by Molloy, Ruby
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Buttered toast and coffee.”
“But you never bring me breakfast in bed.”
“Well, today I do.” she snaps, closing the door behind her.
I stare down at the pools of butter and the steaming coffee, a visual confirmation of Ivy’s concern. This has to stop, as in right now, and the only way to make that happen is to move on, to forget I ever knew him. I can’t allow myself to wallow in missing him, not when it’s upsetting Ivy.
I ruminate on this while eating breakfast and showering. Dressed, I take my breakfast tray through to the kitchen. Ivy is cutting out coupons from a newspaper, her tongue curled up against her top lip as her scissors slice through the solid black line. I wash up my plate and mug and stow them away.
“Ivy, you want to go shopping? I need some clothes for interviews and we can see if there’s any bargains to be had.”
Her eyes light up before they dim again. “I should probably watch my pennies until pension day.”
“I have some of my grant left over, plus what I saved from dog-walking.”
“I’ll get my purse.”
I laugh at her eagerness and follow in her wake.
We head to my favourite shop first. Ivy doesn’t seem to mind the blaring music or the prolonged gazes of bored sales assistants. She rifles through the clothing as if she’s got something in mind. I leave her to it and run through the rails searching for my size. I spend a little more than I planned on two suits, three dresses and two pairs of shoes. The clothes are a little loose, but if I’m living with Ivy for the next few weeks I’m bound to gain a few pounds. It takes a while to convince her to let me buy her something, but eventually she succumbs to my pleading and picks out a god-awful dress that looks like someone’s used it as an oil rag―if oil came in orange and purple.
We take an early lunch so Ivy can rest her legs and afterwards I drive to the retail park on the edge of town. We find the home decor store and though paint doesn’t come cheap it’s worth it to be free of the pink. I choose a soft grey with a hint of lilac that has Ivy screwing up her nose. Recalling her recent purchase I take this as a good thing.
Once home, I change my clothes and get started on my room. I take my time, creating smooth, crisp edges. Two hours later my room, which this morning was pink and girly, is now warm and classy. I invite Ivy in and she screws up her nose again. “What was wrong with pink?” she asks.
“Nothing if you’re a twelve year old girl!”
“Ha! You got that right! I guess you’re all grown up now you’re twenty-one and moving to London. But don’t you be giving it away to those London lads for free! I’ve seen them on TV, cocky and full of charm.”
My mind automatically thinks of him and I falter for a few seconds before I’m back on track.
Later, after a supper of cheese on toast, I beat Ivy at poker. It’s my first ever win and she takes it badly, throwing down her cards and muttering beneath her breath. I don’t know why I’m surprised that she’s a bad loser, all the times we played and she never once let me win. I can’t help grinning and when Ivy catches a glimpse she’s grinning too, her sharp eyes softening and crinkling at the corners.
“Good to see you smile,” she says.
♣ SIXTEEN ♣
Eureka
Mason
I’m not a guy who sleeps around. I might have spouted that bullshit to Frankie, but that’s not me. Don’t get me wrong, I fucking love sex and I’ve had my share of one night stands, but if you want the real thing it has to be the right person. Shit, that’s not true. It has to be Frankie. So this girl, the girl who’s currently thrusting her tits in my direction, is not going to strike lucky tonight. Besides, I’m working.
The club doesn’t close for another couple of hours and I’m exhausted. That’s the way it’s been since she left. Sleepless nights and long, empty days, falling into bed exhausted, thinking about her. As much as I miss her, I understand why she left. Girls like to know your life story, but when it’s your life and you’ve been dealt a crap hand, it’s kind of natural to keep your cards close to your chest. I’d like to think that Josh being my son had nothing to do with her decision to call time. I’d like to think she’s better than that.
“What time do you finish?”
It’s the girl with the tits. She’s staring up at me through false eyelashes and reams of black eyeliner, looking like a circus reject. Jesus, even her mouth is fake, pumped full of Christ knows what. “No chance,” I say, skirting round her and moving on.
Fucking hell!
I don’t get home until six thirty. It’s been a shit night all round, dealing with fake IDs, drunks, and the occasional fight. I hit the shower, and as exhausted as I am, I grab my dick and masturbate, picturing Frankie’s small tits bouncing up and down, her mouth open as she gasps through an orgasm, an orgasm I gave her. Fuck!
Climbing into bed with my phone in my hand, I stare at her name. I know she’s blocked me . I called her a week after she left so I know she’s blocked me. That’s when I realised she was serious and that things weren’t going to blow over come next week. Shit, if I’d have known I’d never ... I would have tried harder, is all.
I guess knocking one out in the shower helped because I sleep through most of Sunday, waking at six on Monday morning. I still feel like shit, but it’s a less tired kind of shit. I hit the gym and swim a few laps, but the need to see Frankie doesn’t dissipate and now I’m pumped and I can’t let it go.
Fuck it!
I snatch up the keys for the Audi and head to Morton. I don’t know why I left it so long. Pride, maybe? Or stubbornness?
Her car is missing when I get there and the house seems quieter, abandoned almost, and I’m surprised when Ella answers the door. She scowls when she sees me standing on the doorstep, her brown eyes disapproving. “Well, look who it is.”
“Good to see you too, Ella. Where’s Frankie?”
“Gone.”
“What the fuck do you mean she’s gone?”
“As in G-O-N-E.”
“Don’t piss me around, Ella. Gone where?”
“Don’t you think she’d have told you if she wanted you to know?”
I don’t know how I do it but I keep my temper under control and refrain from cursing. “I need to speak to her.”
“If you think I’m going to tell you where she is you’re stupider than you look!”
She swings the door closed, but I jam my boot in the gap, keeping the pressure on without forcing it wider. “Ella, I’m asking you real nice to tell me where I can find Frankie.”
“That’s your version of nice? Your foot in my door?”
“For fuck’s sake, Ella, I need to see her!”
“Shame you didn’t figure that out sooner. She’s been gone almost two weeks.”
Shit! Fucking shit! Mother-fucking life just keeps punching me in the goddamn balls at every fucking turn. Laughter erupts from my throat, only it’s sour and off, filled with self-contempt. “Do me a favour? Tell her I came by? Tell her ... Fuck, just tell her I want to speak with her, okay?”
I head back down the path, my hands deep in my pockets, my head bent.
“Mason ...”
I turn back to Ella and wait. She’s watching from behind the half-closed door, conflict evident in her eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Fucking fine,” I say.
We stare at each other, a stand-off of sorts.
“She’d kill me if I told you.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
I nod and walk back to the car. Home is not an option. Instead, I head to Carolyn’s knowing Josh is in school and Dean’s at work. Carolyn’s car is on the drive, the rims black and a layer of grime dulling its paint. I sit there, contemplating my failures, wishing I hadn’t fucked up with Frankie. A tap on my window alerts me to Carolyn’s presence. She’s smiling, though there’s a shadow of concern in her eyes. I climb out and kiss her cheek. “Hey,”
I say.
“This is a surprise. Come inside.”
I trail behind her, taking in her tousled bun and casual clothes. She takes after mum, small and petite, though she inherited dad’s brown eyes. She leads the way into the kitchen and it’s not unreasonable to say it’s a fucking wreck. There’s a cookery book laid open on the worktop, surrounded by empty bowls and cutlery. Going on the smell that fills the room I’d say it’s worth it.
“Excuse the mess, I’m making dinner. Josh has football after school and I won’t have time to make anything between dropping him off and picking him up.”
It hurts, this dialogue about her family life, knowing it could have been mine if things had worked out different. Maybe she senses this because her smile is apologetic. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Sure. Coffee would be good.”
She joins me at the table with two mismatching mugs, both ugly, both chipped. “So, what brings you out this way?”
There are one hundred and one answers I could give, not one of them truthful. I consider my answer, framing the words in my mind before giving them life. “I met someone.” That’s it, that’s all I say, but Carolyn’s face lights up as if I’ve told her there’s going to be a second Christmas.
“Past tense,” I explain.
“Oh.” She settles back into her seat.
“She lives – lived – out this way. But she’s gone, moved away.”
“Where to?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Her friends won’t tell me. I could try her gran, but she’s old and she doesn’t need me turning up on her doorstep.”
“Her gran?”
“Yeah, she raised her. She never knew her dad and her mum ... Fuck, her mum broke her arm a few months back and the Police are looking for her.”
“Jesus! Poor girl!”
“The thing is, she cut me off for a reason. I fucked up.”
“You did? How?”
“I didn’t tell her about Josh and Tam.”
“O-k-a-y.” She studies my face and asks, “What else?”
Christ, I wish I knew how she does that. I shoot her a hostile look. “I, uh, I didn’t exactly commit.”
“You cheated on her?!”
“No! Fuck, no! What do you take me for? I mean I let her know I wasn’t looking for long term.”
“Is that a problem? I mean, if you told her―”
“The problem is I didn’t mean it! I mean I did, but then I didn’t.”
“And now she’s gone.”
“Yeah.”
“Have you been online and checked her Face―”
“She blocked me and made her account private.”
“What about calling―”
“Again, she blocked me.”
Carolyn laughs. “Gotta admire her resolve. She really is done with you!”
“Not funny, Carolyn!”
“No. Sorry. Not funny. But it kind of is. I mean, if you think about it ...”
“Not. Fucking. Funny!”
“No.” She bows her head and takes a sip of her coffee. “Do you love her?”
“What?! No!”
“Huh. Then I guess it doesn’t really matter, does it? I mean, if you were in love with her I could understand why you’d want to find her, but if it’s just sex, well, what does it matter? You’ll find someone else, same as she will if she hasn’t already.”
I’m dumbfounded by her insensitivity. “Are you fucking kidding me? I spill my guts and now you’re telling me it’s just sex and it doesn’t fucking matter? What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“I’m just saying―”
“Well, don’t fucking say! Jesus, Carolyn, you’re supposed to help, not throw it back in my face. And don’t ever become a psychologist. You’ll have everyone topping themselves!”
“Oh yeah? I’d be better than you think.”
“Really?”
“Uh, yeah!”
“How so?”
“Well, for one, I know you lied when you said you weren’t in love with her.” She gives me a smug smile and waits on my reaction.
It takes a while to overcome the fallout from her statement. “You’re full of shit, Carolyn!”
She smiles, collects her mug and tidies the kitchen. Disturbed by her statement and angry too, I take my empty mug to the sink and pick up the sponge. “You want me to wash your car while I’m here?”
She watches me dry my mug and I hate that she sees too much.
“Sure. If you don’t mind.”
I shrug. “I don’t mind,” I say, though you’d think otherwise from my tone.
The car doesn’t take long to clean. Once the rims are silver and the bodywork is dry and shining, I stow everything back in the garage. I’ve had time to consider Carolyn’s words. I’m not sure if she’s right. After Tam and I broke up I shut down that part of me. I wasn’t going to let anyone in again. But Frankie, she kind of snuck in there and I can’t figure out how she did it or why it’s her, I just know there’s no-one like her. Skinny body, curls that are wild and bouncy, grey eyes that see too much, like she knows me inside out.
“You okay?” I spin round, startled. Carolyn’s standing in the doorway leading from the kitchen to the garage. “You were staring into space.”
“Shit, yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking, that’s all.”
“I need to pick up Josh. You want to come along?”
“Sure.”
She loads his kit into her boot and we drive the ten minutes to his school, park up, and walk to the gates. He’s one of the first out, standing out from his classmates, his brown head inches above theirs.
“Hey mum, hey Mason.”
He dropped the ‘Uncle’ tag a week or two ago. It reminds me of how Frankie calls her gran by her first name, as if they’re more than just relatives. He holds out his hand for a high-five and I don’t let him down. “This is my uncle,” he tells his friends proudly, like I’m a celebrity or something. I glance down at their round faces and nod. They seem a little overawed. Maybe it’s the quiff. Or the beard.
“How you doing, Josh? You going to score any goals tonight?”
“Nah! It’s only training tonight and the Manager’s put me in goal for the next two weeks.”
“He has?”
“Yeah. It’s a punishment. He said I needed to control my temper coz I punched Simon Townsend, but he deserved it for tackling Harry and nearly breaking his leg.”
I ignore Carolyn when she raises her eyebrows, as if to say, ‘I wonder where he gets that from’.
“Gotta choose your punches, Josh.”
“I did. I chose my best one!”
I laugh and ruffle his hair. He abruptly smoothes it back into place and gives me a disgruntled look only a six year old could pull off. “Don’t touch the hair Uncle Mason.”
I laugh out loud. Guess I’m still ‘uncle’ when I’m in his bad books. “Sorry buddy. Come on, let’s get you to football.”
Carolyn and I watch from the sidelines as the Coach puts them through their paces. There are small, coloured marker cones laid out on the field and the boys are weaving in and out with the ball. Josh is one of the most skilled. I’m proud of the way he controls the ball, but I’d be proud if played like the pale kid at the back who seems afraid of the ball.
“What’s her name?”
I glance at Carolyn, surprised. “Frankie.”
“As in Francesca?”
“Uh, I guess so.”
“You guess so? You mean you haven’t asked her?”
“We didn’t always talk much.”
“Uhh! Thanks for the mental image, Mason! Yuk! Maybe if you’d spent less time having sex and more time talking she’d still be with you.”
“Don’t hold back, Carolyn, just tell me straight, why don’t you?!”
She offers an unrepentant smile and elbows me in the ribs. “Sorry. It’s just I can kind of see her side, being a woman and all. First you tell her you don’t want to commit, then you fail to mention J
osh and Tam, all of this on top of her shitty family life. I just think she’s got it tough.”
Sometimes in life there are eureka moments.
This is my moment.
Frankie’s life – the people in it – they’re a fucking nightmare. Her nowhere to be seen father, her abusive mother and crazy but loving grandmother. And then there’s me, a selfish jerk of a boyfriend too focused on the fucking hot sex to ask if Frankie was her real name.
“Fuck! Bollocks!”
“What?”
“I’m a dick! A fucking, stupid dick!”
“Well, yeah. What made you realise?”
I glance around, as if there’s something here, in the middle of a suburban playing field, that will help me fix the mess I’ve created. “Shit!”
“Mason, lower your voice! People are looking!”
“I don’t give a shit who’s looking!” I stare back until they look away. “Fucking nosey gits. Shit, I gotta go!” I start walking away before I realise that Carolyn drove here, and Josh is still playing football, and I haven’t said goodbye. I turn back and Carolyn’s staring at me, her mouth hanging open, her eyes rounded.
“Oh my god! I was right! You’re in love with her! And don’t you dare deny it, Mason, because I’ve never seen you act this crazy before. Not even when you were in prison and Tam was pregnant and your whole world was turning to shit.”
I scowl and she takes the warning. We watch the remainder of the training session in silence, Carolyn silently gloating, me trying to figure out what to do about Frankie.
♥ SEVENTEEN ♥
The L Word
Frankie
Ivy in London is frigging hilarious. Her round head is constantly on the go, twisting this way and that as she catches sight of yet another novelty that grabs her attention. This time it’s a statue, one that starts moving as Ivy approaches and has her jumping out of her wrinkled skin.
“Oh my goodness, did you see that?! A man dressed as a statue, whatever next?!”
It’s my first week in London and Ivy’s come to visit. She wants to check I’m safe, though I’m not entirely sure I’ve convinced her so far. Aside from the sheer scale of the city, she has a problem with the fact there are so many people. “Everywhere you go there’s people,” she said, as if she thought London would be like the suburbs where people only show their faces on their walk to their car.
