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…?’

  ‘Yes. Anything you want. Any time you want.’

  ‘Oh, Ruby, don’t.’

  ‘Why not? I’m desperate.’

  ‘Well, I’m not.’ Paul pulled his wallet from his pocket and peeled off three twenty-pound notes. ‘Here.’ He handed them roughly to Ruby. ‘To stop you offering yourself to the next man you pass. But that… is it. No more, Ruby, no more.’

  He forced his wallet back into his pocket, ground his cigarette beneath his shoe and slammed the door of Hailey’s dressing room closed behind him.

  Ruby stood in the corridor, feeling the silkiness of the notes between her fingertips. Sixty pounds. Enough to live for a week, maybe two. She tucked them into her coat pocket and then turned, her body tingling with numb humiliation. She headed straight to the bar and ordered three straight shots of vodka, which she drank in quick succession. A man in a tight black shirt lit her cigarette for her and tried to talk to her, but she wasn’t listening. The lights went down and Paul emerged from the backstage shadows. He saw her at the bar, saw the man in the tight black shirt talking to her and threw her a look of sad disdain. Ruby left the man, mid sentence, and pushed her way through the club, against the grain of the crowd rushing to the stage to see Hailey sing. Outside on Dean Street she realized how drunk she was. Soho looked like a kaleidoscopic mess of flashing lights and high heels and car tyres and teeth.

  A pinched-faced man sitting on the pavement glanced up at her imploringly. His knees were wrapped in a brown blanket. An Alsatian-mix dog lay across his feet. ‘Spare any change, love?’ She put her hand into the pocket of her leopard-skin coat and felt the two remaining twenty-pound notes and a handful of coins. She pulled out the notes and handed them to him. He looked at her in amazement. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘thank you. God bless you. God bless.’ He called after her as she walked away. ‘Have a good night. Have a good life. God bless you. God bless you!’

  Ruby carried on walking, blindly. She didn’t want to go home. She needed something to happen, something to take her mind off her conversation with Paul, something to move her life on from this current point of rancid nothingness. She needed to meet someone. Someone new.

  She stepped off the curb and crossed the road, heading into some unknown corner of Soho with a heavy heart.

  44

  Con tucked the poem into the inside pocket of his jacket and was about to leave the house when he heard loud footsteps coming down the stairs. He went to investigate and saw Ruby, in a dressing gown, pinioned against a wall by an overweight man in a suit. Her dressing gown had come apart and her right breast was exposed. The other breast was covered by the man’s hand. The man was kissing her throat and Ruby was staring at the ceiling.

  This was the man that had woken him up last night at three-thirty, slamming doors and singing. This was the man who’d fucked Ruby loudly and mulishly until 4.30 a.m. This was the man, if Ruby’s cries of unbridled passion were accurate, called Tim.

  Tim pulled away from Ruby and turned to look down at Con. He had one of those faces, fleshy, smug, spoiled. His hair was very thick and his suit was very expensive. He was about thirty-five and he was wearing a wedding ring.

  ‘Morning,’ he said.

  ‘Morning,’ said Con.

  Ruby pulled her dressing gown together and avoided Con’s gaze.

  ‘This is Tim,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Con, ‘I know.’

  ‘Tim – this is my housemate, Con.’

  ‘Con?’ Tim boomed. ‘What sort of con exactly? A con artist? Or an ex-con?’

  Con tried to smile, but failed. He left them there, on the stairs, Ruby in her old make-up, her fat banker in a wedding ring, and headed towards Hanover Square, to Daisy.

  45

  Leah unglued her eyelids and waited a moment while her retinas accustomed themselves to the daylight. She craned her neck to the right to peer at her alarm clock. It said eight-thirty. She blinked. It couldn’t be eight-thirty – she’d set the alarm for 7.45 a.m. But then – small doors in her mind started opening, memories emerged – she hadn’t set it last night, had she, because last night she’d…

  Her head swivelled to the left.

  Amitabh.

  In her bed.

  She let her head drop back onto her pillow and sighed.

  They’d gone to the pub last night. He’d suggested it at Kenwood on Saturday afternoon. ‘It just seems a shame,’ he’d said, ‘not to be friends. We’ve always been such good mates, you and I – and I miss you.’

  Given that she missed him, too, she’d agreed to meet up with him on Wednesday night. Ending up in bed with him hadn’t been part of the plan. In fact, ending up in bed with him had been the thing that wasn’t going to happen under any circumstances. But after a few beers it was so easy just to slip back to the flat, order a curry from their favourite takeaway, open a bottle of their favourite wine, look at each other and realize that nothing had changed, that she was still Leah and he was still Amitabh and that neither of them had ever stopped loving each other, not really, and that there was no one else involved and nobody to be hurt and that it felt good to hold someone familiar and warm and it felt good to kiss someone you’ve known for so long and that sex is even better when you’ve been apart for a while and that what happened next wasn’t really important because it was all about the here and now and making each other feel better, just for a night. Just for old times’ sake.

  ‘Am.’ She shoved his shoulder. ‘Am. Wake up. It’s eight-thirty.’

  ‘It’s OK. I don’t have to be at work until three,’ he mumbled, his eyes still closed.

  ‘Yes, well I have to be at work in half an hour, so get moving.’

  He groaned and turned onto his side, pulling the duvet up round him.

  Leah sighed and pulled herself out of bed. ‘Come on, Am, I’m serious. I need you to get ready.’

  ‘Oh, Lee, let me sleep. Please. I’ve still got my key. I can let myself out.’

  Leah paused for a moment, regarding Amitabh’s slumbering mass, considering the consequences of letting Amitabh stay here without her. ‘OK. But don’t make a mess.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘I’m going to have a shower. D’you want a cup of tea?’

  ‘Mmmm, yes, please. I miss your tea, Leelee. Your tea rocks…’ And then he tucked his hands under his cheek and fell asleep with a very contented smile on his face.