Family Affairs

by Pamela G Hobbs

  But now, as an adult, Frankie knew herself well enough to understand the need for control in her life, her apartment in New York, in her methodical way she’d set about testing the writing waters. She knew that that side of her wasn’t just a reaction to her chaotic childhood but a deep-seated part of her personality. Brave and calm – was that a good balance? She knew she liked herself well enough and her few close friends, particularly the Fitz girls, liked her just the way she was.

  And now she had Dev. She really did. And wasn’t that the very best of all balancing acts – the two of them together – Dev the hothead, she the calmer, more easy-going one? Yet, he made her feel centred and she loved the way he usually listened to her reasoning. She wondered, she hoped, they could make a go of a proper relationship.

  Now to the hardest part of all her musings on her long drive – what did a proper relationship with Dev entail? She knew he loved her and that wasn’t conceit, it was a fairly obvious fact. She didn’t doubt that it was the real Frankie he loved rather than the persona seen in the media. She pissed him off, got on his nerves and made him mad – and she just loved that! So normal, so real. No more tiptoeing around niceties and looking the part. He’d want to devour her even if she was wearing old jeans and a hoodie.

  Now all she had to do was get him to say the damn words!

  Chapter 18

  Frankie tried checking into her room in the Abbeyglen Castle Hotel amid a flurry of reporters and photographers. Fortunately, there were so many so-called celebrities that she went almost unnoticed. The film festival regularly guaranteed a huge crowd and this year was no exception. As she waited impatiently at the desk for the concierge to find her reservation, she became a little star-struck herself watching the rich and famous swanning about the foyer.

  “I am so sorry, Ms Jones. It appears your reservation was cancelled this afternoon and we’re now fully booked. We’ve held the room since Mr de Bruin booked it months ago; although it was never actually confirmed. I can only apologise again and offer to check the other hotels in town, but I don’t hold out much hope.” The elderly man seemed to be genuinely upset – she was, after all, almost one of their own.

  “Don’t worry about it, James, I’ll just go to the Fitzgeralds’ lodge instead – I was here merely for convenience. By the way, who got my room?” she asked for fun.

  “Ms Dench, a last-minute addition to the festival,” he all but crowed with delight.

  “Ah! well in that case, I’m happy to relinquish it for true acting royalty – I wouldn’t be happy to let it go for just anyone,” she joked.

  “You’re very kind, Ms Jones, and sincere apologies again.”

  Frankie walked out of the hotel with a smile on her face. She’d met the amazing Ms Dench on one previous occasion several years ago, but Frankie had beaten her to an award since then so was looking forward to catching up. Maybe this would be a good evening and would take her mind off the troubles in Dalkey.

  She hoped Flynn had been able to discover some clues. She pulled out her phone and dialled Dev’s number: busy. She tried Caro, then Flynn, and finally left a voicemail. Hmm, they were probably all gathered around the kitchen table giving out about students and poor Molly would be defending her peer group, as usual. It brought another smile to Frankie’s face as she realised that she’d got all that – the mad sense of humour they shared – and she’d be slagged off just as quickly if she were there.

  She got back in her car and drove the short distance to the lodge to change and get ready for an evening of entertainment among her peer group.

  Jason better be giving her major Brownie points for this, she thought as she slipped on her heels and made her way to the front door. The lodge had been fine – clean, tidy and aired just as she left it. Frankie didn’t bother making up the bed – she just pulled up the uncovered duvet and figured she’d sleep in the PJs she brought.

  She wore a sea-green sequined fitted dress to above her knee and heels to match. Her hair fell softly over one side, a sparkly clip holding the other side off her face. You can never have too many sparkles, she thought as she pulled open the door . . . and yelped in fright. Clutching her hand to her heart, Frankie stared at the figure in front of her, shocked more from the surprise than anything else.

  “Oh dear God, Mary Louanne, you scared me half to death!” She stared at the smiling woman in front of her and realised she, too, was all dressed up. And she looked . . . different. A sleek brown bob replaced her blonde hair. “Your hair!” Frankie blurted. “It’s . . .”

  “Hi, darlin’. I know, isn’t it adorable?” She slicked her hand down the shiny locks. “I heard you were to be here for this big fancy festival opening and since Jason and me are little ole buddies now, he got me a ticket, too! Ain’t that a hoot? So, I decided we may as well ride together.” She gestured towards the waiting car, her own sparkly outfit catching the last of the evening sun.

  Frankie really didn’t feel like taking a lift with Mary Louanne, as that would tie her to a lift back, but hey, after a glass or two of champagne she may well be grateful for it.

  “If you’re sure?” she asked, and Mary Louanne just laughed an affirmative and tottered over to the car.

  Frankie grabbed her purse, locked the door and followed. She checked her small bag for her phone and felt it vibrate. She glanced at the ID and saw that it was Jason – oh, he could wait; she’d see him in a few minutes, anyway.

  The drive to the hotel took only a few minutes, and the two women emerged from the car to a sea of flashing bulbs and shouts from the waiting press. Mary Louanne hooked her hand through Frankie’s arm and plastered a smile on her face. Waving gleefully at all the onlookers, she was probably in fact a bit overwhelmed with all the attention.

  Frankie tried to pull her own arm free but was held in a vice-like grip. She glanced at Mary Louanne, who seemed almost high with excitement, and Frankie suddenly realised what else was so different: she looked the same and yet, yes, it was her eyes. The same dullish blue but somehow . . . not. A soft pink lippy gave her a more elegant look – not something Frankie would ever have ascribed to her. Quite the makeover.

  Giving herself an internal shake, she focused on what was around her – the glitz and glamour and all the madness that went with an event like this. Frankie was well used to it and gave her Hollywood smile and wave like the pro she was. She never engaged in conversations with the press on these occasions unless she’d specifically been asked to by Jason before the event. Of him there was no immediate sign, but he often went on ahead to mingle with producers and directors.

  Mary Louanne was lapping it up and Frankie was glad for her. She’d remember this night for years: all the lights, the models, actors – both long-established and up-and-coming. She wondered if their picture would grace tomorrow’s papers and tried to think of a caption to go with it. The way Mary Louanne was holding on to her the press may well change their slant on her love life! Oh well, if it took the focus from Dev until the stalker was found she was okay with any version of her sexuality.

  The screening of the three short films took place in the ballroom. The activity and hustle and bustle, along with the speeches and the awards, were long-drawn-out but surprisingly good fun. Every speaker, whether a winner or a presenter, seemed to adore being on Irish soil and all had a funny story to relate, hence the long-drawn-out part. The champagne flowed but, fortunately, they were fed as well, so not too many causalities.

  Frankie wasn’t up for an award this time and she was irritated with Jason for insisting she attend, considering the jerk didn’t have the decency to be there himself – or at least, she couldn’t find him anywhere. Mary Louanne was in her element – she preened and pimped for all photo opportunities, ranking up her southern charm to such an extent that Frankie, not for the first time, began to doubt how real it actually was. She looked animated and enthusiastic but at times, when Frankie would catch a glimpse of her in repose, she had a steely glint to her eyes and a hard line to her mouth
.

  Frankie thought back to what she remembered Mary Louanne saying about her childhood and figured there may be an unhealthy dose of resentment thrown in with her enjoyment of the “show”. As far as she could recall, Mary Louanne worshiped her dad but resented her mother and her mother’s protective nature. She hadn’t had many opportunities in life but had worked her way through community college and beauty school.

  She appeared to have a lot of money or she wouldn’t have been able to come on this rather extended trip to Ireland. It had never occurred to Frankie to ask how all that had come about and now, as she looked at Mary Louanne’s over-the-top southern belle performance, something pricked at her memory.

  Feeling the edge of a headache, she got up and headed to the ladies to search for painkillers in her bag. It became a long trip, as she was constantly stopped and asked for photo ops, which she graciously gave, and she finally collapsed on the chaise longue in the rather swanky bathroom. What was it about Mary Louanne that was niggling at her brain? Something she’d said, maybe, that didn’t ring true. She whipped out her phone and dialled Dev’s number.

  Damn. Voicemail again.

  Frankie left a quick message and asked him to call her back. She mentioned Mary Louanne, but only that she was her plus-one at the event through design – Mary Louanne’s – rather than accident. She tried Caro’s phone but it, too, went to voicemail. What the hell? Were they all super busy suddenly?

  She tried Ali and finally got a real voice.

  “Hey, what’s going on there? No one answering their phones? Is everybody all right?” Frankie asked as soon as Ali greeted her.

  “Sorry – yeah, there’s a bit of a problem here all right. We’re all up to bloody ninety. Toby’s gone missing and we’re all out—”

  “What? Jesus! What the hell happened? Oh, God, poor Caro. Tell me!” Frankie’s hand shot to her mouth as she took in the awful news. Toby! He was only a kid. What the hell had happened?

  Ali explained hurriedly that he hadn’t come home from a friend’s house that afternoon and hadn’t been heard of since. The friend knew nothing and his phone just rang out. Caro was out of her mind, but the Gardaí were slow to do anything as he was only gone a few hours – and he is a teenager, who could easily be messing about. The Fitzgeralds knew Toby, though, and he was so damn reliable he’d never put his mum through that. They knew he wouldn’t. Of course Flynn was on the case, trying to get a work pal to track the phone and look at CCTV surveillance from the roads where he was last seen.

  “Is everyone at your mom’s?” Frankie asked.

  “Caro is as she’s a mess and yet doesn’t want to leave them as they’re still shocked over their break-in. Plus, she knows Toby’ll make his way there if he’s okay; they were due there for dinner this evening, anyway. Dev’s out driving around like a lunatic, tracking down Toby’s friends, looking for info. He’s not answering his phone unless it’s Flynn, Caro or Toby, so don’t take it personally. I have the delightful task of phoning hospitals, just in case.”

  “Oh, Ali, I’m so sorry. I want to be there with you. I’m going straight back to the lodge and driving home tonight.”

  “Don’t be daft. There’s nothing you can do,” Ali said. “You’re probably exhausted and have had a drink or several, so please don’t add to our worries by driving through the night. Come home first thing. Dev and Caro could both do with your support. We all could.”

  When Frankie finally ended the call with just a few more details, she slumped down on her seat. Damn! what an unholy mess. First Jo and Patrick, and now Caro and Toby. God, not Toby, he’s the very best of kids. She swallowed, her throat feeling tight and her heart thumping in fear for the young boy, her almost nephew. He has to be okay, he just has to be.

  Thank God for Flynn and his contacts. And Dev – she could just see him – frantic and angry, trying to keep a lid on it, trying to be practical. At least he was doing something while she was sitting here moping. Right, that decided it. She was driving straight home tonight. She got up quickly and headed for the door.

  Tripped a little. Wavered a little.

  Shit. Almost like she’d taken one too many. She shook her head to clear it. Her legs wobbled and her stomach heaved. Jesus! it was only one glass of bubbly over the last few hours. If Frankie had learned one thing as a celebrity it was how to make a glass of champagne last a very long time so that she wouldn’t end up plastered across the tabloids falling out of some night club.

  Her headache was definitely stronger and she began debating if indeed she should just get to bed and drive back first thing. Dizzy again, she rested one hand against the door jamb just as it swung open.

  “Oops. There you are!” Mary Louanne’s overly cheerful voice grated on Frankie’s nerves as she pushed her way past into the dimly lit bathroom.

  “Actually, Mary Louanne, I’m taking a taxi back to the lodge. I really don’t feel well and I’ve had some bad news.” She pulled open the door and Mary Louanne’s hand shoved it closed again.

  “Aw, honey, what’s the matter? You do look a bit green. Overindulging again, hmm?” she asked in a bright sugary tone.

  Frankie groaned and reached for the door once more. “I didn’t overindulge. I just have a headache and I’m going home.” She made to walk through the door and her balance went. She grabbed for the nearest thing, Mary Louanne’s arm, to steady herself.

  “My, my. I think you might be telling little white lies now. And it’s not really your home, now is it?”

  Frankie frowned. Wait. What did she just say? Did Mary Louanne just call her a liar? Her head felt muzzy and her thoughts began to scramble. Mary Louanne wrapped her arm around Frankie’s waist and practically dragged her down the corridor and out through the lobby area. Putting one step in front of another suddenly became a problem for Frankie and she was definitely going to throw up.

  “I really don’t feel too good,” she whispered brokenly, only wanting to sit and put her head between her knees to ward off the waves of nausea and dizziness she was experiencing.

  Mary Louanne appeared to be taking it all in her stride, but what was she saying to James and the staff? Something about not holding her drink and being a bit of a lush? Surely she wouldn’t admit that in public – or, oh no, she was saying it about Frankie! Frankie tried to lift her head to deny it but damn, it felt heavy.

  Too heavy. Awful, in fact. What the hell?

  Mary Louanne dragged her to the waiting car – how had that happened? – and bundled her into the back seat. Frankie almost fell across the leather and collapsed on the coolness of the fabric. Ugh. Her stomach really hurt. Like she’d eaten something unnatural. Mary Louanne slammed the back door and strode around to the driver’s seat.

  “Out!” she snarled at the young valet and buckled herself in. She turned her head to the now prostrate Frankie. “Hold on, bitch, you’re in for the ride of your lousy life.”

  Wait. What? Frankie tried to take in what she thought she’d just heard, but her head was thumping, her eyes were closing, the car was spinning. Grimly, she padded her hand about, looking for her purse. Couldn’t reach it – damn, something was really wrong and Flynn’s emergency number was only centimetres away. She tried again . . . too far and shit, everything felt so heavy, so, so heavy. Can’t . . . reach . . . sorry . . . Finally, she just let go.

  Almost twenty-four hours to the minute from when Toby went missing, Flynn pulled up in front of the front door of his parent’s home.

  “Come on, Son, wake up.” He reached over and gently shook the worn-out young teen slumped in the seat next to him.

  Toby cracked open his eyes and gave a crooked grin. Flynn heaved a sigh of relief. He got out of the car and quickly walked round to the passenger side to help a still somewhat drugged Toby with his seat belt. He gathered him in his arms and strode to the entrance.

  “I don’t need to be carried like a baby,” mumbled in a rather baby-sounding voice from the vicinity of his chest area.

  “Of c
ourse you don’t,” agreed Flynn, “but I just want to hang on to you for a few more minutes, for myself. You gave us quite a scare.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to,” the small voice mumbled again.

  “I know, kiddo, I know. Everything’s fine now.” Flynn kicked at the door, which was slightly ajar, and called as he entered the hallway, “I have him. He’s fine.”

  Caro came racing down the stairs, her ashen face filled with fear.

  “Really? He’s okay? Truly? Oh, God, thank you, thank-you-thank-you-thank-you.” She barely skidded to a stop in front of her young son being lowered to the ground before she enveloped him in her arms.

  “Oh, darling, you’re safe, you’re safe. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” The questions tumbled out one after the other, almost indecipherable between the crying and near hysteria.

  “Caro, he’s fine, let him breathe.” Flynn rested his hand gently on Caro’s back.

  The others came rushing from all directions of the house: Jo from her tea-making duties in the kitchen; Patrick from the study, which he was trying to put to rights to stop himself from worrying about his grandson; Ali from the dining room, where she’d set up her laptop doing research on missing kids; and Dev from the back garden, where he’d apparently been looking for the best phone signal. The noise level grew until Flynn had to let out a piercing whistle to get everyone’s attention so they could all chill.

  They moved as one to the kitchen, Caro still with her arms wrapped around Toby. Toby didn’t seem to mind one bit. He was home. His mum was okay. He was safe.

  He looked at Flynn, who was studying him intently. Flynn could see a slight chin-wobble and moisture gathering in the dark brown eyes. Toby swallowed hard, a tear escaping and sliding down his cheek. Flynn reached over and wiped it away with his thumb, smiling kindly at him. Caro had her head resting on Toby’s, her eyes closed, her lips moving in prayers of thanks. Jo and Patrick stood side by side, arms around each other, and Dev and Ali poured tea and popped bread in for toast.