Whatever Love Is

by Rosie Ruston

  Jon grinned. ‘Is that an invitation?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘Great!’ he said, dropping his voice. ‘Bring it on!’

  Witnessing this hot-bed of flirtation and fun made Frankie wish, not for the first time, that she was less inhibited, that she had come on to Ned a bit more before Alice got her clutches on him.

  But she knew it would never happen.

  ‘What do you make of Henry?’ Nick whispered to her as they queued for burgers later on. ‘I can’t stand him but Mia seems to . . .’ He hesitated. ‘But then, she gets on with everyone, doesn’t she? It doesn’t mean anything.’ He looked at her, desperate for confirmation.

  ‘She adores you,’ Frankie cut in quickly. ‘She’s just having fun, I guess – and you know Lulu has been handing out vodka and God knows what else. Have you had some?’

  Nick looked embarrassed. ‘A bit,’ he acknowledged, ‘but I’m not good with drink and so I chucked most of it away. You know something? I drank sparkling elderflower instead of champagne at my own party.’ He pulled a face. ‘Don’t say anything – people will think I’m a party pooper – but drink just makes me feel sick.’

  ‘My lips are sealed,’ Frankie said, smiling. ‘Just go and make a fuss of Mia and tell Henry to get his fun elsewhere.’

  For the rest of the evening, the band were on a high. People kept stopping to congratulate them and a couple of guys from the local radio station did an impromptu interview with Jon. After that, Jon and Jemma hung out together and although Frankie tagged along for a while, she soon got fed up of being a spare part and wandered off on her own. Around ten o’clock, she bumped into Poppy and Charlie Maddox.

  ‘Wanna come to the Cowshed?’ Poppy asked. ‘There’s a rave going on.’

  Frankie shook her head. ‘I’m just off to meet someone,’ she lied.

  ‘Hey! Who?’

  Frankie gave her what she hoped was an enigmatic smile and pushed her way through the crowds. She’d had enough. The place was swarming with couples, arms linked, laughing and joking, or with groups of people, swigging lager and dancing without a care in the world.

  She just didn’t fit in. She was going to go home.

  On the way she bumped into Nick, standing by the comedy arena entrance and looking bewildered.

  ‘Have you seen Mia?’ he asked. ‘She went to the ladies ages ago and told me to wait here.’

  Frankie shook her head. ‘The queue is massive, though,’ she said. ‘She’ll be back any minute, I’m sure.’

  ‘You going to stay and watch?’ he asked, and she thought she detected a note of hope in his voice. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’ He nodded towards the bar.

  She shook her head. ‘Sorry, but I’m exhausted,’ she told him. ‘Enjoy!’

  She was almost at the exit gate when she realised that she had left her camera in the changing tent. She’d given it to Jon to take out the memory card; and then in all the excitement, she’d forgotten to pick it up. Now that the New Talent acts had finished, the flaps of the tent were closed and she was worried that her camera might have ended up in Lost Property, which was way over the other side of the site. Worse still, it might have been stolen. She loosened the ties and pulled back the tent flap.

  ‘Oh!’

  The cry escaped her lips before she could control herself. Standing in the far corner of the tent were Henry and Mia. Henry’s hands were inside the back of Mia’s shorts, Mia was moaning softly and their lips were locked in a passionate kiss. At the sound of Frankie’s voice, they leapt apart and stared at her, Mia’s face blanching with shock, Henry looking angry rather than ashamed.

  For a moment, Frankie stood frozen to the spot.

  ‘I . . . We . . . It’s not how it looks,’ Mia stammered.

  Frankie stared at her. ‘Nick’s standing out there in the rain waiting for you,’ she said curtly. ‘You are unbelievable!’ She turned and marched out of the tent.

  ‘Frankie, wait!’

  For once, she didn’t do as she was told. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and those two as she possibly could.

  She was almost at the back entrance to Park House, the rain getting heavier by the minute, when Henry caught up with her and grabbed her arm.

  ‘Let go of me!’ she snapped, trying to shake him off.

  ‘No, please, wait. You forgot this.’ He shoved her camera into her hand.

  ‘Thanks,’ she snapped, and shook his arm away.

  ‘Listen, you’ve got it all wrong – what you saw back there – it wasn’t what it seemed.’

  ‘I know what I saw.’

  ‘Please,’ Henry said. ‘At least hear me out!’ He pulled her under an overhanging tree that gave a bit of shelter from the downpour.

  ‘How could you do that to Nick?’ she demanded.

  ‘How could I do that?’ he countered. ‘Mia came on to me – and I mean big time.’

  ‘Well, it didn’t look like you were fighting her off,’ Frankie said.

  Henry held his hands up. ‘I admit that for just a second or two, I did respond. I mean, what guy wouldn’t? Mia’s a gorgeous girl. But you have to believe me, it was only a knee-jerk reaction. Why would I go after someone who’s already engaged, especially when I’m in love with someone else?’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.’ Poor her, she thought.

  ‘I didn’t say I had,’ he corrected her. ‘I said I was in love with someone else. She’s standing beside me right now.’

  It took a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in and when they did, she stepped back in horror.

  ‘Are you saying . . . ? What are you talking about? You can’t —’

  ‘Oh yes I can.’ He took her hand and held it so tightly that she couldn’t snatch it away. ‘That day when I lost my books and you chased after me with them – that’s when it started. Ask Alice. I never made a secret of it.’

  Frankie’s mind flashed back to Alice’s words days before. ‘He likes you, he told me so. What’s more, I happen to know he told one of his mates that you were cute and have got a lot of untapped potential.’

  ‘I don’t . . . I mean, I can’t . . . I’m not . . .’

  ‘Hey, it’s OK!’ Suddenly his hands were on her shoulders and he was pulling her towards him. ‘Loosen up – you don’t have to play hard to get any more.’

  ‘You arrogant —’ she began, but he pressed his fingers to her lips, pulled her hard against him and began kissing her. Instinctively, she tried to pull away but as his lips met hers, his grip on her tightened and suddenly, against everything that her head was telling her, she felt herself melting into the moment. He tasted of salt mixed with candy cane, a taste that took her back at once to the end of Brighton Pier where as a child she saved up her pocket money for popcorn and sweets. His fingers threaded themselves through her sodden hair as he pushed her back against the trunk of the tree. Still kissing her, he ran one hand down her cheek and cupped her right breast in his hand.

  It was when his tongue prised her lips open that sanity returned and, using all her force, she wrenched her face away and shoved him as hard as she could.

  ‘Get off me!’ she shouted. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Just showing you how much I fancy you,’ he said calmly.

  ‘Well, tough, because I don’t fancy you!’ she snapped back as a flash of lightning followed almost at once by a crack of thunder made her flinch.

  ‘Oh come on,’ he pleaded. ‘I know you enjoyed kissing me.’

  ‘You arrogant —’

  ‘Is there someone else?’

  The question took her aback. What could she say? The truth would mean he would ask who it was, and a lie would give him false hope.

  ‘I thought not,’ he said with a grin. ‘So I’ll just have to be patient and prove that I mean what I say, won’t I?’ He kissed her cheek briefly. ‘I’d better go and check on Alice’s horse,’ he said. ‘He hates storms and by the look of Alice half an hour ago, she
’ll be in no fit state to do it herself. We’ll talk more tomorrow.’

  ‘We so won’t,’ she said.

  But he had gone.

  CHAPTER 9

  ‘You will do as I say!’

  (Jane Austen, Mansfield Park)

  FRANKIE SCOWLED AS SHE KICKED OFF HER MUD-COVERED boots, furious with herself not just for letting him kiss her, but for enjoying it as much as she had, if only for a second. But now, slinging her waterproof on the nearest hook and going through to the kitchen, she found herself imagining how Ned would hold her, how he would taste, how she would respond.

  She was searching in the fridge for a smoothie when she heard raised voices coming from the sitting room.

  ‘I am not remotely interested. I’ve got more important things on my mind!’

  It was her uncle – but he wasn’t due back for another week! Frankie pushed the kitchen door open and ventured into the hall in her bare feet.

  ‘But, Thomas, what will people think?’ Tina was sounding agitated in the extreme.

  ‘Frankly, anyone with half a brain will have more important things to worry about than the antics of a few empty-headed kids!’ he shouted.

  ‘But you didn’t see what they did.’

  In the background, Frankie could hear the signature tune for the late-night news. She edged nearer to the sitting-room door, which was open a chink.

  ‘It wasn’t Mia’s fault, of course,’ she heard Nerys say. ‘It’ll have been that Jon.’

  ‘For the last time, woman, will you be quiet!’ Thomas snapped. ‘I’ve had a hell of a couple of weeks dealing with things that actually matter and I come home wanting a bit of peace and quiet and all you can do is witter on about some trifling band.’

  ‘You won’t like it when the neighbours talk about your daughter stripping off on TV!’ Tina burst out angrily. ‘Don’t you get it? Topless on TV – our daughter!

  ‘Stupid, I agree, but —’

  ‘And what’s more, the wretched voiceover man said, “Among those letting their hair and other things down at M-Brace was Mia Bertram, daughter of Thomas Bertram, the clothing magnate”.’

  Frankie gasped. She reckoned Thomas would be mad beyond belief.

  ‘Are you telling me . . .?’

  Another violent clap of thunder drowned out his response and a second later, Frankie’s attention was diverted by the crashing of the back door followed by squeals of laughter.

  ‘So cook me up a storm, babes!’ she heard Jon say, his speech slightly slurred. ‘And I’m not talking pots and pans!’

  She dashed back into the kitchen, wrenching open the door to the laundry room. ‘Be quiet!’

  ‘Oooh look, it’s goody-goody Frankie!’ Jemma sneered. ‘Are we making a noise because we’re having fun? Keeping you from your beauty sleep? Not that it appears to be working!’ She giggled and then hiccupped.

  ‘I’m trying to help,’ Frankie snapped. ‘Your dad’s home.’

  ‘What? Now? Already?’

  ‘Yes, and your mum’s in a strop about the dance routine. It was on TV.’

  ‘It was? Well, it’s nothing to do with me. But Dad’ll be furious.’

  ‘Well, actually —’

  ‘On TV!’ Jon butted in. ‘That’s amazing! Hey, have you got a laptop? We can check it out.’

  The back door flew open again and the others, soaked to the skin and clearly, with the exception of Nick, the worse for drink, crashed into the kitchen. Ned was propping Alice up and looked as if he could do with help remaining vertical himself and Mia was being supported by Nick, who, judging by his tight-lipped expression, was using all his energy to keep calm. Lulu was gazing adoringly at James, who was singing some raunchy song at the top of his voice while brandishing a can of Red Bull in the air.

  And that was the moment when Thomas Bertram flung open the kitchen door and Mia vomited into the sink.

  Sleep was an impossibility. Frankie tossed and turned, pummelling her pillow, kicking off her duvet, switching her light on and then off, and still her mind wouldn’t calm down. Two images kept playing through her imagination like a video on repeat – Henry kissing Mia and Henry kissing her. The first made her angry on Nick’s behalf; the second brought up feelings and emotions of which she was both ashamed and embarrassed. Henry wasn’t to be trusted – that much was certain. So why did her body respond in this totally extraordinary and unknown way? Why did she want to cry every time she thought of Ned making Alice feel the way Henry, for just a few seconds, had made her feel?

  ‘Get a grip,’ she muttered to herself, hurling one of her pillows onto the floor and turning over for the tenth time. ‘Think about something else.’

  But no matter how hard she tried, memories of the previous few hours refused to go away.

  When her uncle had burst into the kitchen, his clothes dishevelled and travel-creased, everyone had looked horrified. He had taken in the scene, his lip curling in disgust.

  ‘You look like a slut,’ he’d snapped at Mia. ‘Those are Sylvie Costi shorts – I’d recognise her trash anywhere.’

  ‘That was my fault,’ Alice had said. ‘I suggested the costumes.’

  ‘And who the hell are you?’ Thomas had interrupted as Alice swayed gently against the larder door.

  ‘This is Alice Crawford, Dad,’ Ned had said proudly. ‘And this . . .’

  He turned as the back door opened and Henry, shaking droplets of water from his jacket, walked in. ‘Alice, your horse is going berserk, you had better sort him – Oh!’ He had stopped, catching sight of Thomas and summing up the situation in an instant. ‘You must be Thomas Bertram,’ he had said quickly, holding out his hand. ‘Henry Crawford – Charles Grant’s son. Alice and I are down for the summer. Congratulations, sir, on your award. Dad was telling me about it, and what a great friend you are to him.’

  Frankie had to admit that Henry could turn on the charm as easily as turning on a tap.

  ‘Well, yes, we go back a long way, the two of us,’ Thomas replied in a slightly calmer tone.

  Henry raised an eyebrow at Alice and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  ‘It was so good of you to let me keep my horse here,’ she’d said, right on cue. ‘And talking of Fling, I must go and make sure he’s not kicking your stable door to bits. Henry, will you come with me? You know how I hate storms.’

  With that they had both turned to leave, but not before Alice had surreptitiously puckered her lips and blown a kiss in Ned’s direction and Henry had brushed unnecessarily close to Frankie, touching her wrist with his fingertips.

  ‘I’ll be off too,’ Lulu had muttered.

  ‘I’ll walk you home,’ James had offered eagerly, taking her hand.

  ‘You will do no such thing,’ his father shouted. ‘I need to talk to you – now! In my study.’

  ‘No, Dad,’ James said firmly. ‘The days of you telling me what to do are over!’

  For a moment the two of them stared at one another and Frankie had noticed that Thomas’s hands were shaking.

  ‘How dare you . . .’ he began, but James and Lulu had gone, James slamming the door behind them.

  ‘I despair of the lot of you.’ Thomas opened the fridge door and poured himself a glass of white wine, threw it back in two gulps and refilled it.

  ‘Hey, Dad, don’t declude . . . include . . . me in shat . . . that. I didn’t do anything,’ Jemma protested. ‘I opted out of it all way back.’

  ‘A pity you didn’t opt out of getting paralytic,’ her father said. ‘Bed. Now.’ He paused. ‘And you?’ He looked directly at Jon who was edging closer to the door. ‘I don’t know you, do I?’

  Jon held out his hand. ‘Jon Yates,’ he said. ‘I’m a friend of James.’

  ‘I’m surprised he’s got any left,’ Thomas muttered. ‘So why are you here?’

  ‘I graduated a year ago, and I’m here because he’s my best mate and we go back a long way – prep school in fact. You presented me with the athletics cup, remember?’

  ‘
No,’ Thomas grunted. ‘Well, I guess you’d better get home too.’

  ‘Well, actually, James said I could stay over – if that’s all right with you, of course.’

  It occurred to Frankie that right now Jon had better manners than her uncle.

  Thomas had waved him away and Jon had tactfully left the room as Mia, groaning, dashed to the sink and threw up again.

  ‘I’ll take Mia to bed,’ Nick said helpfully. ‘Well, I mean – no, I didn’t mean I’ll take her to bed as in . . . I meant, I’ll help her upstairs and . . .’

  ‘Go home, Nick,’ Thomas had said wearily. ‘Mia can sort herself out.’

  ‘Home. Yes. Good idea. Right on. On my way.’ He ruffled Mia’s hair. ‘Sleep it off, Mimi-pops. Hasta la vista, as they say in Spain.’

  As Nick made for the door, knocking over a chair on his way, and Mia staggered up to bed, Thomas suddenly slumped down into a chair and rested his head in his hands.

  ‘Dad?’ Ned said anxiously. ‘Are you OK?’

  Thomas stared at him. ‘Not really,’ he said, all the energy gone from his voice. ‘You think you know someone . . .’

  ‘Mia didn’t mean any harm . . .’

  ‘Oh, I’m not talking about Mia. I’m talking about . . . life, I guess. What do we really know about people? What do we really know about goes on when our back is turned?’ He drained his glass and refilled it yet again.

  ‘Has something happened, Dad?’ Ned asked, glancing anxiously at the rapidly emptying bottle.

  ‘You mean aside from you letting your sister make a fool of herself?’

  ‘It wasn’t his fault,’ Frankie burst out. ‘He didn’t know what the girls were planning and anyway, he was just helping out playing the guitar.’

  Thomas turned and looked at her in surprise. It was as though he hadn’t realised she was there at all. ‘You didn’t get involved though, did you?’ he asked.

  ‘No, but . . .’

  ‘You didn’t dress like a slut or behave like some stupid floozy, did you?’

  Frankie said nothing.

  ‘And you respect me, don’t you? Well, don’t you?’ There was a pleading note in his voice.

  ‘Of course I do,’ she said.