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‘You truly think it’s remotely feasible to fall in love with a musician who lives in Canada?’
‘Yes!’ Frankie sang it out. There was nothing wrong with any of it. It was brilliant – all of it.
‘Frankie.’ Peta knew to tread carefully but she wasn’t entirely sure what to say next. ‘How long is he here for before he returns home – to Canada?’
‘He flies on Sunday.’
‘Sunday as in the day after tomorrow?’
‘I need to see him tomorrow. That’s why I’m phoning – to tell you what happened and to ask if the kids and I can stay.’
‘You mean the kids to stay – because you’ll be elsewhere shagging Scott senseless.’
‘Don’t say it like that. I just need to see him again,’ Frankie said thoughtfully. ‘Before he goes.’
‘Have you slept with him?’
‘No.’
‘Are you going to?’
‘I don’t know. I hope so. I don’t know.’
Peta heard her sister, her voice level yet full of thought, passion, need. And she thought to herself, you know what, even if Frankie and this Scott bloke have a night of passion and she never hears from him again – is there really anything so wrong in that? She’s only known him two days so he can’t actually break her heart. Perhaps a stupendous shag – or whatever she wants to call it – is no bad thing. Hopefully, it will get it out of her system. He lives in Canada. He’ll be gone the day after tomorrow, a different continent, a different time zone, a different world. Perhaps it’s a very good idea – scratch that phantom itch and then pave the way for something more realistic with someone like Chris.
‘OK,’ Peta said. ‘Come. I’d love to see you – and the kids. Come. You’re welcome.’
‘Thank you so so much.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Annabel was excited; she’d been given a Claire’s Accessories voucher last Christmas but had been bemused to find she lived nowhere near a branch. But London? There were as many Claire’s Accessories as there were pigeons. Sam, however, was utterly resistant. He’d have to miss a cricket match, his first for the B team.
‘I’ll write a note,’ Frankie told him.
‘That’s not the point,’ he said. ‘It’s not about the note – it’s about what I want to do.’
‘Sometimes I have to make decisions for the family, though,’ said Frankie.
‘Moving out here was a decision for the family,’ Sam retorted. ‘And I had to leave my old school and my mates and everything. And you told me to try hard to join in – well that’s what I’ve been doing. I’m crap at winter sports but I’m good at cricket. And now I can’t play because I’m being dragged off to London because of your stupid work. I’m letting the team down, I’ll never get chosen again. God!’ He was picking up random items and banging them down again; an orange, Annabel’s school book, his mother’s hairbrush, all of which he’d rather throw at the windowpane while yelling fuck! whatever the consequences.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Frankie, meaning it.
‘No you’re not.’
‘I am, sweetie. But I can’t change things now. Peta’s looking forward to seeing us. So are Josh and Stan.’
‘Josh and Stan are thugs – you said so yourself. Not even in private. You said so yourself – to us – after our last visit.’
‘That was then,’ she told her children brightly. ‘Teenagers go through phases – they’re probably sweetness and light these days.’ Quietly, they all doubted that.
‘If I can find someone on the team and they say I can stay at theirs – then can I stay?’ Sam’s cheeks had reddened and his voice creaked.
Hitherto, Sam hadn’t asked if any of his schoolmates could come over and though the school assured her he was much more settled, she worried that his friendships were conducted via Instagram rather than reality.
‘Yes,’ Frankie smiled. ‘That’ll work.’
Still slightly slouched, Sam went off with his phone.
Annabel fixed Frankie with her oversized hazel eyes. ‘Why do you have a work thing on a Saturday – when offices are closed at weekends?’
Frankie didn’t lie to her children. Ever. She just manipulated language instead. ‘It’s someone I met when I was down in London working last week. They don’t live here. They live in Canada and I need to see them before they go.’
‘What’s their name?’
Frankie paused. ‘Scott,’ she said. ‘His name is Scott.’
‘They’re a man?’
‘Half the world is men, Annabel.’
Annabel looked at her mother long and hard. ‘What time will you be back?’
‘I won’t know till I’m there, really. But I’ll let Auntie Peta know.’
‘Or Sam.’
‘Yes – or Sam.’
‘If he comes,’ said Annabel, ‘if he can’t magic himself some friends by then.’
‘Dom says I can stay at his.’ Sam bounced back in.
‘I don’t think I’ve heard you mention Dom,’ said Frankie.
Sam shrugged. ‘He’s a brilliant bowler.’
‘Is he nice?’
Sam balked at the question. ‘He’s in my maths set,’ he said. ‘He’s cool.’
‘I ought to speak to his mum,’ said Frankie.
Sam shrugged. ‘She said it was fine.’
‘Still – I ought to speak to her.’
Sam sent a text at breakneck speed and a reply pinged back almost immediately. ‘Here – this is her mobile number.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sam said, as if it was preposterous.
‘What’s Dom’s surname?’
‘Massey.’
‘I’ll give Mrs Massey a ring, then.’
‘Unless she’s a single mum with a different surname,’ said Annabel. ‘Like you.’
But Mrs Massey told Frankie to call her Sarah and assured her it would be a pleasure for Sam to stay.
‘Maybe Dom would like to come over to ours one day,’ Frankie said to Sam.
‘Cool,’ said Sam, settling down on the couch. ‘Simpsons!’ he called to his family and they gathered together next to him, and did what they did so well, with Frankie in the middle.
‘I love this one.’
‘Me too.’
‘Marge! She’s my role model you know.’
‘She has better hair than you, Mum.’
I’m going!
Ruth was the first person Frankie wanted to tell.
FanTASTic! Ruth texted back.
You coming? Scott texted Frankie.
Yes. Frankie texted back.
‘Mummy! Put your phone down.’
There had been a time, after university and once she’d landed her first job at a greetings-card company, when Frankie aspired to living in Hampstead. It seemed such a perfect place: slightly bohemian, still villagey, up high as if it had cleaner air than the rest of London. She’d gaze at the buildings and imagine herself ensconced in basement flats or up in attics – all bare floorboards and faded kilims, old tub chairs, iron bedsteads and little framed engravings of the same streets in Victorian times. But she’d never been able to afford to rent and, when a decade later a healthy advance on her Alice books could have supported a debilitating mortgage for somewhere tiny around Parliament Hill, Hampstead had changed anyway.
Around that time Peta married and moved there. Frankie had gently envied her until, before long, there was a general exodus of everything unique in the area. Quirky boutiques were seen off by upmarket clothing chains, little delis replaced by pricey generic ones, humble cafés and the occasional corner shop swallowed up by each and every coffee company. But still, above eye level, the windows and chimneys and brickwork and roofs of the beautiful buildings remained unaltered. And, Frankie had to admit, a visit to Whistles or Karen Millen for first time in nine months was attractive. She could stock up on jeans and tops for the kids from Gap and then pop across to Waterstones to check stock levels of her books after which a frappuccino might be in order.
Peta’s house had changed since Frankie had last visited.
‘Grey,’ Peta explained. ‘Actually – greige. It’s all about greige these days.’
‘Where are the menfolk?’
‘Philip’s at bloody work – of course – and the boys are at athletics. They’ll be home soon.’ Peta smiled at Annabel. ‘They’re looking forward to seeing you.’
Annabel rolled her eyes at her mother and, for a moment, Frankie was sure she was going to say bloody thugs. But then again, Peta would probably concur.
‘Take your stuff upstairs and freshen up – I’ve made us a light lunch.’
Frankie poked her head around the door to the smallest spare room to find Annabel staring at the bed.
‘Auntie Peta always puts this doll and this teddy out for me,’ she told her mum.
‘That’s because she’s thoughtful,’ said Frankie. ‘She has a soft spot for you because you’re a gorgeous girl and not a monstrous boy.’
‘I think I’d probably rather have stayed at home though,’ said Annabel. ‘What with you going out and everything.’
Frankie thought about it. ‘But Auntie Peta has planned popcorn and chocolate and a DVD just for the both of you. Also she has much better nail varnishes than me.’
‘Listen!’
The house appeared to shake.
‘It’s only Stan and Josh,’ Frankie said.
‘Do you think they’ll talk to me?’
‘Think of it as a mercy if they don’t,’ Frankie laughed.
‘Do you think Sam’s OK?’
Frankie looked at her watch. ‘The match’ll be under way.’
‘Don’t you think it’s odd – not being the three of us?’
Frankie nodded. ‘It is odd. But it’s also normal for there to be times when we have to do – our own things.’
‘I don’t have my own things to do,’ said Annabel crossly. ‘I just have to follow.’
‘Your time’ll come,’ Frankie said, stroking her daughter’s little face and putting her hand back there even after Annabel had pushed it away.
Later, Annabel watched Frankie get changed.
‘What’s wrong with the clothes you were wearing?’
‘Nothing?’ Frankie said.
‘So why are you getting changed? It’s only teatime.’
‘I felt stuffy in what I was wearing – after the long car journey and everything. Anyway, I’m going out to dinner – and I don’t often wear a frock these days.’
‘A dress – it’s called a dress,’ said Annabel. ‘What time will you be back?’
How many times today had her daughter already asked her this? ‘I don’t know. But lateish.’ Frankie wished Annabel would just rummage around her make-up bag or try on her shoes and stop asking her these questions.
