‘So this is the famous Jessica,’ he says, looking at both of us with flitting, dancing eyes. ‘I thought there was only one – and we saw her on Saturday.’
‘I’m surprised you’re here, Lawrence,’ I say. ‘We are still working you know…’
‘So am I Francesca, I’m on an extremely late lunch break. We do have to work for our money, you know.’
‘Are you watching an event or have you just got an Olympic Park ticket?’
‘Tickets?’ he says, rather abruptly. ‘I’ve got those coming out of my arse. I’m not here for tickets or to watch any events, I want to know why this girl has twisted my boy’s thoughts so much that he wants to leave home and move to sheep shagger land up north. That’s what I want to know.’
‘Have you been drinking, Lawrence?’
‘Like father like son,’ he says, looking at Jessica. ‘Now are you going to answer my question or am I going to have to come down to Frannie’s house and have it out there? It’s your choice. Not only do I have to deal with Gillian’s impossible demands now I have my own son telling me I’m the cause of the family’s woes. What the hell have you been saying to him you arrogant girl?’
‘Now, Lawrence you’ve got to stop this. We can’t talk about this here. If you want to come to my house tonight, you’re very welcome. Jessica will be there and we can discuss this like reasonable adults.’
‘Living with you now, isn’t she? Seems to have got you all round her little finger. Do you know William is even saving up a deposit to put down on a house up there? The poor lad hasn’t got a pot to piss in – I must have poured nearly 20 grand into his education – and now he’s thinking of buying a house! Fucking charming. Thanks, old man.’ He pauses and wipes the side of his mouth. ‘How much are you putting in then, Jessica, on your wages? Got a job have you?’
‘I’m still a student.’
‘Ah, once the bloodsuckers of the state, now the destroyers of parents…’
‘Well, you paid for William’s education, you didn’t have to…’
‘I did because I thought the lazy bastard would get off his arse and get a proper job, make something of himself, get a career, not live at home like a spiv and drain the little resources we had left.’
‘I don’t think you should be calling your son a bastard, Lawrence,’ I say.
‘Why not? He’s my son I can call the little fucker what I want.’
‘I think you should treat your children better…’
‘What like you did? At least I’ve got a couple.’
‘Right, that’s enough,’ says Jessica, putting her hand on Lawrence’s shoulder. ‘Come on this way, sir…’
‘Don’t fucking touch me, you’re the cause of all this trouble anyway, not Francesca.’
‘I’ll call security if you don’t come this way…’
‘THEN FUCKING CALL THEM, I DON’T CARE! IT’S A PITY AL QAIDA DIDN’T COME AND BLOW THIS SHITHOLE APART AT THE BEGINNING!’
‘Lawrence, please don’t make a scene,’ I say. ‘Please come to the house tonight and we can talk about it.’
‘Not with this bitch there, you must be joking…’
‘I’m not a bitch…’
‘Well, that’s what William called you…’
‘He wouldn’t do that.’
‘You sure he wouldn’t have other girlfriends either? He’s got about three on the go right now, you’re just the sauce so don’t get too hopeful.’
‘Come on this way…’
‘NO!’ he says, shrugging Jessica off.
I put my hand on my forehead and pray matters don’t escalate. I see Eric and Sheena in the distance coming towards us, obviously concerned about what’s going on. Eric stops by my side and puts his hand on my shoulder.
‘Is everything okay here?’ says Eric. ‘Jessica? Is this man causing you trouble?’
‘No, he’s just about to leave,’ says Jessica.
Lawrence looks at me – and then glances at each volunteer in turn. Eric and Sheena fold their arms and look at him to make their feelings clear. The four of us have encircled him, but not in a deliberately intimidating way.
‘A volunteer army eh?’ he says, with a sarcastic laugh. ‘Pity you shoot blanks.’ He fastens his two top buttons and pulls his tie up. ‘I’m going, but this is a family matter and you extras sticking your oar in won’t do you any good. This is between Jessica and me. She needs to answer some serious questions – and those won’t go away.’ He nods and eases his finger right across his lips. He then slowly begins to trudge off. Without looking back he sticks two fingers up over his shoulder.
‘Charming,’ says Sheena. ‘Bloody hell, Jessica, what did you do to him? Kill his son or something?’
Jessica smiles and looks at me. ‘That’s one way of putting it…’
Jessica apologises to me during dinner but I say it isn’t necessary. She spends most of the rest of the evening up in the bedroom, listening to music (not too loud) and ironing her washed clothes. I can tell the incident with Lawrence has shaken her up. She’s not initiating or prolonging conversations and I judge it’s better to let her have some peace for the evening. I go downstairs and catch up on some Olympic highlights. There’s another gold for Britain in the Velodrome (Jason Kenny in the Men’s Sprint) and there’s also a bronze for gymnast Beth Tweddle who makes my heart melt as soon as she smiles. Dai Greene can’t quite get into the medal positions in the 400 metre hurdles and Usain Bolt finally stands on the podium for the gold medal he won in the 100 metres final. I don’t think Jessica’s quite in the mood to be dancing around the living room like she was last night. After the highlights, I realise I have a bit of a sore throat (probably from the stress of having to raise my voice this afternoon) and make myself a glass of warm milk with honey. I take it back into the living room and then pick up Gillian’s book again in an effort to finish it. About an hour later, I close the back cover and look up at the ceiling. What a wonderfully told story; evocative, truthful and utterly heartbreaking. I’d like to call Gillian immediately and tell her how good her book is but realise Jessica and I may have got too involved already. But why hasn’t she been back to the house since she told me about the divorce? William’s been here repeatedly and we’ve even seen Lawrence but no Gillian. Does she blame me (and Jessica) for escalating an already delicate situation? Have we destroyed any remote hope of reconciliation? It is strange how these negative thoughts come tumbling out after the kind of day we’ve had. Super Saturday suddenly seems a long time ago. I decide on an early night and go upstairs to my bedroom. On the landing, I can hear Jessica on the phone to someone. Is that the sound of crying or is she sniffing her nose? She does have a mild form of allergic rhinitis so it’s hard to tell sometimes. I walk past and head into my bedroom. I start getting changed but then I hear footsteps down the landing. There’s a knock on my bedroom door and then the door opens.
‘It’s Dad, he wants to speak to you?’ she says, handing me the mobile. ‘I can get him to call you tomorrow if you’re tired.’
‘No, I’ll take it,’ I say, taking the phone in my hand. ‘I think this is the earliest we’ve gone to bed since the Olympics started.’
She nods and walks out of the room. ‘I’ve started packing already…’
‘What?’
She leaves the room without responding. I ease the phone to my ear in a state of utter confusion.
‘Hello Simon…’
‘Yes, Frannie look, Jessica’s told me all about today. Do you want me to come down there and sort this Lawrence fella out? I’ve dealt with more than enough pissed-up blokes at the bookies to know I can handle an over-the-hill city boy with plenty to spare. I can be down tomorrow morning, no problem.’
‘Oh Simon, no, absolutely not, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Yes it’s true, we had a rough few minutes with Lawrence at the Olympic
Park but I know their family well and I don’t want things to get out of hand.’
‘I understand but he shouldn’t have talked to my daughter like that. She’s so upset about it that she wants to come home. She’s packing already even though I’ve asked her to take a deep breath and reconsider. She’s got good people around her like you and that Rob fella so I’ve told her to take stock for a while and don’t do anything hasty.’
‘I can’t believe she’s thinking of leaving, Simon, it’s not like her…’
‘She just thinks they’ve got the wrong end of the stick and if it’s causing too much aggro for you then it’s better she comes back home. She thinks she’s letting you down. She’s petrified of hurting you.’
‘She’s not hurting me,’ I say, trying to keep my head clear as the pace of events threaten to overwhelm me. ‘You need to talk her out of it. I want her to stay here and see our Olympic duty through, it’s our job. We can’t give in to thuggish behaviour.’
He sighs and hesitates. ‘I suppose I’ve been doing quite a lot of persuading in the last few days. Did Debbie tell you I got a new job? She said she spoke to you on the phone.’
‘Yes, some kind of sports firm online…’
‘It’s mainly advertising space I’m trying to sell. Lots of bullshitting and persuading people. Not sure I’ll last till the end of the year. But as least I’m pulling my weight. So what about this lad William? Would he pull his weight if he ever got a chance to see Jessica seriously?’
‘So they’re not actually seeing each other seriously yet?’
‘Not according to Jessica. She says they’re just friends.’
‘Hmm, look, I’ll talk to her and calm her down a bit. She’s just got worried about Lawrence that’s all. I know him a bit better than that. Him and Donald go back a long way. I know the type of flare-ups he has. He’ll probably come round and say sorry in a few days.’
‘Can’t handle the booze then? Is that his problem?’
‘Life in general, I think…’
‘Okay, I’ll leave it in your safe hands for now. If anything further develops then I want you to call me instantly. I do want her to stay there. She’s learning so much from you that she’d be a fool to leave now.’
‘Okay, I’m going into her bedroom now,’ I say, walking to the door. ‘Speak to you soon then. Bye.’
‘Hope you bring her some good luck. Goodbye, Frannie…’
I walk straight into Jessica’s bedroom, without knocking, and hand the mobile back to her. She is standing over her bed, filling her bag with clothes, with little method or enthusiasm.
‘Don’t you think this is a touch dramatic?’ I ask. ‘You’ve never been one to walk away so I don’t understand what’s brought this on.’
‘I’ve caused enough shit round here as it is. I don’t want to cause anymore.’
‘If Lawrence has made you act this way, then you should reconsider immediately. It’s his way. I mean, why do you think Gillian wants to divorce him? He has these problems from time to time.’
She glances up at me for the first time but doesn’t say anything immediately. She then stops packing and sits down on the bed, arms folded, eyes on the floor. ‘I just saw your face when he was swearing,’ she says. ‘I don’t ever want to see it like that again. It hurt me to see it that way, that’s all.’
‘I can take it, I’ve been on this earth a long time. I’ve seen a lot of things.’
She nods. ‘Maybe you can, but I can’t.’ She pauses and gets up again, to do more packing. ‘I remember going round to my Grandmother’s once in her council flat and she had a neighbour who liked having the music on so loud that it went through the walls into her house. She went round to complain and I tried to act as peacemaker but the neighbour was overly aggressive and the fear in my Gran’s eyes is still something that’s with me now. I understand people can have disputes and fights and all that – but when it comes to old people being put under pressure like that, something really hurts inside me. I just want to run away.’
I walk towards Jessica and sit down by her side. I put my arm round her and tilt my head so it rests on her shoulder.
‘So you think I’m old do you?’
She looks across at me and there is a long silence between us. She then breaks into laughter and shakes her head.
‘How can I leave this?’ she says, putting her arm round me. ‘You’re a match for anybody.’
‘Not you, of course…’
She stops laughing and looks at me.
‘Just promise me one thing…’
‘Yes…’
‘That’ll you’ll meet my Gran one day.’
‘As long as you stop making hasty decisions. I’m not sure my heart can take any more dramas during the Olympics.’
‘Done.’
She raises her hand for a high five. I smack her palm – and wonder what all the fuss was about.
DAY TWELVE
If there is a medal for Olympic mood swings, then I win with no silver or bronze in sight. I must have had a million fluctuations in less than a fortnight: from despair and bereavement to outright joy and sheer elation. And here is another one. I am standing with Jessica looking over the crowd watching the Park Live screen as the Brownlee brothers – Alistair and Jonathan – take part in the triathlon in Hyde Park. Jessica is a huge fan of the siblings (they are from Yorkshire after all) and she is cheering them on like one of the spectators. She tells me about the women’s triathlon that took place on Super Saturday and ended up in a dead heat. She points out, in metronomic detail, what they had to do and it makes me tired just listening to it: a 1500m swim, then a 40km bike ride and, finally, a 10km run; can they breathe after that? Yes, says Jessica, but they are shattered, which is not surprising. And all that just to end up in a dead heat? The two girls must have wanted to wring each other’s neck (if they had the power, that is). Jessica isn’t so amused by my conclusion. She takes this race very seriously.
Yet, as I watch the Brownlees come out of the water in their lime green swimming caps and get onto their bikes for their punishing bike ride, I have to admit I am fascinated and intrigued. I had never watched a second’s action of triathlon before yet here I was getting drawn into this curiously compelling, almost masochistic, event which seemed to revel in pushing humans to the limits of endurance. It was almost as if the organisers wanted to see if they could break an athlete’s will, torture them so much that they’ll beg to stop. No-one does, of course, and I imagine that some competitors wouldn’t mind if more segments were added to the event: like flying a plane, riding a speedboat or skydiving; they seem to be able to take anything.
As the race develops, the ridiculously large crowd in Hyde Park wave so many flags I keep thinking of strawberry and blueberry tarts with cream for some reason, as if our gluttonous, patriotic appetite needs constant supplies after years of hunger. But the Brownlees are doing well, right up with the leaders, although news filters through that Jonathan Brownlee may have suffered a 15-second penalty for mounting his bike too early after the swim. It doesn’t matter as the brothers, along with Spaniard Javier Gomez, break clear of the pack. But then Jonathan Brownlee has to take his 15-second penalty (standing still in a penalty box while the time is counted down) which allows his brother and Gomez to contest the lead. I watch these leaders in awe – how are they still standing after going through all that? Alistair Brownlee then breaks clear and is in the lead on his own. It looks like he’s going to bring in another gold for Britain. After one and three quarter hours of brutal competition, he looks over his shoulder and then grabs a Union flag from a cheering spectator. He comes into the home straight and puts it over his shoulders; the flag fluttering in the strong breeze. The joy on his face is remarkable; pleasure and pain wrapped up in one, an anguished elation that makes me proud but also giddily fatigued. He gets to the line and star
ts walking, touching the tape with his chest. He is Olympic champion! He falls to the floor in utter exhaustion. Jessica cheers and puts her arm round me. Gomez is second and Jonathan Brownlee third. As the cheers ring out in the Olympic Park, I still cannot believe what I have watched. It felt like an epic, biblical experience. A near-death event tackled by competitors who may as well be going out for a picnic. It’s too much for me – but it’s also had a completely unexpected effect: it’s made me into a convert. I can’t wait for the next triathlon. All life and death is here; no other event has made me feel this way.
Jessica is in much better spirits as we have lunch together in the canteen. It’s strange what an event completely unconnected to your life can do. She apologises to me (again) about her hasty decision to start packing last night. She repeats that it was actually nothing to do with Lawrence at all – but for my welfare. I tell her that she doesn’t need to go over what she’d already apologised for but I can tell she’s quite keyed up and talkative after the Brownlees’ brilliant performance this morning. She tells me about the history of triathlon and that it only became an Olympic event in the 2000 Games in Sydney. She also says that, along with hockey, it was an event that she did train for, vigorously, when she was a teenager. The real problem was trying to balance her studies with trying to keep up an intense sporting schedule. Something had to give – and it was the sport, although she says she has no regrets because high-level competition and stress is not for her. I find all this highly stimulating because I’m still trying to work Jessica out: her moods, her aspirations and, even, her family background. I feel I’m gradually beginning to understand her although her habit of surprising me from time to time is still a bit of a problem. This unpredictability feels unstable – yet it is precisely that which has brought me a modicum of peace and pleasure since the Olympics started.
Jessica continues to talk about where the Brownlees will compete next. I’d prefer it if she got back to domestic things and, in particular, her future with William. Does she have one? Or is that over? I try to wait for the right moment to pounce but, just when she takes a break from pouring out the sentences to take a drink of her orange juice, a man in uniform, with a hat under his arm, appears at the table. I’m so shocked I nearly spill my coffee with a nervous, stray hand.
Seventeen Gifts for Frannie and Jess Page 18
