The Turning Point

by Freya North

  Manchester, that’s where she was; back from Glasgow yesterday and off to Birmingham and Bristol tomorrow, then London. These were the names of the places keeping her in the UK, not just now but every time she brought out a book. Scott thought, maybe the cell-phone signal isn’t so great in Manchester. He tried again and left another message. His house was quiet now, having pulsated with liveliness all weekend when Jenna came back for her first visit after a month in Vancouver, with four friends in tow. He’d slept in the studio. Though he’d always enjoyed having Jenna’s friends over and liked to cook big pans of chilli for them, this time around he also wanted to be Cool Dad, so it would filter through campus hey! you gotta go stay at Jenna’s place in Pemby. He noted that sometimes her friends called her Jenn. That was new and she seemed to like it; in fact, she seemed not to notice it at all. She looked well. She had a new haircut.

  Frankie was phoning him back.

  ‘So sorry – just finished back-to-back visits to three schools and now I’m off to Waterstones to sign stock.’

  ‘Shall I call later?’

  ‘But then I’ll be asleep.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘In a cab – we can talk. How was the weekend? How was Jenna?’

  Book tours were so hectic. She was exhausted. She needed some alone time with Scott. Thank God for such bad traffic in Didsbury.

  ‘Is it going well?’

  ‘We just missed the Top Ten,’ she said. ‘Maybe next week, if sales are good.’

  ‘Want me to order a thousand copies? How are Sam and Annabel?’

  ‘Miles is at home,’ Frankie said a little darkly.

  ‘It’ll be OK – you know that,’ Scott said. ‘Seems to me he’s a babysitter who’d gladly pay you for the honour.’

  ‘Only he doesn’t have any money,’ Frankie muttered.

  ‘It’s a good thing, Frankie. Miles being around actually frees you up. You can come and go more easily.’

  Frankie fell quiet. ‘Can’t you see, him being back ties me here more than ever?’

  Scott thought about that. Her dream to move to Canada. ‘For Annabel and Sam,’ he qualified.

  ‘As long as he doesn’t let them down,’ Frankie said. She thought to herself, how can I be so awful as to wish Miles would do just that – disappear off to another jungle so that, in some ways, I can get more of my life back into my control? She didn’t want to go into it with Scott. He was always so level about it, so pragmatic, and sometimes she’d grow impatient which was not a good thing for a phone call.

  ‘How’s the score coming along?’

  Scott looked around his studio, the script in a fan on the table. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘It’s a nice little movie. There’s a character in it who reminds me of myself.’

  ‘An all-action hero who’s incredibly well hung?’

  ‘Yes, Frankie, same six-pack as me.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘When you’re in Prague next month, might we snatch any time?’

  ‘I’ll be working eighteen-, twenty-hour days,’ Scott said. ‘And you, Miss Shaw, have your book to write.’

  She thought about that. ‘You know, I could probably write it faster, but I’m choosing to slow it all right down.’

  ‘Because you don’t want to say goodbye to Alice?’ Scott said gently.

  ‘No, I really don’t.’

  ‘You still on track to finish it next month?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Frankie. ‘Unfortunately.’

  ‘And how’s home? The house, the land?’

  ‘A bit dull,’ she said. ‘And all the sugar beet’s in now – the farmers store it in their fields and farmyards in huge mountains ringed by walls of straw bales. Like castles.’

  ‘Must look quirky,’ Scott said. She hadn’t thought of it that way.

  ‘I’ve been there a year and a month now,’ she said. There was a flatness to her voice.

  ‘You know, Frankie, sometimes I think you heap the place with too much significance, too much responsibility – like it owes you, like it’s down to Norfolk to make you feel happy and at home.’ He thought for a moment. ‘You need to greet it too, really. You need to forge a stronger friendship with where you live.’

  Frankie shrugged. He could hear it. He looked at his view. Miles. And Miles. How he’d love her to live here. In theory.

  Annabel stood with her hands on her hips.

  ‘I don’t know where you think you’re going to fit all those people, Mummy.’

  On the landing upstairs, Annabel was looking at her mother the way a client might an architect who’d got it all wrong.

  ‘I can stay at Luke’s,’ Sam said helpfully.

  ‘Over Christmas? Don’t be daft!’ said Frankie.

  ‘Let’s go over this one more time,’ Annabel sighed.

  ‘Right – Auntie Peta and Uncle Philip are staying at the Hoste Arms in Burnham Market. Grandma will be in the spare room. Annabel – thank you so much – we’ll make you nice and cosy in the boxroom so that Jenna and Steph can have your room.’

  ‘Is Steph OK?’ asked Annabel.

  ‘Yes,’ said Frankie. ‘She now refers to her ex-boyfriend as a complete and utter turnip – and that’s a very good sign.’

  ‘There’s no way I’m having Josh or Stan in my room,’ said Sam.

  ‘We shouldn’t really have them in the house full stop,’ Annabel said gravely. ‘Even Auntie Peta calls them feral and they’re her sons!’

  ‘But Sam,’ Frankie said. ‘I can make downstairs really lovely for you – and you can see Santa arrive!’

  ‘Mum, Santa doesn’t exist. I don’t mind sleeping downstairs but I don’t want Josh and Stan in my room. It’s my room. They’ll trash it.’

  Frankie had to admit, it was highly likely.

  ‘Why don’t we put them outside – in your office?’

  Annabel and Frankie regarded Sam.

  ‘Genius,’ said Frankie. She thought about it. ‘But it’s freezing in there – the heaters don’t do much.’

  ‘They’ll probably light a fire anyway,’ said Sam.

  ‘They’re pyromaniacs as well as feral,’ said Annabel. ‘What exactly is feral and what time’s Scott and Jenna arriving?’

  ‘They’ll be here around supper time tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m really glad that we get to have them to ourselves for a few days before everyone else comes and stares at them,’ said Annabel.

  Ruth had Frankie on all fours and was supporting her head lightly. The Alexander Technique had become an essential part of her week. Sometimes, she thought it was like a sort of yoga but with massage. Her headaches had all but gone and she found she could sit longer at her work and finish a long day feeling less stiff. Ruth’s house smelt lovely: gingery and of mulled wine and pine needles.

  ‘Mine doesn’t smell anything like this.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  Frankie giggled. ‘Your sessions always do this to me – everything inside just flows out. My house, I meant. It smells of salty mud and low-level damp at this time of year. Yours smells of Christmas Past – it smells of calmness and luxury.’

  ‘Did you phone my builder?’

  ‘Almost.’

  ‘Frankie,’ Ruth chided.

  ‘Just been – too busy.’

  ‘Too busy building fantasy homes in Canada instead of maintaining yours right here.’

  ‘Stop it – you sound like my sister.’

  ‘Sorry. You know what I’m going to say now though, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Frankie sighed. ‘I have to embrace the present.’

  ‘You do,’ said Ruth. ‘The “now” is at the core of everything and one day you’ll see so. You’ve seemed on a real downer about Norfolk – really since you got back from Canada.’

  ‘I’d much rather live there.’

  ‘Have you thought about it seriously?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Ruth quite wanted to take her hands off Frankie and stand the
re with them on her hips.

  ‘After all you’ve been through just to get your little family here in the first place?’

  ‘It’s quite difficult talking to you in this position,’ Frankie mumbled.

  Ruth guided her body up again. ‘Please don’t go – I’ll miss you. We all will.’

  ‘I have to think about what’s best for me.’

  Ruth gave her a stern look. ‘Obviously you’ll be giving it considerable thought.’

  ‘Obviously,’ said Frankie while thinking to herself how she’d move there tomorrow if she could.

  Enjoying tea after the session, Frankie gazed at the Ingrams’ Christmas tree with marvel and light envy. It was huge and even, decorated opulently with an authoritative and tasteful scheme. The tree she’d bought had looked fine when she’d seen it at the roadside stall. However, when it was up in the living room, its lopsidedness could not be corrected by any amount of repositioning and no matter how many times she relocated the baubles, it still looked as though the decorations had been thrown at it in a fit of decidedly unfestive pique.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘I signed a new contract yesterday – for the first book in hopefully a new series. They’re going to be called the Just My Luck stories – if I can pull the first one off.’

  Ruth chinked her mug against Frankie’s. ‘That’s just great. And Alice’s swansong is still due for the spring?’

  ‘Yes. Which’ll mean another tour.’

  And Frankie thought, how am I meant to get to Canada any time soon?

  ‘And Scott arrives tomorrow,’ said Ruth. ‘Do you want me to have the children so you can be alone?’

  Ruth was moving Frankie’s arm in what felt like a never-ending spiral. She drifted back to when she last saw Scott in mid-October just for two days on his way back from Prague. ‘You know what I love most about my relationship? We just pick up from where we left off. It’s the most normal thing in the world whenever I see him.’

  ‘And yet your mother and sister have yet to meet him?’

  Frankie buried her face in her hands. ‘I think I over-ordered on the house-guests front. It’s going to be – a squash.’

  ‘God I’d love to be a fly on the wall at yours this Christmas,’ Ruth said. ‘Can’t you secretly record the goings-on?’

  * * *

  The lanes were quiet, the hedgerows now a knitted wall of prickled bare branches, just occasionally enlivened with a little holly or a lone faded leaf still clinging on since autumn. It was dry and crisp, the sky a washed-out Wedgwood blue ceilinged by high clouds tinged bright by a sun that could not be seen. Norfolk really did have a unique beauty. As Frankie drove back home, she realized she hadn’t given much thought to the possibility of all-out drama when her family gathered for Christmas. Practicalities of where to put them all – and just the anticipation of Scott’s arrival – were what had preoccupied her most. Now, though, she thought back to when she’d last seen Scott, on his way home from Prague. After two weeks of twenty-hour days, all he wanted to do was lie on a bed with Frankie in his arms and not have to think. Much to her mother’s disapproval – which was wordlessly delivered by an arched eyebrow and a slow exhale – Frankie had gone to him at Heathrow where they’d holed up in an airport hotel room for forty-eight hours. She remembered her mother’s words on her return. For the first time Frankie had actually wanted to talk to her mother about Scott, to paint a picture of him and describe how she felt. It mattered that her mother should see her so happy; she hoped a little of her joy might rub off. But her mother also wanted to speak of Scott.

  It’s no way to conduct a relationship. There isn’t an ounce of reality to it, you do see that – don’t you?

  Frankie pulled into her driveway. She remembered how her mother had left her tea half-drunk that day, as if the bitterness of her words had seeped into the cup. She switched off the engine and looked at her house. While she’d been at Ruth’s, Annabel had been busy stringing paper chains in roller-coaster undulations across all the windows.

  You’ll see, Mother. You’ll see.

  Jenna looked tired. She looked different too, she looked wonderful. She’d gained a little weight back and her hair, which Frankie had last seen in soft-looking wholesome layers, was now shortened to a choppy bob. Frankie realized she’d only ever seen Jenna in warm weather, in cut-offs and T-shirts or her cute little uniform at the restaurant. Here she was in black jeans and chunky boots and an oversized thick woollen sweater in a deep maroon.

  ‘That’s some journey,’ Jenna said. And it was true. Even an airport nearer to where either of them lived couldn’t lessen the depleting impact of that long haul between their countries. Jenna hugged Annabel and Sam talked at Scott, eighteen to the dozen, brandishing his phone from which a track wheezed its way out. And then Jenna stopped and looked around. She really was here, in a picture-perfect English country cottage and a little colour came back to her cheeks.

  ‘You sure you don’t mind sharing a room? Not for all of your trip – just for while Steph’s here?’

  ‘I don’t mind at all – I’ve gotten used to having a roomie.’

  Annabel had curled herself next to Jenna. ‘What’s she like?’

  ‘She’s from Japan and her name’s Natsuko.’ Jenna started laughing. ‘You know why my dad loves her? Because she’s really studious and shy and geeky and he thinks there’s no wild partying going on.’

  Scott pretended not to hear.

  Annabel was fiddling absent-mindedly with Jenna’s bracelet, silver with a couple of charms, and her medic alert tag. ‘Will you have a seizure while you’re here, do you think? Don’t worry if you do – I’ve moved a lot of sharp things, hard things, out of the way in my room, just in case.’

  Jenna looked at Scott and Frankie looked at Jenna and they all looked at Annabel and smiled. ‘I hope not to,’ said Jenna, ‘but that’s very thoughtful. Thank you.’

  ‘We had an epileptic cake sale at school,’ Annabel said. ‘We raised thirty-seven pounds.’

  ‘Fantastic!’ said Jenna, giving her a squeeze.

  ‘You mustn’t get too tired,’ Annabel told her. ‘Or stressed.’

  ‘I’ll have an early night,’ Jenna assured her. ‘And now I’m here, I feel very relaxed. It’s just beautiful, your home.’

  And then Sam appeared with a tray of his famous but disastrous tea. He’d given each person one and a half sugars, he’d used Frankie’s vintage teacups and saucers and, by the time he was handing them around, there was more yellowish liquid in the saucers than in the cups. But there were mince pies too and the fire was lit, the tree lights twinkled and Christmas was coming.

  In a bedroom illuminated by slivers of moonlight eking in through nearly-closed curtains, Scott and Frankie lay on their sides and looked at each other. He tucked hair that didn’t need it, behind her ears over and over while she ran her fingertips in little races along his shoulder and down his arm. He caressed her face tenderly and she kissed his lips, his eyebrows, his nose, his chin.

  ‘Here we are again.’

  ‘I kinda love it that we whisper,’ he said. ‘Makes it all private and a little covert.’

  ‘We’ll have to resort to sign language when my mother arrives – for an old bat her ears are super-tuned.’

  ‘You look beautiful in this light.’

  ‘You do too.’

  ‘You’re turning me on.’

  ‘I know. I can feel.’

  ‘You want to?’ Scott started kissing Frankie, urgent and insistent, his hands everywhere, his body achingly expectant of what had been restricted to fantasy these last weeks. Frankie giggled through her nose. She straddled him and dipped her face down to his. He loved the sensation of her hair falling on his skin. There was something exquisitely intense about keeping their lovemaking quiet, keeping it slow, keeping it secret. But what he most wanted to do was to flip her over and push way up into her, thrash about the bed with her, just be unbridled and simply let go regardless of how noisy it got.

&nbs
p; ‘Why did you tell Santa you wanted something that’s pretty and sparkles?’ he said as quietly as he could. ‘Why didn’t you tell him you wanted a new bed that doesn’t creak and a door that shuts properly?’

  When Steph arrived, she and Jenna needed but a split second to assess each other, make their greeting and decide that this was going to be a fabulous new friendship. Annabel looked momentarily crestfallen until they invited her back up to her bedroom where she sat cross-legged, watching and listening in awe. Peta arrived the day after that with the two boys and an ashen-looking Philip looking as though he needed a drink.

  ‘Where is he?’ Peta hissed, craning her neck.

  ‘He’s here,’ said Scott, coming into the hallway with a tea towel over his shoulder, his shirtsleeves rolled up. ‘He’s been washing up.’

  Seeing her sister’s jaw drop and watching Scott warmly shake Philip’s hand and then force the boys to shake his hand too, Frankie retreated into the kitchen and punched the air victoriously.

  ‘I’m Peta,’ she heard her sister say.

  ‘Good to meet you Peta – Frankie talks about you so much. Guys, hey – Stan and Josh – shoes off in the house, OK?’

  And Frankie heard Peta’s sons mumble and scuff as they did as Scott had asked.

  In came Peta who took a long look around. ‘It looks lovely Frankie – it really does.’ She hugged her sister and whispered, oh my God – why didn’t you say? He’s beyond gorgeous!

  Sam took the boys out to Frankie’s office where Scott had spent the morning fixing the gaping window and one of the heaters.

  ‘Come back into the house when you’re ready,’ he told his cousins.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Er – to eat? To drink? To be merry?’ Sam rolled his eyes at them and left them to it.

  Stan and Josh looked at each other. They wondered, when had Sam grown up, never mind the hair gel? They slouched around the room for a while, unzipped their holdalls, couldn’t be bothered to unpack or fight over who’d have which futon so they shuffled back over to the house. Frankie gave them something to eat and drink – and once Jenna and Steph appeared, both boys realized there was actually quite a lot to feel merry about.