The Lost Guide to Life and Love (34 page)

Eventually we’d got all we came for, the beautiful table looked wrecked and the entertainers led the children back for party games.

I said my goodbyes to Kezia and was just putting on my coat when Nell came out into the hall, a toddler in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other.

‘Some of the dads have been watching Sky Sports,’ she said, ‘and say Shadwell have nearly scored a goal. Not quite, but nearly, which is as good as it gets right now. That should cheer Jojo up a bit. Though, as I say, after January, that might not be anything to do with us any more. Anyway, good to see you again, Tilly. I’ll see you at the food awards—ifnot before.’

‘Yes, right. Thank you. Good to see you again.’

I wound Becca’s scarf snugly round my neck. ‘Nice scarf,’ commented Nell, and a couple of the other mothers nodded in agreement. ‘A friend made it,’ I said.

‘It’s fun, different,’ said one of the mums. ‘Does she have a shop? Website?’

‘Not yet, but she will do soon,’ I said positively and headed for the bus stop.

I sat on the bus, leaning against the steamy windows, looking out at the twinkly lights in the darkness and the people making their way home from their Christmas shopping. My mind was a jumble. Normally, on my way home from a job I’m already writing it up in my head, thinking of that crucial first sentence, from which the whole piece will flow. But today I couldn’t. My head was full of Shadwell and what Nell had said. And about Clayton losing his licence. A whole year without his beloved cars. All because I didn’t want to miss my train. I had yelled at him to slow down. But he was only doing it for my sake. My mind grew even more confused. The birthday party was muddled up with the chapel tea all those weeks ago in Hartstone Edge.
I reached into my bag for my phone and looked at the picture again. The piled tables, the cakes, the sandwiches, the fruit loaves, the steaming urns and the waiting cups and saucers and the sampler, ‘
Judge not, that ye be not judged
.’

I was sure that Nell had been about to say something about Clayton and the Barbie girl’s accusations. She didn’t sound as if she was going to slag him off. ‘Old stuff,’ she’d said, as if it didn’t matter. And she was a mother, so it would matter to her if a bloke had walked out on his responsibilities. She wouldn’t dismiss it easily. I felt in my pocket. Yes, her card was still safe there. She’d asked me to email her, hadn’t she? Well, I would. And I might just ask her about that Clayton gossip while I was doing so. I mean, it didn’t hurt to get the story right, did it?

I got off the bus and walked the ten minutes to my flat, my hands in my coat pockets, my chin tucked down in Becca’s scarf.

But when I got to the end of my road, instead of getting my front door key out of my pocket, I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t even think about it. I hardly missed a beat or altered a step. I just turned round, walked back down the way I’d come, and got back on a bus.

Only this time, the bus was going to Clayton Silver’s.

It was madness, of course. Absolute madness. I didn’t know if he would be there. I certainly didn’t know if he wanted to see me—though I could make a pretty good guess. I wasn’t even totally sure that I wanted to see
him.
I thought I was succeeding in putting him out of my mind, out of my life. But I just felt I had to do this. Why think of asking Nell the truth, when I could just ask Clayton?

The road where he lived seemed spookily quiet. My boot heels clicked and echoed and, even though it was only early evening, I had the feeling that it wasn’t just the security cameras that were watching my every move.

Then, of course, I got to those vast electronic gates and they were locked and he wasn’t in. The huge house with its wrap-round balconies soared up above me, but apart from a glow from the back of the house—presumably Maria’s bit—it was all blackness. I thought of trying the intercom and seeing if Maria would let me in. As I got up close to it, a glaring security light flashed on, dazzling me. I stepped back, and kept carefully out of its target area.

To keep warm, I walked back and forth in front of the gates, back and forth, trying to work out why I was there.

I thought back to Halloween. Of that scene with Barbie shouting at Clayton. She’d been drunk. He’d been
so calm. She had been so sure of what she was saying. He hadn’t denied it. Maybe it was so ridiculous that he hadn’t needed to.

Then I remembered the message on the flowers he’d sent me. Something about my being brave. But wrong. Back and forth. Back and forth.

It was no good. I was getting cold. I didn’t dare risk being ill again. Clayton had probably gone straight out with his team-mates, drowning their sorrows. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately if Matty was right. Of course he wouldn’t be coming home. He wouldn’t want to be by himself. He’d be out with his mates, picking up women. There were always plenty of women ready and waiting. This had been a totally pointless journey. God knows why I’d done it. Time to go.

I had just made my mind up, when a big car turned off the road and up to the gates, setting off the security lights again. As the gates opened, the passenger window went down. There was a pause while I took a deep breath, walked towards it, shielding my eyes from the dazzle of the security light.

‘Tilly Flint?’

‘Hello, Clayton.’

‘You coming to see me?’

‘Yes. If that’s all right…’

‘You’d better come in.’

I followed the car through the gates. Clayton jumped out, yelling ‘G’night mate’ at the driver, and then motioning me into the house and up into the sitting room with the wonderful Iolo John painting. It seemed a lifetime ago that I’d gone to sleep on one of the orange sofas and Clayton had so carefully placed a duvet over me.

Standing in front of me now, he looked tired. He didn’t have his usual starry glow, that gloss of success and
self-confidence. Too many late nights out drinking. Too many lost matches. Too many failures at football and cards. Not to mention the driving ban.

‘So Tilly, what do you want?’ His tone was sharp.

‘I just heard about the driving ban. I suppose it was that morning you were taking me for the train?’

He nodded.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. No point. You were yelling at me to slow down.’

‘I know, but…I’ve been thinking about you. I needed to clear something up.’ I didn’t really know how to go on.

Clayton said nothing. All signs of ‘Quicksilver’, of his sparky, drawly, mischievous conversation, had vanished. He just stood looking at me, waiting. He had, I realised, not offered me a drink, not even a cup of tea, certainly no little cakes. Hadn’t even invited me to sit down. So I didn’t. This was not a good meeting. But I was here, so I’d better say what I’d come to say.

‘That night in Ravensike Lodge.’

‘You did well that night. You’re OK now?’ His voice held the tiniest tiny spark of emotion and I clung to that.

‘Ooh, um yes. Oh,’ I said, suddenly remembering, ‘thank you for the flowers.’

‘Glad you got them. But I guess you weren’t waiting out in the cold to tell me that. So what is it?’

I couldn’t think of what I wanted to say, or how to say it politely, so instead the words just tumbled out. ‘That girl, the one who said you were the father of her sister’s baby, was she telling the truth?’

‘No.’

There was a silence. Then Clayton asked, ‘Was there anything else you wanted to know?’

‘It was just that she was so
sure.
‘

‘And even though she was so drunk she couldn’t stand,
that she was screaming like a banshee and was also probably stoned out of her skull, you were ready to believe her? Just like that?’

‘Well, no. Well, I suppose I mean yes. I was. But I didn’t…’ I was beginning to feel as though I might have got something horribly wrong.

Clayton sighed and suddenly I felt so desperately sorry for him and wished I could restore him to his Quicksilver self, with his daft and lively show-off chat.

‘I thought we were friends, Tilly,’ he said wearily. ‘I thought we had something good. I’d never met anyone like you and I talked to you like I’ve never talked to anyone else. It was special. Then some drunken tart appears out of nowhere and oh yes, in a second you’d rather believe her than me. Hey, I thought you’d got to know me, yeah? You don’t know a thing about her. Or her sister. But never mind, you still think she’s more reliable than I am. Well great, Tilly. Thanks a lot.’

It would have been so much easier if he’d been angry. But his face was expressionless, his voice almost toneless. He could have been made from wood.

‘You had this little place in your brain that said “flash footballer” and you fitted me right in there. Didn’t matter what I was really like, did it? You weren’t going to bother to find out. All that talking we’d done, just a waste of breath, wasn’t it?’

He was right. My face burned. I’d been too quick to decide what he was like, completely ignored what I’d got to know about him, just on the basis of one drunken girl.

‘So why was she saying such things? Why should she say them if they weren’t true?’ My attempt at outrage sounded feeble.

‘Oh God, Tilly. Because she’s mad? Because she’s stoned? Because she just likes causing trouble? Don’t ask me, ask
her
. Not that you’d get any sense out of her. Look,’ he sighed again, ‘if you really want to know, here’s the story. Ten years ago, yes, I did have a little thing going with her sister. I was a kid, just making a name for myself. There were lots of women. I was having fun. She was one of them and I saw her for a few weeks, maybe two months. End of.

‘Two years later, I’m with Shadwell, yeah?, going great. This woman suddenly appears back on the scene with a baby, tries to tell me I’m his father. But I know I’m not. The dates are sort of right, but only just. And don’t tell me I was the only guy she was sleeping with. I’m not that stupid. But she reckoned that because I was the flavour of the month at the time—in the papers, on TV, the lot—that I was an easy touch; that I would just pay up. But I didn’t. So I asked for blood tests and such and it was like I thought. The baby wasn’t mine.

‘Do you really think I would walk away if I thought I had a son? Whatever stupid cow was his mother? No way. I thought you would have known that. I really did—you of all people…’

‘I did really,’ I said. ‘Once I had a chance to think about it. I guess that’s why I came today. To ask you and to say I’m sorry. You’re right, I just leapt to the wrong conclusions. I should never have doubted you.’

‘No. You shouldn’t.’

‘I don’t know why I did. And I’m very sorry. I really am. I should have known better, should have known
you
better.’

‘Right. OK.’

We were still standing, awkwardly, in this huge ship-like room, looking out at the lights of London.

‘Anything else you want to know?’

‘No, I guess not. But, I should tell you…’ Suddenly I didn’t want to say what I’d done. ‘I sold the necklace.’

He gave me a hard look.

‘I sold it for five thousand pounds. I think the man will sell it on for a lot more.’ I was gabbling, spoke quickly, anxiously, to tell the story. ‘I gave the money to charities. One of my mother’s Fairtrade projects and Ted Blake’s charity too.’

His expression relaxed and he nodded. ‘Right. I’ll let you out.’ He walked out of the room and down the glorious curving wooden stairs.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said to his back, ‘about the club going through such a hard time. It can’t be easy.’

‘It’s not.’

‘How did it go today?’

‘We lost of course. But we’re getting used to that. Too used.’ He shrugged. I could see the ripple of muscles under his jacket. ‘We ain’t got no players. Nobody gives a toss. Caretaker coach is clueless. No one knows what’s going to happen. Half the team will be gone in January. We’re playing with kids.’ He stopped on the stairs and briefly turned round to me. ‘But maybe today we weren’t total crap. Maybe there’s the makings of a team there. But it’s a long way off yet. And it’ll all change soon.’

He was opening the front door for me.

‘There’s just one more thing,’ I said, as a blast of cold air swirled in. If this was the last time I was going to see Clayton Silver, I might as well get my two-penn’orth in. ‘It’s just to say that I really enjoyed the times we spent together,’ I said. ‘I’m very glad I met you. I just wish I’d had the chance to get to know you better. I hope everything works out in all this mess and that you can get the team back together, or move on, or whatever you want.’

‘That it?’

‘No.’ Deep breath. Last chance. ‘You look tired and not particularly healthy. You look as though you’re drinking
too much and not eating properly and goodness knows what else. I just wish you’d look after yourself properly—or let Maria look after you. I don’t understand what’s going on in the club, but if everyone’s going to be transferred after Christmas, surely you need to be at peak fitness otherwise no one will want you. But for your own sake, mostly. The club may be collapsing around you, but, oh Clayton, you’re too good to waste.’

I wanted to shake him, slap him, hug him—get him out of this awful, defeated state. I couldn’t bear it. ‘Where’s Quicksilver?’ I was almost shouting now. ‘He seems to have vanished when everyone needs him most. The club might be ruined, but you don’t have to be ruined with it…Don’t throw it all away. Please don’t.’

I paused for breath, frustrated at my inability to get through to him. ‘Have you spoken to Denny? What does he say? He wouldn’t think much of the way you’re going on, would he?’

Finally, I ran out of steam. All I could say was, ‘Take care of yourself. Please.’

Clayton was staring at me impassively. ‘Quite finished now, have you?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll open the gates for you.’

‘Right. Thank you.’

I’d said my bit and much good it had done me, but at least I’d said it. I went out into the dark. The security lights blazed and the huge gates opened out for me. I looked back to wave goodbye at Clayton but he’d already gone in and the door was shut. The gates closed behind me. The light faded. I’d done what I’d come for. I’d said my piece. I’d told the truth and shamed the devil. Ha!