‘I wanted to do something creative, to follow a career in the arts in some way. I wasn’t really sure how but I did know I wanted the freedom of working for myself.’ Frankie sighed. ‘However, Grandma said I needed to do something sensible and to follow a career that would earn me a decent wage and reputation. She suggested a few things like law and accountancy and I knew it wasn’t worth putting up a fight. After some work experience with an acquaintance of hers, I decided to go into management consultancy because there seemed to be a gap in the market.’
‘Do you enjoy it?’ Jonas asked.
‘It has good days and some that are… not so good.’
‘If you’d done what you wanted to, what would you be doing now?’ Freya asked, her eyes fixed on her daughter.
‘I’d be… designing clothes.’
‘Really?’ Freya’s eyes widened.
‘Yes. I love fabrics and colours and matching them up and I would have loved to have been a fashion designer.’
‘It’s not too late.’ Jonas inched his hand sideways until he could brush her hand with his. He wanted to reassure her, to encourage her to continue to open up to her mother… and to him. ‘You could still do this.’
Frankie shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I mean… I have clients and people relying on me. I have—’
‘You have time, Frankie. Plenty of time and you should do what makes you happy.’ Freya raised her wine glass. ‘Here’s to new beginnings.’
‘Cheers.’ Hugo clinked his glass with hers and Jonas did the same with Frankie.
‘Frankie, I’m so sorry. I feel that I’ve let you down terribly in so many ways.’ In the firelight, Hugo’s face looked haggard and he seemed much older than his fifty-eight years.
‘No, you haven’t, Dad. You did your best.’
‘I didn’t. I should have done so many things differently, starting with going after your mother when she left.’
‘Hugo, you couldn’t have.’ Freya shook her head. ‘She wouldn’t have let you.’
‘I could have stood up to her.’
‘And she’d have carried through her threat.’
‘I don’t think she would have. Mother wasn’t that foolish. She’d have lost me too.’
‘And you might have lost Frankie. At least you were there for her.’
‘I’ll never forgive myself for being such a coward.’
Freya took Hugo’s hand. ‘You are, and have always been, a good man. You don’t have a bad bone in your body. I wish things had been different, that Helen hadn’t been so… overpowering, but I also know why you did what you did. I wish I had acted differently, but I can’t change it now. It ate away at me for years and that kind of guilt rots you from the inside. But finally…’ Her voice thickened and she took a few deep breaths. ‘Finally, Hugo, we have a chance to put things right.’
‘Aren’t you at all angry with me, Freya? You’re perfectly entitled to be.’
Freya sighed softly. ‘Over the years, I’ve been through a whole range of emotions. I often lay awake deep into the night wondering why you didn’t fight for me, why you didn’t try to find me. You had my address. You could have come after me, brought Frankie and we could have been together again. But you didn’t.’
‘The absolutely biggest regret of my life is that I was such a cowardly ass. All I can say in my defence is that Mother was always so domineering and I lost sight of how things should have been, of how I should have protected you and put you before all others. Things between you and me hadn’t been… well, we weren’t as close as we’d once been, and I know now that it was because of a combination of factors, including my mother’s interference, me being weak and not as supportive as I could have been, and you being unwell. I also… I worried that you left because I’d already let you down and that if I followed you, you might not want me. Then I’d have been in a right old pickle.’
‘I don’t think that would have been the case, Hugo, but I was very unwell for quite some time. None of us know what we’d have done back then and even with hindsight, we can’t turn back the clock. It’s a shame but it’s the way life goes. What we can do now is look forwards and appreciate what we have. Look at our beautiful, perfect daughter, for instance.’
‘We made her.’
‘We did.’
‘But she has made herself into the amazing woman she is today. I never want to leave your life again, Frankie.’
‘Please don’t.’ Frankie shook her head then pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them, and Jonas saw a flash of how she would have looked as a little girl. Afraid. Lonely. Confused. And the urge to comfort her grew even stronger.
‘Right… shall we get some dessert, Hugo? We did buy a delicious-looking strawberry gateau.’
‘Indeed we did! It looks rather marvellous, in fact.’
Hugo and Freya left the lounge and Jonas turned to Frankie.
‘You OK?’ he whispered, running his gaze over her pretty profile, from her chin that was set at an angle that suggested a permanent display of strength, to her rosebud mouth, her thin straight nose and her large expressive green eyes.
‘Yes, I’m fine. It’s just that so much is happening and I’m trying to digest it all. Seeing my parents like this is… well, it’s just…’
He took her hand. ‘I can imagine. I want you to know, Frankie…’ He paused, wondering if it was the effect of the good wine and the cosiness of their surroundings where only the orange glow of the fire provided any light now, or if it was something else that was making him bold. ‘I’m here for you. Anything you want to talk through or… if you want a shoulder to cry on… I have broad shoulders.’
Frankie couldn’t help running her eyes over his shoulders, and yes, they were broad and strong. She met his eyes. ‘You really do.’
‘At your disposal.’
‘Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.’
Then they sat back, watching as the flames danced and flickered in the spacious hearth, while the wind howled around outside the window, and snowflakes swirled from the sky dusting the frozen ground.
Chapter 25
The next morning, Frankie sat in the passenger seat of her father’s Range Rover as they made their way to the hospital. They’d woken to find the outside world covered with a dusting of snow that sparkled in the bright morning light. It was already beginning to thaw but she couldn’t deny that it made London seem clean and fresh, reminding her of a Dickensian scene on a Christmas card.
When her father drove them into the hospital’s underground car park, the knot in her stomach tightened. She wished they could have stayed at home with her mother and Jonas and enjoyed a lazy morning, the four of them talking and laughing and learning more about one another. Last night had been a night of revelations in more ways than one, what with her finding out more about her father’s regrets and seeing how well her parents got on. Her mother and father could have been angry with each other, resentful of how the one had not been strong and supportive and the other had run away, but she didn’t see any of that between them at all. Instead, there was a sadness, a mutual awareness of years lost and love wasted, of pride in their daughter and regrets that things hadn’t been different. But when it came down to it, neither of them was fully to blame, if at all. Freya had been ill and done what she thought was best. Hugo had been afraid of losing his child as well as his wife, so stayed and allowed his mother to take control. He’d also been fearful of being rejected by Freya if he did go after her, and that would’ve meant he’d have been a single father without any other support, because if he’d crossed Grandma by leaving to follow Freya, she’d never have forgiven him. Perhaps her father would have coped alone, but Frankie could see how it would have been a daunting prospect, especially after the upbringing he’d had. It was a sad tale indeed but, as her mother had said, they all had a second chance to try to put things right. Of course, there was also the fact that Frankie hadn’t contacted Freya when she turned eighteen. Had she done so, then the lost years mig
ht have been fewer. So when it came down to apportioning blame, perhaps she had to accept some of it herself.
And now she had to see her grandmother for the first time since she’d run away from her wedding to Rolo. She was trying to prepare herself for a barrage of recriminations and hostility, because Grandma was good at hurling verbal abuse, but even better at coldness that could penetrate your bones and hang around you for weeks at a time. The coldness was something Frankie had dreaded even more than the rows, because she always longed to be loved and accepted, to have her grandmother be proud of her, even if she didn’t seem to love her. But nothing had ever seemed to be enough to merit Grandma’s pride or affection.
Once her father had parked, they got out of the car and crossed the car park in silence that was only punctuated by the click-clack of Frankie’s low-heeled boots. They took the lift to the first floor then Hugo led her to a ward where they were greeted by a nurse with a warm smile and a very white outfit of tunic and trousers.
‘How is she today?’ Hugo asked.
‘Well, Mr Ashford, she’s stable now and improving steadily but she shouldn’t tire herself or become agitated in any way.’
He nodded.
‘Perhaps me visiting isn’t a good idea then?’ Frankie asked, looking from the nurse to her father and back again.
‘Are you Frankie?’ The nurse displayed a set of small square teeth as white as her uniform.
‘Yes.’
‘She’ll be delighted to see you. We’ve all heard so much about you.’
‘You have?’ Frankie shivered, imagining what Grandma might have said to them about her only grandchild, the one who’d fled her wedding and run off to Norway without a second thought for her poor, loving grandmother. She’d heard her grandmother on the phone many times when she was younger, and usually Frankie didn’t sound like the perfect granddaughter in Grandma’s eyes at all.
‘Oh yes. She talks about you all the time. Come this way.’
She ushered them along the ward and to a private room at the end of the corridor. The whole place smelt clean, a mixture of antiseptic and lemons. It was also very quiet, as if the staff moved around in a permanent state of hush, not wanting to agitate or alarm the patients who paid handsomely for the privilege of private health care.
‘She’s in here. Now remember, try not to tire her or give her any… bad news.’
‘Of course.’ Hugo nodded, then the nurse walked away. ‘We’d better…’ He gestured at the hand sanitizer sitting in a holder on the wall.
‘Of course.’
Hugo placed his hands under the bottle and it automatically squirted the clear astringent liquid onto his open palm. He rubbed his hands together vigorously. Frankie copied his actions, rubbing her hands until they were dry again.
‘Dad… I don’t know if I can…’
‘I know, darling. I felt the same when I first came here. I was nervous about seeing her, about how she’d be and what she’d say. I was also afraid she’d be abusing the staff and even get herself thrown out.’
‘Can they throw you out if you’re paying for your healthcare?’
He shrugged. ‘If you’re hostile enough, I suppose, although Mother has always been jolly good at putting on a public face. Be prepared though, as you’ll see some changes in her. She’s not her usual feisty self, so just be ready for that.’ He squeezed her shoulder.
A passing patient’s slippers whispered over the tiled floor as he walked past pushing his IV stand. He gave them a cursory nod, then disappeared into the room next to Grandma’s.
‘OK. Let’s go in then.’
As they entered the hospital room, she wondered how she could prepare for something like that, especially when she found it hard to imagine the severe matriarch of her childhood as anything less than fierce. The aromas that Frankie had encountered in the corridor were stronger in the confined space of the hospital room and she wondered how Grandma could bear it. Even just inside the doorway, she already felt as though she would choke on the heavy air. She took a few steadying breaths, aware that her tightened throat was probably more to do with anxiety than the smells; in fact, it had probably heightened her senses, making everything seem far stronger.
The room was shadowy, as the blinds were drawn, but over near the window she could make out a bed with a monitor next to it and an IV stand. The green light from the monitor filtered through the gloom, creating an ethereal atmosphere.
They approached the bed, Frankie on her tiptoes to avoid the click-clacking from her heels, and her breath caught in her throat, because the tiny form curled up under the blankets could not possibly be her grandmother. They must have entered the wrong room.
‘Hugo? Is that you?’
A shock of white hair above a thin wrinkled face peered over the blankets at them, ghostly in the unnatural light, and Frankie took a step back. That wasn’t Grandma; it looked nothing like her. Grandma usually reminded her of the Queen with her coiffed white hair in a style she hadn’t changed since the Fifties. She had beady slate-grey eyes that could bore right through you and her flawless make-up was worn from dawn until dusk; she was never seen without it.
‘Yes, Mother, I’m here, and Frankie is too.’
‘Open the blinds.’ The faint voice issued an order and Frankie did as she was told, her instinct to obey Grandma still strong.
Morning light flooded the room, banishing the shadows and revealing the white hospital sheets and the shining floor tiles. They were so clean she could see her hazy reflection in them when she looked down. At least Grandma was in a place she couldn’t find fault with in terms of cleanliness, although Frankie supposed she’d likely find fault in other ways.
She turned back to the bed and watched as the sheets were folded down and her father helped Grandma sit up against her pillows. When she was comfortable, she looked at Frankie, causing her to swallow hard.
If Grandma was going to have her say, Frankie had just as well let her crack on, because it was, surely, inevitable. So she sat on the chair next to the bed, tucked her legs to the side and crossed her ankles, folded her hands in her lap and waited for the onslaught to begin.
* * *
But it didn’t come.
Grandma really was much changed. She seemed so tiny propped up against the bright white hospital issue pillowcases, her white hair blending in with the material. Her skin was transparent, the veins in her bony hands standing out, blue and purple roads that bulged then disappeared beneath the long sleeves of her lilac nightgown. The skin on her face was stretched tightly over her cheekbones but it gathered in wrinkled folds around her eyes and mouth, as if the fat beneath had been sucked out while she slept. Her eyes were dull, their grey diminished without the usual steeliness behind their slate, and without her fuchsia lipstick, her lips were thin and pale.
‘Thank you for coming, Frances.’
‘Of course I’d come, Grandma. Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Well… I wasn’t even sure you’d return to London.’
Frankie had to lean forwards to hear her grandmother because she spoke so quietly, as if every word took great effort.
‘It’s my home.’
‘That may be but you left it, left us, and ran away.’
‘I didn’t really run away, so much as take a break.’
Her grandmother’s lips curved slightly.
‘Was it all that bad then, Frances? Rolo. A country estate. The chance to be someone.’
Frankie dug her nails into her palms and counted to ten before replying.
‘To be “someone”?’
‘Yes. To be Mrs Rolo Bellamy. When his parents passed on you’d have had that whole estate at your disposal. You’d have been wealthy and comfortable for the rest of your life.’
‘Grandma… I am “someone”. I’m me. Frankie Ashford. Your granddaughter, Dad’s daughter and… Freya’s daughter.’ Her grandmother winced when she said her mother’s name. ‘I’m sorry, Grandma, I don’t want to upset you but Freya is my mo
ther. She always was.’
Helen gave a small cough then reached up and rubbed her throat.
‘Are you OK, Mother?’ Hugo stood up, pushing his chair backwards with his legs so he could get closer to the bed.
Helen nodded but gestured at the bedside table. ‘Some water…’
He filled the plastic cup from a jug then helped her to take a drink.
She nodded when she’d had enough, and he sat back down heavily, as if his knees would have given way had he stood any longer.
‘I only ever wanted the best for you, Frankie. I’m sorry if I did wrong… I’ve had time to think since I… collapsed and I know I could… I could go at any time now.’
‘Don’t say that.’ Frankie shifted in her seat.
‘But it’s true, darling girl. I’m eighty-one. The doctors say I could live another twenty years… if I quit smoking and drinking, but as I said to them, where’s the fun in that?’ She started to cough, so Hugo gave her some more water. When she’d caught her breath again she said, ‘I’m too old to change my ways now.’
‘You could and you should. None of us want to lose you.’ Frankie reached out and squeezed her grandmother’s hand, trying not to wince at how thin it was. She seemed so fragile that a breeze could snap her.
‘Who’s “us”? Frances, when I go you and your father will be free. Apart from you two, no one else cares.’
‘Your friends care.’
‘Friends?’ Grandma shook her head. ‘The people I know are acquaintances rather than friends. They have their own lives and reputations to think of. One or two might shed a tear, but they’ll move on, as they should do. I don’t want anyone to grieve for me. We’re all alone in this life.’
‘Mother, you’re not going yet so please don’t talk like this.’
‘And we’re not alone.’ Frankie shook her head. What an awful way to think. Had Grandma felt that way all her life? No wonder she had been so harsh and unsentimental.
Love at the Northern Lights Page 17
