‘Frankie, darling. This is unexpected.’ Her expression flickered in doubt. ‘It’s not Sunday yet, is it?’
Frankie grinned.
‘No, Mum. Still Thursday.’
‘That’s a relief. Come on in. It’s freezing out here.’
Grateful, Frankie stomped the snow from her boots on the mat and stepped into the warmth of the house.
‘So, to what do we owe this treat?’ her mother asked, closing the door behind her.
‘Urgh, you know. Just wanted to see you guys,’ Frankie shrugged.
‘I’ve just boiled the kettle. Would you like a cuppa?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Go on through. Doug!’ Vanessa called ahead. ‘Frankie’s here!’
Frankie walked through into the lounge warily. It had been five weeks since Doug and Rhys had clashed swords at Chepstow Community Hospital. During the one brief visit she’d paid to her parents’ house since then, Doug had been in bed with ’flu and hadn’t been up to further argument. Three weeks on, however, he was sitting in his recliner, pulled close to the crackling fireplace, and looking as healthy as ever.
‘Hello, Dad,’ she ventured.
‘Hello, Frankie.’
She hesitated, but when Doug gave her an appeasing smile, her confidence returned and she delivered her usual greeting kiss to his cheek.
‘Your nose feels like an icicle,’ he said.
‘It’s snowing outside.’
‘So I believe. Are you staying for dinner?’
‘I don’t think so, thanks.’ Frankie sat down on the hearth rug to welcome the delicious heat of the fire. She was still unsure how to go about confronting her father about his dealings with the Bradfords. She’d played over all the different ways she could broach the subject on the drive over, but they’d all sounded prying or interrogatory. She supposed that was because whichever way she looked at it, she was prying.
Vanessa returned from the kitchen with a tray and set it down on a side table, slopping the contents of the three mugs onto the cloth.
‘Did I hear you’re staying for dinner?’ she said.
Frankie shook her head.
‘Thanks, but I won’t. I promised Tom I’d cook tonight.’ Well, that was only half a lie. She’d been promising Tom that she’d make a meal for the past fortnight, but she’d either arrived home from racing too late or she’d been at Rhys’s. Yesterday, Tom had looked less than thrilled by her absence so tonight was as good as any to get back into his good books.
‘Ah, Tom,’ Vanessa sighed. ‘I hope you thanked him for his Christmas present. So sweet of him to think of us. How is he?’
Now there was a million-dollar question. Moody? Irritable? Depressed?
‘He’s been a bit down lately,’ she replied.
Vanessa shook her head.
‘Winter does that to some people. Short days, long nights, the cold, post-Christmas. Mind you, I don’t remember him having Seasonal Affective Disorder before. Is everything okay with him?’
Tom hadn’t given her license to tell anyone about his search for his birth parents so Frankie skirted the issue.
‘He’s just got a lot on his plate at the minute. Plus, I haven’t been around much for him to talk to.’
‘Aspen Valley keeping you busy?’ Doug said.
Frankie swayed. It wasn’t Aspen Valley so much as an Aspen Valley member of staff who was keeping her busy.
‘You could say that,’ she said.
Doug and Vanessa both cottoned on in the same instant. Doug’s mouth disappeared in a grim line while Vanessa’s formed a teasing ‘ooh’. Then she gasped.
‘Do you think that Tom’s—I don’t know, do you think he might be a little bit in love with you?’
Frankie screwed up her face.
‘What? No way! Why would you think that? Tom and I are just friends, you know that.’
Vanessa gave her a knowing look.
‘Yes, but darling, does he know that?’
Frankie looked at her parents in disbelief. Even Doug looked quite taken with the idea.
‘Of course he does. We’ve been friends for how many years? Believe me, if Tom was in love with me, he’s had plenty of time to make it known.’
‘Men’s minds work differently to women’s, Frankie,’ Doug said. ‘You might think you’re “just good friends”, but you ask any guy honestly and he’ll tell you that isn’t possible.’
‘How long has he been depressed?’
Frankie shrugged.
‘A couple of months I guess. Ever since winter really set in.’ She wasn’t going to betray Tom’s confidence now even when her parents’ theory saw him as a love-sick pup.
‘Ever since you-know-what?’ Vanessa probed.
Frankie took an irritable sip of her tea.
‘I guess so, but that’s just coincidence.’
‘You sure about that? Think about it, Frankie,’ Vanessa said, giving her a sidelong look. ‘Has Tom ever had girlfriends round?’
‘No, but he’s never hidden past girlfriends from me. He might just be going through a quiet patch at the minute.’
‘How did he react when you told him you-know-what?’
‘Mum, do we have to keep referring to Rhys as you-know-what? You make him sound like Lord Voldemort. Tom was fine. He didn’t believe me at first, but he’s really not fazed. Like I said, he’s got other things on his mind right now.’
‘I bet he wasn’t exactly ecstatic about it though, was he?’ Doug persisted. ‘Tom’s a good lad. He’s got pride. If he’s keeping it a secret then of course he’s going to act blasé about the whole thing.’
Frankie paused to think. She had to admit Tom had never shown much enthusiasm for her and Rhys’s relationship, but surely that was because he was too wrapped up in his genealogy search?
‘And he’s always been there for you, hasn’t he?’ Vanessa continued. ‘Now, you show me one person—of the opposite sex—who would give that kind of support and not be after anything in return.’
Frankie frowned. Tom was a very loyal friend. He put up with Frankie’s moods, always listened to her moaning, always seemed pleased if she suggested they go to the Golden Miller for a drink together…Her eyes widened.
‘Do you really think so?’ she said dubiously.
Vanessa gave an exaggerated nod.
‘I don’t think so. I know so.’
Frankie blew on her tea, trying to grasp this new bombshell in her life. She’d come here to ask her father about Alan Bradford, but had instead been persuaded that the person she thought of as her best friend might actually be in love with her. Just thinking those words though made her doubt herself. No, not Tom. Surely not. But what if they were right?
‘I don’t know,’ she compromised. ‘I’ll watch him from now on, just to see how he reacts then—I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to talk to him about it. I mean, I love Tom, but I love him like a brother.’
Vanessa bit her lip and nodded sadly.
‘I know you do, darling.’
Frankie realised just what she’d said. She shot a quick look at her father. Doug was looking into the fire, his mouth twisted in bitterness. She wished Tom could be as much like a son to him as he was a brother to her, but they had never shared that closeness.
Ironic, Frankie thought. There was Tom breaking his heart trying to trace his mother and father, while Doug sat, still mourning Seth. All of a sudden, bringing up the subject of Alan Bradford didn’t seem so important. But a change in topic was definitely a good idea.
‘Jack said he’s going to enter Peace Offering in the Kim Muir Chase at the Festival next month,’ she said brightly. ‘Isn’t that great?’
Doug’s gaze left the fire to settle on the mantelpiece above. His eyes came to rest on the photograph of Seth winning on his one and only Cheltenham Festival ride. He was grinning from ear to ear and in his hands he held aloft the Cross Country Chase trophy.
Frankie sighed. For a brief moment, she found resentment rising up
inside her as she looked at Seth’s mud-splattered face.
Doug’s focus flickered back to her.
‘That’s very good, lovie,’ he said in a vain attempt to sound enthusiastic.
Frankie wanted to shake him. She wanted to shout at him: Don’t you see that I’m doing all of this for you? But she knew she never could. He was hurting enough already.
‘Yeah, isn’t it?’ she mumbled instead.
‘That sounds very exciting, dear,’ Vanessa said. Her painted smile pleaded with them both not to tumble into an argument. ‘I don’t think I know that race. Is it one of the big ones?’
Still the resentment simmered.
‘All of the Festival races are big ones. That’s why getting a Festival ride is such a big deal,’ she said sourly. Vanessa’s face fell at her bitterness and Frankie at once regretted her tone. She attempted a humble smile to compensate. ‘It’s one of the main amateur races of the week.’
‘We’ll have to come along and cheer you on then.’
Frankie downed the last of her tea and got to her feet.
‘Thanks, Mum.’ She gave her mother a hug then turned to Doug. ‘Well, I’d better go.’
Doug nodded.
‘See you soon, honey,’ he said.
Frankie noticed that the words were barely out of his mouth before his gaze was drawn back to the picture of Seth. She wondered if he was reliving the day he’d died or the day he’d won the Cross Country Chase. The wistfulness in his expression made it difficult to tell. All Frankie knew was that it wasn’t a wistfulness for her to win.
‘Will we see you this weekend?’ Vanessa asked. ‘We could take you out for a birthday dinner.’
Doug snapped back into the present and Frankie couldn’t help a wry smile from tugging at her lips. Her father had never been good with dates; the only one he never needed reminding about was the anniversary of Seth’s death. It was with some degree of malicious pleasure that Frankie said,
‘No. I’m racing at Ascot then Rhys and I are going to a Valentine’s fireworks display.’ There. That would serve him right for always putting Seth first. Doug frowned, but he didn’t say anything. ‘See ya,’ she said and walked out the room.
Chapter 37
Frankie didn’t feel at all like cooking dinner and all the while trying to analyse Tom’s feelings for her. But a promise was a promise and actually, the more she thought about it, the more she fancied eating bangers and mash.
Tom came down from his bedroom when he heard her arrive home.
‘Hey. Good day? I see it’s snowing,’ he said, joining her in the kitchen with Atticus at his heels.
Frankie tensed as she peered into the fridge in search of sausages. Atticus slinked over to offer his opinion. Did other people’s housemates come join them as soon as they got home? Tom appeared quite cheerful for a change too. Was that because she was home? Frankie stared hard at a tub of margarine as she tried to decide if this was natural behaviour.
‘Yeah, not bad,’ she said.
‘Will you help me build a snowman in the park if it keeps up?’
Was that a coercive way of asking her out on a date? Frankie frowned again. Was that really how much salt was in margarine? Atticus sniffed dismissively at the lower vegetable shelf and shuddered.
‘Sure. Why not.’
‘You okay?’ Tom said.
She looked across at him and gave him a bright smile.
‘Yes, of course. Why would you think otherwise?’
‘Well, you haven’t bothered to take your head out of the fridge since I’ve walked in. What are you looking for?’
‘Sausages. I’m looking for sausages.’
Tom walked over with exaggerated caution and picked up the plastic tray of sausages on clear display and handed it to her.
Frankie laughed, an octave too high.
‘Think I need my eyes tested.’
‘That would be a good one to start with. Are you cooking dinner for us?’
Frankie gave him an uncertain look. If she said yes, would it look like she was leading him on?
‘Yeah. I figured I owe you. I mean, that’s what buddies do, right? They do things for each other.’
Tom frowned at her.
‘You sure you’re all right?’
Frankie closed the fridge door with a forced jovial laugh.
‘’Course.’ She directed a playful punch at his upper arm. ‘Buddy.’
‘Ow,’ Tom said, shying away from her and rubbing his arm. He looked at her with a wounded expression. ‘What the hell’s got into you?’
Frankie set the sausages down on the counter and rubbed her face wearily. Okay, she had to get a grip. She was freaking Tom out now.
‘I’ve just got loads on my mind. It’s been one of those days. You okay with bangers and mash?’
Tom still looked guarded.
‘I think so. You want to talk about it?’
‘What? The bangers and mash? Well, I think I’ll use three big potatoes and are you happy with just two sausages?’
‘No, doofus. Do you want to talk about your day?’
Oh, heck. Tom was offering her a sympathetic ear. Maybe her parents were right. Why would a guy do that if he wasn’t after something more?
She picked out the three peeler-friendliest potatoes from the rack and headed for the sink.
‘You don’t want to hear about it.’
‘Sure, I do. Come on, tell Uncle Tom.’
With her back to him, Frankie felt more at ease and there was something bizarrely therapeutic in spud-peeling.
‘Tom, how do you feel about me dating Rhys?’
The short silence that followed prompted her to turn around. Tom was leaning against the kitchen table, his arms crossed and a puzzled look on his face.
‘Have you and him had a fight?’
‘No, no.’ Frankie gave a vague wave of her hand and a slither of potato peel fell to the floor. Atticus pounced on it then turned away in distaste. He glared at Frankie. ‘It was just something my parents said when I went to see them this evening.’
‘Ah. They’re still not happy with you dating him, eh?’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I mean I want you to be happy and everything, but—’
Frankie held her breath.
‘But what?’
‘Well, I don’t want to see you get hurt either.’
‘Why do you think I’ll get hurt?’ she said, a trace of defensiveness creeping into her tone. Okay, maybe if she was looking for support for her relationship, a potential admirer like Tom was perhaps the wrong person to seek it from.
‘Come on, Frankie. You know Rhys, he hasn’t exactly got a reputation for being a loving long-term partner, has he?’
‘We’ve been together seven weeks.’
‘I hate to break it to you, Frankie, but that’s only considered long-term when you’re fourteen. You’ll be twenty-four on Saturday.’
Oh God, he remembered her birthday. Even her father couldn’t remember her birthday.
‘Okay. Well, let’s just pretend then that I’m in a long-term relationship with Rhys. Would you be okay with that?’
Tom pursed his mouth in thought.
‘You want an honest answer, right?’
Frankie’s heart picked up the pace. She nodded.
‘Well, I’ve hardly seen you at all this past fortnight and, don’t think I’m getting possessive or anything, but I have to say I’ve missed your company.’
Her cheeks burned and she spun back to the sink before he could see. She heard him scrape a kitchen chair back to sit on.
‘Look, Frankie, I don’t know what’s going on in your head or what your parents said to you, but if you’re happy then I’m happy.’
Didn’t people say that when they were in love? Her parents were right! How could she have been so blind?
‘Would you like two sausages with your meal? I thought I would try do that chilli gravy. Or maybe I should just stick with the normal mix? What do you think? Do we have any beef s
tock cubes?’
‘What did your parents say?’ Tom asked.
Could she tell him? She sighed. She didn’t think she could face breaking Tom’s heart and cook dinner at the same time.
‘Nothing much.’
‘Then why are you questioning how I feel about Rhys? Did they tell you to break up with him? I know you said they’re not particularly fond of him—like I said, he hasn’t got the best reputation so it makes some sense—but if that’s what they said then it’s not very fair on you.’
Frankie hesitated. She wanted Tom’s opinion so bad, but would it be like rubbing salt into a wound to unload her burdens onto him? She picked up the last potato and carefully tried to peel it in one long strip. It was no good, she needed to tell someone.
‘I don’t think it’s because of Rhys’s reputation that Dad disapproves so much,’ she said. ‘Years ago, when he and Rhys’s father were both jockeys, there was a horse called Crowbar—’
‘Oh yes. I remember,’ interrupted Tom. ‘Well, I don’t remember as such. But he won the National the year I was born and you always remember those ones, don’t you?’
Frankie looked round at him.
‘So you knew that Alan Bradford won it on him?’
‘Did he? To be honest, no, I didn’t know that. Maybe if he’d won a string of Nationals or was champion jockey or something it might have stuck in my mind, but I don’t think he was any great shakes. Not like Rhys, anyway. I just remember the horse’s name.’
‘Oh. Well, Alan Bradford won the National on Crowbar, but it was my dad who had ridden Crowbar in all of his races prior to that. Dad refuses to talk about any of it, but then Dory’s owner pitched up at work today to see her and he’s Ron McCready, Crowbar’s old trainer. So I asked him why. And he said that Dad and Alan Bradford had been great mates. Apparently, Dad had even been best man at his wedding! I mean, Dad never said anything about them being friends! Neither did Mum. When I asked her ages ago, she made out that they had been rivals who just rubbed each other up the wrong way. But there must have been more to it than that, mustn’t there?’
Giving Chase (A Racing Romance) (Aspen Valley Series #2) Page 24
