The Complete #LoveLondon Collection

On the tube on the way to Knightsbridge, Davey’s words spun in her head. Everyone needs love. It had never been so obvious after visiting her dad. She knew he worried about her, living in London, barely any disposable income to her name with Christian out of the picture, but she was more worried about him. He'd been quiet, grey.

'Missing Mum?' she'd asked softly as they'd sat in the front room of the pebble-dash semi-detached house she'd grown up in.

'Yes. It's worse today. This time of year.’ He sighed. ‘It's a time for families.'

Putting her patterned porcelain teacup down with a clink – her dad insisted on brewing a pot of tea the old-fashioned way, just as his wife had – she crossed over to his beige velour armchair. Squeezing his shoulder, 'I know it is. But that's why I'm here.'

He put his hand over hers, his skin dry and firm, but lined. She was an only child and they'd had her in their early forties after years of trying, so he was older than most of her friends' parents.

Gazing up at her, he smiled sadly. 'I love you Francesca, you know that. And there is no fiercer love than a parent has for a child, that's one thing me and your mum always agreed on, as you'll find out for yourself one day. But,' he continued, shifting his attention to the photo hanging above the mantelpiece, the three of them on her graduation day, both her parents' faces glowing with pride, no clue that a few short years later one of them would be gone, 'it's not the same. When you've had someone who's been your best friend for more years than you can count, who's always made you smile and laugh, battled through awful things with you…being alone after that, without them, well, it's…' he drifted off, still staring at the photo.

'Hard? I know, I get it. I miss her too.'

'No.' He denied, switching his attention to the gold watch Anna had bought him for his fiftieth, a rare extravagance. Tracing a shaking finger across the face. 'No,’ he repeated, ‘it’s not hard. It's unbearable.'

'Dad?' Knowing her voice showed alarm, she rearranged her clinging black woollen dress and sank down to the floor. 'What do you mean? You're not going to do anything silly, are-'

Jerking his head up at the quiver in her voice, his eyes widened, face immediately clearing. ‘What? No, I'm just having a bad day, that's all. Don't worry, I'm fine. The port is just getting to me. Stupid old bugger!'

She clambered up, knowing the best way to handle him, 'Well, I agree with the old and the bugger bit, but I'm not sure if you're stupid. You're too good at all your game shows and puzzles for that.'

‘Very droll.’ He spoke to her back as she drifted around the room.

She realigned Christmas cards from neighbours and relatives, straightened the scrappy red tinsel on the tree, punched the sofa cushions until she was satisfied they looked right. Their conversation had taken a turn down an alley she didn't want to walk down. Keep moving on, that’s what she needed to do.

Yanking back the curtains, she squinted out the window. 'Neighbourhood kids behaving now? Things any better?' This area of Southampton wasn't particularly nice, but it was home. She would always have a soft spot for it, despite the rubbish tumbling along the pavements, the broken street-lights and some of the front gardens being filled with junk fit only for the tip. It had changed a lot since she was little, when she'd played games on the road with her friends and they'd felt safe staying out until after dark, even at seven or eight years old.

'Of course,' he pushed out of his chair and joined her, hand clutching the window frame. 'They're too scared of you after your last visit to try anything.'

She flushed. 'All I did was tell them to behave. And if it worked, it was worth it.'

'You turned the air blue! And your eyes flashed just like your mother’s used to. You were lucky they didn't beat you up.'

'Well they shouldn't have tried to mess with my dad. Throwing missiles at the house is totally out of order. And now I live in a rough part of Landon,' she put on a thick east end accent, 'I got street smarts.' As his face clouded over, she drew the curtains rapidly. 'Come on, get your shoes on. Pub.'

'You think you can beat your old dad at darts?' he asked with a glint in his eye.

'Nope,' she said breezily as she wandered into the hallway to pull her ankle boots on. 'I know I can beat my old dad at darts.'

After he'd locked up as they'd meandered down the street arm in arm, he’d leant in close. ‘One of them kids told me afterwards that you had respect.’

‘I’m supposed to believe they respect me?’ she made a pfftt sound. ‘And why’s that exactly?’

‘He said you can swear better than they can.’

Dropping her head back, she let out a long, low laugh. ‘Is that right?’

‘Yes.’ He squeezed her arm. ‘You look like your mum when you laugh, you know. She had a lot of love to give.’ He emphasised the last sentence.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing.’ He looked at her innocently, ‘Absolutely nothing.’

***

As Frankie jumped off the tube and climbed up the stairs of Knightsbridge station, she recalled his words. She didn’t think she had any love to give, not right now. Her mum’s premature death had seen to that.

But apprehension and excitement nonetheless sizzled inside her as she reached street level. She sucked in a breath. Maybe she was crazy. Only the next few hours would tell. Unfurling the letter, she read the clue again, picking out the important sections. Need for speed, window, see it revolve, road. A car then, in a shop. Pulling out her phone she typed car dealers and Knightsbridge into Google maps. It was probably a bit of a cheat but she was late and a girl had to use any tools at her disposal. There were a few likely candidates, but the closest was McLaren. Turning right, she set off, striding past several tall posh buildings with big metal gates.

Coming to a halt outside a narrow shop front with floor to ceiling windows, she peered in. Sure enough, there was some kind of orange two-tone supercar revolving slowly in the window, all smooth lines and curves with laser effect lights. The massive round ceiling light above it, wider than the car itself, set the paintwork off perfectly.

It fit the bill in terms of the clue, but what did she do now? Go in and ask if anyone had left anything for her? She’d feel like an idiot if they said no. Then again, she could just move swiftly on to the next dealership. There was a Ferrari place down the other end of the road.

Hovering uncertainly, trying to make her mind up, she jerked when a guy in a sharp black suit opened the glass door and appeared next to her.

‘Can I help you?’ he smiled politely. ‘We close soon, given what day it is.’

The try not to be late part of the clue flashed through her mind, as she smiled back.

There was a method to whoever’s madness this was. ‘Yes, sorry. I, that is, a friend sent me here,’ no way was she admitting she had no idea who the person was, ‘to pick something up. But I’m not sure what. I know that sounds stupid,’ she finished lamely.

‘Not at all, if you are who I think you are. Your name?’

‘Frankie Taylor. Do you need to see some ID?’

He laughed, white teeth flashing. ‘No, you’re okay. Come in.’ He pulled open the door, gesturing her ahead of him.

‘Thanks.’ She stepped into the sparkling chrome showroom, huge silver pillars supporting the low ceiling.

‘No problem at all. If you don’t mind waiting here a minute?’

‘That’s fine.’ She glanced around, noticing another car slowly turning on the spot, this one gleaming white with black accessories.

‘Why don’t you have a go while I get your package?’ he asked.

‘A go?’

Sauntering over to the orange two-tone car, he ran his fingers around the edge of the door and pressed something. The door swooped upwards, a bit like the Batmobile.

‘Wow!’ she breathed. She wasn’t really a car girl but it was gorgeously impressive.

‘Have a seat. Watch out, it’s quite low to the ground.’

‘Are- are you sure?’ She took a step towards it, eyes drawn to the button-filled grey interior.

‘Of course.’

She frowned down at her stiletto boots. ‘What if I damage it? How much is it worth?’