All You Need is Love Read online

  ‘I mean it, Charlie. She’s not a well woman. I don’t want you playing her up.’

  ‘No, Mum.’

  ‘And don’t “yes, Mum, no Mum” me.’

  ‘No, Mum.’ I turn round to shout at him, but he’s grinning his cheeky grin at me and I can’t tell him off.

  Charlie has more freckles on his nose than I’ve got specks of mould on my wallpaper. His hair’s brown like mine was before Debs got at it with the bleach and, apart from his freckles, I like to think that he’s inherited none of his father’s characteristics. If he grows up to be nothing like him, I’d class that as a good thing.

  I sit down next to my son and hug him. He’s the one good thing that came out of the relationship. In some ways it’s a shame that my ex never got to know his son. In other ways, I’ll be happier if they never meet. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love for Charlie to have a good dad, but no dad at all is better than a crap one. I should know. Johnny’s more than made up for any shortcomings in the father-figure department and I get a pang of guilt when I think of my date tonight. I know that Johnny would be upset if he knew.

  ‘I won’t be late.’

  ‘You’ve said that seventeen times,’ my son points out.

  ‘Well, I’ll say it eighteen times. I don’t want to come home and find you still up. School tomorrow.’

  ‘Why didn’t you get Johnny to come round?’ he moans. ‘Why Mrs Kapur?’

  I go back to the rickety wardrobe and flick furiously through my meagre selection of clothes. ‘Johnny’s probably busy.’

  ‘He’s never busy,’ Charlie protests. ‘He just spends his time at the garage painting.’

  I wheel round. ‘He’s painting again?’

  Charlie colours up and nods, looking as if he wishes he could slice out his own tongue. ‘They’re good.’

  That makes me laugh. ‘What do you know about painting?’

  My son’s face goes a furious shade of red. ‘I know what I like.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ I shouldn’t criticise his precious friend. ‘I’m sure Johnny’s paintings are really good.’

  ‘Then what?’

  I sit back down next to Charlie and try not to ruffle his hair, which he hates – except when Johnny does it. ‘Johnny’s full of dreams,’ I try to explain. ‘I am too. Dreams for us. Dreams that will get us a better life. The thing is though, when you have dreams you have to put a lot of hard work in to make them come true. Johnny doesn’t do that.’

  ‘He might do one day,’ my son says defensively.

  ‘I hope so.’ And I do. I really hope that Johnny makes something of himself. ‘Now help me to pick my outfit.’

  I pull a black tunic top off the pillow – George at Asda, a £5.99 sale bargain. The fabric’s sheer and there’s a bit of lace round the neckline, pretty even though it’s a bit itchy. ‘Like this?’

  Charlie shrugs.

  ‘What if I put it with my best jeans?’

  ‘You always look nice, Mum.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I kiss him on the head. There’s a knock at the door. ‘Be a love and go and see who that is.’

  Charlie hauls himself from the bed and stomps to the door while I strip off my T-shirt. Pulling the black tunic over my head, I check myself out in the mirror. Not too bad. Even if it wasn’t, it would have to do.

  My son puts his head round the bedroom door. ‘It’s Mrs Kapur.’

  I rush into the hall. My neighbour’s standing there in her dressing-gown, coughs wracking her frail frame. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’ve come down with a terrible cold, doll,’ she says apologetically. ‘Just this afternoon. It must have been getting my hair wet. I thought I might be able to manage, but I’m going to have to take to my bed. I don’t want to pass this on to you or Charlie.’

  She looks terrible. ‘Don’t worry. Let’s get you straight under those covers and wrapped up warm.’

  Taking her arm, I lead her back down the corridor to her flat. Poor love can’t even manage to open the door, so I take the key and let us in. I steer her straight to her bedroom and help her into the bed.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’

  ‘I’ve got cough mixture, love.’

  ‘Want another spoon?’

  Mrs K nods at me and I pour out some of the Veno’s on her bedside table, then hold the spoon to her lips as she swallows it.

  ‘Think you’ll be all right?’ God, I hate leaving her like this. I should kip down in her lounge tonight.

  ‘I’m sound, doll,’ she wheezes. ‘It’s just a cold.’

  Came on pretty quickly if you ask me, but then that’s the joy of living in a damp box; you’ve no resistance to anything. ‘I’ll come round in the morning and see if you’re okay – bring some brekky.’

  ‘Thanks, Sally.’

  As I close the door behind me and make my way to my own flat, I wonder what I’m going to do now. I realise that I haven’t even got a contact number for Spencer, so he’s going to turn up anyway. I could invite him in, but do I really want him to see this place? The answer to that is no. I hate to say this, but I’m even ashamed that he knows where I live and is going to see the outside. How can I bring him in with the broken lift and the piss-filled entrance hall? It’s times like these when I feel even more determined to get out of this place.

  While I’m still stressing, Charlie pops his head out of the bedroom door to greet me.

  I chew at my lip. ‘Fancy coming on a date with your old mum?’

  ‘No,’ Charlie says emphatically. ‘Phone Johnny. You should have done that in the first place. He’ll come round.’

  And my problem is? I know that he will and that’s the trouble.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘There’s a Porsche Cockster parked outside,’ Johnny says as he comes through the door just before eight, Ringo obediently at heel. ‘With a bloke with a suit in it. It’s a sound car. Won’t last five minutes round here without the wheels being robbed. No idea who it is. Thought it must be CID.’

  I don’t even need to look out of the window to see who it is, but I do anyway. Ringo runs to the window next to me and puts his paws on the sill. He wags his tail. ‘Get down, you silly dog.’ Ringo doesn’t get down.

  I’m ten floors up, so I can’t actually see him, but I know by instinct that the man in the very posh Porsche is Spencer Knight, my date for tonight. To help me though, in case there was any doubt in my mind, I can just about pick out the number-plate, which looks like a personalised one – SK something or another.

  When I turn back from the window, Johnny is staring open-mouthed at me. ‘You look fab.’

  ‘Thanks.’ That gives my confidence a boost, although it feels wrong to be getting emotional uplift from your ex-lover. I must admit that I’ve taken more time than I usually would with my make-up and hair. Normally, I would have let Debs straighten it for me, but I’m glad that I didn’t today. She’d have probably turned my hair to toast.

  ‘What time is Debs coming?’

  I’m collecting my belongings, which gives me a great excuse not to look at Johnny. ‘I’m not going out with Debs.’ Even I can hear the hesitation in my voice. I didn’t actually tell Johnny that I was going out on a date. I just told him I was going out. I didn’t lie. It was he who assumed I’d be going out with Debs. On any other occasion, he’d have been right.

  My saviour in the form of Charlie comes into the room. He and Johnny high-five each other.

  ‘Hiya, champ! What’s new?’

  ‘I was going to have to go out with Mum and her new boyfriend if you hadn’t come round.’ Charlie wrinkles his nose.

  Johnny looks over my son’s head directly at me. ‘That right?’

  I nod because I can’t do anything else. Caught in the act. Guilty as charged. Thanks, Charlie. Remind me to get out all of your baby photos when you bring home your first girlfriend.

  ‘The guy in the Porsche?’

  I swallow the lump in my throat. ‘Yes.’

  ‘He�
��s got a Porsche?’ Charlie runs to the window. Maybe now he’s regretting that he didn’t agree to come with me. Fickle child. Though, with just the two seats, quite where we would have put him, goodness only knows.

  ‘Do you mind?’ I ask quietly of my ex.

  Johnny lets his arms hang by his sides. ‘I don’t know what to think.’

  I lower my voice. ‘I don’t have to go if you don’t want me to.’

  Johnny matches my tone. ‘How can I say that?’ Then he sighs at me.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I guess it’s none of my business any more.’

  ‘I really appreciate this, Johnny. I know it’s a lot to ask.’ Even though I know it’s bad form, I can’t help glancing at my watch. ‘I have to be going,’ I say. There’s no way I want Spencer coming up here. ‘Charlie, come and give your mum a kiss.’ My son reluctantly obliges. ‘I won’t be late.’

  ‘Good,’ Johnny says.

  And, as I don’t know what I can say to make this right, I hurry up and leave.

  Chapter Twelve

  I fly down the stairs – all ten flights of them – and, as I get to the ground floor, Spencer is hanging up his mobile phone and getting out of the door.

  ‘Sorry, I was delayed,’ he says, all smiles. ‘An urgent call.’

  ‘Everything okay?’ My breath is ragged and my heart is thumping. Only one of them I can blame on the stairs.

  ‘Fine,’ he says. Spencer stands back to admire me and all I want to do is jump in the car and get the hell out of here. ‘You look absolutely wonderful.’

  As Johnny said, he’s wearing a suit – black, beautifully-tailored and a crisp white shirt. My jeans – even though they’re my best ones – maybe weren’t the best choice. ‘Hope I’m not under-dressed.’

  ‘You’re perfect.’ He holds open the door of the Porsche and, gladly, I hop in, fighting the urge to look up to see if either Charlie, or more importantly, Johnny, are watching me. Spencer gets in beside me.

  ‘Thought we’d drive out into the country a bit. Explore.’ My date slides the car into gear. ‘I haven’t had a chance to get out and about yet much. You’re not in a rush to get back?’

  ‘No, no,’ I hear myself say. What a liar. Johnny’ll have a fit if I’m late. I might turn into a pumpkin or a mouse or whatever it was that Cinderella was threatened with. Didn’t realise what that girl had to go through until now. Poor cow.

  ‘I’ve booked us a table at a little place near Formby. It comes highly recommended.’

  ‘Sound. Great,’ I correct myself.

  He gives me that million-kilowatt smile again and a little laugh, and we set off.

  I try to relax in the plush car, but I’m too tense. Despite the air-conditioning that’s chilling it to the perfect temperature, my palms are sweating. There’s some classical music playing on the CD and I can honestly say that I’ve never known a real person before who actually liked classical music.

  ‘This okay?’ he asks. It’s probably not wise to ask if he’s got any Oasis.

  ‘It’s very nice.’ I hate to show my ignorance, but I can’t help it. ‘Who is it?’

  Spencer laughs again and I wonder if my inadequacies are going to provide a constant source of amusement for him. ‘Vivaldi,’ he says.

  ‘Nice.’ Not frigging Oasis, but nice.

  We drive out of Kirberly, taking the main road towards Formby. The car eats up the miles smoothly and soon we’re leaving behind the council estates. The rows of terraced houses give way to smart semis, the narrow streets become wide dual carriageways, until soon we’re winding our way through country roads. I’ve never learned to drive, never owned a car and, consequently, I’ve never been anywhere. Well, I’ve been to Ibiza – twice – with Debs, which was okay. Hot, with cheap booze and a packed beach that we didn’t manage to hit before lunchtime. But I’ve never really been anywhere in this country. And I certainly don’t know the countryside within a twenty-mile radius from my own flat. Looking out of the windows at the rolling fields, lush in their summer livery, I realise that I didn’t know that the world so close to my home was quite so pretty.

  ‘I didn’t know it was so nice round here,’ I say.

  ‘It’s certainly a little more picturesque than Kirberly,’ Spencer agrees. ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with it,’ he adds hastily.

  ‘It’s a dump.’ I voice what he’s probably thinking.

  ‘It could do with some regeneration,’ he concedes.

  I snort. ‘It could do with a bomb under it.’

  ‘Have you never lived anywhere else?’

  I shake my head. ‘No. But I don’t intend to stay there for ever. I have big plans.’

  ‘Those are the very best kind.’

  ‘What about you? What’s a nice boy like you doing in Kirberly?’

  ‘Helping out,’ he says with a shrug. ‘I thought it was about time that I shared some of my skills.’

  ‘With those less fortunate?’ I can’t help but sound cynical. We see plenty of do-gooders through the estate and they usually last all of five minutes. What’s to say that Spencer Knight is different from any of them?

  ‘I see it as a fresh challenge,’ he tells me earnestly. ‘I’ve worked in the City down in London, done the flash job, earned the big money. I wanted to see if there was anything else out there.’

  ‘So you came to the arse end of the earth to teach computing to a bunch of lame brains in Kirberly?’

  ‘There’s no need to sound quite so incredulous.’ Spencer laughs. ‘I’ve had a very privileged upbringing. My childhood was idyllic. I was brought up on a beautiful estate in Surrey. I feel that I should give something back to society. I realise that not everyone’s as lucky.’

  I certainly think that Lady Luck’s ignored me so far. As Spencer steers the car skilfully through the narrow lanes, his handsome face set with determination as he concentrates on the job in hand, I settle back in my seat. Maybe all that is about to change.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Johnny poured Charlie some cola. ‘One glass,’ he said, ‘or I’ll be in trouble with your mam.’ The boy went to protest. ‘No arguing or she won’t let me babysit you again.’

  ‘I don’t need babysitting,’ Charlie insisted. ‘I’m not a kid. She was going to leave me with Mrs Kapur until she got a cold.’

  ‘There was no need for her to do that.’ Johnny shook out two bowls of crisps for them. ‘I’ll always come round. I’ve told you that.’

  ‘I know. I reminded Mum, but would she listen?’ Charlie shrugged his world-weary, ten-year-old shoulders. ‘You know what women are like. I think it was because of this new boyfriend.’

  This was dangerous territory, Johnny thought. It wasn’t really a place he wanted to go. Primarily because it had been such a shock to find out that Sally was seeing someone else – especially when she’d ridiculed the idea only the night before. Why couldn’t she have been upfront and told him straight out if she’d met someone? But then again, would that have made it any easier? While there was no one else on the scene, he’d always harboured the hope that they might get back together. Looked like that was the end of that, then.

  ‘Let’s go and choose a film,’ he said to Charlie.

  He and Charlie went through to the living room. In a Save-It carrier bag by the sofa there was a pile of pirate DVDs Sally had borrowed from Debs, who seemed to be able to get an endless supply of the latest films. ‘Nothing too scary,’ Johnny said as Charlie rummaged through them.

  The boy pulled one out. ‘Casino Royale?’

  ‘I’ve seen it.’

  ‘So have I,’ Charlie said. ‘Five times. It’s gear. I like it when he rolls the Aston.’ The boy made suitable tyre-screeching noises and pulled on an imaginary steering wheel.

  Johnny slotted the DVD in the player and while they waited for it to load, Charlie stopped his tyre squeals and said, ‘Why don’t you and Mum become boyfriend and girlfriend again?’

  ‘Your mum and I have too much history,�
�� Johnny said, shaking his head.

  Charlie screwed up his face. ‘What does that mean?’

  What exactly did it mean? Johnny asked himself. ‘It means that we used to go out together and a lot of stuff happened and now we don’t.’

  ‘But she liked you once.’

  ‘She loved me,’ Johnny said frankly. ‘I think.’

  Charlie’s eyes brightened. ‘Then she could do it again.’

  ‘I think your mum’s a bit more choosy now.’ Johnny thought how it felt, watching her drive away in that bloody ostentatious Cockster. He’d never wanted to slash anyone’s tyres before, but somehow he knew now that there were occasions when nothing would be able to beat it.

  ‘Kyle said that women don’t know what they want.’

  ‘Kyle is clearly a genius when it comes to women’s psyche.’

  ‘What’s syki?’

  Johnny laughed. ‘It’s something you get when you’re older.’

  Charlie pulled his best sulky face. ‘Everyone says that when it’s something difficult that kids aren’t supposed to know.’

  ‘Ask Kyle.’

  Charlie folded his arms and pouted. ‘I bet he’ll know.’

  Johnny bet he would too. Kyle Crossman was Charlie’s new best friend, a ten-year-old who knew far too much about life. He wasn’t the type of boy that Johnny would have chosen to be Charlie’s closest confident. Johnny helped to run an after-school sports club and Kyle came along there with Charlie; Johnny knew that the other boy came mainly to keep away from a stepdad who was a bit too handy with his fists, rather than for his love of the sport. Kyle might be a nightmare, but Johnny couldn’t help but feel sorry for the lad too.

  ‘Which flavour crisps do you want?’ Johnny held out the two bowls as a peace-offering, one that he hoped would derail this conversation. ‘Smoky bacon or salt and vinegar?’

  Charlie peered at the bowls. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘See?’ Johnny teased. ‘It’s not just women who don’t know what they want. Kids don’t either.’

  ‘I know that I want you to come back,’ Charlie said softly. ‘Even if you’ve not got a Porsche.’

  Johnny put his arm round the boy’s thin shoulders. ‘I don’t think it’s going to happen, lad.’