by Fiona Gibson
Lou’s eyes narrow as she throws him a look of disgust. ‘How did you get here anyway?’
‘I, um … got a lift,’ he mutters, lifting the guitar strap over his neck.
‘Really? And what was your plan – to ruin my weekend? Well, you’ve done that now …’
Spike shakes his head. ‘That’s not why I came. He – Johnny – left a message on our answerphone last night. Said something about seeing you in a bar with your boyfriend …’
‘But he can’t have,’ Lou exclaims. ‘He would have spoken to us, wouldn’t he? And anyway, Johnny hasn’t got our home number …’ She frowns, remembering now that he was looking at her website last night.
‘So who’s this boyfriend?’ Spike asks sulkily.
‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. It was probably Felix …’
‘Oh, Felix,’ he sneers. ‘Truffle man. That’s all right then.’
Lou blinks at him in bewilderment, then turns slowly and starts to walk away. ‘Lou! Please wait!’ he yells after her. When she keeps on walking, Spike breaks into a trot, still gripping the guitar and calling her name, too distraught to notice a bunch of kids descending to gather up the money from the case on the ground.
FIFTY-EIGHT
‘How did you find out?’ Josh asks dully. Ryan, Petra and their son are sitting around Petra’s kitchen table, Daisy having been asked to remain in the living room watching the penguin DVD.
‘Hannah found—’ Ryan starts.
‘Oh, right, she told you,’ Josh mumbles, picking dirt off his thumb with a fingernail.
Ryan observes his firstborn across the table. Being a dad wasn’t supposed to be like this; it was meant to be about keeping them fed, warm and in a reasonably hygienic state, and taking them on fun outings. ‘Actually,’ Ryan says, keeping his voice level, ‘Hannah didn’t tell me. Yes, she found a Marlboro packet in your jeans pocket, but she didn’t say anything to me.’
Josh looks up at his father. ‘So how d’you know?’
‘I just do, okay?’ Ryan mutters, wondering how it’s all switched around so he’s ended up the one being interrogated.
‘You might as well tell him, Ryan,’ Petra says gently.
He looks at his ex-wife who, just a couple of hours ago, was gently suggesting that the two of them might try again. The very idea is ludicrous; it’s Ryan who feels hemmed in when he’s with her, the way she once claimed to feel with him. ‘Hannah wrote about it in an email,’ he says, clearing his throat.
‘What, she wrote about me?’ Josh barks. ‘Who to?’
‘Just her friends. In fact she didn’t even intend to send it.’
‘Why did she write it then?’
Ryan takes a deep breath. Explaining why will mean telling Josh just how difficult Hannah finds living with them all, when he’s spent the last six months pretending that everything will sort itself out. ‘She wrote it because she was fed up,’ he says flatly. ‘She finds you and Daisy hostile’ – Ryan sees Josh’s eyes darken but carries on regardless – ‘and I think she needed to splurge it all out, to share it with people who’d understand … do you know what I mean?’
Josh shrugs. ‘Not really.’
‘Well … she’s really close to Sadie and Lou and I suppose she felt better offloading to them.’
‘What else did she write about me?’ Josh asks warily.
Ryan pauses. ‘Just that you’re not especially friendly, that she doesn’t feel welcome in our house …’
Josh looks as if he’s about to defend himself with his usual but I didn’t do anything! then decides he’d better not. Ryan glances at Petra, willing her to say something, to at least give the impression that they’re in this together.
‘So why did you read it then,’ Josh asks, ‘if it was meant to be secret?’
‘I didn’t mean to,’ Ryan says hotly. ‘I was looking for your sister’s story to send to Mum …’
‘Yeah, but how come you thought an email was a story?’
‘I didn’t!’ Ryan barks. ‘It was … a mistake. I stumbled upon and it and I read it and maybe I shouldn’t—’
‘I think you’re just trying to get us off the subject of you smoking,’ Petra says firmly.
‘They were Eddie’s,’ Josh mutters. ‘Not mine.’
Ryan blinks at him. ‘But you had them in your pocket.’
‘Yuh. I … I tried one …’
‘So you have been smoking,’ Ryan observes, trying to sound like an outraged dad, but knowing his heart is no longer in it.
‘No, Dad. Not really.’ His son’s eyes are large and dark, and for a brief moment Ryan sees his little boy again, his funny son who loved Peter Pan and built pirate ships out of enormous cardboard boxes.
‘What d’you mean?’ Petra asks.
‘Um … I had a little try and started coughing and couldn’t manage any more. Eddie laughed and wouldn’t even give me five quid.’
Ryan stares incredulously. ‘What was the five quid for?’
‘A bet,’ Josh mumbles, his cheeks flaming pink. ‘I did it for a bet.’
‘Well,’ Petra says firmly, ‘I hope you’re not going to do it again.’
Josh shakes his head. Then he turns to his father, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips: ‘So, Hannah found ’em and didn’t tell you?’
‘Well, it looks that way,’ Ryan says.
Josh smiles then – actually cracks a grin, dispelling the cloud of tension that’s been hanging over Petra’s kitchen table. ‘Is that it then?’
‘Is that what?’ Ryan asks.
‘Is that the end of the big talk?’
‘Don’t be cheeky, Josh,’ Petra snaps. ‘I don’t find it funny.’
‘Oh, come on.’ Ryan catches her eye, and her expression softens a little. ‘We all try things, don’t we?’ he adds.
‘Not really, Ryan, no.’
‘Well,’ he says with a shrug, ‘I think most of us do. So yes, Josh … that’s the end of the big talk.’
FIFTY-NINE
Johnny’s face has stopped bleeding by the time he arrives at Rona’s apartment. As he sits at her granite-topped island unit, all that remains of Spike’s outburst is a small crust of semidried blood and an ache that’s radiated towards his ear. Cal is perched on the stool beside him, regarding him with large, serious eyes as he slurps Nesquik through a straw. ‘Does it still hurt, Dad?’ he asks.
Johnny shakes his head and musters a smile. ‘A bit. It’s getting better already though. I’ll survive.’
Cal frowns, clearly turning over the simplified version of events that Johnny gave him. ‘So,’ he says carefully, ‘you met your friend, and her boyfriend saw you and he thought you were stealing her off him?’
‘Yes.’ Johnny nods. ‘Sounds mad, doesn’t it? Not the kind of thing that usually happens to your dad.’
Cal removes his bendy straw from the glass and sucks out the remaining microdribble of Nesquik. ‘Was it one of those ladies in that place last night?’
‘Er … yes, it was.’
‘Where were you going?’ Cal wants to know.
‘Well, actually, we were on our way to pick you up. She wasn’t planning to come – she was going to shop for clothes or something – but she would like to meet you sometime.’
‘Would she?’ Cal asks. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Lou.’
Cal sniggers. ‘What, like the loo?’
Johnny laughs too, causing a spasm of pain to shoot from his nose to his ear. ‘Yeah, I guess so. I never thought of that.’
Cal sucks the end of his empty straw. ‘Can I still meet her?’
‘Um, probably not now. I’d imagine she’s gone back to the hotel to sort things out with her boyfriend, and anyway, she’s going back home to York tomorrow.’
‘How far’s that?’
‘Well …’ Johnny shrugs. ‘It’s quite a long way, about four hours’ drive …’
‘But …’ Cal turns to him, deadly serious. ‘I could meet her another time. We could visit.�
�
With a smile, Johnny puts an arm around his son’s shoulders. ‘After what happened today, I don’t think that’d be such a good idea.’
They fall silent then as Tristan’s voice booms through from the bedroom: ‘I don’t know what he’s thinking, getting into a bloody fight on the way to pick up his son. It’s ridiculous, Rona, God knows what the real story is …’
‘It is the real story,’ she spits back. ‘What are you implying – that he started a fight in the street? He’s not like that …’
‘He’s a father,’ Tristan snaps. ‘What kind of father turns up to pick up his son covered in blood?’
They carry on, perhaps forgetting that Johnny and Cal are perched at the kitchen island, and Johnny tries to engage his son in bland conversation, asking what he thinks they might need to do at the allotment tomorrow. ‘Er, dunno, Dad,’ Cal murmurs, his face clouded now.
‘Whatever you think,’ Rona snaps, ‘at least he bloody cares about his son. All you care about is your damn self.’
‘Hey,’ Johnny says quickly, ‘maybe we should get going, huh? Is your bag ready?’
‘Yeah, nearly. I’ll just go and get it.’ Cal hops off his stool and hurries to his bedroom, clearly keen to escape too.
‘Sorry about that.’ Rona stands in the kitchen doorway in a pretty pale blue sleeveless dress – a birthday dress – her hair piled up artfully.
‘It’s all right,’ Johnny says. ‘Not your fault.’ She steps towards him, tilting her face this way and that as she examines the cut on his cheek. ‘There’s still a bit of blood,’ she says, tearing off a sheet of kitchen roll, wetting it under the chrome tap, and gently dabbing his face.
‘Thanks.’ Johnny feels small, being attended to by his ex-wife, and Tristan’s hostile vibes filter through from their bedroom.
‘Poor you.’ She stands back and smiles ruefully. ‘So, who was this friend you were out with?’
‘Er … Lou Costello.’ Sensing his cheeks flush, he quickly adds, ‘She’s here with Hannah and Sadie for Hannah’s hen weekend. And for some reason Spike took it upon himself to come up too.’
‘Why?’ she asks incredulously.
Johnny shrugs. ‘Seems to have got it into his head that she was up to something.’
‘He’s one to talk,’ Rona declares.
‘Yeah. Well, hopefully they’ll sort things out.’
Rona nods. ‘He was always a bit of a loser, wasn’t he? Remember that time he strained wine through Lou’s tights at that party?’
Johnny chuckles. ‘I thought that was pretty resourceful actually. Anyway, I haven’t even asked – how’s your birthday so far?’
‘Oh, this morning was lovely,’ Rona says blithely, proceeding to wipe the immaculate worktop with a cloth. ‘We had the birthday usuals – waffles, strawberries, little bit of champagne …’
‘That sounds nice …’
‘All bought and prepared by me,’ she adds softly.
‘Oh.’ Better keep it neutral, Johnny decides, with Tristan lurking moodily just a few metres away. ‘And he really surpassed himself with the present this year,’ she adds with a roll of her clear blue eyes. ‘Gave me £200 to buy myself something.’
‘Wow,’ Johnny says flatly.
‘Nice to see romance isn’t dead.’ Rona laughs bitterly.
Johnny looks away and is more than relieved when Cal appears with his backpack on, baseball boots laced up and ready to go.
‘So, we’ll be off then,’ he says, briefly kissing Rona’s cheek.
‘Yep, okay. Come here, Cal. Give me a hug.’ He puts his arms around her waist and squeezes tightly.
‘Bye, Mum,’ he says with a grin.
‘Enjoy the rest of your birthday,’ Johnny adds.
‘Thanks.’ Rona smiles, and as he and Cal turn to go, she calls after him, ‘You should get in touch with her.’ Johnny throws her a quizzical look. ‘Lou, I mean. Where’s she living these days?’
‘York,’ he says lightly.
‘Well, you should call her.’
‘Maybe.’ Johnny shrugs in Rona’s hallway.
‘I know you want to,’ she adds, ‘and I really think you should.’ He smiles then, and is seized by an urge to hug her, although with Tristan likely to appear at any moment he decides that this might be unwise. Instead, he strides out into the fresh, cloudless day with his son, figuring that one angry altercation is quite enough for one day.
SIXTY
Lou is alone in the hotel room, perched on the edge of her single bed. She’s called Hannah and Sadie to tell them about Spike showing up, and the scene with Johnny, and although they want to come back, she’s suggested they stay out for a little longer. She needs a Big Talk with Spike, and as she knows from experience, this is unlikely to be a calm, measured discussion. ‘I’ll call you,’ she told Hannah, ‘as soon as I know what the hell’s going on.’
Right now, though, after dumping his bag in her room and suddenly remembering the guitar case still sitting out in the street, Spike’s rushed back to retrieve it. He tried to kiss Lou as he was leaving, but she’d recoiled in disgust. He’s taking much longer than she expected. She wants him back here, right now, so they get this talk over and done with.
Lou stands up, tips her cold tea into the washbasin and glances around at her friends’ things scattered around the room – Hannah’s summery dress and Sadie’s sexy high shoes – suddenly wishing that Spike would disappear into the atmosphere like a bad smell, and that she and her friends could try to salvage the rest of the weekend. The thought of not being able to say goodbye to Johnny triggers an ache in Lou’s gut, but there’s nothing she can do about that now. Although she now has his number, he’s unlikely to want to see her again after Spike’s spectacular display.
The trilling phone makes her flinch. Spike’s ringtone, coming from somewhere in his rucksack. The phone has stopped ringing by the time she finds it in one of the small outside pockets. Missed call from Ast. Who’s Ast? Lou does a quick mental flick-through of Spike’s friends, but can’t think of who it could be.
She places his phone on the cheap laminate desk then, feeling uneasy, unlocks it and scrolls through his contacts. There it is – Ast – after Andy and before Ben. Back on his home screen, she sees that the mysterious Ast has left a voicemail message. If she plays it, he’ll know she’s been prowling around in the inner sanctum of his mobile. But after today’s episode, Lou doesn’t really give a damn what he thinks.
Hey, Spike, the girl’s husky voice starts, hope you’re okay … It’s me, Astrid, Saturday teatime-ish … look, hon, I’m really sorry. I should probably have been straighter with you but there’s a couple of things … well, you already know I felt a bit weird after running into Lou that day …
Lou feels as if her heart has stopped.
… I mean, Spike, you’re a lucky guy! She’s such a sweet girl and I don’t think you should throw it all away … A short pause. Lou’s breath is coming quick and shallow as, still clutching Spike’s phone to her ear, she lowers herself back onto her bed. … There’s another thing too. Something I should have told you about. It’s nothing serious but I’ve kind of met someone through work. Still early days but I’d feel bad, you know? And it’s not like me and you were ever going to go anywhere …
Tears are falling now as Astrid says bye, lots of love – not because of the cheating, which Lou should have known about, she should have spotted the signs. No, Lou’s tears are for all the time spent, the years wasted. She’s crying for the life she’s stumbled into, for every minute she’s spent at Let’s Bounce in a synthetic brown tabard and for every squashed nugget she’s scraped off the floor.
SIXTY-ONE
‘Hope you got what you needed,’ Terry says with a grin as Spike hands him the guitar.
‘Yep, did pretty well,’ Spike says, ‘considering I haven’t done it in a long time.’
‘Bit rusty, were you?’ Terry chuckles, opening the case and lifting out the guitar.
‘Well, y
ou know what it’s like …’
‘… Like riding a bike,’ Terry remarks, pausing to frown at a chip in the wood on the side of the guitar. Spike blinks at the mark, praying that it’s just a trick of the light. ‘What’s this?’ Terry asks.
‘Er, I dunno,’ Spike murmurs, sounding amazed. Hell, it must’ve happened when he’d lunged at that arsehole, Johnny-bloody-Lynch. Spike is horribly aware of his nasal breathing as Terry frowns at the chip.
‘Mike’ll go mental when he sees this.’
‘I’m sure it was there all the time,’ Spike says quickly, still conscious of a faint smarting in his right knuckles from where they collided with Johnny’s cheekbone.
‘I don’t think it was, mate. God, Spike, I thought I could trust …’
And so it starts: the wrangling, with Terry saying Spike will have to pay something as the guitar can no longer be sold as new.
‘It’s just a tiny scratch,’ Spike protests, wondering now if this is his favourite shop after all. ‘I mean, it’s hardly visible to the naked eye.’
‘My eyes are naked,’ Terry huffs, ‘and I can see it a mile off.’
‘But I told you, I don’t have any money. My wallet was nicked …’ Spike is starting to sweat now, and a faint thudding has started up in his temples.
Terry frowns at him. ‘What about your busking money?’
‘I don’t have it,’ Spike mutters.
‘What, you didn’t make any?’
‘It was nicked,’ he growls.
Terry blows out a loud gust of air and throws Spike a pitying look. ‘Not your day, is it? First your wallet, then all your takings … hang on a minute. I’ll see what Norm thinks, maybe we can fix it …’ Terry places the guitar in the open case on the floor and mooches off to the back room to find his colleague.
Spike stares down at it. He could wait, and perhaps they’ll be able to smooth out the dent with some kind of magic filling stuff, but he isn’t prepared to stay and find out. For the second time that day, Spike runs, taking the carpeted stairs two at a time and bursting out onto the street before fleeing towards Lou’s hotel.
