by Freya North
On Christmas Eve, Frankie asked Scott to take the children out for fresh air that morning as though they were dogs. Sam and Annabel obliged by barking their way down the path, dragging Scott and Jenna with them. When they came back, the mince pies were out of the oven.
‘Here,’ said Scott, fanning his mouth. ‘For you.’ He passed her an envelope. It was a Christmas card from the Mawbys. ‘We saw Keith on our walk. Stopped for a chat – he was very interested in Pemberton being known as Spud Valley on account of our seed-potato production.’
‘Keith gave us the card because he said we could save him the journey,’ Annabel laughed. ‘Hilarious! He only lives next door.’
‘He was joking,’ said Sam. ‘He has a funny sense of humour. You know that.’
Frankie read the card.
To Frankie, Sam and Annabel,
With warmest wishes for Christmas and the New Year,
Keith and Peg Mawby
‘Did we send Keith and Peg a Christmas card, Mum?’ Annabel asked. Frankie could feel Scott’s eyes on her. It hadn’t crossed her mind to. Over a year here and only now did she know her neighbour’s name was Peg.
‘These are out of this world,’ Scott said, reaching for his third mince pie. But Frankie tapped his hand and took the plate away.
‘Kids – can you take these over to the Mawbys and say Merry Christmas from us?’
Sam and Annabel moaned. ‘We’ve already had our fresh air.’
And Scott said you do it, Frankie. You go. We’ll clear the table. You go.
Margaret arrived that afternoon. Frankie was out; she’d taken Jenna, Steph and Annabel last-minute shopping in Holt because the market town looked so magical in its Christmas livery and there were bargains to be had. She felt quite proud, really, to show off the town to such an appreciative audience. Peta and Philip had collected the boys and were making them run on Holkham beach, timing them on the stopwatches on their smartphones. They made them race again and again, keen to tire them out for everyone’s sake.
Sam and Scott were moving the furniture around because Frankie had a brainwave about repositioning the sofa so that they could turn the table and fit the old desk at the end so that mealtimes wouldn’t be such a squeeze.
The doorbell rang.
‘That’ll be my grandmamma,’ said Sam, gravely in a mock French accent.
‘You don’t seriously call her that do you?’
‘Behind her back we call her all sorts,’ Sam said.
‘You going to open the door or shall I?’ Scott looked at Sam. ‘I guess I’m going to, right?’
Was he nervous? he wondered as he walked through. No, not nervous so much as warily intrigued about this woman with whom Frankie had such a fraught relationship. He opened the front door and the first thing he thought was how did Frankie come to have a mother so tall and regal looking.
‘Margaret – I’m Scott. Merry Christmas. Here let me take your bags. Come on in, it’s cold out there.’
And Margaret was so taken aback by his easy warmth and authority she couldn’t very well be affronted by his first-name-term familiarity.
‘Hey Grandma,’ said Sam. ‘Merry Christmas.’
‘Merry Christmas.’ She looked around. Frankie’s home smelt of oranges and cloves, something buttery, something warm and delicately spiced. She’d never known the house to have such a pleasant fragrance. It made it immediately homely.
‘Let me take your bags up to your room,’ Scott said. ‘Can I help you with your coat?’
‘It’s OK Scott,’ said Sam, stepping forward. ‘I can do that.’
Frankie had often tried to reason with the children what true Christmas spirit was. It’s not about the presents – it’s about being together. But that year, actually the gifts were fundamental; it was about the little bowl Rose had sent over with Scott for Annabel, woven out of cedar root and cherry and grasses. It was about the traditional drum Aaron had sent over for Sam. And, for Frankie, it was about the pair of earrings Scott had bought for her, sparkling and pretty. Next year she’d ask Santa for a bed that didn’t creak and a door that shut properly. This year, she was just going to enjoy being pampered and feeling treasured.
And of course it was about being together. Though Peta and Philip relished the peace and luxury of staying at the Hoste, they still arrived at Frankie’s when the morning tea was still hot in the pot and long before their boys had even surfaced. The whole party went to Brancaster, meandering the beach for almost two hours without actually walking that far. Margaret took Scott’s arm, initially to steady herself – she found gum boots such a chore at her age – and it seemed it was just easier to leave it there.
‘And are there beaches where you are – or just mountains?’ She wasn’t actually after a reply. ‘I’ve never liked mountains. I’ve always found them so oppressive – all that monstrous inhospitable mass closing off the sky. Suffocating!’
‘Mother you don’t much like Norfolk either because you say it’s too flat,’ said Peta.
‘I like a more intimate landscape,’ Margaret started.
And suddenly Brancaster beach rang out with Frankie and Peta shouting I like the Cotswolds.
The sisters glanced at each other triumphantly – they’d both seen their mother clamp down on a smile, but nevertheless they’d seen it.
Stan and Josh spilt stuff, broke two glasses and a plate and burped at the table but were coshed by their father and Scott – whoever was closest. Frankie overcooked the sprouts and everyone moaned at her in unison while she could see quite clearly the good cheer behind the party hats they were wearing. Annabel ate too much and felt sick so Steph took her upstairs and sat stroking her hair, which meant it only took five minutes for her to feel completely better. Peta watched Scott like a hawk until her mother, out of Frankie’s earshot, told her not to. Just let him be, she told her daughter. You’ll find out all you need if you just let him be. Peta wasn’t quite sure at that stage whether her mother was hoping he’d fail or triumph. She did notice that her mother had rather nimbly made her way to the table to ensure that she sat by him. Stan and Josh fired all manner of musical questions at him, mainly whether he’d heard of this band or that, how many guitars he had and who famous had he played with. Scott was proud that Sam helped him out with the answers. Philip talked a lot about Eric Clapton to anyone who’d even pretend to listen.
Scott knew he was being assessed but he didn’t mind. He was having Christmas in England with both his girls and for that he was grateful. When the table was at its most raucous, Frankie chinked her glass against his and said Merry Christmas my darling and Scott thought to himself were we really not together this time last year? the year before? or the year before? He thought, has she really been in my life only seven months? The notion was preposterous and marvellous at the same time. He put his hand gently to her cheek, it didn’t matter to him who saw. He knew that happiness didn’t get much purer than this.
Peta’s family left the day after Boxing Day, taking Margaret with them back to London. Even the boys had had a good enough time to be able to thank Frankie without being asked. They thanked Scott too. Everyone did. It had seemed to all of them that they had been Frankie and Scott’s guests.
‘A pleasure,’ said Margaret offering her hand.
‘Pleasure was mine.’
He’d put her case in Peta’s car and the two of them stood watching Philip cramming the rest of the bags in.
‘And when are you returning?’ Margaret asked.
‘January third,’ Scott said.
‘I meant – when are you returning here?’
‘Ah. February – I have around ten days’ work in London.’
‘Perhaps you might visit.’
‘Oh – I intend to commute in from here.’
‘Me,’ Margaret qualified, ‘perhaps you might visit me.’
Over the last three days, Scott had thought of ways to subtly sing Frankie’s praises to her mother and there’d been times when he could have said t
o Frankie you know she’s not that bad, your mother, she really isn’t. But he’d also seen the stern looks that Margaret cast Frankie’s way, he’d heard the occasional sharpness that passed between the two of them, he knew that sometimes Frankie’s discontent was an overreaction. This trip, though, he decided he’d say nothing. For the time being, Margaret’s invitation was enough. Her hand extended to him had been to Frankie also.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’d like that.’
Annabel was grumpy, snuggled up against Frankie plucking at a loose thread on her sweater. Scott regarded Frankie enquiringly.
‘Steph’s invited Jenna back to London with her for New Year’s Eve.’
‘And Annabel has to hang out here with the old folk?’ Scott sat on the coffee table, his hands loosely clasped. ‘That sucks.’ Annabel looked up and nodded. ‘Do you like fireworks?’ He asked Annabel shrugged. ‘Let’s go and buy fireworks. Let’s have ourselves a party.’
Frankie thought how actually she didn’t want to move. For the first time all Christmas she felt completely relaxed and as if her home was her own again.
‘Do you mind if I don’t come? Do you mind if I just – zonk out here for a while?’
Scott looked at Annabel. ‘Did you hear me invite your mom firework shopping? I don’t think I did. See how she thought she was coming too?’
Frankie was grateful. ‘Might you pick up Sam from his friend Luke’s on your way back? It’s not hard to find. I can draw a map if you like.’
‘Don’t let Mummy draw a map,’ Annabel told Scott. ‘She takes hours over it. Hours and hours. She puts all these details in – trees, windows in houses, people walking along.’
‘You reckon we can track down Sam then, just the two of us?’
Annabel nodded. Scott put his hand lightly on her head, winked at Frankie and off they went. There was something about Scott and Annabel, or Scott and Sam, going off together, whether it was to do something nice, or just running an errand, off together in the everyday. There was something about Scott being insured to drive her car too; his name linked with hers on the forms and contracts that daily life demands. We need more milk. Don’t worry – I was going to pop out to the shops. Can you fill the car up, while you’re at it. What’s mine is yours.
Jenna and Steph. Over Christmas, everyone started referring to them as ‘the girls’. She could hear them right now, muffled voices chatting and laughing, the floorboards creaking as they moved around upstairs. Frankie noticed that Scott had been momentarily surprised that he wasn’t the first to know of his daughter’s New Year plans. But she’d seen him correct his reaction, nod at the news and turn his attention to Annabel who was feeling far sorer about the whole thing.
She looked around the living room. Those bloody pine needles of the supposedly non-drop tree. A small scrunch of wrapping paper hiding under the coffee table. Clementine peel in the fireplace. A pile of presents Sam still hadn’t taken to his room. The tree twinkling yet somehow sedate, as if it had grown up these last few days, as if it had been a job well done. Annabel’s paper chains at the windows, a couple of them broken. A candle scented with clove and orange flickering perhaps its last half-hour. She touched her earlobes, twisted her new earrings this way and that. Something pretty and sparkling. Christmas had been just that.
Steph and Jenna appeared.
‘Can we make eggs and hash browns?’
Frankie nodded.
‘Would you like some, Frankie?’
Frankie made to leave the sofa.
‘Don’t get up,’ said Steph. ‘I know where everything is.’
It struck Frankie that she felt more compelled to mother Steph now than at any other time. She’d been too self-obsessed in her twenties to think about her much, and she’d been just too busy since she’d had the children.
‘I’m really glad you’re here Steph,’ she said. ‘You know you’re welcome any time.’
‘Oh it’s been brill,’ said Steph. ‘It’s been so lovely being with the family – even though your mother still shoots me The Look.’
‘Oh just ignore her,’ Frankie said.
‘I do!’
‘I thought your mom was sweet,’ said Jenna.
‘Sweet?’
‘She was very kind to me. Asked me about my epilepsy, asked me what it was like growing up in the mountains like I’m Heidi.’
‘How have you been?’
‘You mean – have I had a seizure?’
‘Have you?’
‘Not for six weeks. How about that!’
‘That’ll be the power of love!’ said Steph and Frankie caught the glance that Jenna sent her. Then Jenna reddened and looked at Frankie.
‘I’m seeing this guy,’ she shrugged. ‘He’s on my course.’ She paused, broke into a grin. ‘I really like him.’
He was called Kyle and he was from Calgary. The photos Jenna shared showed a brawny boy with great teeth and an arm protectively and proudly around her shoulder. They looked, thought Frankie, blissfully happy.
‘Your dad didn’t say,’ Frankie mused.
‘I haven’t told him,’ Jenna said a little shyly. Frankie looked up. ‘Would you mind not telling him either, Frankie?’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘But why?’
‘He’s my dad?’ Jenna laughed.
‘Isn’t he the coolest dad in the world?’ Frankie asked.
‘Your dad is supercool, Jenna,’ Steph concurred before sharing with Frankie a momentary look that said compared to ours who was crabby and remote.
‘He’ll just want to meet him and give him the third degree – and I’m not ready yet. I like it being just the two of us, just Kyle and me.’
‘Is he kind?’ Frankie asked. ‘As well as being profoundly handsome?’
‘Yes,’ Jenna nodded. ‘He’s thoughtful and we have a lot of fun. He makes me feel –’ She drifted off and grinned.
And Frankie thought will this be Annabel? In ten years’ time, will Annabel phone Steph and say I’m seeing this gorgeous bloke but don’t tell Mum – she’ll just interfere and embarrass me.
‘It’s a wonderful thing,’ she told the girls, ‘to have family.’
That’s what she was to Jenna. That’s what Steph was to Annabel. It made the world seem smaller and more manageable and that had to be good.
* * *
Scott lay awake long after last year turned into this. What would the year hold? He turned and gazed at Frankie, sleeping peacefully with both hands tucked under her chin like a squirrel. Where would they be, he wondered, in twelve months’ time? Would they have New Year’s Eve in Canada perhaps? Would she be fast asleep in his bed having gotten a little mashed on champagne? Would the year treat them well?
He liked it that now he could say that they’d been together since last year. He had the work coming up in London in February, she had the final Alice book to launch soon after and her new Just My Luck story to tackle. He was taking on another band to mentor and still helping Jonah and his gang with their music. What about after that? This time next year; 365 days’ time. Didn’t sound so long when he thought about how much could be crammed into it.
Jenna. She’d be over a year into her studies. Maybe she’d even have her driver’s licence. The next appointment with the neurologist was early March. Would she still be with the guy he’d heard her talking to on the phone when Peta’s voice had worn him down a little and he’d managed to slink up to Frankie’s room for some peace? At what point during the year would Jenna say Pops, there’s someone I want you to meet? He chuckled quietly to himself; he’d need Frankie’s help with that one. Was he worrying for Jenna that the guy might not be good enough – or worrying for himself, sensing his reluctance to trust or welcome any boy or let go of a little more of his daughter? And what if Jenna’s heart was broken? He knew the pain would crease him more. He pulled the covers over Frankie’s shoulder. Was he a little sad that, at the moment, Jenna had said nothing to him? But that was normal, right? Lying there, he sent out dee
p hope for her soul, and profound hope for her health. A level of hope that turns a wish into prayer.
Scott moved a little closer to Frankie so that his shoulder touched her arm. He thought about the year just gone and the year that now lay ahead. He visualized it as a buffet stretching out in front of him – already all laid out to sustain and delight him over the coming months. The point of the year was to make his way over and sense where to start, decide what to take and what to leave, what would taste good and what might not, what to have now and what to leave for later. Sometimes the things that looked the most opulent and tasty were the driest and most bland. He knew that from the movie business. And from the music business he knew if you gorged on everything on offer, you’d get sick and tired. He thought of Lind, his ex-wife, Jenna’s mom. He didn’t think of her often, but he thought of her just then and hoped she’d have an OK year.
Would Frankie move to Canada? She talked about it so dreamily. He reflected on the subtle hints Frankie dropped to her children about moving. He’d seen the children perplex and contemplate, a little torn because how can we really really like Scott but actually not want to live where he lives? We don’t want to leave our friends a second time and our dad has only just come back.
This was their home – right there where he was waiting for sleep. This place with the curved sky and slab-grey sea. He understood this more than Frankie. He knew it had taken the children a little while, but he could see that they believed in it now. They’d trusted their mother and it had been true – she’d done the best by them. They were settling into their grooves, making friends and doing well at school. If he were their parent, he’d think it wasn’t such a good time to uproot them.
So much keeping him there, so much keeping her here. Scott liked to think that when Frankie said her dream was to move to Canada, what she was really telling him was that she loved him enough to want to be with him always. A vivid picture of his home shot across his mind, standing empty right now, all locked up until he and Buddy returned in a couple of days. There was a lot of snow, so Aaron said. Frankie needed to see it, Scott decided, it was just as beautiful when the little details were obliterated but the snowlight and softness of sound brought a different beauty to the land.
