Chapter 74
Ludo
“Stop here please, mate,” Sunny said. The cabby pulled over to the side of the road outside a row of mostly boarded-up shops. A splash of graffiti on a closed shop grille declared that “Derek Jones has warts on his knob.”
“Very public-spirited to let everyone know,” I said to Sunny, pointing.
“Welcome to the Wickwar Estate.” He winked and climbed out of the cab in search of a newspaper.
We hadn’t passed a newsagent all morning.
Karma and Leaf had dropped us off at their local train station, which was too small to have a shop, so we hadn’t seen the Sentinel yet.
By the time I’d paid the cabby, Sunny was coming out of the shop with three copies of the paper in his hands, head down, staring at the front page.
He took a couple of steps, then stopped, his face swirling with emotions.
He looked like a tough kid, in his hoodie and grey sweatpants, trying not to cry.
Probably because that’s exactly what he was.
“Your first Sentinel byline,” I said, wrapping my arm around his back and pulling him into me. I kissed him on the side of the face. “I’m sure it’ll be the first of many.”
“Not like this one. This one’s special.” He held the paper up so I could read it.
Under the headline were the words “By Sunny Miller and Ludo Boche.”
“One for the scrapbook, I reckon?” he said, finally looking up to meet my eyes. His smile was as broad as the British Midlands. My God, he was adorable. I went to kiss him, but he put a hand to my chest to stop me.
“Are you trying to get us stabbed?” he said. “You’re on the Wickwar now, mate.”
“You didn’t tell me I’d need my Kevlar vest, or I’d have come more prepared.”
Sunny looked at me, one eyebrow cocked.
“Prepared? Yeah, you’re a regular Boy Scout. You’re literally wearing a pair of my underpants right now.”
“Someone may as well wear them,” I said, theatrically sweeping a hand in the direction of Sunny’s dick print.
“Touché,” he said. He folded the papers in half and put them under his arm. “You ready to meet Hurricane Stacey?”
* * *
I confess, I’d had hopes of sneaking a peek at Sunny’s childhood bedroom.
No such luck. We met his mum at the local food bank instead.
She was busy when we arrived, a whirlwind of activity, so I got to see her in action for a few minutes.
It was jolly impressive. A tight ginger ponytail bobbed around in her wake as she sent customers off with boxes of groceries, a lashing of banter, and a warm smile.
“What are you doing down here on a Friday, Mum?”
“I done a swap with—”
“Wendy from number thirty-three?” Sunny said. “Does she ever actually turn up for her shift?”
“She’s taken Shirley down the ospiccle again. Only her leg has gone purple now, right up to her flaps. Wendy said the left lip’s swollen up to the size of a grapefruit. Reckons it looks like a Muppet eating its own face. Who’s this then?”
Sunny stood a little taller, which pleased me somehow, and took a breath—because someone had to, and it clearly wasn’t going to be Stacey—before introducing me.
“Mum, this is Ludo.”
“The one you come up here shouting and moaning about?” she said.
“Er—”
“And then spent two weeks moping about the house mooning over and stalking on social media between crywanks?”
“Mum!”
Stacey winked at me. “Lovely to meet you, Ludo.” She flung her arms around me in an all-enveloping hug, then, as she released me, said, “Call me Stacey.”
“Likewise.”
“You want me to call you Stacey?”
“No, I mean, it’s—”
Stacey burst into peals of laughter.
“Only teasing, love,” she said. Sunny rolled his eyes.
“Did you bring my things?” Sunny asked, somewhat impatiently.
“Your bags are in the kitchen,” Stacey said. “I’ve done your laundry. Not your socks, though. I’m sorry, love. They’re still having trauma therapy.”
“Enough, Mum. Behave.” Sunny glared at his mother, then smiled at me. “Back in a tick.” He trotted off in a direction I took to be towards the kitchen, presumably to collect his bags. Stacey leant over conspiratorially.
“Are you two on together now, then?” she asked bluntly. This woman was as ruthless as a KGB officer.
“I, um, I, er. I guess so,” I said. “I certainly hope so. We’re definitely heading that way. I mean, I’m literally wearing his underpants right now.” Shut up, Ludo. Shut up. Stacey’s eyebrows went up. “Sorry. Not sure why I said that.”
“Don’t worry, love. Just stay away from his socks, and you’ll be fine.”
“What’s going on with Sunny’s socks?”
“Here, listen,” Stacey said, and she leant even closer towards me. “Tell me summat, would you? Sunny promises me he’s not into summat called fisting, but I don’t know whether to believe him. Do you boys do any fisting? I’m worried about his laggy band, is all.”
Had I stepped through a looking glass somewhere between the newsagent’s and the food bank? Fortunately, Sunny came back, weighed down with rucksacks and bags, and I didn’t have to answer. Stacey, upon seeing her son, changed the subject.
“Are you sure you won’t stay the night?” Stacey said. “The whole gang’s going up the Bells for a knees-up tonight. Denise from Asda will be there. The horse-faced trollop.”
Was this a test? She was testing me.
“Sorry, Mum, I have a meeting with the editor of the Sentinel tonight.”
“You mean your boyfriend’s dad?” She hooked a thumb in my direction. Boyfriend? Wow. I mean, I liked it, but, um, boundaries? Sunny and I hadn’t had that chat yet.
“Yes, Mum. But he’s also a very powerful man, and he might just be willing to give me a job…
on account of the massive national story that I broke that is on the front page of today’s Sentinel…
and I’ve left a copy in the kitchen, so you can actually read it for once.
” It was one of those slow, hint-dropping sentences with drawn-out words designed to give the other person enough time to catch on.
It didn’t work. Stacey was staring at me, hand gripped in an unsubtle fist, face demanding an answer to her earlier question.
Sunny’s single-minded drive was starting to make a lot more sense to me now that I’d met his mother.
“Mum, are you even listening?”
The fist was whipped behind her back.
“Of course I am, love. Well done. I’m very proud of you. I just meant if it’s your boyfriend’s dad, then he won’t mind waiting a day so you can spend an evening with your old mum.”
Sunny looked ready to blow, so I rode into what I hoped was the rescue.
“Alas, it’s my fault,” I said. “I have a hundred and twenty-two toddlers in tutus relying on me to turn up and help them perfect their pliés tomorrow morning. Can’t let the kiddies down.”
“All right then, love,” Stacey said, pulling Sunny into a hug.
He hugged her back. Less reluctantly than I might have imagined, given this bizarre exchange.
Stacey’s eyeballs were on me, and the fist was back.
I raised a hand and shook my head, silently reassuring her that her son’s laggy band, whatever on God’s green earth that was, was safe.
She smiled and gave me a thumbs up. I’ve always been good with mothers.