Gillian is sitting on the sofa, shoes off, feet up, curled up with a mug of coffee in one hand and a tiny cupcake in the other. She is watching Victoria Pendleton and Jess Varnish in the women’s team sprint and I put the book down temporarily to see if they can get to the final and ultimately give us three gold medals in a day. We gawp at the screen as the blistering action unfolds. The Velodrome is like a Roman colosseum, a wall of noise; a thudding rollercoaster of emotion. The dizzying wheels spin furiously in the middle while a stampeding chorus develops all around them. It feels quite frightening, at times, but it finishes so quickly I have no time to get anxious. Our team is through to the final! Gillian cheers while trying to control the crumbs from falling out of her mouth. But a few minutes later, our hopes are dashed when Pendleton and Varnish are disqualified for an illegal changeover. Team GB will not make the final. I watch Victoria Pendleton’s face and the anguish is written on her face. I try to look down at my book again but her face is so compelling I’m forced to look up again. Gillian doesn’t say anything for minutes. She finishes off her cake (but not her coffee) and puts both down on the table.
‘Oh well, there’s still Chris Hoy to come,’ she says. ‘We’ll still probably get another gold today. Feel sorry for Vicky though…’
‘Strange we call her Vicky. It’s as though we know her…’
‘We sort of do though, don’t we?’ She looks across at me and notices I’ve got the book open again. ‘So what do you think so far?’
‘I’ve read about four chapters already. It’s wonderful, Gillian. All I can say is…’
‘Yes?’
I pause again and close the book with my finger still on the relevant page. ‘When a man you love unconditionally goes from your life it’s a void that’s never filled. I know your father’s not gone yet, of course, but I hope you know what I mean.’
‘Course I do, Frannie. And you’re right. Father is still with me but in a different guise. He just isn’t that man anymore – and I’m finding that adjustment difficult.’
I nod and there is a long silence between us.
‘You know I haven’t read a book for quite a long time,’ I say, thankful to break the silence. ‘I’ve forgotten how wonderful words can be. How they can get to things we can’t seem to say face to face…’
Gillian nods and turns towards me. ‘I agree so let me ask you this…’ She pauses again and looks down at the book she’d written. ‘Why don’t you join the campaign against the library closure after you’ve done your work at the Olympics? It’ll keep you occupied and help you meet new people. Get you out of the house too. You’ve enjoyed these few days so much that I think you could carry it on.’
‘Maybe I could – but I don’t feel as strongly about it as you do.’
‘Donald did…’
‘But he’s not here now.’
She raises her hand. ‘Sorry Frannie, I hope I’m not being pushy. All I’ll say is, we’ve got a public meeting planned for next week and we’re hoping for a good turnout. I’ve got Jack and William roped in too and some of their friends so I hope to have a good mix of young and old people. And with this Olympic madness too, who knows we might even get a bumper crowd?’
‘No, they’ll be glued to their TVs…’
We both laugh and Gillian gets up to clear the table.
‘Oh come on, you’ve done enough for me,’ I say. ‘I’ll sort that out later. Please don’t start the washing-up too.’
Before she can answer, her mobile phone rings. She puts the mug back down and immediately answers it. She’s about to walk into the kitchen for some privacy but chooses to stay put once she realises who it is.
‘How come you’re back home so early?’ she asks, talking into the phone while rolling her eyes. ‘There’s some sandwiches in the fridge if you’re hungry. I’ll make you something when I get back.’
She waits for an answer and then sighs when it’s rather long. She puts her hand over the phone and looks at me.
‘Did you hear that, Frannie? Lawrence’s boss is obsessed with Chris Hoy and he’s in the Velodrome this evening. That’s why he’s let them go early so they can watch the race – and maybe even see him on screen.’ Gillian talks into the phone again. ‘I take it he’ll be back slaving you into the ground by tomorrow?’
As I listen to Gillian speaking to Lawrence, I am rather shocked by how the conversation is developing. Are things that bad between them, that Gillian wanted me to listen in to her displeasure and annoyance at her husband? I feel like leaving the room as Gillian’s tone becomes defensive and agitated.
‘I had to see my father, Lawrence, when will you understand that?’ she says, starting to pace around. ‘That’s non-negotiable. I’ve always been there for you, all those years, and now when it’s my time of need, you are as hard-headed as ever. Well, I’m not going to take it anymore. You haven’t said a single word about Daddy’s health. It’s not acceptable.’
I decide it is better to leave the room as I can’t listen to this. Gillian tries to stop me but I breeze past with the book in my hand. I go into the kitchen and turn on the radio. I think about the few disputes or arguments I had with Donald during our 46-year marriage: stupid things over choice of dinner, political views or not being smartly dressed. But nothing compared to this. I place the book on top of the radio and imagine Donald being by my side giving me advice. ‘What are you waiting for?’ he’d say. ‘Tell Gillian, you’ll be there. After all you’ll have nothing to do after the Olympics.’ He is right but do I really want to be part of something that may arouse conflict, dispute and disagreement when there is so much joy, togetherness and unity around because of London 2012? We’ve worked hard to create this mood, I don’t want to destroy it in a few hours. Gillian comes into the kitchen having ended the call.
‘It’s settled then,’ she says, slipping the phone into her pocket.
‘Yes, I’m not sure about the library thing, Gillian. I don’t think I’ve got the stomach for the fight.’
‘Oh that,’ says Gillian, looking confused. ‘No I meant between Lawrence and me. We’re getting a divorce.’
DAY EIGHT
A text on my mobile finally wakes me up just before 11am. I feel relieved I’ve managed to sleep for so long; it will reenergise me for the heavy week to come. I glance at the phone but head to the bathroom before reading it. There is a strange dream still recurring in my head – and I hope some water will quell its potency. I stand static in front of the mirror, trying to open my saggy, puffed-up eyes. The image is clear: I’m carrying a bunch of flowers to Donald’s grave while wearing my Olympic volunteers’ uniform. It’s both frightening and exhilarating. In reality, I’ve already visited Donald’s grave eight times after his death but this would be the definitive journey: me in my special outfit, Donald watching from below, proud I was at the centre of a national event. I needed to do this again, I was being told. I would make my ninth visit – but not before I’d done my duty to the people and the nation. Then I could look back on my achievements – and share them with Donald.
I have a wash and come back to the bedroom. I check the text on my mobile; it’s Jessica. She’s coming back today after a ‘special’ couple of days at home. She’s in Watford already, chatting to one of Rob’s daughters who she has become friends with, but she’ll be heading my way by early afternoon. I cannot wait to see her. I start tidying up immediately and only have breakfast when I’m satisfied the house is in good order and smells nice (getting rid of the cupcake smell which still lingers after yesterday’s cooking is a challenge). For a moment, I think of Gillian and her possible divorce from Lawrence but it’s too depressing so I put it out of my mind. I’m much happier with Gillian’s medication though; the pain in my back has completely gone. I hope I haven’t transferred my suffering to her. It sometimes does feel like that.
It’s nearly 1pm by the time I’m h
appy with how everything is arranged. Jessica is likely to be staying for the whole week so getting the spare bedroom absolutely sparkling is worth the effort. I settle down for a cup of coffee and prepare to see how Team GB are faring, after having missed the whole morning. Five gold medals yesterday and up to fifth place in the table! I’m quite excited there will be even more thrills today. My mobile phone rings and I answer it immediately for once.
‘Afternoon, Frannie,’ says Rob, in a relentless cheery voice. ‘How are you this lovely day? Not missing the Athletics are you? Got to tell you, that Jessica Ennis and company have lit up the Olympic Stadium already. There’s 80,000 packed in there. And the Olympic Park, phew, it’s been a sight to behold. Pure joy and colour. Absolutely stunning.’ He finally pauses for breath. ‘So what have you been doing on your days off?’
‘Did Jessica Ennis win her heats then?’
‘Not only win, she broke the British record in the 100 metre hurdles. Did you not watch it on TV?’
‘I was asleep…’
‘Heavy night last night was it?’
‘Haven’t you got work to do if there’s so many people there?’
‘Finally got a break, Frannie. I’m in the canteen putting my feet up.’
I roll my eyes and then walk to the TV to turn it on. ‘Have we won any more golds then?’ I ask.
‘This morning? Yes, Kath Grainger and Anna Watkins in the rowing. That’s six golds now.’
‘Oh go away Rob, I’m annoyed that I’ve missed it…’
‘Don’t be. There’ll be plenty more treasure later today. There’s Becky Adlington and the cyclists in the Velodrome. We could have seven or eight by the end of today.’
‘More than that, I hope. Anyway, Jessica’s coming round today, did she tell you?’
He pauses and seems slightly confused at the switch in conversation.
‘No, I thought she was back in Leeds – and she was going to travel from there every morning. I know it’s a trek but this girl’s been to the Himalayas so nothing’s too much for her.’
‘Don’t know much do you? She’s been at your house this morning with your daughter. No doubt playing loud music and eating all the food like students do.’
‘Okay I admit it, you got me there Frannie. I had no idea what she or my daughter were up to. But they’ve become quite close friends so, when that happens, old fuddy-duddy dad who drives a van and likes the true metal is no good to them. So what did Jessica say? That she’d be staying at yours for the duration of the Olympics now? I hope you’re charging her rent.’
‘No. She’s welcome to stay her for as long as she likes without paying a penny. I like having her around. Even her dad’s quite a fun character. He dressed up as Harold Wilson the other day…’
‘She always told me she was ashamed of him…’
‘Not now.’
‘Harold Wilson eh? Probably the last politician who would have genuinely cared about the jobs we did. Now, they’re just interested in careers and buffoonery. I mean look at Boris Johnson; he gets caught on a tripwire and the polls go up! He’s like a circus act.’
‘Oh please Rob, no politics today, I want to relax…’
‘I agree, so let me give you something more palatable. Are you looking forward to your shift tomorrow?’
‘Yes…’
‘Will you be prepared to stay on a while longer in the afternoon? Don’t worry it won’t be part of your shift. We’ve got something in mind for you.’
‘Which is?’
‘That’d be telling wouldn’t it? So will you stay on for a while? It’ll be a great day, packed to the rafters with all the athletics going on.’
I pause and sigh, looking at the TV as a presenter and pundit talk in the studio.
‘If I’ve got the energy, of course I’ll stay,’ I say. ‘I didn’t want to even leave on Wednesday when it was getting so exciting. But you do too much scheming, Rob, I don’t know how your wife and family cope with you.’
‘They don’t,’ he says, with a chuckle. ‘See you tomorrow, Frannie, and hope you and Jessica have a wonderful day today.’
He ends the call and I sit back to watch some more events on TV. What’s he got in store for me tomorrow? Is it something to do with my birthday? I hope not because I’ve done everything I can to keep that quiet after Donald’s passing. It’d be wrong to give the date any significance, never mind have a celebration. And besides, today is the date of my birthday not tomorrow. If somebody wanted to bring it up, when better than on my day off? No, it must be something else. But in a strange way, I am looking forward to it, whatever it is – and that’s worth a mild celebration in itself.
Jessica walks into the house and gives me a tight, lingering hug. She’s carrying a huge Puma bag on her shoulder, a smart-looking bottle of water and a battered copy of Runner’s World magazine. She straightens her wristband after it’s been thrust out of position by our embrace.
‘The world has changed since we spoke last,’ she says. ‘Britain is on the march! Even the ticket collector spoke to me on the way down. When I told him I was working at the Olympics, he banged on about Lynn Davies!’
‘You do remember who he is?’
‘Course I do, what do you take me for?’
‘I was just concerned you might not remember him…’
She smiles and playfully walks back towards the front door. ‘Do you want me to go back home now?’ she says. ‘Because I can do that, no probs, it’s been a long journey.’
‘No, no come in, I’m not that silly to let you go now.’
She takes her baseball cap off and hangs it on the coat hook. She walks into the living room, with me behind her, and throws her shoulder bag onto the corner of the sofa. She then stretches out onto the sofa using the bulging bag to rest her head.
‘Do you want a proper pillow?’ I ask, wondering how active Jessica is going to be for the rest of the day if she’s slumping already. ‘Donald hated cushions. He never kept any in the house.’
‘Why?’
‘He thought they were the most uncomfortable things he’d ever come across. He always fidgeted and fussed if he ever had to use one. Generally, he liked to throw them across the room if ever he had the misfortune to feel one on his back…’
‘…Or his bottom?’
‘Let’s not go there shall we?’ I say, walking towards the kitchen. ‘Now, can I get you a cuppa – or do you want a soft drink?’
‘No, I don’t want anything,’ she says, suddenly springing up from the sofa. ‘I had one of those crappy sandwiches from the train station and it’s done strange things to me.’
‘Shall I put the telly on for you, then? Rob says Team GB are doing well again today.’
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘Yes, earlier on today. Says he’s got a surprise for me tomorrow. You haven’t got your mitts all over it too have you?’
‘Would I do such a thing?’
‘Wouldn’t put it past you…’ I walk across the living room towards the stairs. ‘Do you want to see the bedroom you’ll be sleeping in for the next week or so?’
Jessica pauses and then looks at me for rather longer than necessary. She then gets up and walks towards me, putting her hand on my shoulder.
‘Stop fretting Frannie, all in good time.’
‘I’m not fretting, I’m just taking care of you…’
Jessica smiles and looks beyond me at the framed picture of Donald at a jazz and swing evening in Beaconsfield. He has a microphone in his hand and is doing a classic Dean Martin impersonation.
‘He’s probably the same age as my Dad in that picture,’ she says.
‘A bit younger, I think. Seems like another lifetime anyway.’
Jessica nods and puts her arm round me. ‘You know, Keeley said she couldn’t
understand why I had such a bad relationship with my father…’
‘Keeley?’
‘Rob’s daughter. She’s so close to her father and it’s the same with the other girls. They get on so well I almost felt jealous. It was so relaxed in that household when I stayed over. I just wasn’t like that with my own father…’
‘But now you are?’
‘It’s taken a few weird events to bring us together but, yes, it’s like we’re starting all over again.’
‘I’m so happy for you Jessica but it shouldn’t take him walking out on his job to bring you back together again.’
‘You’re right – but it was a job I hated. I hated the thought of him working there and people asking about it, simple as that. Now he doesn’t, and that’s a result.’
‘He also might have hated you coming down to London, staying above a chip shop and then getting arrested…’
‘Course he did, that’s why he came down on his horse and chariot to save me! I’m grateful to him but there’s also something else…’ She walks out of the living room and takes the baseball cap off the hook. She walks back in and places it on my head. It feels ever so strange on my head as if I’ve turned into a child again. ‘It’s not just Keeley and Rob and the girls and my mother and my father…’ She smiles and turns the baseball cap round so that the peak is at the back. ‘It’s also the conversations and time I’ve spent with you. I honestly believe that’s been the major factor in making me wake up and think about my relationship with my family. It made me think about all the things Dad and Mum were doing for me that I didn’t see or simply didn’t want to see. I realise now I was wrong about most of it. They’ve just been looking out for me that’s all – and so have you.’
I feel quite tearful but the baseball cap’s suffocating head grip seems to be stopping any emotion from surfacing.
‘Maybe you’ve been good for me too,’ I say. ‘Have you ever thought about that?’
Seventeen Gifts for Frannie and Jess Page 12
