31 Dream Street (22 page)

‘Oh,’ said Toby, ‘hello.’

‘Hello yourself. What’s going on?’

‘This is Damian. He’s running this project.’

‘Project?’

‘Well, not project, but he’s in charge of the works. The, you know, the bathrooms and kitchen.’

‘Hello, Damian!’ She threw Damian one of her smiles and flipped her pelvis out at an angle. She was so obvious, so shameless. Toby felt a flutter of embarrassment for her. ‘I have to say,’ she peered into the bathroom, ‘I’m amazed you think we deserve such luxury, Tobes. Limestone tiles, power shower. We’re not worthy.’

‘Yes, well, if you’re going to do something, why not do it properly?’

‘God, I’m not complaining. I think they’re beautiful. I’m just a bit surprised you’ve thrown so much money at them, that’s all.’

‘They weren’t that much.’

‘Ha!’ She snorted, incredulously. ‘Right.’ She turned to Damian. ‘He inherited a load of money from his sitting tenant and he’s turned into the last of the great big spenders. Have you
seen
our living-room furniture?’

‘The sofas?’

‘Yes, the sofas. Six grand’s worth. Ridiculous.’

‘Well, they’re very nice.’

‘I know, but in the big scheme of things, it just seems so
wrong
. I mean – it’s wasted on us, really.’

‘Well,’ said Damian, ‘it’s what the market wants.’

‘Yes, but who cares what the market wants. We’re not the market. We’re just a bunch of scallies.’

Toby had stopped breathing. Damian looked confused. ‘But the people who live here after you, they’ll want to see a well-presented house, they’ll want to see high-quality bathrooms.’

Ruby laughed. ‘The people who live here after us? Nobody’s going to live here after us! Toby would never sell this place.’

Damian glanced from Toby to Ruby and back again. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘right.’

‘Toby’s not allowed to sell this house,’ she continued. ‘What would happen to all his waifs and strays? What would happen to me?’ She rubbed herself up against Toby and squeezed his arm. She glanced at Damian and saw the confusion on his face. ‘Did you think Toby was doing all this work so that he could sell the house?’

‘Well,’ he said ‘yeah. That was kind of the impression I’d got, but, obviously…’

‘Toby –
are
you selling this place?’

‘No,’ he said, ‘no way.’

‘Are you sure?’ she said. ‘Because I couldn’t stand it if you did. I’d be devastated.’

‘No,’ he said, ‘I realize that. That’s why I’m not selling it.’

‘Good,’ she stroked his cheek and smiled at him. ‘Good.’ Then she turned to smile at Damian. ‘I’ve lived here since I was sixteen, you know. It’s the only real home I’ve ever known.’

Damian nodded, uncertainly. Ruby went back to her room.

‘Oh, dear,’ said Damian.

‘Indeed,’ said Toby.

42

Toby counted his money on Wednesday night.

He had
£
32,650 left. Enough to pay for a kitchen, to pay Damian, to buy new curtains, new carpets, get a gardener in, then maybe still have some left over for a new PC and a widescreen telly. He entered the sums into a spreadsheet, and smiled. Everything was on track. He was on top of it. He was in control.

There was a knock at the door and Toby quickly shut the drawer and flicked his computer screen. ‘Hello?’

‘It’s Con. Can I come in?’

‘Of course.’

Con walked in. ‘Those bathrooms –’ He gestured behind him with his thumb. ‘They’re a bit smart.’

‘Do you like them?’

‘They’re amazing. Like something in a hotel.’

‘Glad you approve.’

Con edged into the room and looked at Toby’s screen. ‘I’m not disturbing anything, am I?’

‘No. Far from it. What can I do for you?’

‘Right.’ He sat on the corner of Toby’s bed. ‘It’s a bit embarrassing, actually. But I was wondering if you could help me with something.’

‘OK.’

‘I wondered if you’d be able to show me how to… do a poem.’

‘Do a poem?’

‘Yeah. I want to give something special to Daisy. And she’s not the sort of girl who’d go for jewellery and that kind of thing. So I thought I might, you know, write something for her. Something nice.’

‘A love poem?’

‘Yeah, that kind of thing. But nothing too gay.’

Toby smiled. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Well, I can’t necessarily show you
how
to do it, but I could certainly help you. You just need to think about what sort of feelings you’re trying to express.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I knew you were going to say that. And I kind of know what it is I want to say. I just need to know how to make it into a poem.’

‘Right, then. OK.’ He pulled a notepad from his desk and a pen from his pen pot and passed them to Con. ‘Write down some words, phrases. You don’t even have to write in straight lines, just scribble them down.’

Con took the notepad from him and furrowed his brow.

Toby turned back to his computer.

‘Do they have to be rhyming words?’

Toby smiled at him. ‘No. Just
feeling
words.’

‘Right,’ he said, tapping the Biro against the page. ‘OK.’

A few minutes passed. Toby pretended to be researching important things on the Internet, while Con scratched away with the Biro.

‘I’ve finished,’ he said, handing Toby the notebook.

Toby looked at the page. Con’s writing was very small and messy.

‘Can you read it OK?’

‘Yes,’ said Toby. ‘Perfectly. OK. Let’s have a look.’ He read out loud: “‘changed my world” “perfect” “precious” “different to anyone else” “real” “special” “I feel like I’ve found my way” “better than me” “an angel” “magic” “inspiring” “more than I ever thought I’d get”.’

Con laughed, a tight, nervous laugh. ‘This is a bit embarrassing,’ he said.

‘No, no. Not at all,’ he said reassuringly. ‘This is wonderful stuff. Really.’

‘Will I be able to make a poem out of it?’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘definitely. Now – what is your intent?’

‘My what?’

‘What is this poem for? To tell her that you love her?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I guess. I just want her to know how I feel about her. But I also want her to think I’m, you know, clever.’

‘Clever,’ Toby smiled. ‘I see.’

‘Well,
creative
. I think she probably knows I’m not clever.’

‘OK, well, let’s start, shall we?’

‘What, now?’

‘Yeah. Why not? OK, first of all we need to give it a title. Any ideas?

‘Yes,’ said Con. ‘Yeah. I know exactly what I want to call it. I want to call it: “My Sunshine Girl”.’

*

Con left Toby’s room two hours later, clutching his ode to Daisy close to his chest.

Toby sighed, feeling gentle waves of happiness undulate through his body.

Con’s poem hadn’t been particularly brilliant or even particularly poetic, but it had been honest and true and sweet and raw. And it had moved Toby, deeply. He gazed across the street now, to Leah’s flat. The lights were on; the curtains were drawn. He tried to envisage her, in pyjama bottoms, her hair in a bun, her reading glasses on, a glass of wine on the coffee table, a book in her hand. She hadn’t been in touch since their afternoon at Kenwood, but then, Toby hadn’t really made himself available for contact. He’d kept his curtains drawn at night and himself to himself. But as he peered through his curtains, he felt a surge of positive energy ripple through him. If Con could walk so fearlessly into a love affair with someone so completely different to him, then why couldn’t he? People didn’t need to match to be together. Leah and Amitabh matched in every way except skin colour, and that one simple factor had been their undoing. Just because Leah was sporty, organized, tidy, fresh, easy-going and gregarious, there was no reason why she shouldn’t want to spend time with someone lazy, messy, scruffy, neurotic and antisocial. She’d made it very clear that she found Toby’s company enjoyable. It was she, after all, who had instigated their weekend meeting and it was she who had suggested swimming. The onus, therefore, was on Toby to accept her offer. The next move was his. By
sitting in his room thinking of reasons not to pursue his friendship with Leah, he was creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. By assuming that he was unlovable he was ensuring that he would remain unloved. By assuming that he was unwanted he was ensuring that he would remain alone.

He opened his wardrobe door and looked at his list, at points 14 and 15.

Stop being in love with Ruby.

Find someone else to be in love with.

And that was when it hit him. He
had
stopped being in love with Ruby. He’d stopped days ago and he hadn’t even noticed. After fifteen years of stultifying obsession and pointless devotion, he was free. And it was all thanks to Leah Pilgrim, his very own sunshine girl.

43

Paul Fox had stopped answering his private number. It was the number that only the people closest to him were allowed to use. A special number, for special people. She knew he was ignoring her calls on purpose and it was pissing her off. All she wanted to do was say hello, talk to him. She missed him. It wasn’t as if she wanted to marry him or anything.

Hailey Brown was playing on Wednesday night, at a club in Soho. Hailey was one of Paul’s acts and he would definitely be there. Ruby put on a blue silk jersey dress with tight sleeves and a ragged hem, fishnet tights and oxblood ankle boots. She drank five shots of Toby’s vodka, in the space of five minutes, over the kitchen sink. Then she painted her mouth red and her eyes charcoal and left the house in her vintage fake-fur coat. She used Con’s Oyster card, taken without his permission from the pocket of his jacket, to get into town and, within five minutes of walking into the club on Dean Street, she’d been bought a drink by a stranger.

She took her drink and headed for the backstage area. A girl in a staff uniform smoking a cigarette looked at her, but didn’t question her as she headed for the dressing room. She found him outside Hailey’s room,
talking to someone on his phone. Her heart lurched slightly when she saw him. He looked the same, if slightly bigger round the girth. Eliza’s home cooking no doubt.

She pulled in her stomach, touched her hair and moved towards him. ‘Hello, Paul.’

He turned at her voice and looked at her in surprise. ‘Erm, Lizy, darling, sorry, can I, er, call you back in a minute?’ He snapped his phone shut and stared at her. ‘Ruby. What are you doing here?’

‘Came to see Hailey, of course. Why d’you think?’ She pulled a packet of cigarettes out of her bag and offered one to Paul. He took one and let her light it for him. She lit hers and they both inhaled in unison. ‘So. How are you?’ she started.

‘I’m fine. Great.’

‘You’ve put on weight,’ she patted his belly.

‘Yes,’ he said, flinching from her touch, ‘probably. How are you?’

‘I’m OK,’ she said. ‘A bit…
unsettled
.’

‘Right. Why’s that?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Just a vibe in the air. I think Toby’s planning on selling the house. He’s spending all this money on it. And I don’t know – he’s acting all
different
. He’s been going out a lot, changed his hair. There’s just something weird going on and I can’t put my finger on it.’

‘Why don’t you ask him?’

‘I did. He said he’s not selling, but I don’t believe him. He lied to me about this money he got from Gus.
Told me it was just a few thousand and it’s obviously a hell of a lot more than that.’

Paul shrugged, looked distracted. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it’s his house. If he wants to sell it, that’s his business.’

‘Yes, but where does that leave me? No job. No income. Nowhere to live. I’ll literally be out on the streets.’

Paul glanced at his watch and at the door behind him. ‘Look, Ruby. Hailey’s due on in five minutes. I’m not sure what you expect me to do about this. I mean – what do you want?’

‘Christ, why does everyone always think I
want
some thing? I don’t
want
anything.’

‘Then why are you here?’

‘I told you. To see Hailey.’

‘But you don’t even like Hailey.’

‘I do like Hailey.’

‘You hate her music.’

‘That doesn’t mean I don’t want to come and support her.’

Paul sighed. ‘I have to go now, Ruby. I’ll see you later, OK.’

‘No!’ Ruby clutched the sleeve of his jacket. ‘No! Don’t go. I miss you. I want to talk to you.’

Paul pulled her fingers from his sleeve. ‘Ruby. I told you. This can’t happen. I said, no more.’

‘But Paul – I’m scared. I’m scared and I’m broke and I’m…’

‘You’re what?’

‘I’m
lonely
.’ And then she started to cry. Real tears.
Because she’d just realized that, without Paul and without Toby, she had absolutely no one in the world she could call her own.

‘Oh, God.’ Paul sighed and rolled his eyes. ‘Come here.’ He allowed her into the circle of his arms and kissed her head and soothed her with quiet words. ‘It’s OK,’ he said, ‘it’s OK.’

‘It’s not OK,’ sniffed Ruby. ‘It’s not.’

‘You’ll find your way. You’ll find your place. You will.’

‘But what if my way and my place – what if it’s the gutter? What if that’s my destiny?’

‘You? Ruby Lewis? In the gutter? I don’t think so.’

‘But I’m not Ruby, am I? I’m Tracey.’

‘Tracey, Ruby. You’re all one person.’

‘Yes,’ she sniffed. ‘And that’s what scares me. Ruby can do anything. Tracey just drags me down.’

‘Well, don’t let her, then. Show her what you’re made of.’ He took his arms from round her and placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I really have to go now. I’m sorry.’

Ruby could hear in his voice that this really was the end of the road. She took a deep breath. ‘Have you got any cash? Anything at all. I’m so… God, this sounds pathetic, but I’m so broke, Paul. So broke it hurts.’

‘Oh, God, Ruby.’

‘I can…
earn
it.’

He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘What?’

‘If it makes it easier for you, I could do something for it. Do… God, Paul,
don’t make me say it
.’

‘Do you mean…?’