’ I agree. From the woman who’s had two men in her life who have both been fabulous. I’ve messed everything up with Johnny, what if I now blow Spencer away? Am I then destined to remain a single mum for the rest of my life? Joining Debs on the depressing merry-go-round of dating dubious men? I’d rather stay single and celibate. ‘There’s just this one sticking point. If Spencer loved Charlie like Johnny does, then there wouldn’t even be an issue.’
‘But he doesn’t,’ Debs reminds me.
‘No.’ I sigh and massage my temples.
My friend rummages in her handbag. ‘Did you see this? I brought it over for you from my sister’s in case you hadn’t seen it yet.’
Debs hands me the local paper. She’s right, I haven’t seen it. Sometimes – more often than not – we don’t get our local rag because the paperboy can’t be bothered to climb ten flights of stairs. And who can blame him?
On the front page there’s a story about Johnny. ‘Wow,’ I say. ‘They’re calling him Liverpool’s answer to Jackson Pollock.’
‘Jackson Pillock, more like.’ Debs is clearly unimpressed by Johnny’s newfound success.
‘They’re going to have an exhibition of his paintings at the Tate Liverpool.’
‘Whoopee-doo.’
Will I get an invite to the launch-party? Do they have launch-parties for painters? I’m sure they must. It will be all champagne and canapés. How soon will it be? Will I already be in Surrey by then? Will Dana be the one who’s gracing Johnny’s arm instead of me? This is such an exciting time in Johnny’s life and I’m so disappointed, after all we’ve been through together, that I’m not alongside him supporting him, sharing it with him.
I haven’t seen him yet today. He’s still over at the Community Centre working away with Dana and, try as I might to deny it, there’s a bit of a barrier between us now. I think it’s her. Johnny probably lays the blame at Spencer’s door. Whoever’s fault it is, something’s definitely changed between us. I wish in so many ways that things could go back to how they used to be – but when they were how they used to be, I was miserable. And they say that women are complicated . . .
‘So what do I do?’ I ask Debs again. Though why I’m relying on her for my relationship advice is beyond me. She’s never been any use to me before and I don’t suppose she will be now. I’d be better off asking Charlie’s mate, Kyle. ‘Do I go ahead with my wedding plans and hope that after we’re married Spencer will suddenly turn into the model parent?’
‘They do say that love is blind,’ my friend says.
‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘I guess it’s marriage that’s the real eye-opener.’
Chapter Ninety-Three
The mural on the outside of the Community Centre was nearly finished. Johnny had painted various scenes depicting the regeneration of the estate and they seemed to be going down well with the Kirberly residents – particularly those who had starring roles.
Mrs Kapur and the three hoodies were captured in their gardening endeavours. Dora and Ronaldo tripped the light fantastic across the next panel. Ted, Brian and Jim, the old boys from the allotments, leaned on their painted spades caught in the throes of discussing their next move. It had certainly helped that Johnny’s face had been plastered all over the local paper this week. Even with that one piece, it had turned him into something of a celebrity, with people coming up all day long to congratulate him on his success and admire the mural and telling him what a wonderful painter he was. None of it was doing any harm to his ego.
It was nice to be recognised for something at long last.
‘You are wonderful,’ Dana told him, after the last in a long line of well-wishers had just departed.
‘It just feels odd,’ Johnny said. ‘Everyone suddenly seems to know who I am.’
‘Now that it’s sunk in, I feel we should go out to celebrate,’ Dana suggested. ‘My treat.’
‘That’d be nice.’
‘We’ll do it tonight, when we’ve finished up here.’
‘I’m just about done,’ he told her, as he stood back and cast an appraising eye over his work. It wasn’t half bad. Maybe he simply saw it in a different light, now that he’d won the approval of those in the know. Whatever, he was pleased with the mural and even more pleased that it was nearly finished. Then he just had the inside to do
and you’d hardly recognise the old place.
The estate was looking fantastic and that was all down to Sally. She’d been the one with the energy to get this all started. He was certainly going to miss her when she moved away to Surrey. Johnny could hardly contemplate that he wouldn’t be able to just pop round and see her in Bill Shankly House any more. As for Charlie . . . he couldn’t even go there. He was going to miss him like hell.
Mrs Kapur and the hoodies had done a wonderful job in the little garden behind Shankly House. Who’d have thought that the patch of scrubby wasteland filled with old tellies, microwaves and goodness knows what else would turn out to be such a pleasant sanctuary? The old boys from the allotments had also worked wonders with the parched patch of land around the Community Centre. It had all been dug over and, where the mural was completely dry, they’d started to plant up a lush line of green shrubs. It had to be said that Kyle’s mum and his stepdad had worked wonders here alongside their boy and Charlie, efficiently organising everyone to get the job done. That was something he’d never expected to see.
Other residents had worked on clearing up the grass verges, collecting rubbish, and Dana had brought her colleagues in from the Council to take away some of the stuff that had been dumped round by the garages – old cookers, bent bikes, a broken buggy or two. It was unbelievable the difference that alone had made.
There were some scruffy swings, slides and stuff on the other side of the estate that had been steadily vandalised by the teenagers over the years until they were unusable. All that had changed too. Sally’s group of volunteers had repainted all the metalwork, obliterating the graffiti. The equipment had been mended and a new, protective ground covering had been installed. Now the kids would actually be able to use it.
When this project was finished and he got back to his painting proper, he thought that he might paint some street scenes from round here to commemorate it. It had been so nice to hear the neighbours out together laughing and sharing a joke with each other. Virtually all of the estate had been involved in one way or another. He hoped that the sense of community spirit that they’d all rediscovered would continue long into the future. He, for one, would try to make sure that it did. Now that the Community Centre had been spruced up, they could organise more events that would help to keep them all bound together.
All You Need is Love Page 29