LITMIR.BIZ

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was quick off the mark. ‘Silly old sod walked into the door. I couldn’t stop laughing,’ she lied. Johnny had told her that Craig Thurston had turned up at the club, kicking off over money.

      ‘You’re lying,’ Melissa squared up to them.

      ‘Don’t start, Mel. Why would we lie?’ Johnny spat. Guilt was eating away at him and he’d decided to spend every moment of every day with Carol from now on.

      Donte broke the ice. ‘Look, Nana. Doggy,’ he said, pressing the switch to make the toy walk and bark.

      Carol crouched and scooped her grandson into her arms. Johnny’s right-wing views had rubbed off on her over the years and she’d been horrified when Melissa had announced Donte’s father was black. But a grandmother’s instinct had taken over the second the child was born. He’d clung to her little finger at one point and Carol’s heart had melted; he was one of the most beautiful babies she had ever seen. ‘Who bought you that? Mummy? What’s the doggy’s name?’ she asked.

      ‘A man.’

      Confused, Carol said, ‘Eamonn?’

      ‘A man, Mum. One of the stallholders bought it for him,’ Melissa explained.

      ‘Aww, that was nice. Do you know him?’ Carol asked.

      ‘No. And now Tracey has the right hump because she fancied him and he asked me out.’

      ‘Put the kettle on, Johnny, while I have a chat with Mel,’ Carol urged. Apart from being a bit tired, she felt fine now.

      Carol was a doting mum, always had been, and she missed her son who’d moved up north. Melissa was her world though. They’d had a strong mother–daughter bond from the moment Mel was born. ‘Tell me what happened,’ Carol said gently. She knew Tracey could be a stroppy, dictatorial mare at times and wished Mel could meet a nicer best friend to hang out with.

      Melissa told her the story, concluding: ‘She virtually accused me of showing out to him! But I never, I swear. I was dressed like this with my Timberlands on, for Christ’s sake, while she was all done up to the nines. It’s not my fault he never fancied her, is it?’

      ‘No, it isn’t. Tracey’s just jealous, love. She’ll snap out of it. So what’s his name, this lad?’

      ‘Jason.’

      ‘And is he handsome?’

      ‘Very. He’s got the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen and lovely blond hair. And he was so good with Donte. I couldn’t believe it when he asked me out. I was in shock. But I can’t go. Tracey will never speak to me again if I do.’

      ‘Tracey is boy mad, as you well know. Fancies a different one every week. You go out with Jason if you like him. But don’t lie to Tracey; stand up to her for once. She might be angry, but I’d put money on it she’ll forget all about Jason in a week or two and move on to her next sodding victim. You mustn’t let her rule you – I’ve told you that before.’

      ‘He gave me his number. It’s a mobile. Perhaps it’s dodgy and he was taking the mickey out of me?’ Melissa suggested.

      Carol held her daughter’s beautiful face in her hands. She’d never met Donte’s father, but the bastard had knocked the stuffing out of Melissa. She’d once been a confident girl, full of life. Now she was insecure and Carol hated seeing her like that. ‘Ring him,’ she urged. ‘Sod Tracey. Remember that time you fancied David Ward? She didn’t care when you caught her snogging him behind the bloody bike sheds, did she? Go with your instincts for once.’

      ‘He must be nice to buy Donte that dog,’ Melissa said, lost in thought.

      ‘You gotta go for it then, love. My mate Sylvie fancied your father before I snapped him up. Sometimes I wish I’d have let her have him,’ Carol laughed. ‘Sylv never spoke to me for a month when we started courting, but she soon got over it. True friends are hard to find and not many girls will put up with that madam Tracey Thompson like you do. Trust me on that one.’

      Melissa smiled. ‘Perhaps I’ll ring him. What if it’s a dodgy number though?’

      ‘If that’s the case, I’ll be marching straight down to Dagenham Market next Sunday and whacking him around the head with my handbag,’ Carol stated, meaning every word. She was very protective when it came to her children, had once nearly stuck a pair of secateurs into a woman’s arm over Melissa while pruning her roses.

      Melissa laughed. ‘I don’t want to seem too keen. But if I do decide to contact him, how long do you reckon I should leave it?’

      Carol squeezed her daughter’s hands. ‘No ifs or buts, ring him on Tuesday. Mummy knows best. She always has.’

      ‘That you, Jason?’ shouted sixty-year-old Peggy Rampling. She knew it would be her grandson; he was the only other person with a key to her house.

      ‘All right, Nan,’ Jason answered, handing her a box of goodies.

      ‘What ya got for me then?’ Peggy asked, delving into the box then looking up at him, disappointed. ‘No Guinness?’

      ‘Nah. I couldn’t park outside the offie and couldn’t be arsed taking the stereo and speakers out the car again. There’s perfume in there, some toiletries, a Connie Francis CD and a few packets of them biscuits you like.’

      Peggy took the Rive Gauche perfume out of the box and began coughing and spluttering as she sprayed it. ‘That ain’t the real McCoy. Smells like cat’s piss,’ she complained.

      ‘It is the real deal, Nan. I bought it off a pal and he wouldn’t have me over.’

      ‘Well, he has. Get your money back and buy me some Guinness instead,’ Peggy said, lobbing the perfume back at Jason.

      ‘What you been up to? Did you go to bingo last night?’

      ‘Yep! And Friday. Rigged, that bingo hall is. Same faces win every night. Won the regional, that old cow Doris Shipton did. That’s the second time she’s won it this year and it’s only bastard April. Nobody’s that lucky. I hope she gets her purse snatched.’

      ‘Some people are just born lucky, Nan. You going again tonight?’

      ‘Nah. I’d like to, of course – gets lonely, sitting in here on me jacks – but I can’t afford it.’

      Knowing full well his grandmother had money stashed in pots, pans, jars and tins all over the gaff, Jason put his hand in his pocket and handed her a score.

      ‘Thank you, sweetheart. Good boy to your old nan, you are. Don’t know how you come out of her, I honestly don’t. How is she? As rancid as ever?’

      ‘Same old, same old,’ Jason replied truthfully. His nan and mum hadn’t spoken since he was eight years old. At five, his mother had decided she didn’t want him any more and had palmed him off to live with his nan. Those were the happiest childhood memories Jason had. His nan wasn’t perfect – she was a prolific pilferer who’d shoplift anything that wasn’t nailed down – but she’d given him love and attention, the two things he never got at home. When Babs was born, his mother insisted he had to live with her again, and his nan hadn’t spoken to her since.

      ‘Got yourself a nice girlfriend yet?’ Peggy grinned.

      ‘I’m still seeing that one from Harold Hill I told you about, but I think I’m gonna have to knock her on the head. She’s only seventeen. Too young and immature.’ Jason told his grandmother most things, but had never mentioned his affair with Darlene. His nan had once lived on the Mardyke and hated her. ‘Look at that old slapper. All fur coat and no knickers, that one,’ she’d say whenever they crossed paths. The last thing Jason wanted was his gran turning up on Dar’s doorstep creating havoc. And he was sure she would if she learned the truth. She was that type of woman.

      ‘You need a mother for Shay, ASAP. Horrible child! Don’t bring her round ’ere no more, will ya? Trampled on all me geraniums on purpose

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