She tries a smile at that, but then bursts into tears.
‘Oh, Debs.’ I abandon my salad display and put my arms round her. ‘Don’t cry.’ Then I cry too.
‘I don’t want you to go to Outerbumblefuck,’ she sobs. ‘None of us do. Mrs Kapur’s so upset, but she’s trying not to show it. How will she manage without you? Who’ll lug her shopping upstairs for her if you don’t do it? Who’ll go and get her prescriptions when she’s ill? Who’ll keep an eye on Dora when she has her wandering days?’
‘Maybe you could,’ I suggest.
‘You know what I’m like,’ Debs counters with a sniff. ‘I’m full of bloody good intentions, but I forget. I’m such a selfish fucker. I’m not like you – I couldn’t run round after them all like you do. Dora would be halfway to John O’Groats before I’d even noticed she was missing. Or worse, Mrs Kapur could be lying dead in her flat for three days with Gandhi chewing her face off. You hold this place together, Sal. You take care of everyone.’
‘Isn’t it time that I took care of myself for a change?’
‘No,’ Debs says passionately. ‘We want you to stay here and keep wiping our noses and our arses for us.’
We both laugh tearfully at that.
‘I won’t be far away.’
‘It’s miles away,’ she points out. ‘We both know that. When you become all posh and lah-di-dah in your new life you won’t want to know us plebs.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘But it’s true.’
I sweep my arm around, taking in the 1960s housing estate of Kirberly in all its sunwashed glory, the monolith of William Shankly House with its pretty secluded garden, the Community Centre resplendent with its new coat of Johnny’s murals, and pride swells up inside me. ‘This is the place I love. These are my people. This is me.’
The poignant lyrics of ‘Ferry ’Cross the Mersey’ ring in my ears.
Then a pang of guilt or longing or something hits me square in the chest and I wonder exactly why I’m thinking of leaving it all behind. I’ve spent so many years hating it round here, but now that push comes to shove, do I really want to leave all that I’ve ever known, all that I’ve grown up with, all that I’ve worked so very hard to revitalise?
Chapter Ninety-Seven
Mrs Kapur, in best sari, is sitting on a deckchair eating a vegetable kebab. She’s giggling along with the hoodies who have clearly taken a shine to her. I’m so glad that the lads have turned up today. Jason, Daniel and Mark have all worked so hard and have really become part of our community during the process rather than being disaffected and hanging around on the edges causing trouble. I hope that now they’ve contributed to the regeneration of the area that they’ll take a greater pride in where they live rather than trying to destroy it.
They’ve all brought their mums and dads along today; the latter haven’t been involved in the project, but are now looking like they wish they had been. We’ve set up a rota to help maintain the estate and Jason’s dad has already put himself down for some grass-cutting sessions. Daniel’s mum is currently helping Debs with the buffet and his dad is hovering round the man-kitchen talking to Johnny and trying to make himself useful. Mark’s mum and dad are sitting with Mrs Kapur, basking in the praise that she’s heaping on their son and looking like they can’t quite believe it. They’ve already said that they’ll help run some activities in the evenings at the Community Centre to give the local kids something to do rather than practise their advanced vandalism.
We’ve draped some bunting round the Community Centre and have rigged up a sound system. Take That are presently making the party go with a swing. Dora’s dancing round with Ronaldo, and is competing with Gary, Mark, Jason and Howard by singing ‘I’m in Heaven’ very loudly. Mary Jones, hanging baskets finished, now has Ringo curled up on her lap. She’s beaming proudly and tapping her feet in time to the music. The atmosphere’s great and I don’t think there’s been a street party round here since the Queen’s Silver Jubilee in 1977. That’s the last one everyone can remember, and I certainly wasn’t around then. It seems like a really great idea though, and I wonder whether we could make the barbecue an annual event – a bit like the Ewings. Though I seem to remember that the Southfork shindig always ended in a punch-up and someone being thrown in the swimming pool.
My own tummy’s rumbling, though I think it’s more to do with nerves than with hunger. I’m so anxious that today will be a day to remember.
For a moment, Take That are turned down and Richard Selley, my nice man from the Council, takes the microphone.
‘Before we all start to enjoy ourselves too much,’ he says, raising his glass – hearty laughs at that, ‘I’d just like to say a few words. The All You Need is Love project has been a model of how an urban regeneration should be run. You’ve all pulled together amazingly and have transformed Kirberly beyond recognition. You should all be very proud of your achievements.’ Pause for approving applause. ‘But I’m sure you’ll agree with me that none of this would have been possible without the energy and the vision of Sally Freeman, the lady who started the ball rolling on this project. She’s the one who set everything up, organised the planning and has been the key player in the execution of this.’ Cheers now from the residents. I can feel myself blushing. ‘So I’d ask you to raise a glass to Sally Freeman.’ This is where he should add ‘Single Mum and Superwoman’. Glasses are charged all around. Mr Selley raises his glass. ‘To Sally Freeman!’
The call is echoed by the residents. ‘To Sally Freeman!’
Glancing over towards the barbecue, I see both Spencer and Johnny raising their glasses to me. The sound of jubilant cheers and clapping is ringing in my ears. I suppose I should stand up and say something momentous, but I’m too choked to do so. All these people are here, together, celebrating the revitalising of the estate just because of me. I’ve done this. Against the odds, I’ve bloody well gone and done it.
Johnny winks at me across the crowd. He smiles softly and mouths, ‘To Sally Freeman.’
Chapter Ninety-Eight
So, it’s back to the party. I find my glass and slog some more white wine into it. Now it’s my turn to relax. I’ve done all that I can. Charlie runs up and barrels into me. ‘I’m starving, Mum.’
‘There’s plenty of stuff on the barbecue – chicken and sausages,’ I tell him. ‘Haven’t you had anything yet?’
My son shakes his head.
‘Go and get something then.’
‘Okay.’ He runs off again, working his way towards the barbecue.
I watch as he goes, proud that he’s turned out to be such a nice kid. Charlie rushes up to Johnny, who’s busy flipping burgers. My ex-boyfriend turns when he hears Charlie’s voice and I notice that his eyes light up when he sees my boy. I also notice that Spencer, right next to him, doesn’t even turn a hair. Johnny slips a burger into a bun, piles on some fried onion, squirts some ketchup onto it, checking at each stage of the procedure that it’s suitable to his customer’s liking. Then he hands it over to Charlie and they both grin madly as Charlie bites into his burger. Johnny ruffles his hair, pulls him into a bear hug despite the fact that he’s likely to end up covered in ketchup and they laugh together as they share a joke. Spencer concentrates on his chicken.
I sigh to myself and go over to the barbecue, hunger gnawing at my stomach. Spencer’s already serving someone, so I turn towards Johnny instead.
‘Would madam like a little bit of my sausage?’ he asks saucily, as I approach.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘But not for me.’
I flick a glance towards Ringo, who’s vacated Mary’s lap in search of food and is now sitting at Johnny’s feet, tail beating a hopeful rhythm on the pavement, a steady whine directed at the grilling sausages. ‘You have a customer who was here before me.’
‘He’s had three sausages already,’ Johnny says.
‘One more won’t hurt him.’
Johnny takes a serviette and wraps the end of a sausage in it. ‘Ca
reful,’ he says. ‘It’s hot.’
‘Ringo,’ I call. ‘Come on, boy.’ Not surprisingly, the little dog follows me to the front of the Community Centre where I find a place on the kerb to sit down near the shrubs. I pat the pavement next to me, ‘Sit.’
The little dog does as he’s told. I break off a bit of the sausage and blow on it, because it’s still too hot for him to eat. ‘Don’t want you burning your doggy tongue,’ I tell him.
His tail wags harder and his bottom hovers above the ground as he shuffles forward expectantly.
‘You know,’ I say to my canine friend, ‘I might not have always liked you, but I’ve always loved you.’
He cocks his head on one side and studies me.
‘That may not strictly be true,’ I concede. ‘But I’ll love you from now on, okay?’
Ringo gives a little bark. I’m not sure if that means that he understands, because he does seem a bit distracted by the promise of the sausage. I hold it out and nearly lose my fingers, such is his enthusiasm for the treat.
He gobbles it down without pause. So I break another bit off and give him that. Then, as we’re sealing our doggy pact, I look up and am surprised to see a big black limousine pull up outside Bill Shankly House.
Chapter Ninety-Nine
Spencer comes up to me and says, ‘We have a visitor.’ Then he takes my hand and pulls me up. Ringo, realising that the private sausage party is now over, trots back to Johnny to see if he can blag any more pickings.
My boyfriend walks me across the street and then I see who’s getting out of the posh car. It’s Spencer’s father. I feel my heart sink to my boots. He’s wearing a navy pin-striped suit with a red tie, white handkerchief in the breast pocket. The sun – which has bestowed its rays on us all day so far – scuttles behind a cloud. He smiles when he sees us, which, I have to admit, takes me aback – even more so than the fact that he’s here in Kirberly in the first place.
‘Son,’ he says, as he shakes Spencer formally by the hand. Then he turns to me and nods. ‘Miss Freeman.’ Not a great way for my future father-in-law to address me. I wonder how they took the news of our impending engagement. There’s been no formal announcement, as far as I’m aware. I’m sure if Spencer had hooked up with some titled debutante it would have been in The Times quicker than you could say ‘wedding cake’. For that matter, because I’ve been so busy with the project, we haven’t even had time to go shopping for my engagement ring.
The car moves off, turning heads as it progresses down the street.
‘I wanted Father to come here,’ Spencer says, ‘to see all that you’ve achieved.’
Perhaps this is the second part of my interview to see whether I’m suitable material for running Alderstone House alongside his son.
Mr Knight turns a full circle. The expression on his face doesn’t alter. ‘Marvellous.’ What he really means is that he can’t quite imagine how awful it must have been here beforehand. I feel like dragging him the ten floors up to my flat just for spite.
‘Come and see the garden Sally’s created,’ Spencer urges his father, and we all trail through to my new secret space. ‘Before my fiancée got her hands on it, this place was full of old televisions, microwaves and goodness only knows what else.’
‘Really,’ Spencer’s father says. He takes in my garden. My pride and joy. ‘In time, I’m sure this will be very lovely.’
‘It can’t compare to your extensive grounds,’ I say a bit too tartly, ‘but it’s a vast improvement on what it was.’
‘I’m sure,’ he says. ‘Very well done, my dear.’
‘Will you stay and join us at the barbecue?’ Spencer asks. ‘There are some very good kebabs.’
Mr Knight looks like he might pass out at the word ‘kebab’. He makes a fuss of checking his watch. ‘I have to be on my way, I’m afraid.’
Hi son looks disappointed and I wonder whether this is why Spencer has so much trouble connecting with my son when it’s clear that his own dad is such a cold fish. Can’t he tell that Spencer wants to show me off and show off all that he’s been involved with? I don’t think so. Would it hurt him to pretend that he gave a fuck? Clearly, it would.
‘I’ll get the car,’ Spencer says, and disappears out of the garden, leaving me alone with his father.
Mr Knight turns to me. ‘So I expect you think you’ve made yourself a very nice catch.’
‘I think Spencer and I will be very happy together,’ I say. ‘Thank you for your kind wishes on our engagement.’
‘You’ll not marry into my family,’ he warns.
‘Do you really think so little of your son’s judgement?’
‘Yes,’ Mr Knight says. ‘Look at this place. No wonder you’re so desperate to get out of it.’
Is that what Spencer’s told him? Am I so desperate to get out of here that I’d consider marrying into a family who can’t stand the sight of me? ‘I don’t know why you’ve come all this way just to be nasty.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself, young lady. I was up here on business anyway. There’s no way I’d go out of my way for this.’ He nods disdainfully at the garden. ‘I just wanted to see for myself just what a mess Spencer has got himself into.’
‘And now you know,’ I reply. ‘He’s got himself into a “mess” with good, hardworking people who want nothing more than to improve their lot in life. We can’t all be born with silver spoons in our mouths, Mr Knight. You were lucky. The rest of us have to graft for what little we’ve got.’
Mr Knight’s eyes are beginning to pop out of his head, but I carry on regardless. ‘Just because you have money it doesn’t give you the right to come here and act like a stuck-up arsehole. This is important to us, and if you had any manners at all, you wouldn’t be so damned rude. I’ve done this. All of it. With the help of some very good people. So don’t you go looking down your snooty frigging nose at it.’
At that, Spencer appears. ‘Your car’s here, Father.’
‘Thank you,’ Mr Knight says tightly. ‘Goodbye, Miss Freeman. This has all been very illuminating.’Then he marches out towards his waiting limo.
I fold my arms and glare after him. Wish I had my Super-Soaker to hand now. Wanker.
Spencer comes back to me a few moments later while I’m still standing fuming. Oblivious, he takes me in his arms and kisses me. ‘I think my father really liked it here and all that you’ve done.’ My lover smiles. ‘But how could he not love you, when you’re such a charmer?’
‘Oh, Spencer,’ I say. If only you knew the half of it.
Chapter One Hundred
I am woman. I am strong. I am invincible. I’m also very tired. Maybe it’s time that I hung up my Superwoman cloak and let someone else have a go. Perhaps it’s time to realise that I can’t take on the whole world by myself and win.
I feel as if my energy levels are at an all-time low. A bucket full of Pro-Plus would come in very handy right now. Also, I guess there’s a bit of comedown too. I’ve spent so long on a high while all this was going on that, now it’s over, I’m not quite sure what I’m going to do with myself. Yesterday was a perfect end to it. Everything went so well – if you ignore the bit where I called my future father-in-law a stuck-up arsehole, of course. That was, however, the only blot on the landscape. Everyone said how much they enjoyed it and I’m sure they’ll be talking about it round here for years.
‘You look a bit weary, doll,’ Mrs Kapur says, putting a hand on my arm.
I force a smile. ‘It’s been a very long few weeks.’
‘But look at this, Sally love,’ she says, nodding at the garden. ‘It’s bloody marvellous.’
And it is. I can’t argue with my neighbour’s assessment. The rose arbour complete with rambling rose is finished. Okay, so the rose is currently about two feet tall at the moment, but in a few years it will cover this shelter with beautiful, sweet-scented blooms. I can’t wait to see that. Then I’m stopped short in my reverie as I wonder if I ever will.
Lavender pla
nts surround the patio and line the path that meanders its way back towards the flats. In the corner of the garden there’s a little shed which Ted wired up with power for us. Now it’s complete with kettle and mugs that I bought from Save-It. Well, you didn’t think we were planning on carrying trays of tea up and down ten flights of stairs whenever the lift’s on the blink again, did you? Dora is currently doing the honours and she comes trotting out laden down with mugs of tea and some chocolate digestive biscuits.
Johnny’s mum, Mary, is here too. I gave him a call to tell him to bring her over so that she could enjoy the garden along with us and get her out of the house. We all helped Mary out of her wheelchair and now she’s sitting on the bench on the other side of Mrs Kapur. There’s a pink flush to her cheeks that I haven’t seen in years. ‘This is like a little piece of heaven,’ she says with a contented sigh.
‘I’m going to make sure that you come out here every day when the weather’s fine,’ I tell her. ‘Get you out of that damp house.’
‘Are you going to come back from Surrey every morning then?’ she asks. Which makes me shut up.
They all laugh at that.
‘I’ll have to get Johnny to do it,’ she says. ‘Or that nice young lady he’s got.’ I’m not sure whether that’s a pointed comment for me or not, because Mary isn’t normally like that, but somehow it wounds anyway.
Dora sets the tea down on the low wooden table that we managed to buy out of the last of the budget, then hands out the mugs. Even Mrs Kapur’s house cat, Gandhi, has put in an appearance today. I don’t think that I’ve ever seen him out of doors before. His permanent home, for as long as I can remember is curled up in the corner of Mrs K’s sofa. But, now that he’s risked the great outdoors, he’s clearly enjoying the sunshine too. He’s happily rolling in the gravel, covering himself in dust, tail flicking at the air, the centre of attention. It’s a shame that autumn will soon be upon us as I feel that I could sit out here for ever, letting my mind go into freefall.
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