Dating Down Page 16

  “What is it?” asks Bill with a mouthful of chips.

  I squint, trying to pick out the eyes that are burning into the back of my neck, but I can’t see anyone outside the pub or the bus stop that looks out of place.

  “Gary?”

  “Nothing.” I swallow my unease and start walking again. I’m being stupid, looking for problems when there aren’t any. “What’s Tammy done to the house?”

  “Only gone and filled it up with half of bloody Harrods.”

  “You’re having me on.”

  “No, straight up,” he tells me. “A bloody big van came and delivered it all. And you’ll never guess what she bought Jack.”

  “What?”

  “A life-sized storm trooper!”

  I’ve got to laugh; perhaps my luck is finally on the up. “What did you do with it?”

  “Put it in the hall to hang our coats on.”

  “Nice one.” I turn around just one more time, just to make sure, but our road’s empty. There’s no one there – it’s just my imagination.

  Friday 7:30 a.m.

  Tammy

  I barely slept that night, and when I did, fear took me straight back to the park where they had me pinned beneath them, only this time Gary didn’t rescue me. I screamed and screamed for him to come and save me, but my lies just kept getting in his way.

  First Ralph Forrester materialised as my imaginary boyfriend and told Gary to stay away because it was up to him to rescue me. Then the police kept pulling sapphire necklaces from Gary’s pockets, and when he finally managed to convince them he wasn’t a thief, Carrie appeared in her ball gown and told him not to worry, the two hoodies were just hassling me, and I was making a fuss about nothing.

  The alarm woke me from my recurring nightmare at seven thirty and, staggering into my bathroom, I shower and change into my tennis gear. I might not be grounded anymore, but I never get up before nine for anything. Not wanting to arouse suspicion, I decided to continue the ruse that tennis was my new favourite hobby.

  Another great benefit about tennis is the fact that my sports bag is big enough for multiple changes of clothes, and so I pack my new primrose-yellow summer dress with capped sleeves to impress the Social Services, matching Chanel court shoes, and a Stella McCartney black minidress with cut-out back and killer heels in case Gary takes me out afterwards.

  Shortly before nine, Dave drops me off at the tennis club, and I race into the changing rooms, put on my yellow dress (which is sophisticated and yet casual at the same time), do a half-decent job with my makeup and then – disaster, because I can’t decide whether I should wear my hair up or down.

  Gary’s only ever seen it curly, and I rather like the idea of him seeing me with it straight because it’s so long I can almost sit on it. But I don’t have time to go to the salon, so I decide to wear it in a ponytail, as I’ll be busy, and it looks like it’s going to be a hot day. In a buzz of excitement at seeing Gary again, I grab myself a taxi and order the driver to take me to 17, Millard Terrace.

  As the taxi takes me away from the familiar sweeping avenues and neat parks where I live towards the east where the streets are narrow and dirty and there are always groups of scruffy men hanging outside beaten-up-looking shops that sell everything for under a pound, my nightmares start to resurface.

  The taxi stops at another red light, and I shudder as I find myself alongside three guys digging up the pavement outside a pub called the Dog & Duck. The tallest one looks up, and we lock eyes. He’s twenty, maybe older, clean shaven with a cross tattooed under his right eye.

  My natural instinct is to call the police, tell them that there are two thugs who want to kill me, but I can’t. I have to keep quiet. I can’t risk doing anything that will mean Jack getting taken away. The guy stares back at me, leaning on his shovel. He doesn’t look anything like the skinny one. I know he doesn’t, but all I can see in his face are the laughing, manic blue eyes of my attacker.

  I’m all nerves when the taxi stops outside Gary’s. My hands are shaking so much I can’t get out any money to pay him, and then I go and trip on a broken paving stone and very nearly end up face first in next door’s hedge! I can’t help it. I feel like I’m a fox being chased by a pack of hounds. Trying my very best to act normal with his neighbours all staring at me, I ring the doorbell. When neither of them answer, I start to pound the door with my fist.

  Where are they? It’s ten o’clock, and the Social Services are due at eleven, so they can’t still be in bed. I ring again, knock, and peer through the small square of frosted glass. There’s no sign of anyone. Where can they be? The fear taking my imagination hostage, I knock again, jumping out of my terrified skin as the postman appears from behind me and slips a load of letters through their letter box.

  “Sorry, love,” he says, all smiles.

  I don’t smile back. I’m still trying to coax my heart back into my chest. I’ve got to get a grip. Those two thugs aren’t going to attack me in the street. I’m just being stupid. Gary and Bill can’t be far. They must have gone to the hospital to get Jack. Bill said they were releasing Jack today, and the hospital can’t be more than ten, fifteen minutes away at most. Oh, why didn’t I ask the taxi driver to wait?

  I lick my dry lips and bang the door again, and then I have another thought – one I really wish I never had, because my blood turns to ice. What if those thugs live here, down this road, and they’re watching me now? And then I forget all about trying to be brave and ring the doorbell, and this time I don’t take my finger off it.

  “All right, all right!”

  I almost cry as I hear Gary’s voice from somewhere inside.

  Bouncing up and down on my toes, relief and joy preventing me from keeping still, I press my face to the glass and watch his blurred figure stomping down the stairs.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you –” He opens the door and stops mid-moan, towel wrapped around his waist and his wet hair standing up at all angles. He’s all smiles as soon as he sees me. “Wow, look at you.”

  “Hi.” Pushing my way inside, I kick the door shut with my heel and throw my arms around his neck, because I know if I hold him long enough, I’ll feel safe again.

  He hugs me back, a bit awkward at first, then he seems to relax. He pulls me close, and then he starts to kiss me, and his hands start moving down towards my bum.

  “I thought you weren’t in.” I suddenly feel so very silly for getting so worked up and just enjoy the pleasure of holding him.

  “I was having a shower,” he laughs. “I could hardly come down covered in soap, could I?”

  “I guess not.” Mesmerised by the beat of his heart beneath my ear, I refuse to release him. “Where’s Bill?”

  “Down the hospital getting Jack,” he replies, his voice upbeat and happy in a way I’ve never heard before. “Want a tea? We’ve got some posh stuff from Harrods.”

  I follow him into the kitchen, which is all clean and shiny, my eyes taking every opportunity to wander across his naked back and chest. He’s seriously fit. Broad shoulders, slim waist. He’s not all beefed up like the guys who live in the gym, but he’s not skinny either, sort of lean, like a runner, and his strong legs are much less hairy than I imagined they would be, which is good because I don’t like hairy legs.

  “Like what you see?”

  My cheeks burn as I realise he’s been watching me drool over him. “Hadn’t you better get ready?” Embarrassed at giving away my most inner desires, I start to arrange the mini quiches on the serving plates.

  “That’s what I was trying to do when you got me out of the shower.” Leaning against the sink, he takes a gulp of his tea and grins across at me, looking smug because he knows I fancy him something rotten.

  I don’t say anything, and not because I don’t want to. I’d love to come back with some witty putdown to make him squirm, like Jane or Rachael would. But I’m not them, and I’ve not exactly had much experience being alone with gorgeous half-naked boys who want to be wit
h me.

  “Wasn’t sure you’d come after yesterday.” Speaking softly, he ensnares me with his eyes.

  “I promised.”

  “I know,” he says, his smile growing more mischievous. “Did you miss me?”

  “Not telling you.” I wriggle as I start to feel hotter under his intense gaze.

  “You did, didn’t you?” he says, continuing to tease me.

  “I might,” I say, trying to sound like I don’t really care one way or the other. “Now go and get dressed.”

  I think he knows he’s embarrassing me a bit too much. “Anything you say.” And as he brushes past me, he kisses the curve of my neck and laughs when my legs wobble.

  “And wear something smart!” Still trying to run away from my feelings, I go into the front room and pack away their Xbox and pick up greasy newspaper that stinks of vinegar from the dinner table. I can’t believe it. I’ve only been gone a few hours and it’s already a mess.

  “Are you taking nagging lessons from Bill?” he shouts out from his room.

  “No.” I find it impossible not to giggle. Gary’s funny, but it’s not his jokes making me laugh. I’m laughing because I’m just so happy he’s happy.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” I tell him. “I just don’t want anything to go wrong.”

  “It won’t.”

  “How can you be so sure?” I squirt some of my perfume around the room to get rid of the horrible greasy smell.

  “Just a feeling.” He emerges moments later dressed in blue jeans and a black polo shirt, towel drying his hair. “Is this all right?”

  He’s bordering on looking respectable. I didn’t think he ever could be, not with that smug grin, but I wouldn’t have him any other way.

  “Yes.” I go back to pretending I’m doing something of earth-shattering importance, straightening pictures that don’t need straightening, because I really don’t trust myself around him.

  “Stop worrying and give me a snog before Bill gets back.” Moving behind me, he wraps his arms around my waist and starts kissing my neck again.

  “Later.” I want and I don’t want to give in to him straight away. Part of me likes the idea of making him wait, but the truth is I want him. I want him to catch me straight away, because when he kisses me, it’s delicious beyond words, and if I’m honest, really honest, I don’t want him to stop.

  “Come on,” he murmurs, his hot breath tickling my ear. “Just a quick snog.”

  Being with Gary is like getting given a box of the best Belgian chocolates, a really nice box made up of all your favourite centres, and then being told you can have only one. You can’t. And before I know what’s happening, we’re on the sofa and both breathless. Had Bill not come home when he did with Jack and the women from the Social Services, I don’t know how far things would have gone.

  Luckily, they make so much noise we had plenty of time to straighten ourselves up, and I’m left with Maureen (who I find out is Jack’s social worker) and Mrs Parker (who looks like a silver-haired granny and will be making the decision whether Jack stays or not), while Gary and Bill act like big kids themselves, showing Jack all the new toys he’s got and tipping Star Wars Lego all over the carpet.

  I’m really good at small talk, having been to a hundred and one of my mother’s boring fundraising events, and even though I’ve never met a social worker before, I think I can keep them entertained.

  “I didn’t know Gary had a girlfriend.” Maureen takes another piece of chocolate cake. I knew it would be a hit, and I bet Bill is eating his words about me being stupid for buying it.

  “We haven’t been going out long.”

  “And how did you meet?” she asks me.

  I look at Gary, unsure what to say.

  “The park,” he tells her.

  I smile at him and he smiles back, and once again I can’t take my eyes off him.

  “I take it you don’t come from round here,” Mrs Parker says to me, sipping her tea.

  “Richmond.” Forced to break eye contact with Gary, I look at her. “Although I sometimes stay with Daddy at his apartment in Lowndes Square; it’s really convenient when I want to go to Harvey Nichols to meet my friend Carrie.”

  She almost chokes – they both do – so I think I better explain about Mummy and Daddy being divorced and that it doesn’t matter, I’m fine with it.

  “They divorced years ago,” I tell them. “I usually get to see Daddy once a month – he’s always super busy.”

  “What does your father do?” Maureen still looks like she’s choking, like she’s never seen anyone with divorced parents.

  “He owns a hedge fund.” And because I know what the next question is going to be, I get in there first. “And my mother’s Penelope Winters.”

  “The Penelope Winters?”

  I nod, and that’s all I really have to do - mention Mummy. Everyone wants to know about her, and I have them laughing in no time at all about all her crazy diets. But the small talk is over all too quickly, and it’s down to business, as Daddy would say. Mrs Parker takes out a big file and green notebook.

  “Do you like living with your brothers?” she asks Jack.

  Still playing with his Lego, Jack nods. He’s really cute, and you can’t help but love him. “Bill plays Xbox with me all the time.”

  She smiles. Bill doesn’t and, getting to his feet, he sits down at the dining room table.

  “And how are you getting on at school?” she asks Jack, trying to get him to look at her.

  “Okay.”

  “I heard some of the other kids were being mean to you,” she says.

  “That’s before Gary showed me how to fight,” Jack tells her, continuing to press Lego bricks together. “They’re all scared of me now.”

  Gary silently groans from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the carpet. “It wasn’t like that. I just told him...”

  “You can tell me later.” Mrs Parker smiles, cutting him off. “I’d like to have a chat to Jack in private. Would you all mind giving us a few minutes?”

  We take our teas into their back yard, which is a concrete wasteland with two deck chairs, a swing, and a clothesline. Gary sits on the swing, smoking, I sit on his lap, and Bill stands there chewing his nails. It’s like waiting outside the headmistress’s office.

  “Why did she have to bring up that bullying at school?” Bill complains. “That was bloody ages ago. And why did he have to tell her we play games all the time? I know we do, but why couldn’t he have told her we always make him go to school?”

  “She don’t care about whether he goes to school or not.” Like Bill’s, Gary’s brow is all knotted up. “She just wants to make sure we’re not knocking him about.”

  “Christ!” Bill paces up and down, holding his head. “Is that what she thinks?”

  “It’s what they all think.” Gary sighs.

  “Shit!” Bill hisses, beginning to lose it. “She’s going to take him away, I just know it.”

  “She won’t,” says Gary. “Just calm down.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Bill snaps. “It’s not your brother they’re going to take into care!”

  “No?” Gary retorts, his voice sounding all bruised and sore. “So tell me, why am I still here? Why aren’t I down the pub with my girl having some fun?”

  “Keep your voices down!” I hiss, rising to my feet so they’ll take notice of me. “This isn’t helping Jack, is it?”

  They both grunt an apology of sorts at each other and look in opposite directions.

  “Say you’re sorry,” I tell Gary, who is blowing smoke rings.

  He stops smoking and grins across at Bill. “Sorry.”

  Bill rolls his eyes and stops kicking at the ground. “Bossy, your girlfriend, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah,” Gary laughs. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  The back door opens up and Maureen steps outside holding Jack’s hand. “Tammy, could you keep Jack entertained for a few m
inutes? Mrs Parker would like a word with Bill and Gary.”

  “Of course.” I give Gary a quick kiss on the cheek as he gets off the swing. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” he says, following Bill inside. “I’ve got a feeling we’ll be needing it.”

  Friday 11:30 a.m.

  Gary

  I think I liked it better when I was being interrogated by the police. At least with the police, it’s straightforward questions. Did you steal the necklace? Why did you forget to give it back to your girlfriend? Are you as stupid as you look? All fairly easy questions to answer no matter what state you’re in. With Social Services, it’s all trick questions with at least four different answers, and if you choose the wrong one, you’re up to your neck in shit. If it was up to me, I’d choose the police interrogation over a nice old lady from Social Services every time.

  “You do understand that I cannot make a final decision today.” She looks nice enough, a bit more uptight than Maureen; I guess it’s the grey hair and smart suit. “This will only be a recommendation.”

  “Maureen did say.” Bill sits next to me on the sofa. I think he feels about ten years old too.

  “You still in full-time education, William?”

  Bill nods. Question one answered to her satisfaction.

  “And you work too?”

  “Not anymore,” Bill replies. “I gave up my job so I could spend more time with Jack.”

  Good answer. Things are starting to go our way. She’s smiling, and I’m feeling pretty good again.

  “Any news on whether your mother’s insurance company will pay out on her life policy?”

  “They won’t,” he replies. “She fell behind with the payments when she got laid off.”

  “I’m confident the bank will agree to the refinancing plan,” says Maureen. I’m glad she answered, because we’ve filled in so many bloody forms over the months, I don’t know what we have and what we haven’t claimed for.

  “We don’t have to pay the council tax anymore,” I add just to show I know some of what’s going on.