‘Yes, and now you can tell me all about Donald because I want to hear everything about his life. He sounds like a wonderful man.’
I take the baseball cap off and put it back on Jessica’s head.
‘Let me show you your room first,’ I say, opening the door. ‘Then you can ask me anything about Donald. Absolutely anything.’
It isn’t as painful as expected. The old photo albums, a neat pile of maps, a shoebox of Test cricket stubs and a small collection of vintage LPs. There is more but I feel this is enough for Jessica to be going on with. The photo albums have so many searing memories in them that I try to turn over the page quickly, even when Jessica wants to linger or highlight a certain image. Everything is covered from a weekend coach trip to Brighton in the late Sixties to a visit to the Thame Country Show as recently as 2011. Where did all that time go? The country show is Donald at his best, with a falcon on his arm and a smile for the camera. He loved it so much, it became an annual event for us. That was our 12th visit. The pile of maps, mainly from South East Asia are next, and Jessica is intrigued by some of the countries’ old names, like Ceylon and Malaya. I tell her that Donald had a difficult time in Indonesia in the early 60s, serving his country, and he felt nostalgic about collecting these ancient maps. They gave him pride and reassurance – something he felt the country had lost. The shoebox of Test cricket stubs – the oldest from a game at Headingley in 1959 – doesn’t interest her as she thinks cricket is the most boring game on earth. But I can see the spark back in her eyes as she goes through Donald’s LP collection. It’s dominated by swing and jazz but there are also albums from Dusty Springfield, The Supremes and Vaughan Williams. I point out to her that some of those were my choices. I’m thankful (and exhausted) when Jessica finally puts the final LP to the side (The Supremes Where Did Our Love Go) and slumps against the bedroom wall, feet outstretched, hands crossed on her lap.
‘Who was The Supremes fan then?’ she asks. ‘I only know one of their songs.’
I don’t answer immediately and she begins a rendition of Baby Love, using her hands to mimic the iconic group’s moves. The sound is like a knife through my heart. She continues to sing and I keep control for about two minutes but then can’t hold back any longer as her words and expressions make me burst into tears; an unexpected, almost violent, outpouring that comes deep from my soul. The anguish is crippling and painful and I bend over to try and quell the torrent. Jessica stops singing and rushes towards me on the bed.
‘What’s the matter, Frannie?’ she says. ‘Are you ill? Shall I call someone?’
‘No, it’s just you singing that song makes me think of things I shouldn’t…’
‘Like what?’
I look at her and wonder if there’s any point in holding back now. Was Jessica too young to understand? Gillian knew but, as it was so long ago, we hardly mentioned it.
‘I had two miscarriages and a stillborn child in the space of four years,’ I say, wiping away the tears and suddenly feeling brave and defiant. ‘Donald and I tried for a long time after that but nothing happened. People thought we didn’t want children. It wasn’t true.’ I pause and put my hand on Jessica’s thigh. ‘I think my body was cursed. It always felt flimsy and fragile. I felt sorry for Donald because people thought there was something wrong with him. We didn’t talk about these things much in those days.’
‘Oh Frannie, I’m sorry, that must have been so hard for you.’
I get up and walk towards the LP collection again. I pull out Dusty Springfield’s The Look of Love and wipe away the swathes of dust from its front cover. I turn to look at Jessica and show her the LP. ‘I played this so much after my first couple of miscarriages, because I felt she was speaking to me. We shared an inner pain only we could describe. But I vowed not to play it again because I was determined to have a baby. But when I got pregnant again – and Clarissa came out stillborn at six months or so – I couldn’t help but be drawn to it again…’
Jessica gets up and walks towards me. She puts her arm round me and kisses me on the cheek.
‘Anything you want, I’m here for you. If you want to talk about those days, I’m all ears, if you don’t, that’s absolutely fine too.’ She lowers her head onto my shoulder. ‘Makes me think how lucky I am with Mum and Dad. I’ve been so stupid the way I’ve treated them, particularly Dad.’
‘You’re young, that’s all. You’ll learn that the bond between parent and child is the most powerful thing in the world. I can still feel Clarissa in every pore of my body.’
Jessica wipes her cheek. ‘Oh don’t, you’re nearly setting me off now.’ She smiles and looks at me. ‘We’ve still got the emotion of all those gold medals for Team GB to go through yet!’
I nod and look down at the Dusty Springfield album. I grab Jessica’s hand, as tightly as I’ve ever held it, and ask her to leave the room.
‘Where are we going?’
‘This way…’
We walk out of the room and down the landing towards Donald’s study. We walk in and Jessica waits by the door while I walk towards the record player. I take the album and place it down onto the record player, easing the needle onto its velvet black surface. I step back and take Jessica’s hand, asking her to come into the middle of the room. I gently put my arms over her shoulder and close my eyes as the sound of Dusty Springfield’s voice soothes me one more time, perhaps for the last time. Jessica holds me tight – but I’m dreaming of another girl in my arms.
Jessica keeps shouting to me (I am in the kitchen, preparing dinner) about the gripping Roger Federer and Juan Martin Del Potro match she’s watching on TV. It’s 18-17 to Federer in the final set and Jessica keeps saying it will be wonderful for Andy Murray because the ‘Swiss legend’ (her words) will be very tired in the final. I caution that Murray has his own semi-final to play but with the exploits of Del Potro and Federer, they might never get onto court in the first place. Finally, the match ends and Federer wins. I’m thankful that it’s over because at least it stops Jessica talking so much! The bell rings a couple of minutes later and I ask Jessica to answer it as my hands are drenched in lettuce juice. She returns a few minutes later with William standing next to her by the door, hands in his coat pockets, already looking quite sheepish and apologetic. Jessica smiles at me and then heads back to the living room to watch the tennis.
‘Hello Mrs Hartford,’ says William, almost afraid to step foot in the kitchen. ‘Mum seems to have lost her purse and she wonders if she might have dropped it in your house yesterday.’
‘Er I’m not sure, William, I haven’t seen anything,’ I say, wiping my hands on a tea towel. ‘I can have a good look now if you want. She was here in the kitchen most of the time so I’d have probably seen it if she’d dropped it…’
‘Well, that’s all right then,’ he says, already starting to move back towards the front door. ‘I’ve got work in a couple of hours so I’m in a bit of a rush. Mum just thought you might have picked it up that’s all. No problem anyway. I’ll let myself out.’
‘Hold on Will, I haven’t had a proper look yet,’ I say, starting to check behind the fridge, the cupboards and the bins. ‘I’ve been upstairs for half of the day today. Do you want to wait five minutes? I’ll make you a cup of tea.’
He sighs and scratches his head. He then checks his phone. ‘Okay, I’ve got a couple of minutes.’
‘Why don’t you go in the living room and sit down with Jessica for a few minutes while I have a proper look?’
He lowers his voice and looks quite nervous. ‘Who is she, anyway?’
‘She’s a volunteer like me. We work together in the Olympic Park. She’s nice, she won’t bite.’
He nods and then walks slowly into the living room. I watch him amble in and then scour the kitchen to see if I can find Gillian’s purse. Her book is still there on top of the radio but I don’t think she left an
ything else behind. After ten minutes of awkward searching (my back felt stiff again after going into areas I shouldn’t) I give up and head into the living room. William and Jessica are chatting about how a gluten free diet might help Novak Djokovic play better tennis. They seem to be getting on well. I sit down, because I feel so exhausted, and lean back on the sofa.
‘Phew, that tired me out a bit,’ I say, blowing quite hard and looking up at the ceiling. ‘The back of that fridge is murder.’ I finally lean forward and look at William. ‘It’s not there, Will. I would have found it if it was. Say sorry to your mother but I have looked everywhere. I hope she finds it soon. Was there a lot in there?’
William is about to answer but Jessica suddenly looks interested in the conversation.
‘What have you been looking for Frannie?’ she asks.
‘It’s Gillian’s purse. She was making cupcakes here yesterday. She thinks she dropped it here…’
‘A purse? Oh, God yes, I saw it up in the bathroom by the sink and I was going to tell you about it but we had quite an emotional afternoon so I just forgot all about it. It was near the hairbrush and soap. Is it dark green?’
‘Yeah, Mum’s got a habit of leaving things in the bathroom. She takes hours in there sometimes.’ William gets up from the sofa. ‘Great, can I go and have a look, Mrs Hartford?’
‘Do you want me to go?’ I say, more out of politeness than pragmatism.
‘No, I’ll be fine. I won’t nick any of your beauty products, honest!’
‘Those are Jessica’s…’
He looks at Jessica and smiles. For less than 10 minutes together, they seemed to have developed a good rapport. He walks out of the living room and heads upstairs. Jessica turns to look at me.
‘He’s quite a nice guy,’ she says, rubbing her hand down the back of her hair. ‘He wants me to come out for a drink.’
‘What? Isn’t that a bit fast?’
‘Well no, not in that way. He’s asking everyone to come to a special evening at the pub where he works. They’ve slashed prices for the weekend because the pub’s losing punters. Don’t you want to go?’
‘No, it’s been a long day and I need an early night. But you can go if you want.’ I smile and think of Simon. ‘As long as you’re not like your father and waltzing in at 5am then I can take that.’
‘Luckily, I haven’t got a bad habit like that. It’s 4am with me…’
We both laugh but then I hear noises upstairs and hope that William is okay.
‘Sorry I didn’t tell you about the purse,’ says Jessica. ‘My brain’s turned to mush today with all the travelling and all the heavy stuff we’ve been through. It’s like I’ve lost my bearings.’
‘Doesn’t matter now, shall we see what Will’s getting up to?’
‘I’ll go, you have a rest…’
She gets up and walks to the door.
‘Don’t steal all their money, will you?’
‘Maybe I already did,’ she says, with a wicked smile.
She leaves the room and I settle down to watch TV, trying to use the red button for a range of Olympic events but then getting irritated and deciding to stick to one; the tennis. A couple of minutes later, Will and Jessica come back into the room.
‘He couldn’t find it at first,’ she says, looking at William with almost motherly concern. ‘He was looking in the cabinet above the sink and then near the towel rack. I had to point it out to him.’
‘I would have found it eventually,’ says William, checking inside the purse to see if everything was there. ‘Do you want to come for a drink this evening then? You’re invited too, Mrs Hartford.’
Jessica comes back to sit on the sofa. ‘I’m not sure, it’s up to Frannie. I’d rather stay with her this evening. If she wants to go out, I’ll come, otherwise, no.’
‘You don’t need to worry about me, Jessica,’ I say. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m over it now.’
‘Over what, Mrs Hartford?’ asks William, slipping the purse into his trouser pocket. ‘Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘No William, you don’t need to know,’ says Jessica. ‘I’m sure you’ve got enough issues to deal with yourself right now. Hope you can sort them out.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, your mum and dad’s divorce?’
‘What?’
I feel a shudder as soon as Jessica says the words. Her voice gets lower and she looks embarrassed.
‘Doesn’t William know?’ she says, in almost a whisper to me. ‘Fuck, I hope I haven’t put my foot in it.’
I shake my head and look up at William. Before I can speak, he finally finds some fluency.
‘Are you saying Mum and Dad are going to get divorced because it’s the first I’ve heard of it? Did Mum tell you this because she’s got a habit of saying things and then not going through with them? I know she’s had it hard but Dad’s done a lot of good things for us too. And anyway why didn’t she tell me or Jack if she was thinking of such a big move? I don’t believe it.’
‘Will, please accept my apologies for that news coming out to you like that,’ I say, getting up and walking towards him. ‘It was my fault not Jessica’s. I told her earlier today that your mum was considering this course of action. It was wrong of me to do that. It’s been a difficult time for me too, it was just an error, I hope you won’t keep it in your heart that Francesca talks about you and your mum behind your back because I don’t do that.’ I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘Sorry again, I’m just not myself since Donald died, I’m just not.’
He pauses and I wonder how he’s going to react – but then he touches my hand with his and looks down at me.
‘It was only yesterday so the news would have come out soon enough,’ he says. ‘She likes spending time here so I can understand you talk about these kind of things. Don’t worry about it, there’ll never be any problem between us.’ He embraces me and then looks across at Jessica. ‘But as for madam over there. I’m not sure I can forgive her unless she downs eight bevies tonight at the pub so she can keep us afloat.’
‘Eight? That’s nothing, you should be talking about a dirty dozen.’
‘Come on then, get your coat…’
‘Too warm, don’t need it.’
Jessica looks at me and I shake my head.
‘I’m too tired, Jessica, you go…’
‘Not without you.’
William looks at me. ‘When was the last time you had a drink in a pub?’
‘Must be at least 15 years ago. It was one of Donald’s friends in Amersham. It was a quiz night, I think. After that we only went out occasionally to restaurants or the theatre.’
‘Come on then, it’ll do you good. I don’t start work for a couple of hours so if you want to come back home immediately I’ll drop you off. You don’t have to stay long.’
I look at Jessica and I can tell she’s desperate for me to say ‘yes’. Have they got something going on that I should know about?
‘Okay, just a quick one then,’ I say, walking towards the TV to switch it off. ‘We’ve got work tomorrow so we need to keep things in check.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure I keep an eye on both of your fitness levels with my barman’s beady eye app.’
‘WHAT!’ says Jessica. ‘Sounds pervy!’
‘No, it’s an idea I’ve got for an app: barman’s beady eye. You have built-in sensors so you can smell where the areas of high toxicity are. You can step in before things get ugly. I suppose it’s like having a policeman patrolling the heavy drinkers in the pub.’
‘Good luck with that,’ says Jessica. ‘I’ll stick with my favourites…’
I walk towards the cabinet and take out my purse.
‘Don’t worry about that, Frannie,’ says William, tapping his bulging t
rouser pocket. ‘It’s Mum’s round…’
The Beaconsfield pub fills up steadily throughout the evening. I take an eternity to get through a single glass of vodka and blackcurrant. Jessica is on her third bottle of Stella Artois. Two big screens are positioned either side of the bar area – and a huge Union flag is draped right across the top, hanging down so much that, at times, it flicks the top of the bald landlord’s head. He doesn’t seem to mind though as the drinks are flowing and the mood is upbeat. The action from the Velodrome is creating a raucous atmosphere in the pub which, strangely, I do not find threatening or intimidating. It’s celebratory rather than aggressive. This may be down to Victoria Pendleton winning gold (after her disqualification yesterday) which has created the sort of emotional hush in a pub I’ve never seen before. Andy Murray also wins and reaches the final where he’ll meet Roger Federer. Can he get his revenge for the defeat at Wimbledon? Jessica is convinced he will because Federer’s ‘knackered’ after his epic semi-final (she’s told me this four times today already). William joins us before starting his shift. He has a huge glass of lemonade in his hand and sits down next to Jessica.
‘Do you want me to pour some Stella into your glass?’ she says, lifting her bottle towards William’s glass. ‘Might help you get through your shift?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ he says, putting his hand over the glass. ‘Duty calls and all that. I’ve only got 15 minutes until I start.’
‘What’s your boss like?’
‘Bryan? Bit of a worrier really. If it’s not the takings he’s worried about, it’s the stock or the temperature of the drinks. He does care about the staff though. He likes taking us on free trips to breweries or beer festivals but we don’t always take them up. It’s the way he drives in his Proton that really concerns us. He’s a maniac.’
Jessica strokes her beer bottle with her finger. ‘I really am sorry for mentioning that thing with your parents. I know how hard that can be. All that aggravation.’
‘I’ve put it out of my mind really. Mum’ll tell me soon enough, I’m sure.’ He turns to me and smiles. ‘So how are you enjoying it, Frannie? Not complete monsters in here, are we?’
Seventeen Gifts for Frannie and Jess Page 13
