In the meantime – before Super Sal saves the world – there’s the more pressing little problem of what to do with my dear son next weekend.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I haven’t seen Johnny’s mum for weeks and I’m feeling really guilty about it. So, I thought I’d pay her a visit and see if maybe I could bump into Johnny while I’m there and perhaps chat to him about the possibility of him maybe, just maybe, looking after Charlie for me next weekend.
I know that I said I wouldn’t put upon him like that, but I can’t think of anything else and, frankly, I have so little excitement in my mundane life that I really, really don’t want to pass up this once-in-a-lifetime chance of going to Cuba. Who would? Plus it’s all booked up. How could I cancel now? Spencer would lose all his money. If I grovel enough, then Johnny might have some sympathy with my dilemma.
When I ring the doorbell, I hear Ringo barking and I know that it’s a fair assumption that Johnny’s here too. When he opens the door a minute later, it’s confirmed. He’s standing there unshaved, hair all rumpled as usual, but still there’s a tug at my heart. Old habits, it seems, do die hard. Maybe it’s the way his eyes light up when he sees me or the way his easy smile broadens. How many times in a lifetime do you meet someone who you have that effect on? Even though we’re just friends now, it’s still heady stuff.
‘An unexpected pleasure,’ Johnny says as, standing aside, he lets me in.
‘Thought I’d stop by and see your mum. It’s been a while.’
‘Something she moans about constantly.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, feeling even worse that I’ve neglected her. ‘I’ve been busy.’
‘I know,’ Johnny replies. ‘You don’t have to explain to me. It’s just that when Mum’s entire world is these four walls, she tends to notice these things. Go on through.’
Ringo wags his tail enthusiastically and trots at my heels as I make my way down the hall, smiling his adoring doggy smile up at me. That mutt’s a pain in the neck. I’ll kill him if he leaves dog hairs all over my jeans like he normally does.
In the living room, Mary Jones is watching Cash in the Attic on the television. The sun’s beating down outside, another glorious summer day, but the curtains are closed against it. Her face breaks into a beaming smile when she sees me. ‘Sally, love. What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come for a cuppa,’ I tell her as I sit down opposite her. She doesn’t look well, greyer and more frail than when I last saw her. It makes me sad to see her like this. Wonder why Johnny didn’t say anything? ‘See how you’re doing.’
At that Johnny says, ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Good lad,’ Mary throws over her shoulder. ‘Get the best biscuits out too.’
‘It’s our Sally that’s come to visit, Mam. Not the Queen,’ he teases.
‘She’s a queen in my eyes,’ Mary answers fondly. ‘Always will be. Use the best china.’
‘Give us a break, Mam,’ he says as he heads out of the cramped room.
Mary beckons me to her. ‘Come and give us a kiss, doll.’
I go over and kiss her, wrapping my arms round her. Despite her weight, she feels insubstantial as if there’s nothing inside her shell to give her strength or substance.
‘How’s that boy of yours?’ she asks, patting my hand. ‘Still growing up to be a cracker? The girls will have to watch out for him. He’ll break some hearts one day.’
‘As long as it’s not mine, Mary, I’ll not mind.’
‘He’s a good lad,’ she says. ‘Salt of the earth. Just like mine.’
‘One of the best,’ I agree.
I see a tear come to her eye. ‘Thought you might make an honest man of Johnny Boy for me.’
‘Well . . .’ It makes me feel terrible to think that I can’t give this woman the only thing that she really wants in her life.
‘I worry about him being on his own,’ she continues. ‘It’s not right at his age. I won’t go to my grave happy while he’s not wed. He deserves to be happy.’
‘I’ll just go and see how he’s getting on with the tea.’ And, coward that I am, I make a bolt for the kitchen door.
Johnny’s stirring the tea in the pot. He’s one of the few people I know who still turns making a quick cuppa into an art form. No tea bags for Johnny. He still uses real leaves and the pot has to be thoroughly warmed. On it goes. I have to admit, though, Johnny’s tea does taste great. Needless to say, I’m back on the old Save-It own brand tea bags now he’s gone.
He looks up as I come into the kitchen. ‘Getting the third degree?’
I nod.
He gives me a sympathetic smile. ‘Now you’ll be remembering why you stopped coming round.’
‘It’s probably because she’s been storing it up,’ I suggest. ‘I’ll definitely call in more often, then she might forget.’
‘No,’ Johnny says, rescuing me. ‘I don’t think she’ll ever give up hope.’ He pours out a cup of tea for me – one of Mary’s best china cups, as she instructed – and hands it over. ‘Like me.’
I distract myself by stirring the tea, avoiding Johnny’s eyes. ‘You know that I’m seeing someone else.’
‘Do you love him?’
I shrug. ‘I really like him.’
‘Like I can live with,’ Johnny says. ‘Just about.’
I nurse my cup. ‘I’ve got a favour to ask.’
‘Ask away.’
‘Do you think you could look after Charlie this weekend?’
‘Sure. Let me know when.’
‘All weekend,’ I admit. ‘I’m hoping to go away.’
‘Away?’ Johnny raises an eyebrow. ‘With Spencer?’
Honesty, I think, is probably the best policy. ‘With Spencer.’
Johnny lets out a long, steady breath. ‘Sometimes you really take the piss, Sally.’
‘I know, I know,’ I say in my best apologetic voice. ‘But it’s all booked up and—’
‘Charlie is surplus to requirements?’
I sigh the sigh of the defeated. ‘Spencer’s not used to children.’
My ex-boyfriend frowns. ‘Bit of a shame when you’ve got one.’
‘I couldn’t leave Charlie with anyone else,’ I say. Maybe I’m not being entirely honest by omitting the fact that all my begging to Debs was to no avail. That woman is as hard-hearted as they come. ‘If you say no, then I’ll have to cancel. But this is my big chance. I’ve never been anywhere, Johnny. I’ve been trapped in this place all of my life. It’s like an adventure for me.’
‘So,’ Johnny says. ‘No pressure then.’
‘I’ll owe you,’ I tell him. ‘Big time.’
‘You will,’ Johnny says. I’m relieved to see that he’s still able to smile about this. ‘I’ll make sure you pay. I just can’t think how right now.’
‘Anything, anything,’ I promise rashly.
‘Oh, Sally,’ he sighs.
‘I know. You’re the best mate in the world, Johnny,’ I tell him.
‘Tell me about it,’ he mutters.
I put my arms around him and hug him tightly. He might be an unshaven wreck but he still smells wonderful and so familiar. I resist the urge to nuzzle into his neck.
‘So,’ Johnny says as I untwine myself. ‘Where are you going with Hot Shot?’
‘Cuba,’ I tell him with an anxious shrug.
‘Christ,’ he says, rocking back in surprise. ‘I thought you were going to say Wales or somewhere. Cuba? The man doesn’t do things by half.’
I can’t really say much to that.
‘Why Cuba?’
‘Spencer says the salsa dancing there is great.’
‘You’re going all that way to dance?’
‘It looks like it.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Johnny says. ‘There’s a great salsa dancing school in Bootle. Couldn’t you go there?’
‘It’s not quite the same, is it?’ I laugh softly. Then,‘ What exactly do you know about salsa dancing schools?’
&nb
sp; Johnny flushes. ‘I’m doing some work there. That’s all.’
Could Debs have been right about Johnny taking dancing lessons? Who knows. ‘I won’t forget this.’
‘Cuba,’ he repeats in a dazed way. ‘Supposing that you fall in love with him while you’re there?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say.
My friend looks thoroughly deflated.
‘I’m so sorry, Johnny. Thanks for doing this. You don’t know what it means to me.’
‘I think I do,’ he corrects. ‘Otherwise, I’d be telling you to get lost.’
‘I don’t deserve you,’ I say.
‘No,’ Johnny agrees. ‘You don’t.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Johnny and Charlie stood on the kerbside outside the flats and watched as Spencer loaded Sally’s small weekend bag into the boot of his shiny sports car. Good job Sally hadn’t taken a lot of shoes, Johnny thought. It might be a forty-grand motor, but the boot was completely useless.
The boy leaned awkwardly against him and Johnny slid his arm protectively round Charlie’s shoulders. Cuba, Johnny thought. To salsa dance. Maybe he had thrown the gauntlet down just a little too hard in front of his rival. There was no way he could compete with that.
Sally was panicking. ‘Now be good,’ she said. ‘Don’t be any trouble for Johnny.’
‘Aw, Mum,’ the boy complained.
Charlie was never any trouble, Johnny thought. Sally should know that by now.
‘He’ll be sound,’ Johnny said. ‘Don’t worry.’ Though why he should be reassuring her when she was leaving behind her only child to jet off on a romantic weekend break with a strange bloke, Johnny couldn’t quite understand. ‘We’ll manage won’t we, our kid?’
Charlie nodded vigorously.
Sally came over and brushed the hair out of her son’s eyes. ‘I’ll be back before you know it, Son.’ She gripped him in a bear hug.
Charlie shrank away from her embrace, making Johnny smile to himself. ‘Don’t fuss, Mum.’
‘If there’s any trouble, anything, you’ll ring me right away, won’t you?’
‘There’ll be no trouble,’ Johnny said calmly.
‘But if there is—’
‘You’ll be the first to know.’
‘Thanks, Johnny.’ Sally hugged him.
Spencer, he noticed, glanced at his watch. ‘We need to leave, Sally.’
Her eyes were teary and she looked as if she was never going to see her son again, rather than just be away for a few days.
‘They’ll be fine,’ Spencer said.
‘We will,’ Johnny agreed crisply.
Spencer held out his hand and shook Johnny’s. ‘Thank you so much for this. Sally and I really do appreciate your thoughtfulness.’
‘No worries, mate.’ The bloke was confident, assured, loaded. He looked as if he’d never lost so much as a night’s sleep in his whole life. And he was stealing Sally away from him right under his nose. Good job Spencer Knight’s manners were impeccable. If he wasn’t such a nice fella, Johnny really would have liked to deck him. He could have easily said no to Sally, but what would that have achieved? What right had he to deny her this bit of happiness when he had so little to offer her himself?
Sally squeezed her son again, making him squirm in embarrassment.
‘Sally . . .’ Spencer held open the door for her.
Reluctantly, she let go of Charlie and fed herself into the car. ‘Bye-bye, sweetheart. Be good.’
‘’Bye, Mum.’
The car roared away. Charlie and Johnny waved after it. Sally hung out of the window and shouted at the top of her voice. ‘Mummy loves you!’
Johnny and Charlie looked at each other.
‘Mummy loves you?’ Charlie said, shaking his head. ‘She’s lost the plot.’
‘She’s worried, that’s all.’
‘Then she shouldn’t be going,’ the boy pointed out. ‘Who wants to go to Cuba anyway?’
‘Your mum,’ Johnny conceded.
‘Why does she like him better than you?’ the boy wanted to know. ‘What has he got that you haven’t, Johnny?
‘Good looks. Money. A sports car.’ And your mother.
Charlie looked miserable. ‘Kyle says that getting a rich bloke is all that girls think about.’
Johnny smiled to himself. One day he must take time to educate Kyle about sexual equality. ‘That’s not true,’ he explained.
‘Kyle’s girlfriend, Britney Evans, wants to marry a footballer and live in a mansion in Cheshire.’
Ah. It was all suddenly clear. So that was why Kyle, who was normally reluctant to do anything that involved effort, had started to attend the football club so religiously.
‘Kyle wants to be a train driver though,’ Charlie added.
Sensible career move, Johnny thought. Seeing as there wasn’t much call for footballers with two left feet.
‘Train drivers don’t get paid a lot, do they? Unless they work overtime. Do you think she’ll dump him?’ the boy asked.
‘Not all women are after men for their money, but sometimes they like to be treated nicely.’
‘Can’t you treat them nicely round here?’
‘Yes. But you have to be a bit more creative.’
‘You could do that, Johnny. You can do anything.’
Yeah, he was a regular Superhero. ‘I’m trying, son,’ Johnny said. ‘Believe me, I’m trying.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sally Freeman, Single Mum and Superwoman has touched down in Havana. Oh, yes.
Our hotel is five star. Five star! My only other brush with five stars was when I had a McJob as a teenager and I won Employee of the Month. How to be a winner and a loser at the same time, eh?
And we flew Business Class. Business Class! All the way! Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I’d ever be in a position to travel in such style. Bet I drove Spencer nuts, because I had to try everything out at least once. I pushed all the buttons, tried all the recline angles on my seat, watched all the DVDs I could fit into our eleven-hour flight. Charlie would have loved that bit. I also ate my own weight in handmade truffles and recouped the cost of the airline ticket in personal champagne consumption.To be fair to my companion, he never complained once.
We arrived in Havana in the dead of night, so it was pitch black and I couldn’t see a thing, and all we did was take a taxi to the hotel and fall into bed, exhausted. But now Spencer and I are having breakfast on the roof terrace, and the whole of Cuba’s capital city is spread before me.
It’s already hot and the heavy air is filled with the scent of spices, jasmine and bougainvillaea. We’re overlooking one of the main garden squares in Havana, the tall, leafy trees – not a clue what they are – providing much-needed shade for the throng of people already bustling below. Beneath us, a slow stream of 1950s American cars cruise by – Cadillacs, Chevys, Buicks and Oldsmobiles, Spencer tells me – all of those glamorous vehicles that they use in the movies. Some are the size of my flat and it’s clearly obligatory for the drivers to hang out of the window, smoke a fat cigar and steer with one hand. Even at this hour, loud Latin-American music pumps out of them all. Next to them, little open-sided, two-seater cabs called cocotaxis in a custard shade of yellow that make them look like children’s toy cars jostle for space. Over-shadowing both are enormous, double-length buses painted pale pink that are so tightly packed with people that I wonder how they manage to breathe. The city is virtually gridlocked, but never before has a traffic jam looked or sounded quite so pretty.
Spencer’s hand slides across the table and finds mine. He looks so relaxed whatever his surroundings, a man at ease with himself. I, on the other hand, am like a kid with ADHD. A sweet-toothed addict let loose in a candy store. I can’t wait to get out there and at it. We’re here for such a short time and I don’t want to waste even a minute. ‘We’ll take a walking tour of the city when we’ve eaten,’ he says. ‘Does that sound okay?’
‘Spencer, it sounds fa
bulous,’ I say gratefully. ‘I can’t believe that I’m really here.’
He lifts my fingers to his lips and kisses them gently. ‘You’ll fall in love with the place.’
I look across at his handsome face, his crisp white linen shirt, his flawless complexion. He’s with me. That hunk is here with me in a foreign land. I feel like a princess, an heiress, a pop star. Surely even Paris Hilton was never so spoiled. And I’m sure that I will fall in love – and not just with Cuba.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As soon as we’ve finished breakfast, Spencer and I stroll down Habana Street, hand-in-hand, looking like any other couple in love. Which maybe we are. On closer inspection, the magnificent buildings exhibit a certain faded elegance. My own personal guide tells me a bit about the buildings. Remnants of Moorish and Spanish architecture are all suffering acutely from years of trade sanctions by the USA against Cuba. Most basic supplies that we take for granted in our local B&Q, Spencer informs me, are notoriously difficult to come by and ridiculously expensive. So, of course, the buildings have fallen into a perilous state of disrepair. Some of them make Bill Shankly House look in great nick.
Despite the difficulties, the crumbling façades are still vibrant in primary colours, sunshine yellow, pillar-box red and cornflower blue. A few of the buildings have murals painted on the side – people dancing, market scenes, more flowers. Even the bright colour of the cars complement the cityscape perfectly. It looks like the whole place has been painted with the colours from a kid’s paintbox. If it was any brighter, I’d worry that my retinas might shatter or something.
The spirit of the people here is amazing too. Every single person we’ve seen so far is smiling, grins splitting their weathered, nut brown faces. I wonder why us Brits, when we have so much, have become such miserable, ill-mannered and grey bastards? A wizened old man runs along next to us and, in seconds, sketches me and Spencer on a rough piece of paper. Spencer hands over a few dollars and, in return for our patronage, we get our portrait. Then he’s off to tag some more tourists.
All You Need is Love Page 10
