stop banging that fucking drum! Doing my head in, you are,’ Debbie Rampling bellowed.
Giggling, Elton sang along to Bob Marley’s ‘Three Little Birds’ and banged his drum even harder. He only stopped when his mother yanked him off the carpet by his arm and walloped him repeatedly across the backside.
‘Mum, I’m starving,’ complained Kyle, tugging at her arm.
‘Babs, come and sort these bastard kids out before I strangle ’em,’ Debbie ordered.
Jason was having a lie-down in the smallest of the flat’s three bedrooms, which he shared with Shay. His mother had the largest and Barbara shared the other with Elton and Kyle.
When his mother decided she couldn’t be bothered cooking again and ordered Babs to take the kids round the chippie to give her a break, Jason waited until his sister had left the flat before marching into the lounge. ‘I think you and I should have a little chat.’
Lying on the sofa, fag in hand, watching the latest episode of the highly addictive Jeremy Kyle show, Debbie asked, ‘What about?’ in a totally disinterested tone.
Jason picked up the remote and pressed pause. ‘About everything. You going out all the time. Babs skipping school at your insistence every time you have a hangover. You refusing to cook for the kids. The list is endless. You gotta sort yourself out, ya know. I’m old enough to fend for myself, but your other three aren’t.’
Debbie took a gulp from her plastic bottle of cider, then sneered. ‘If you’re old enough to fend for yourself, why are you and your daughter living under my roof?’ Part of Debbie wanted to tell her son to pack his and Shay’s belongings and sling his hook, but Jason was too much of an asset to her financially. He gave her fifty quid a week, helped with the kids and paid for most of the grub they ate.
‘Oh, I’m looking for a way out, don’t you worry about that. But I’m worried about the kids, especially Babs. You treat that girl like a slave, and it ain’t on. You need to start cooking her some healthy food. Poor little mare is becoming obese. You got to be a better parent. I know you’re upset Rasta got bird, but it’s not as if he ever lived here or helped out with the kids. You weren’t exactly mother of the year before he got banged up, and if you don’t wake up and smell the coffee, you’ll have Social Services on your case. Then you’ll have no kids.’
Debbie was well aware that she wasn’t ‘Mother of the Year’ material, but she loved Elton and Kyle. Rasta Dave had been the love of her life and they were his flesh and blood. ‘How dare you speak to me like that? Who do you think you are, you jumped-up little shit! You’re hardly Richard Branson your fucking self, are you? Think you’re a big-shot ’cause you sell sicko films to nonces round the estate. Well let me tell you something: you’re nothing, Jason Rampling. Just a nobody who lives on the Mardyke, same as me. Get that into your thick skull.’
Jason was livid. He hated being spoken down to. ‘I’m nothing like you. I’m gonna make it in life whatever it takes. You just fucking watch me.’
Practising her words, Melissa Brooks finally took the plunge and picked up the phone. She’d had nothing to do with lads since Donte’s dad had dumped her, and her heart was beating rapidly. She couldn’t stop thinking about Jason. She’d even dreamed about him last night.
Silently praying he hadn’t given her a dodgy number, Melissa was relieved when the phone was answered on the third ring. He had a distinct voice, gruff and cheeky. ‘Erm, hi, Jason. It’s Melissa – the girl with the son that—’
‘I know exactly who you are. Never forget a pretty face, me,’ Jason interrupted. ‘How’s my little mate, Donte?’
Melissa smiled. Jason seemed so thoughtful compared to lads she’d met in the past. ‘Miserable. He’s got a cold. How’s your daughter? What’s her name?’
‘Shay. Yeah, she’s good. What you doing tonight? Let me take you out for a drink so we can chat properly. Been thinking about you a lot since Sunday, I have.’
Melissa felt a warm glow inside. She was still stunned that a hunk like Jason could be interested in her, but he was obviously very keen. ‘OK. I’m sure my mum will look after Donte. I’ll ask her in a tick.’
When Mel gave him an address, Jason grinned. He knew that road and it wasn’t council, the gaffs were privately owned. Melissa’s call couldn’t have come at a better time …
Carol Brooks was brimming with excitement for her daughter. ‘Wow! You look gorgeous. Now go knock him dead. Be confident, Mel. Nothing more off-putting to a man than insecurity, is there, Johnny?’
Johnny looked up from his Construction News. ‘You do look nice, and your mother’s right. Don’t put the bloody bloke off. Opportunities like this don’t come along every day for someone in your position. I wonder if his kid’s half-chat too? Did you ask him?’
‘Shut up, Johnny. If you can’t be happy Mel’s got a date, then sod off upstairs,’ Carol ordered. Donte had started picking up on words they used lately and she didn’t want him hearing hateful things.
Johnny held his hands aloft. ‘All right, I’m sorry. So you gonna bring him in to meet us, this mystery man?’
‘No. Last thing I want is you spouting off. He’ll run a mile,’ Mel snapped. She’d wanted to meet Jason away from the house, but he’d insisted on picking her up from her address.
‘Your dad won’t say anything bad. Promise her, Johnny,’ Carol ordered.
‘I won’t open me mouth. Honest,’ Johnny replied, performing a zip movement across his lips.
‘I can hear an engine, love. Did Jason say what car he drives?’ Carol asked, peeping through the curtain.
‘No. And come away from the window, Mum. Please,’ Melissa begged. She was becoming more flustered by the second.
When the doorbell rang, Melissa felt sick with nerves. ‘Right, I’m off now. Do not follow me outside and embarrass me. I mean it.’
Carol turned the TV down and put her ear to the door. ‘Hiya, Mel. You look amazing! Where’s me little mate? I got him a get well present.’
‘Donte’s in bed,’ Melissa replied, shutting the front door as quickly as possible.
‘Did you hear that, Johnny? He brought Donte a get well present!’ Carol beamed.
Johnny Brooks leapt out of the armchair and peeked through the curtains. Whoever this Jason was, he sounded too good to be bloody true.
Melissa Brooks smiled as Jason handed her a third Bacardi and Coke. He’d brought her to the Spencer’s Arms pub in Ardleigh Green and, although nervous at first, Mel now felt more relaxed. Jason was easy to talk to and they had lots in common.
Jason took a photo out of his pocket and slid it across the table. ‘That’s my Shay, holding the doll. The other three are my brothers and sister. Taken last Christmas, that photo was. Most recent I have of Shay.’
‘Awww. She’s really cute, Jase. So, where is her mum? Does she see Shay? You don’t mind me asking, do you?’
‘Course not. Her mum left us. Walked out when
