Blind-Date Marriage

by Fiona Harper

  Pity she hadn’t noticed that, somewhere in the small print, the ready for commitment box was glaringly empty. She closed her eyes and groaned. Had she really been more in love with the idea of Jake than the real man?

  ‘Ren?’

  ‘Sorry, Cass. Miles away.’

  ‘Just be here by twelve, will you?’ Cassie’s voice had softened, but Serena knew she wouldn’t leave her alone until she’d bucked herself up. There was no arguing with Cass when she got all matron-like.

  ‘Okay, okay. See you later.’

  She pushed the duvet away and let the receiver drop back into its cradle with a satisfying thunk. She swung her legs out of bed and sat staring at the wall. The floor was cold against her bare feet.

  She couldn’t stay in bed all day, moping about Jake. She had to do something before the pity party spiralled out of control. As it was, she’d probably pushed the share price of Cadbury’s up single-handedly.

  The house was totally silent. She could hear nothing but the ebb and flow of her own breath. For months she’d been badgering her dad to go into rehab. Now he was there, the house felt the size of the Albert Hall. She hadn’t realised how much time and energy it took minding her dad until now, when it was somebody else’s job for a bit. And, if things worked out, he wouldn’t need her as much when he came back home in six weeks’ time. What was she going to do?

  She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Jake in the park that day. Running away with the circus was still an option. She smiled. A maverick tear escaped from one eye and dripped onto her pyjamas, and the brick of lead that had been substituted for her heart contracted.

  I miss you, Jake.

  But he was right. She had a life to lead. She needed to find some other purpose than running around after her father. And while she was working out what that was, she might as well go and help Cassie with her mission in life.

  ‘Grab the bag from the boot and follow me.’

  Serena did as instructed, then jumped back as the car’s central locking system beeped. Only when Cassie turned a corner round a dingy block of 1960s houses did she start to jog after her.

  ‘Cass, wait!’

  Cassie stopped to let her catch up, then set off again at a blistering pace.

  ‘Where are we? I thought this youth thingy was going to happen in the church hall.’

  ‘Steve’s decided if we really want to reach the kids on these estates, we can’t expect them to walk into a stuffy old church.’

  Stuffy? Hah! They could hear the electric guitar and drums three streets away when Steve was leading a service.

  ‘St Peter’s has the least stuffy services I’ve ever been to.’

  Cass grinned with pride. ‘I know that, and you know that, but the kids that live here don’t. We’ve decided to revamp the old community centre here on this estate for the youth music project. If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed…’

  ‘I think you’re mixing your faiths up.’

  Cassie waved her objection away. ‘It’s the same principle.’

  They stopped outside a low, graffiti-covered building in the shadow of a great tower block. The community centre had a row of narrow safety-glass windows that circled the building. Despite the grilles protecting them, every single one was broken.

  ‘You can’t mean to use this place.’

  ‘We can. All it needs is a sweep-out, and a bit of a clean today. The glazier and carpenter are coming tomorrow, and then we’re going to get busy with some paintbrushes. We have exactly a week to get this place ship-shape.’

  ‘You keep saying “we”.’

  ‘Too right. Don’t chicken out on me now, darlin’.’ Serena sighed and looked up at the neighbouring block of flats as Cassie unlocked the doors. Her heart skipped a beat.

  This was Jake’s estate.

  He’d pointed out these very towers the afternoon they’d picnicked in the park. She glanced between the three blocks of flats that dominated the housing estate, but she had no idea which one had been his.

  Cass’s voice echoed from inside the community centre. ‘Are you coming, or are you going to stand there all day and admire the scenery?’ Serena followed her inside just in time to catch the pair of thick yellow rubber gloves that Cassie had flung in her direction. ‘I’ll move this old furniture out and you can sweep up.’

  She pulled the gloves on and picked up a broom that was resting against the wall. She needed time to assimilate this new information, and she might as well do something mindless while she did so.

  A couple of hours passed quickly as they immersed themselves in their tasks. Serena couldn’t dispel the uncomfortable feeling she got from being on the Ellwood Green estate. It was as if she were trespassing. She couldn’t help thinking Jake wouldn’t like it if he knew she was here.

  When they stopped for a break, Serena stared out of a jagged hole in one of the windows.

  ‘That person’s popular,’ she said over her shoulder to Cassie.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The person in that flat up there, on the second balcony. Quite a few people have gone in and out in the last hour.’

  Cassie peered through a hole in the neighbouring window. ‘I think I know who it belongs to.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘He’s definitely not the most likeable guy on the estate.’

  ‘Then how come he’s got so many visitors?’

  Cassie slung an arm over her shoulder and shook her head. ‘You really do live in the proverbial ivory tower, don’t you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He’s a dealer. Drugs.’

  Serena gasped. ‘But some of them are kids! Barely old enough to be out of primary school!’

  Cassie shrugged. ‘They use the local kids as look-outs and runners. In a couple of years’ time, those same kids will be part of the network, earning them even more cash when they sell to their school-friends.’

  She stared at Cassie in disbelief. ‘I don’t understand why they get mixed up with people like that in the first place.’

  Cassie dragged her out through the front door and turned her to face the car park nearby. ‘See that big black BMW parked over there?’

  She nodded.

  ‘It’s his—the dealer’s. He’s well-known round here. The kids in this place grow up with next to nothing. They see this guy, with his designer clothes, thick gold jewellery and flash cars, and they want it too. You can’t blame them, really. They don’t want to be stuck here for the rest of their lives, on the dole or in dead-end jobs like their parents. Who wants to wipe greasy tables or pick up rubbish for a living? Mr Big up there is the only role-model for success they see at close range.’

  ‘That’s so sad.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Cassie, slapping a cloth into her hand. ‘That’s why this project is so important. It might not be much, but it’s a start. We can show them there’s something better to do with their time, that they have other options.’

  Serena’s face settled into a mask of determination. ‘Let’s go, then! What do you want me to do next?’

  Cassie grinned and handed her a huge bottle of cream cleaner. ‘See that little kitchen over there…?’

  Serena had an epiphany while she scrubbed.

  Her childhood might not have been perfect, but it could have been a hell of a lot worse! So she’d lost her mother. At least she’d had twelve good years before her mum died. Some of the kids on this estate had probably never even met their fathers.

  She scraped frantically at a bit of burnt-on grime on the electric hob. She’d spent a lot of her life feeling rather sorry for herself, when really she had so much to be thankful for. The lyrics from some of Steve’s ‘happy-clappy’ songs suddenly made a lot more sense.

  The little kitchenette gleamed. Serena stood back with her hands on her hips and surveyed her work, glad she’d forced herself out of bed that morning. Okay, glad Cassie had forced her out of bed that morning. Helping Cass had given her an unexpected dose of perspecti
ve.

  She wiped her forehead with the glove-free part of her arm. ‘I need some fresh air,’ she called.

  Cassie appeared, with a full dustpan and brush in her hand. The dust in her hair had turned it a rather dirty shade of pink. ‘I need something cold and fizzy. Do you want to nip out to the newsagents and get us something to drink?’

  Serena peeled her gloves off and left them on the counter. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Follow the path to the left, past the nearest block of flats. When you come to the end, go left again and you should see a row of shops.’

  Serena nodded, checked her jeans pocket for change, then walked out into the bright January afternoon.

  She had been walking for less than a minute when she became aware of someone behind her. Not too close, but close enough, keeping pace almost. She slowed down a little to give whoever it was a chance to overtake. The footsteps matched her own.

  Her heart began to thump even before she picked up speed again.

  This was ridiculous! It was probably some old lady on her way to the bingo. But if that were the case why was she scared to turn round and take a look?

  She wanted to break into a jog. Instead, she tightened her stomach muscles and glanced quickly over her shoulder, hoping to be rewarded by a nod from an old dear in a tweed coat.

  It was a man.

  More than that was hard to say. His woollen hat was pulled down over his ears and a scarf was knotted round his neck, covering his chin and mouth. He’d burrowed even further into the turned-up collar of his scruffy grey overcoat when she’d sneaked a look at him.

  He wasn’t doing anything threatening, wasn’t getting any closer, but it just didn’t feel right. Her palms itched and cold air sliced her throat as she drew it into her lungs.

  They were almost in the shadow of the tower. The path ran right next to the block of flats, under the overhanging balconies of the upper floors. It looked as if it was designed to be a shelter for the entrance, but it felt as if she would be hemmed in after the open space of the walkway. The only alternative was to turn and face him, and she certainly didn’t want to do that!

  Suddenly she was running towards twenty storeys of concrete and dirty glass. She shoved one of the heavy double doors open and jabbed a finger on the lift button, taking care to breathe through her mouth. The foyer reeked like a public toilet.

  She glanced outside, through the glass-panelled doors. He was getting closer, but it was impossible to tell if he was just going to walk past or follow her inside.

  The lift machinery was ominously silent. No distant dings of the lift on upper floors. No lights on the display. She pressed the button one last time, then darted up the staircase without waiting for a result. The sound of her footsteps bounced off the walls in the confined space. She counted off thirty steps then stopped, a foot poised on the next step so she was ready to set off again.

  Nothing. No sound behind her. It would have been hard to climb those stairs without making a noise. She slouched against the wall and caught her breath.

  What to do now? She didn’t want to go back downstairs just yet and risk running into the grey overcoat. She glanced up the stairs.

  Fourteenth floor, Jake had said.

  Her feet set up a rhythm on the stairs again, slower this time.

  Each landing looked like the last. The floor numbers on the walls were often obscured by neon spray paint. Nothing artistic, though. Just name tags and obscene phrases. Finally, she stood beside the plaque reading ‘14’ and gulped oxygen into her lungs, her calf muscles screaming.

  Her destination was a bit of an anticlimax. Somehow she’d thought she would have a sense of arrival, that something in the narrow corridor would shout, Jake was here! But all she saw was a row of identical blue doors. At the end of the corridor was a large window. She walked up to it and looked out on Jake’s world.

  The greyness seemed to spread in every direction from the base of the block of flats for miles and miles. The oasis of Greenwich Park was nowhere to be seen. She must be looking in the wrong direction.

  In her imagination, she tried to picture Jake as he would have been fifteen years ago—baggy jeans with rips and a baseball cap. Would his dark hair have been longer and shaggier, or would it have been a crew cut? The image wouldn’t come. She could only see him in crisp shirts and designer suits, his hair neat, never a tuft sticking up. She didn’t know the Jake of Ellwood Green at all.

  But she understood her Jake better—the need to succeed at his career, his love of fine things and first-class service. It was a world away from the scene she looked down upon now. He’d talked about how he’d wanted to escape, and he’d done it. She admired him for that. It was a testament to his drive and determination that his BMW was parked in the underground garage of his office, and not in the car park downstairs as he waited for the next knock on the front door.

  She walked back to the stairwell and started her descent. Once at ground level, she stayed well back from the doors and searched for any sign of a grey coat. When she was sure it was safe, she eased the door open and peeked out, grateful for the relief from the acrid stench of the foyer.

  No sign. She let out a large breath and waited, half-in, half-out the door, for another minute before setting off again.

  It wasn’t long before she spotted the small parade of shops. The newsagents sat between a boarded-up unit and a launderette.

  She picked a couple of bottles out of the cold cabinet inside and took them to the counter. A pair of chatting teenage girls hushed and watched her hand over the coins to the shopkeeper. She stuffed her change into her back pocket and scurried out of the shop.

  Jake’s roots were here. It was his world. And she clearly didn’t belong.

  Jake rested his elbows on the bar of the trolley and scanned the luggage carousel for his cases. A willowy blonde woman on the other side of the conveyor belt made eye contact. Normally he would have stood up and smiled, but instead he picked a case to watch and pretended he hadn’t seen her.

  London was a big city, but a homing beacon was calling out to him. His mind was tuned to wherever she was. It had been the same in New York. A little blip-blip-blip constantly on his radar. And now he was home, it was stronger than ever.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ICY rain battered the windows of the community hall. Serena looked over to Cassie and sighed. It was eight o’clock already and no one had turned up, just like last week.

  She glanced across at Mel, Cassie’s project worker, who had propped her elbows on the coffee bar and rested her chin in her hands. Her heartstrings twanged unexpectedly. Mel looked so much like her brother—the same dark hair, blue eyes and intense expression—but, unlike Jake, Mel wore her heart on her sleeve. She didn’t lock a little part of herself away from the world and smooth over the cracks with a smile.

  It didn’t matter. Where Jake wore his heart and what he did with it was none of her business. He was four thousand miles away. She closed her eyes and willed herself to think of something else.

  Steve suddenly stood up from the stool he’d been perched on. ‘We’re going to have to call in reinforcements, gang! It’s half term in two weeks, and we want the daily workshops full.’

  ‘How are we going to do that?’ Serena looked at the circle of empty chairs. ‘It’s going to take a miracle.’

  A slow smile spread across Steve’s face. ‘Miracles are my speciality—or, in this case, yours.’

  ‘Mine?’

  ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before! Your dad must have tons of contacts in the music business. Can you think of someone—anyone—who would help us out? We need a name. Someone to attract the kids.’

  Serena looked at the ceiling and scrunched up her face. A couple of seconds passed and she smiled back at Steve.

  ‘Actually, I can think of someone. And he owes me—big time. You’ll get your name, Steve, and in time for the launch too. I guarantee it.’

  Cassie bounded over and rested her chin on
Serena’s shoulder. ‘Who is it, then?’

  Serena just tapped her nose with her finger and said nothing.

  Just when he’d thought he was wise to her tricks, she’d gone and done it again!

  Jake stared at the phone on his desk and shook his head. One minute he’d been sorting his e-mails and listening to Mel yatter on about a great pair of boots she’d just bought, and the next he’d agreed to take a week of mornings off work for some project of hers.

  He was going to have to insist on doing all communication with his sister face-to-face. She was getting far too clever.

  ‘I can’t believe it! I’m such a big fan of yours.’

  Cassie was gushing. Honest-to-goodness, eighteen-carat gushing. It wouldn’t be long before she shook the mystery guest’s hand off. The guy didn’t know what had hit him. Serena almost felt sorry for him.

  She smiled to herself. And why not? She was feeling very pleased she’d bagged an up-and-coming R&B star for the Saturday night launch of Music Week. He would generate a lot of publicity. Not only that, but he was leading a few workshops too. The estate grapevine had gone into overdrive and the community centre was packed. She studied the assorted crowd. Council dignitaries stood shoulder-to-shoulder with baggy-trousered teenagers.

  Cassie finally let go of the poor man’s hand. ‘How ever did you manage this?’ she asked Serena, eyes firmly fixed on the man flexing and stretching his fingers.

  If only she knew! Who would have guessed those torturous hours babysitting little Kevin would have paid off in the end?

  Big Kevin’s voice was gruff in her ear. ‘Yes, how did you wangle this one?’

  ‘Shut up, Kevin,’ she said through a clenched smile. ‘Or I’ll tell everyone how you used to do ballroom dancing in sparkly red jumpsuits.’

  He glowered at her. ‘That’s blackmail.’

  ‘Blackmail is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as reparation for the many pranks you played on me over the years.’ Those dark times when her dad and Kevin’s parents had partied until dawn and left her in charge of a twelve-year-old with a death wish. She punched his arm in mock cheerfulness. ‘Remember when you borrowed my car and left it with an empty tank in Soho? Ah, those were the days.’