The School Gates (13 page)

‘Hey you?’ John slurred sleepily. ‘Good night?’

‘Yep, and it’s made me feel hungry,’ Robbie said huskily, undoing his skinny jeans. ‘Hungry, for a hard cock.’

‘No chance of some three-way fun then?’

‘More chance of the Pope giving out free condoms from his buggy, I reckon. Cute though. One for the wank bank at least. Now come here, you.’

The charity-shop whippet recognised Mo and Ffion from the doctors’ surgery as they walked past the counter. She prayed they hadn’t looked at her notes recently. It wasn’t big or clever to have contracted an STD at her age, but she felt quite comforted by the recent article in Woman’s World that said it was now common for post-menopausal divorcees to get caught out. The fact that it was the local vicar who had given it to her was more of a distressing factor.

Mrs Glancy, the vicar in question’s wife, was at the back of the shop loudly singing along to ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’.

‘Can I help you, dears?’ she asked in her plummy deep voice when she noticed her new customers.

‘Yes, we’re just stocking up on Christmas decorations for the surgery. Dr Anderson seemed to think you had some new ones in.’

‘Oh Dr Anderson,’ Veronica Glancy put her hand on her heart dramatically. ‘Shame he didn’t come in himself. Just the thought of him touching me with his stethoscope makes me the right side of moist, I can tell you.’

Ffion couldn’t contain her laughter as the irreverent vicar’s wife bellowed: ‘Right, decorations! For the surgery, you say. Here, follow me.’ She piled up baubles and tinsel and stuffed them into a bag.

‘We must surely give you some money for the charity?’ Mo asked, now completely bemused.

‘No, just go.’ Veronica Glancy shooed them with her hands. ‘The Sally Army’s outside later, they’ll boost us no end. But please do make sure Dr Anderson is aware of the gift. Who knows, he may pay me in kind.’ Her large bosom rocked as she let out an unsavoury guffaw.

The whippet raised her eyebrows and thanked her, as Mo put a crisp ten-pound note in the charity box on the counter.

‘By the way, how’s the Mo Collins’ Freedom Fund going?’ Ffion enquired as they walked down the High Street, side-stepping the Salvation Army band that was currently singing ‘Away in a Manger’ outside the chemist.

‘Very well actually. I’m hoping that by Easter, Rosie and I will be going it alone.’

‘I’m really chuffed for you, matey. Right, let’s get some lunch. Dr Delish will never know we’ve spent his change on it.’

Fishers was queuing out of the door.

‘Must be Christmas order collections,’ Mo noted. ‘Now, how about we go in to Rosco’s, you sit down with your back to the counter, and I’ll do the talking?’

‘Oh, all right then,’ Ffion said huffily, her hangover taking charge of her hunger. ‘And no, we are not using Dr Anderson’s money to pay. The vicar’s wife may be bent, but I’m certainly not.’

Bruno saw Ffion as soon as the two women sat down, and he rushed over to their table, a red rose in his hands.

‘Signore, you are both looking as beautiful as this rose – now how can I pleasure you? I mean, what can I get for you lovely ladies?’ His handsome face lit up and melted Ffion’s stubborn heart.

‘A ham and cheese toastie, please,’ she replied, pushing the rose to the side of the table.

‘Make that two, as it’s Christmas,’ Mo piped up, feeling the momentary guilt that ordering cheese brought her.

Bruno continued his patter.

‘And ladies, for drinks, can I interest you in my most recent love potion? A Ravishing Rosco’s spicy Christmas milkshake.’

Ffion laughed. ‘You’re not funny.’

‘And I’m not giving in.’ Bruno ripped a page from his order pad, put it down next to his Welsh lover and sauntered back to the bar, eyeing up a tall brunette who walked in as he did so.

Ffion pushed the piece of paper over to Mo.

DINNER AT 7, meet me here. Love B xx

‘You’re not going to go, are you?’ Mo asked with concern.

‘Oh, Mo, I know full well that I shouldn’t, but as much as I say I don’t want to settle down, I really do like Bruno.’

‘But what if he was in here doing things with that blonde you saw the other night?’

‘I’ve got no proof and as long as I’m careful, what’s the harm?’

‘The harm is, young lady, that he is using you and you may get hurt. A little bit of self-respect goes a long way, you know and...’

Mo stopped mid-sentence, took a sharp intake of breath and jumped up out of her seat. She ran towards the door, arms outstretched.

‘Charlie! My darling! You’re early!’

Ffion whipped a mirror out of her bag and applied some lipstick, as in the blink of an eye, the Denbury Dish Total had most definitely just gone up to twelve.

When Charlie Collins sat down at the corner table, Ffion for the first time in her life was speechless. The twenty-four year old in front of her had high cheekbones and full lips of which a trout would be proud. He had a trace of stubble and his floppy fringe just covered one of his puppy-dog hazel eyes. The young Welsh girl screwed up her dinner invite and threw it in her bag.

‘I’m Charlie,’ Number 12 said, as Mo went off to the counter, making FFion blush for no other reason than noticing his flat stomach and lack of hips.

‘Are you stoned?’ Ffion came out with, alerted by the fact that his puppy-dog eyes had enlarged pupils.

‘How presumptuous,’ Charlie laughed, and then put his fingers to those beautiful lips to shush her as his mum approached with a tray laden with goodies.

‘So,’ Mo started. ‘You’re a week early – and how on earth did you know I’d be here?’

‘Questions, questions already, Mother,’ Charlie teased, squeezing her hand. ‘I tried the house and there was no answer, so I thought I’d grab a sandwich and then try the surgery and here you both are.’

Ffion giggled and fiddled with her hair.

‘So have you finished work for Christmas then?’ Mo wondered.

‘I’ve been made redundant. Recession and all that,’ Charlie lied, knowing he couldn’t possibly tell his mum that the design company he had worked for had got sick of his lateness due to his constant partying.

‘Oh, darling, what are you going to do? You loved that job.’

‘Well, sorry to spring this on you before Christmas and all that, but I was hoping maybe I could stay with you until I get myself sorted out again.’

Ffion wished at that moment she could eradicate her flatmate.

Mo, thinking the same about her husband, tried not to panic.

‘Phew, that’s a surprise. I’m not quite sure where we’ll squeeze you in, but we will.’ She felt a surge of love for her firstborn. ‘In fact, I’ve just had a really good idea.’

‘Take it easy, take it easy, take it nice and slow.’ Gordon danced around the kitchen singing as the girls blasted out their Mama Mia CD.

‘Breakfarst,’ he shouted loudly, adjusting his felt Santa’s hat. He had taken two whole weeks off over the Christmas holidays so that he could give his girls his full attention. Inga was staying with a friend in London for a couple of days.

‘You sound so posh,’ Lily commented as she sat down at the kitchen table.

‘Well, your mummy didn’t want you picking up my Canadian accent.’

‘Oh. I thought it was American like on School’s Out and that’s cool,’ Lola inputted, screwing her face up in confusion.

‘Yes, talk like Hannah Montana, she’s awesome.’ Lily pushed up her glasses and tucked into her cereal and fruit. ‘Mummy would be pleased we’ve got one of our five a day,’ she added, pushing around the strawberries on her cereal. Tears pricked Gordon’s eyes. It was so sweet that they had taken in all of her wishes.

‘But she wouldn’t want you to be lonely without Chris. He’s been gone ages, Daddy Gordy – when is he coming home?’ Lola asked.

Gordon was dreading this question. He had been hiding the now-dwindling postcards, hoping that he could wean the girls off of Chris’s memory slowly. It also hurt him greatly to wonder what his beloved ex was up to, and he really hoped that he hadn’t met anyone else yet. In a way, he was also glad that contact was getting less so at least then he could start to properly get over him too.

‘Now, girls, I know this is very sad, but I think Chris will be gone for a long time. He’s having lots of fun around the world.’

‘So he won’t be here for Christmas then?’ Lola asked innocently.

‘No, darling, but Inga will. We shall have a really good party.’

‘Yeah!’ Lily shouted. ‘We can play the trumpet straw game.’

‘Yeah!’ Lola joined in.

‘I’ve got a new friend I want you to meet soon,’ Gordon said tentatively.

‘What’s their name?’ Lola asked, spilling milk down her front as she tipped her cereal bowl up.

‘Robbie.’

‘Oh, a gay boyfriend, you mean,’ Lily said, far too

knowing for her six years, then, without waiting for an answer: ‘Come on, Loles, let’s go and practise our dance routine.’

Gordon shook his head and smiled. Since seeing Robbie

the other night he had found himself checking his phone for messages far more often than usual. Chris was obviously not coming back and it was about time he had some fun. He only wished that he had taken Robbie’s number, and then he wouldn’t have to play the waiting game.

Ron Collins scrabbled pathetically on the kitchen floor, trying to get up from the punch his stepson had just thrown at his left cheek. When he did manage to heave himself to his feet, Charlie punched him again. Blood was pouring from the drunk’s mouth.

‘That one was for Rosie!’ Charlie was shaking with anger.

‘My God, Charlie, what are you doing?’ Mo arrived home and rushed to her husband’s side. He was now slumped face down over the kitchen table, blood forming a pool on the surface. ‘Ron, Ron, talk to me.’

Ron groaned in pain and fell to the floor. Sick was pouring from his mouth. The Christmas tree was on the carpet in the lounge. Mo was hysterical.

‘Call an ambulance, Charlie! Call an ambulance now.’

Charlie was calm. ‘No, Mum, he’s far too wicked to die. Let him suffer down there for a bit.’

‘He’s ill,’ Mo wailed.

‘He’s an abusive alcoholic shit, and I will not have him treat you or Rosie badly any more.’

‘We’ve got to help him,’ Mo pleaded. ‘You’re no better than him for doing this.’

‘He’s got to help himself first,’ Charlie said coldly and walked out of the house.

The stench of beer-laden vomit was revolting. Thanking God that she had just dropped Rosie at Joan’s for her customary Friday-night sleepover, Mo rang the emergency surgery number.

‘Oh Mo, I wish you’d have told me things were this bad,’ Noah Anderson said as he sat at the kitchen table with her. Ron was now in bed, cleaned up and sleeping soundly after his strong dose of pain relief.

‘ “Hello, my name’s Mo and my husband’s an alcoholic”, that’s just not me,’ Mo said. ‘I’ve always managed.’

‘There’s a lot of help out there to be had for both you and Ron, you know. ’

The doctor gently wiped a tear from Mo’s cheek with his finger, his tenderness causing her to sob loudly. He held her hand and patiently waited until she was ready to speak.

‘Right, on Monday morning we sit down and I get some numbers for you. You’re not alone in this now.’

Mo bit her lip and nodded.

After she had closed the front door behind her very own Christmas angel, she plonked herself down at the kitchen table. The heating had gone off and she shivered.

In his raw state Charlie looked so like his real father. Very dark and brooding, opposed to the red hair and fair skin Rosie had inherited from Ron. Maybe now she owed it to her son to tell him that this excuse for a father was not really his, after all.

She put her hands to her head. No, she couldn’t do it, not now, probably not ever. It wouldn’t be fair to open such a can of worms – and what if her precious son never talked to her again?

She began to cry again for the mess that was her life. She was mortified that Dr Delicious had helped clean up her bloody and sick husband on her kitchen floor. She was sad that her son had had to hit his own father, who wasn’t his father at all. The only saving grace was that she could now see the light at the end of a long dark alcohol-induced tunnel. She didn’t need to cry for help; in his own way Charlie had done that for her – and for that she would be eternally grateful.

Alana gently pulled a blanket up over Eliska as she slept soundly against the aeroplane window. Their trip to Lapland had been even more magical than she had expected. Just to see the look on her daughter’s face when they arrived was worth the extortionate amount of money the last-minute trip had cost her.

Work had quietened down as it always did the week before Christmas, which was bittersweet. It was undoubtedly great to be able to focus on Eliska for once, but it gave her even more time to wonder what Stephen was up to.

Before they had gone away, she had waited three whole days for a reply to her many messages. Rather than be her usual stubborn self, she decided to swallow her pride and pick up the phone. She made sure her number wouldn’t appear on his screen and was delighted to hear a ringing tone. But it was an overseas ringing tone, which was quickly cut off as soon as she said ‘hello.’