Whatever Love Is

by Rosie Ruston

  ‘Dad, Mia has a right to know what’s going on,’ Jemma said. ‘You can’t just leave her out.’

  ‘Leave her out? You talk as if I am depriving her of a trip to the opera!’ Her father snorted. ‘For the time being, the story is this: James failed his exams and has only just owned up. The subject is now closed.’

  ‘Ned? Are you OK?’

  Unable to forget the look of misery on Ned’s face after his father had slammed the door shut and headed off down the drive in his new Porsche, and desperate to share her news, Frankie had spent half an hour searching for him. She also wanted to make sure he hadn’t forgotten that he’d promised to take her out for driving practice in Tina’s hatchback as soon as he got home. With her test only a couple of weeks away, she needed all the practice she could get.

  She found him slumped in one of the faded wicker chairs in the summerhouse at the far end of the garden, headphones in his ears. Seeing her, he switched his iPod off and managed a half-hearted smile. ‘I just needed some space,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘I feel so guilty.’

  ‘Guilty? What have you got to feel guilty about? None of that mess was your fault.’

  Ned sighed. ‘No, but James will be swanning off to Mexico, debts all cleared and his life pretty much as it’s always been.’

  ‘He’s been chucked out of uni, and your dad’s really mad with him.’

  ‘Like James really cares,’ Ned said, with more bitterness in his voice than she had ever heard before. ‘All he wants to do is music anyway. But thanks to him, all my plans have been scuppered before they started. And I feel guilty for caring so much.’

  Frankie sat down on the floor beside him and frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  Ned glanced down at her, then put his head in his hands. ‘This mustn’t go any further,’ he said eventually, ‘but I have to talk to someone and you’re the only one who might just possibly get it.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Ned stood up and began to pace up and down on the bare floorboards. ‘I’d been meaning to tell Dad that I wanted to switch courses at uni,’ he confessed. ‘I’d steeled myself for the row that I knew would follow but I was – I am – so sure it’s the right thing for me that I felt he would come round to it in the end. But now —’

  ‘Hang on,’ Frankie butted in. ‘Just because James has messed up, it doesn’t mean you can’t do what you want.’

  ‘But don’t you see, it does!’ Ned sighed. ‘If I start a new course now, Dad’ll hit the roof; you know what a stickler he is for “seeing things through to the end” and all that. Plus I’ll have to get a student loan because no way will Dad fund me when he hears what it is I want to do.’ He shook his head and sighed. ‘I guess I’ll just have to knuckle down, to use Dad’s phrase, and finish the course.’ He picked up his iPod and walked towards the door.

  ‘No, wait!’ Frankie grabbed his arm. ‘You told me that if you have a dream and don’t follow it, that’s like wasting a God-given opportunity, remember? When everyone was saying I should spend less time writing and more time working on my maths and science, you said —’

  ‘That’s different, Frankie.’

  ‘No it’s not! I listened to you and because of that I’ve won the competition and —’

  She stopped in mid-sentence, never having intended to blurt out her news like that.

  ‘Won? The Writers of Tomorrow thing? Frankie, why didn’t you say? There was me going on and on about my own stuff and – oh, this is wonderful!’

  He grabbed her, gave her a bear hug and spun her round till she felt dizzy.

  ‘Stop it!’ She laughed in delight. ‘I’ve just phoned them. I’ve got to go and have my photo taken receiving the prize.’

  ‘Cool – what have you won?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later. But stop trying to change the subject,’ she said. ‘What do you really want to do?’

  ‘You won’t laugh?’

  ‘Have I ever?’

  ‘OK.’ He nodded, jumping down the steps from the summerhouse onto the flagstone path. ‘I want to be a social worker. I’ve thought about it for months, and this last couple of weeks with the kids from Bradford – well, it just made me all the more sure this is what I was meant to do.’

  ‘Won’t the degree you’re already doing be enough?’

  ‘I’d still have to do loads more training and anyway – oh, Frankie, I hate it! If I had known how deadly dull business and management was I would never have enrolled. The more I study, the more I realise it’s just not me. I’m not interested in takeovers and market share and all that stuff. I want to work with kids.’

  ‘Like the ones that you took to camp?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘Yes! Making a difference for kids who’ve had a lousy start in life is a lot more important than marketing next season’s must-have coat! That’s what I want to do – make a difference.’

  For the first time that day his face lit up, his features came alive and his words were filled with passion.

  ‘When you talk like that, I love you even more – oh! I mean, I love to hear all about your plans. You should go for it.’

  She bent down and feigned huge interest in a snail on the path as she felt the colour rush to her cheeks.

  ‘You really think so?’ To her relief Ned appeared not to have noticed her near blunder. ‘I wouldn’t have to leave Durham – they do a BA in social work and I’ve been checking it out with some guys who are on it and it’s just amazing! Frankie, it’s just so what I dream of doing.’ His face suddenly clouded. ‘But Dad . . . Now there’s all this trouble with James . . .’

  Frankie touched his arm. ‘I know it’s really good of him to clear the debt, but let’s face it, he does have loads of money.’

  ‘Not half as much as you’d think by the way we live,’ Ned sighed. ‘Most of it gets reinvested so he can expand his empire – and anyway, it’s not really about the money. He’s so set on one of us getting involved in the business and since it’s not going to be James, and the girls have made it abundantly clear that they’d rather have root canal work, he’ll be focusing all his hopes on me.’ He bit his lip. ‘But you’re right. I should bite the bullet and talk to him. Not yet though. Not till he’s back from Mexico. If everything goes well out there, and if he gets loads of positive publicity from this award, he’s bound to be in a better mood.’

  He put a hand on Frankie’s shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ he said, touching her cheek. ‘What would I do without you?’

  Frankie’s heart lifted and she held her breath as he turned to face her.

  ‘You’re a better sister to me than either of my real ones. Which reminds me – you are coming to Nick’s party, aren’t you?’

  Frankie nodded, swallowing her disappointment that the hoped-for kiss hadn’t been forthcoming.

  ‘And you’re still mates with Poppy Grant, right?’

  ‘Sure – why?’

  ‘Well, there’s this girl. I met her briefly a few weeks back at a party that James dragged me along to because the band was playing there. She was lovely. Anyway, you won’t believe this, but it turned out she’s Poppy’s stepsister and she just sent me a text to say that she’s coming to —’

  ‘To stay with the Grants, her and her brother.’

  ‘You know? Poppy told you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Frankie replied flatly. ‘And yes, they’re going to Nick’s on Saturday.’

  Fate, she thought, could be very cruel.

  ‘That’s great, because then you can find out just how things stand with Alice. You know, whether she’s got anybody or not. It’ll come better from you. I don’t want to make a fool of myself by coming on strong and then finding she’s in a relationship.’

  ‘You don’t need me, you could always just ask Poppy,’ she countered curtly, her heart sinking for the third time that day. She kept her eyes focused on the ground, fearing that if she looked up at him he’d see her tears.

  ‘What?’ Ned laughed. ‘And have it round the entire county that I fanc
y Alice Crawford? I don’t think so. You I can trust. Now come on, let me see this prize-winning story. I can’t wait to read it.’

  ‘Later.’ Frankie managed to stifle a sob as she turned go inside the house. ‘I’m not in the mood right now.’

  CHAPTER 4

  ‘Family squabbling

  is the greatest evil of all . . .’

  (Jane Austen, Mansfield Park)

  FRANKIE WOKE ON SATURDAY MORNING TO THE SOUND OF doors slamming and voices raised.

  ‘You can’t boss me about like this, Dad! I’m twenty-two for God’s sake,’ James was yelling.

  ‘With the social conscience of a six year old,’ his father stormed. ‘Now for the last time, pack a case and be downstairs in half an hour. Or consider yourself responsible for your own debts.’

  Frankie glanced at her bedside clock. It was only six-fifteen; something serious must have happened for her uncle to be up this early on a Saturday. Shrugging her arms into her bathrobe, she opened the door and ventured downstairs.

  From the kitchen she could hear Tina in full flood. ‘Thomas, you can’t go to Mexico now – what about the award? The press will be phoning.’

  ‘And I’ll talk to them – that’s what iPhones were invented for,’ he replied sarcastically. ‘Just make sure you pick up all today’s newspapers and all of Sunday’s too, OK?’

  ‘Yes, but what about the Rushworths’ party tonight? I can’t go on my own.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, of course you can. The kids will be there, Nerys is going – you don’t need me.’

  ‘What will people think? You’re Nick’s godfather! And besides, you promised to drive me to London on Monday to see my new therapist.‘

  ‘Tina, can’t you get it into your head that the manufacture of my entire range of next spring’s Zeppelin label is rather more important than a visit to a quack waving a few crystals over your stomach,’ Thomas replied wearily. ‘The trouble in Tehuacan has worsened over the past twenty-four hours and I need to get there asap.’

  Frankie was heading back to her room, having decided that keeping out of the way was the safest option, when Jemma appeared at the top of the stairs, rubbing her eyes and yawning. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Your dad has to go to Mexico right away,’ Frankie said.

  ‘What? Like today? He so can’t do that.’ Suddenly she appeared wide awake, a look of genuine horror on her face.

  ‘Judging by the suitcase in the hall, he can and he is,’ Frankie replied.

  ‘Don’t see why you’re surprised, Jem – surely you know by now that our dear father always does what he wants when he wants.’ James chucked a holdall out of his bedroom door and kicked it viciously across the landing.

  ‘He’s just bailed you out,’ Frankie reasoned. ‘He didn’t have to do that.’

  ‘He did it to save his own face.’ James shut his bedroom door and gave the holdall another, rather more feeble, kick. ‘But yes, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been an idiot and of course I’m grateful. It’s just that I’m gutted to miss the festival – I feel like I’ve let the other guys down big time.’ He rubbed a hand over his eyes. ‘We’ve worked so hard to get this far with the band, and so much hangs on this ENT gig. Besides, I’ve no interest in going to Mexico, or anywhere else remotely connected with his business for that matter.’

  ‘James? James! The taxi’s here. Get down now!’ Thomas stood at the foot of the stairs, glaring at his son.

  ‘Dad, you can’t go today – can’t it wait till after the weekend?’ Jemma cried, her mules flapping on the stairs as she ran towards him. ‘Tonight’s really important.’

  ‘When will this family get it into their heads that nothing – I repeat, nothing – is more important than making a success of the business? Nothing.’

  ‘And that,’ muttered James as he picked up his holdall and stomped down the stairs, ‘says it all.’

  Are you there? Have you pulled someone? I need details – now! Lulu xx

  Yes. No. Later. Frankie smiled to herself as she hit send knowing that her reply would make Lulu even more impatient. She might have been tempted to say more – how Southerton Grange made the Bertrams’ seven-bedroomed house look like a country cottage and how there appeared to be a contest between all the girls at the party as to who could show the most cleavage – but right now she had more important things to focus on than satisfying Lulu’s appetite for gossip.

  When they had first arrived, later than they intended after fielding phone calls from newspaper and TV editors who couldn’t reach Thomas on his mobile (‘He’s in midair en route to Mexico,’ Ned had told them repeatedly), she had been so overwhelmed by the sheer over-the-top extravagance of the spectacle that Nick’s doting parents had laid on for their only son’s twenty-first birthday that all thoughts of Ned’s reason for being there in the first place were temporarily forgotten.

  ‘However much must all this have cost?’ she had murmured to Ned, gazing at the lavishly decorated entrance hall, complete with palm trees, fairy lights and an old-fashioned barrel organ; at the mini funfair in the front garden complete with coconut shies and a carousel and, spotted through the floor to ceiling windows of the dining room, the tables groaning with food, ice sculptures and three chocolate fountains (which Jemma, who was doing a catering course, assured her were very last year and bordering on chavvy).

  ‘Enough to fund at least a dozen kids to go on an adventure camp for a week,’ Ned had muttered back. ‘The Rushworths never did do understated. But we’re here, so we might as well enjoy it.’

  Entering the huge drawing room, Frankie felt all the old shyness and insecurity flood back. While Jemma and Ned seemed perfectly at ease with the air kissing and ‘Darling, how lovely to see you again’s, Frankie was acutely conscious that she was only there because it would have been rude to leave her out. Verity Rushworth, a large (the upper classes are never described as obese) woman with pudgy fingers adorned with huge diamonds, said all the right things but made no eye contact. Her husband, Seamus, who wore the expression of a man who knows that the six hours stretching ahead of him will cost three times as much as he imagined, called her Freya and squeezed her hand too hard and for too long. As for Nick, the birthday boy onto whose arm Mia was clinging like a limpet in a rough sea, he looked as he always did – like an overexcited ten year old who has found himself in the middle of Disneyland and doesn’t know where to start having fun first.

  Frankie knew before he opened his mouth what he would say.

  ‘Hello, Frankie – some do this, isn’t it? The parents have really gone to town. Well, not actually to town of course, because they’re here but . . .’

  She smiled wanly, wished him a very happy birthday and, not for the first time, wondered how it was that someone could be on the planet for twenty-one years and still be so vacuous.

  It was as they made their way through the double doors into the vast open-sided marquee in the back garden, that Frankie became conscious of Ned’s eyes scanning the clusters of guests who were sipping their Bellinis and trying to look as if they weren’t desperate to catch the attention of the photographer.

  ‘I can’t see . . .’ he began, but broke off as Mia and Nick, arm in arm, came over to them.

  ‘Hey, Ned, where’s Dad? We’ve been looking for him everywhere.’

  ‘Ah,’ Ned said. ‘I guess you haven’t heard then.’

  Mia had stayed overnight at the Rushworths, putting her event management course to good use.

  ‘He had an emergency call,’ Ned explained and filled her in on the details.

  ‘What? You mean he’s not coming? That’ll ruin everything.’ Mia looked genuinely crestfallen.

  ‘No it won’t, babe,’ Nick assured her, giving her shoulder a squeeze. ‘Tell you what.’ He leant forward and began whispering in her ear.

  ‘OK, then!’ Mia brightened visibly. ‘Ned, over here! We need to tell you something.’

  ‘Can’t it wait?’ Ned replied, his eyes still scanning the room.r />
  ‘It so can’t,’ Mia said, a grin like a Cheshire cat’s spreading across her face.

  ‘Major urgency, no can put on hold!’ Nick cried. ‘Whole evening hangs on this moment! Follow me!’

  With that, Nick strode through the marquee and out into the garden, Mia clinging devotedly to his arm – although it did occur to Frankie that she might simply be using him for support as her five-inch heels struggled to cope with the coconut matting.

  Ned sighed. ‘That guy gets more stupid by the day. I just don’t get what Mia sees in him. But then again, I guess when you’re the sole heir to the Rushworth jewellery empire, it’s not your brain that girls notice.’

  He took Frankie’s hand, causing her heart to miss several beats, and led her further into the marquee. ‘There’s Poppy,’ he said eagerly, gesturing to the far side of the big tent. ‘I’ll go and listen to whatever nonsense Nick has to tell me, and you find out whether Alice is here. OK?’

  ‘Of course,’ Frankie muttered. And if she is, I might be seriously tempted to throttle her, she thought as she made her way past a couple of giggling girls and a guy who looked the spitting image of Robert Pattinson in one of his less believable roles.

  ‘Frankie! At last! I thought you’d never get here!’ Poppy sashayed over to her and slipped an arm through hers. ‘Is this cool or what? I’ve had three Bellinis already.’

  ‘I guessed,’ Frankie teased. ‘Listen, Alice and Henry – are they here?’

  ‘Aha!’ Poppy cried. ‘So you do like my plan after all! I told you that being on your own was overrated. I’ll get Henry – he’s yabbering on at Charlie.’

  ‘No,’ Frankie said. ‘It’s Alice I’m looking for. Ned thinks he knows her.’

  ‘Really? That’s so random! Come on, she’s over here, probably telling everyone how wonderful she is. I’ll introduce you.’