Thursday's Children: A Frieda Klein Novel (Frieda Klein 4)

by Nicci French

  ‘Who’s that?’ asked Vanessa, who was sitting with Eva and Frieda in Eva’s kitchen, drinking tea.

  ‘That,’ replied Frieda, ‘is Josef.’

  ‘Who’s Josef?’

  ‘My friend. He’s a builder.’

  Wherever Josef went, he made a home for himself: he’d done it at Frieda’s house, at Reuben’s, at the house of old Mary Orton, whom Frieda still remembered with anguish. And now he was doing it at Eva’s. He was on the top floor, ripping out rotten planks and inspecting the damage behind them. Eva had taken him up a mug of tea and a plate of homemade biscuits, and had lent him an oversized pullover because it was cold and he had come unprepared. He was talking about staying the night and continuing his investigations the following day. Eva seemed taken with the idea. She would cook him and Frieda supper. Perhaps, she said, she should go to the late-night supermarket and buy food and a toothbrush.

  ‘I always have toothbrush with me,’ Josef had said. ‘And clean clothes. The shorts. Just in case.’

  Frieda didn’t want to ask in case of what. Josef was in a relaxed and expansive mood. Eva took him up another mug of tea and more biscuits and it was several minutes before she reappeared. When she did, her cheeks were pink and her eyes bright. Vanessa looked at her friend with raised eyebrows, and Frieda’s heart sank. She had the uncomfortable feeling of being sucked back into her girlhood, sitting here while Eva flirted with Josef and Vanessa rolled her eyes conspiratorially.

  ‘So, what’s it like?’ Vanessa asked Frieda.

  ‘What’s what like?’

  ‘Being here.’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘It’s hard not to feel,’ said Vanessa, ‘that in some way those of us who stayed behind are regarded as the underclass.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ said Eva. ‘Or maybe you’re right. We’re the ones who didn’t get away.’

  ‘Regarded as the underclass by whom?’ asked Frieda.

  ‘I don’t know. You?’

  ‘That’s not how I think of you at all.’

  ‘Ewan and I love this area,’ said Vanessa. She seemed agitated, as if she was defending their entire way of life.

  ‘Me too,’ added Eva. She picked up a biscuit, examined it, then took a large bite. ‘Though sometimes I think I should have left.’

  ‘We don’t.’ Vanessa was almost aggressive in her vehemence. ‘We feel loyal to Braxton. Other people come and go but this is our home. I don’t understand why everyone leaves.’

  ‘Some people need to,’ Frieda said mildly.

  ‘And then they suddenly need to come back?’

  ‘You mean me?’

  ‘It’s a bit unsettling.’

  ‘Why?’

  Vanessa frowned. ‘I don’t know. When I heard you were here, I was thrilled. But you’re not just here because you want to make contact with old friends, are you? We’re not sitting around giggling about old times and discussing the scandal of getting older. That’s what I thought we’d do. Though you never really were a girly girl, were you?’

  ‘Nor was I,’ put in Eva. ‘Maybe that’s why we were such pals. People thought you were sophisticated, woman-of-the-world, having sex and making out it was no big deal, but you weren’t, were you? It was just a cover. You were probably as scared as me and just pretending to be experienced.’ She put out a hand and touched Frieda’s arm, as though she were in need of comfort.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Frieda, who was quite baffled by the last comment.

  ‘Anyway,’ Vanessa continued, ‘it feels as though you want something from us all and we don’t know what. Both Chas and Jeremy said you’d been asking them questions as well. And Maddie’s hopping mad with you. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. She blames me for Becky’s death.’

  ‘Poor Becky.’ Vanessa’s voice wavered. She looked close to tears. ‘And poor Maddie. God, that was a distressing funeral, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Are your daughters all right? I saw them in the church. They knew Becky quite well, didn’t they?’

  ‘Especially Charlotte. She and Becky have known each other since they were babies – they were born only a couple of months apart. I can’t tell you how horrible this has been for her. She’s been in floods about it since it happened. We all have.’

  ‘I’m so sorry about it all. Did Becky talk to her about what she was feeling?’

  ‘It was a bolt from the blue. Of course, we knew Becks was going through a rough time. Her father leaving. Wanker,’ she added unexpectedly.

  ‘Did she have relationships?’

  Vanessa looked at Frieda curiously. ‘You see, this is what I mean.’ She addressed Eva, explaining to her. ‘She’s investigating us all. Did she have relationships? I have no idea. Probably. But one of the things you discover when you’re a parent is that there are things you don’t know about your children. You had boyfriends when you were Becky’s age, I seem to remember.’

  ‘Boys loved Frieda,’ said Eva, rather wistfully. ‘Don’t you remember? There was Jeremy, then Lewis. Poor Lewis.’

  ‘And you and Ewan,’ said Frieda to Vanessa. She was aware of how the atmosphere was endlessly shifting between hostility and a kind of matey nostalgia.

  ‘My one and only.’ Vanessa gave a laugh. ‘Yes. He was my first boyfriend. God, I was so smitten with him. I still love him,’ she added hastily. ‘But love when you’re fifteen or sixteen, that’s something different. Everything was so intense.’

  ‘Yes.’ Eva sighed.

  ‘But look at us all now. Me and Ewan, together for twenty-three years, with two daughters, elderly parents, a mortgage, a car, holidays in Spain or France. Chas with his terrifying trophy wife.’

  ‘Vanessa!’

  ‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it?’

  ‘Jeremy’s rather porky now, the last I heard of him. He used to be so gorgeous. He and Chas have become quite matey,’ Vanessa went on. ‘I guess they’re both rich – they’ve got that in common. And their thin, glamorous wives.’

  ‘Jeremy’s wife went to Braxton High,’ said Frieda.

  ‘That’s right. Catrina. Do you remember her? Catrina Walsh. Very good at tennis.’

  ‘Was she?’ said Eva. She pushed a biscuit into her mouth and chewed it thoughtfully, her cheeks bulging. ‘I remember her being Greg Hollesley’s pet.’

  ‘Really? Well, she married Jeremy and now she’s got perfect teeth.’

  ‘What were her teeth like before?’ asked Eva.

  ‘That’s not the point.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Then there’s Lewis, all washed up,’ continued Vanessa, blithely. Frieda winced and would have spoken, but Eva got in first.

  ‘And me and Frieda unmarried and alone. Say it.’

  ‘It is possible to choose to be alone,’ Frieda said.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Eva. ‘But it does get lonely, doesn’t it?’

  ‘And Sarah May dead,’ said Frieda.

  ‘Sarah May.’ Vanessa repeated the name. ‘Yes, Sarah May.’

  There was a silence. Josef warbled in the distance.

  ‘It’s nice having a man in the house,’ said Eva.

  There was a loud rapping at the door and then it was pushed open.

  ‘Hello!’ a cheerful voice cried. ‘Your chauffeur is here!’ Ewan burst into the room, followed by three young people.

  He kissed Vanessa, kissed Eva, kissed Frieda, knocked a couple of biscuits on to the floor with his sleeve, left muddy footprints on the tiles, beamed at them all.

  ‘This looks very cosy,’ he said. ‘You’ve met my girls, haven’t you, Frieda?’

  ‘Briefly. Amelia and Charlotte, is that right?’ They nodded, the younger Amelia shyly, while the older girl was cool, indifferent. ‘I’m glad to meet you again. I’m very sorry about your friend Becky.’

  Immediately, tears welled in Amelia’s eyes while Charlotte nodded again and murmured something indistinct.

  ‘And you’ll never guess who this is,’ said Ewan, gesturing towards the b
oy who was with them, a lanky teenager in low-slung tatty jeans and a leather jacket over a grey hoodie.

  ‘I don’t know your name,’ Frieda said to him, ‘but I know you’re Lewis’s son.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Even the voice was the same. ‘I’m Max.’ Max. Becky had mentioned him to her. ‘Do you know my dad?’

  ‘I used to.’

  Ewan punched him playfully on the shoulder. ‘Hasn’t your dad ever told you about the mysterious Frieda Klein?’

  ‘No.’ He had Lewis’s scowl as well, which he turned now on Ewan.

  ‘Were you a friend of Becky’s too?’

  He met Frieda’s eyes. ‘I thought so,’ he said. ‘Though I had no idea. She shouldn’t be dead.’

  ‘You’re right, she shouldn’t.’

  ‘I don’t understand why none of us saw it coming.’

  ‘No one understands,’ said Vanessa, laying a consoling hand on his shoulder. ‘And everyone feels guilty.’

  ‘We should be going,’ said Ewan, shifting from one muddy foot to the other.

  The door opened again and Josef came in, carrying two mugs and a plate. He was singing to himself, just two or three words on a loop, but stopped when he saw everyone, making a comical gesture of surprise. He put the mugs and plate carefully on the table, then made a slight bow towards Ewan and his daughter.

  ‘I am Josef,’ he said.

  ‘What were you singing?’ Frieda asked him sharply.

  ‘Singing?’ He looked confused.

  ‘When you came in just now.’

  ‘I not know.’

  ‘It was one of the Thursday’s Children songs,’ said Eva. ‘It’s been in my head, what with all the talk of that concert recently. And I was singing it when I took the tea up to Josef.’

  ‘Earworms,’ said Ewan. ‘Irritating little things.’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Frieda. ‘I remember now.’

  And she did. Although she had never listened to their music since leaving Braxton, it was still lodged in her memory. She probably recalled most of the words as well.

  ‘We still listen to them sometimes, when we’re feeling romantic,’ said Ewan.

  ‘They dance to them,’ said Charlotte. ‘It’s embarrassing!’

  Frieda grinned. She remembered the way Ewan danced, throwing his arms around wildly and bounding on the spot.

  ‘I’ll have you know, young woman,’ said Ewan, ‘that they have a special place in your mother’s and my affections.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, you got it together at their concert. We know. We just don’t want a replay.’

  ‘You might not even exist,’ said Eva, to Amelia, ‘if your mum and dad hadn’t gone to that concert.’

  ‘I can even tell you the order they played those songs.’ He closed his eyes in concentration. ‘“City Song”, they always started with that. To get the crowd going. “Move In With Me”. “Better Do It.”’

  ‘“Dylan”,’ said Vanessa. ‘That was always my favourite.’

  ‘And “Donny’s Funeral”. And they ended with “Tight Fit”. And, of course, they did “Day Off” for an encore.’

  ‘Dad, this isn’t really very interesting,’ said Amelia.

  ‘My father plays them as well,’ said Max. ‘He doesn’t ever dance, though.’ He looked so forlorn that Frieda had to stop herself putting out a hand in comfort. She remembered Lewis like that. And then, from nowhere, she found herself thinking of Sandy – or, rather, picturing his face the last time she had seen him. She stared out at Eva’s muddy garden and for a moment lost all sense of what was being said.

  ‘Frieda?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I said, we’re on our way.’ Vanessa was pulling on her thick coat. ‘We must do this again. You should come and have supper with us.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’ll call you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And we’ll see you at the reunion, of course.’

  ‘Perhaps. I’ve not entirely decided.’

  Ewan kissed her on both cheeks, then turned to Max. ‘Can I drop you off?’

  ‘No. I’ll walk.’

  ‘I’ll walk with you part of the way,’ said Frieda. ‘I need a bit of fresh air.’ She nodded at Josef. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’

  ‘Is fine,’ Josef said cheerfully. ‘Isn’t it, Eva?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eva. ‘Very fine. Time to open the vino, I think.’

  Frieda and Max walked in silence for a few minutes, until Max suddenly asked: ‘Did you know my dad well?’

  ‘It was a very long time ago. Until now, I hadn’t seen him for over twenty years.’

  ‘What was he like?’

  She considered. ‘He looked like you. But you probably already know that.’

  ‘People say so.’

  ‘He was bright and thoughtful. But you probably know that too.’

  ‘Not so much.’

  ‘He took things seriously,’ Frieda added.

  ‘Was he – did he –you know?’

  ‘Take drugs?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Yes. Like his friends. But maybe he was more susceptible.’

  ‘He keeps telling me he’s going to stop drinking and smoking and killing himself.’

  ‘But he doesn’t.’

  ‘I’ve given up. I used to go on and on at him. I used to beg him and say he had to do it for my sake.’

  ‘But that didn’t work?’

  ‘Greg says that in the end you can’t change people, they have to change themselves.’

  ‘He sounds like he knows what he’s talking about.’ A thought struck Frieda. ‘Greg who?’

  ‘He used to teach at the High, ages ago. He used to teach my dad. I met him at Maddie’s a few times. I was a bit cut up about everything and he was nice to me.’

  ‘Greg Hollesley.’ Whom she had seen hugging Maddie ever so tenderly at Becky’s funeral.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘He goes and sees Maddie?’

  ‘He has friends in the area from when he was teaching here. I think he comes down because his mum or dad is in a home.’

  ‘His father,’ said Frieda, recalling what Greg had said to her. ‘That’s right. Did Becky know him?’

  ‘She met him. I remember her saying she wished there were more teachers like him.’

  ‘You don’t want too many like him,’ she said.

  ‘Here’s where I go.’ He gestured to the road leading off to the left. ‘Were you Dad’s girlfriend?’

  ‘You should ask him questions like that, not me.’

  ‘That means you were. You’re well out of it.’

  ‘It’s tough for you, I know.’

  ‘I really liked Becky.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘We were friends, proper friends. All the girls were so bitchy.’

  ‘I’m glad she had you to talk to.’

  ‘It wasn’t enough, though, was it?’ He glared at her wretchedly.

  She walked back slowly, thinking about what Vanessa had said: that her return had unsettled people; about Greg Hollesley in Maddie’s house; about Lewis and his angry, abandoned son. Music from Thursday’s Children ran through her head. She’d never liked them. The night was dark and quiet. Once or twice she thought she heard footsteps but when she turned no one was there. She told herself she was imagining it. When she reached Eva’s house she went round the back. Through the kitchen window she could see Eva and Josef standing close together. Josef seemed to be teaching Eva how to chop vegetables the way real chefs do. Eva was laughing. Frieda glimpsed her face, years younger and full of a merriment that took her back to the friendship of their teenage years. She turned away and went into her shed, shutting the door softly and pulling down the blinds.

  29

  The next morning Frieda walked into Eva’s kitchen. Her head was still fuzzy from a night of turbulent dreams that still seemed more real than the dreary, hard-edged, unforgiving world around her. Then, quite suddenly, everything seemed to happen at once. Frieda was fi
lling the kettle when Eva came into the kitchen. There was something different about her. Then Frieda noticed that lots of things were different. Her hair was rumpled and her face was flushed and her eyes were both bright and tired and there was a smear of mascara at the corner of one eye and she was wearing a checked shirt that was much too bright and looked strangely familiar.

  At the very moment that Frieda recognized it as belonging to Josef – in fact, it was the shirt Josef had been wearing the previous evening – and had started trying to decide what her response was or ought to be, she heard voices. She turned round as the door opened.

  ‘It’s bloody cold,’ said Jack.

  ‘It’s, like, about ten degrees colder than London,’ said Chloë.

  Frieda felt a wave of alarm. What could be the bad news that would make them drive all the way here so early in the morning? ‘What’s happened?’ she said.

  Jack looked puzzled. ‘Didn’t Josef tell you we were coming?’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’

  ‘We thought it would be good to have a day out. We’ve been really curious about this area – well, about you, really – and I went online and saw how close it was.’

  ‘You should have told me,’ said Frieda.

  ‘Well, we did,’ said Chloë. ‘Via Josef. Where is he, by the way?’

  Frieda avoided looking at Eva. ‘I think he’s still in bed,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ said Eva. ‘He’s on his way down.’

  And, indeed, before Frieda could say anything Josef came through the door, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and with bare feet. When he saw Jack and Chloë, he gave a sleepy smile of greeting. As he walked past Eva, Frieda noticed that he touched her shoulder and Eva glanced round at him. Even though it was just a moment, it was the intimate gesture of a couple who knew each other well, who had secrets. Frieda was making another attempt at speaking, at establishing some sort of order, when there were more noises from outside and a knock at the door. Chloë opened it and Ewan stepped inside. He was wearing a bulky country jacket of the kind worn for shooting small birds. Behind him were his daughters, in hooded waterproofs, looking sullen and resigned. There was a series of complicated introductions. Eva offered coffee to everybody.

  ‘We were just going for a walk,’ said Ewan, ‘and we thought you might like to come along.’