by Freya North
‘So I’m really pleased about Ruth.’ Peta paused. ‘Perhaps just consider whether it’s a good time for you to be throwing yourself into something so far away from so much that’s taking root around you here.’
‘Peta – you’re pissing me off,’ said Frankie. ‘I juggle, I multitask. I tell you something – Ruth’ll be far more encouraging about Scott than you. She’ll be happy for me.’
‘Have you spoken to him yet this morning?’ Peta asked, deciding not to parry her sister’s riposte.
‘Spoken to who?’ Annabel asked, coming into the kitchen to twiddle her aunt’s hair again. ‘Sam?’
‘Not yet,’ said Frankie.
An hour later, Peta waved them off and Frankie regarded her sister standing at the top of the elegant swoop of steps leading to her front door. She noted how Peta had pulled a chunky cardigan tight around herself though it wasn’t cold at all. It was as if the recent influx of female energy in her house had warmed her up and now, gone, there was a chill in there.
Off they drove, Frankie and Annabel, listening to The Archers together though they’d heard every episode already during the week. Her daughter dozed awhile, affording Frankie time to think about how good she felt; tired and high, replete with true memories of recent days and daydreaming about what was possible. Annabel woke at Swaffham when Frankie pulled in to Waitrose.
‘I wasn’t asleep, you know.’
‘You were snoring.’
‘Girls my age do not snore. Can I stay in the car?’
‘OK – I won’t be long.’
‘Can you buy me something yum? Something with icing?’
‘I just might.’
‘Oh – it’s Scott. You’ve just got a text message – from Scott.’ Annabel waved Frankie’s phone at her. ‘Shall I tell you what it says?’
‘That’s OK,’ Frankie said, aiming for nonchalance while grabbing her phone. As she left the car, she thought, why do I feel like I’ve been caught smoking? She wondered when she might tell her children and how would she couch it? How would she know when that time was right? How would they react? Icing. Something yummy with icing. Here you are my darlings, have this. And this and this.
In the queue, she read Scott’s message over and again.
This feels good. Scott x
See – he feels just like me.
Safe flight & speed the days. Frankie x
Back with her little family in their home. She regarded Sam, in a slump of gangly limbs watching TV because he told her he needed a break before doing homework. It wasn’t worth arguing about or pointing out that he’d been homework-free since yesterday. Annabel, still admiring her nails, tracing around her hand with a pencil on a blank piece of paper and scrabbling around the felt-pen pot to do some colouring-in. Both children slightly sticky from the iced buns they’d wolfed down.
Frankie looked around her home. Though there were times, still, when she felt unsettled in the house, more and more she felt comfortable here. She’d created such a home in one of her early books, then she’d worked hard and, years later, she’d been able to write it into reality. Selling up in London, putting everything she had, all the money, all the hope, into realizing a dream. How many people get to do that? So what that she couldn’t afford somewhere bigger, somewhere not so isolated, somewhere in one of the picturesque and hip locations not so far away? She loved the way her house facilitated family life: the downstairs had such flow – hallway to living room, kitchen to utility room, a back door into the garden – while upstairs it felt more intimate with the bedrooms in a hug around the landing. This house epitomized the dynamic of family – whether cuddled up together or carving a little space for oneself.
Standing there though, Frankie was aware of that odd smell again, which came out of nowhere like a chill gust on a perfectly warm day. Not really textbook damp – but certainly on the spectrum. But maybe it wasn’t worth stressing about and maybe she could live with the old blinds for another year. Perhaps a roll of draught excluder would be a perfectly good and quite literal stopgap until she could afford new windows. The clay-pamment tiles which floored the hallway weren’t to her taste but instead of letting them irk her, perhaps she’d just buy a rug. She trailed off into a daydream of Scott being here. Welcome to our home. This is where we eat, Scott, at this table I’ve had for ever – I sit here, Sam here and Annabel there. Oh, don’t worry about that window – it’s stuck like that. The loo is through there on the left – but careful with the doorknob. The damp smell? I don’t know what’s causing it but it doesn’t get any worse – it just is what it is. Look at our garden – next year we’re planning to grow veggies but this year we’re excited just to see what pops up. And beyond the garden and out over the fields, isn’t it amazing how you just know the sea is out there, though you can’t quite see it from here.
It made her feel happy. She really could envisage Scott here with them all, feeling at home. Comfortable over there on the sofa. Happy and content in the mundane. What’s for supper? Kids – are your school bags ready for the morning? Hey Frankie – go have a bath, I’ll tidy up. Scott, can you just –?
So easy to conjure.
But he’s boarding the plane. He’s doing so right now. He’s on his way home; he’s leaving.
Aaron glanced at Scott again. His friend was gazing out of the Cessna with a beatific smile on his face but Aaron sensed this wasn’t purely for heading home. At Squamish, he circled high over the mammoth domed granite monolith of Siám’ Smánit – Stawamus Chief – but despite the breathtaking views of the coastal mountains and Howe Sound, Scott just kept grinning to himself, seemingly oblivious to Aaron’s detour.
‘You had a good time?’ Aaron had already asked him this, after their trademark bear hug at Arrivals.
Scott answered him as if it was a fresh question. ‘Yep.’
Yep. The same answer as before. What the fuck kind of answer is yep anyways? Aaron smiled to himself. Old dog, he thought. You old dog, Scott Emerson. They were at 10,000 feet, high over Whistler, when he next spoke.
‘So what’s her name?’
‘Frankie.’
They continued on in affable silence until, a few minutes later, they were preparing to land at Pemberton. From up high, Scott could see his truck, gleaming, the only vehicle at the airfield. Aaron always returned it spotless after he’d borrowed it. Scott almost waved at it before silently calling himself an ass. He looked at his watch. It was three in the morning in the UK. He hadn’t slept on the plane, he hadn’t been able to concentrate on any of the in-flight entertainment. Stupendously hungry, however, he had eaten anything and everything on offer. Throughout the flight, melodies and lyrics had lurched around his brain like sudden turbulence; hard to steady and contain. Now, standing on the grass by the runway with his luggage beside him, the drifts of music came flooding through again. He was home, back at the heart of all he knew and all that he was. Emotions collided and he took lungfuls of air to steady himself. Gazing at Gravel Peak to his left, its staggered peaks like the armoured spine of a slumbering dinosaur so familiar to him, Scott asked himself now that I am here, was I really ever there?
He climbed into his truck, started the engine and made to drive off.
‘Tay!’ Aaron shouted, hammering on the door. ‘What the fuck, man!’
Scott had forgotten him.
Aaron jumped in beside him, muttering ‘Xetʹ’ under his breath.
‘What did you just call me?’ Scott asked.
‘Skunk cabbage,’ said Aaron.
Scott drove the 17 km home hardly noticing the route or that Aaron was talking about something or other that had happened. Out beyond the Ĺíĺwat reservation at Mount Currie and on to the D’Arcy road all the way home. In Scott’s driveway, Aaron’s clapped-out truck, dusty and dented. At the living-room window, paws on the sill, Buddy.
‘Thanks pal,’ Scott said, unloading his bags. ‘Thanks for meeting me in – again. For taking care of Buddy. Cleaning the truck.’
�
�Are you kidding?’ said Aaron. He was looking at Scott quizzically.
‘Oh – you want to come in?’
‘Are you kidding?’ Aaron laughed heartily. ‘Of course I’m coming in. I’m coming in, we’re having a beer, you’re talking about Frankie and I’m listening.’
While Scott took his bags upstairs and unpacked, shadowed in everything he did by a delighted Buddy, Aaron stepped out onto the back porch and called his wife. He knew he needn’t have whispered – the immense cedar logs from which Scott’s house was constructed gave ample soundproofing. Scott, Aaron realized, hadn’t slept on the plane, he was jet-lagged – and quite obviously in the thrall of this freak and unexpected situation of some chick in his life making him gurn and grin like a baby with wind.
When Rose heard the words couple of beers she was ready to fume – like Aaron hadn’t been gone most of the day already. But when her husband backed it up with Scott’s met a girl and he’s smiling, Rose’s indignation was replaced with curiosity. Her barrage of questions, however, was met with I don’t know, I couldn’t say, I’m not sure from her husband.
‘What did he say?’
‘That her name is Frankie.’
‘And that’s it? Scott’s got himself a sweetheart – ńeńxwa7 – and all you know is she’s called Frank?’
‘Frankie,’ said Aaron. ‘And yes, so far – that’s it.’
‘So you better drink your beer and find out more. But just a couple Aaron – and then you’re home.’
‘You kiss Tara and Johnny for me.’
‘You kiss them yourself when you’re back.’
Rose hung up and she thought, Scott – well well well well well.
Everything familiar, as he left it and as it should be. All his senses had been given a welcome home. The scents inside the house usually unnoticed now vivid; old woodsmoke, leather sofa, overripe apples he’d forgotten to throw before he left. The whir of his fridge which generally he didn’t hear now curiously audible. From every window, the view; startling even in the dusk; confrontational almost – as if to say, did you forget how immense and beautiful is the land in which you live? Buddy watched him, followed him, nudged his hand. Did you miss me, pal?
Scott changed into track pants and an old sweatshirt and came barefoot onto the porch, the sun-warmed boards under his feet while whispers of the coming night air trickled over the top of them. The sounds and smells of land and river and mountain, of cedar and fir, earth and grass, of the creatures that lived around and above.
‘Míxalh,’ Aaron said quietly. Scott followed his nod and located the black bear and they watched him lumbering peaceably just at the edge of his garden.
‘He’s a little guy.’
‘He is.’
They observed the bear until he’d ambled out of sight, then they chinked bottles and sat in the two Adirondak chairs, absent-mindedly picking at the flaking paint. Dusk was coming in quickly now, drapes and furls of darkness running like a silent river over everything, making outlines blur and volume diminish.
‘So her name is Frankie.’ Aaron gave great gravitas to the information. In his mind’s eye, he saw a woman tall as Scott, with yellow hair long and wavy, blue eyes and all dressed up nice. A handbag and high heels. When Scott passed his phone with photos to scroll through, Aaron was tickled by how wrong he’d been. Rose also would guess at a tall girl with the polite clothes and the long wavy yellow hair – that’s what she’d want to hear, like she knew what was best for Scott. She’s just a regular-looking girl, Aaron would have to tell Rose. She’s not big or too little, she’s not skinny or fat. She wears jeans. She wears dresses. She has brown hair and eyes to match and her face is happy.
‘Yes,’ said Scott. ‘Her name is Frankie.’
‘And what is Frankie like, then?’
‘Well, she seems a little shy until she laughs.’
Aaron considered this. ‘She made you laugh too?’
Scott nodded. ‘A lot.’
‘Did you sleep with her?’
Scott nodded again.
‘What’s there to love?’
Aaron’s bluntness didn’t offend Scott.
‘I felt something,’ Scott shrugged. ‘Something new. Attraction – a deeper connection. I like how she looks, I like the history she’s had and the life she’s living now. I like who she is.’
Rose will really like to hear this, Aaron thought. And then he thought Scott needs this after all this time.
‘You told your Jenna?’
‘Not yet.’ Just then Scott longed to see his daughter, his baby girl. He hadn’t even phoned to say he was home. ‘Jenna said she saw you – Buddy riding up front – windows down and music up,’ he said while he texted his daughter. ‘Only she couldn’t tell whether it was Springsteen or Bryan Adams.’
Aaron laughed. ‘It was Pearl Jam.’
Scott shook his head with fond exasperation at his daughter.
‘Why do you have to find the girl over there? In England?’ Aaron had his own exasperation and he whistled it at Scott, long and slow.
‘I didn’t go looking,’ Scott shrugged.
‘If you’d looked a little harder, you could have found a girl right here,’ said Aaron. ‘Years ago. So how did you find this one, then?’
‘I was a little lost.’
‘You’re the least lost guy I know.’
As Aaron drove home, he thought about all Scott had told him, he considered his expressions and his tone of voice – the playfulness and the passion, the sense of calm and happiness. Aaron thought to himself that’s that, Scott, that’s that. He went through and kissed his sleeping children, then he sat with his wife out back.
‘That’s that, Rose,’ he told her. ‘It’s Scott and Frankie – and that’s that.’
Scott tolerated Whistler village the way he might a producer whose work he respected but whose personality he didn’t much care for. These days, Scott just didn’t like busy and whatever the season, Whistler was always busy. However, catching sight of his daughter, watching her attend to a table of diners while he stood just out of her view, settled him. If the place was good for her, then he was OK with it. Jenna’s demeanour never changed – whether hanging just with her pa or a couple of friends, or at the beck and call of a crowd of fussy-eating strangers, she was the girl who blended calm with lively, always open and giving, smiling always smiling. That’s why she made such good tips as a waitress. That’s why her friends loved her. That’s why she was Scott’s best girl. And that’s why she’d be so popular at UBC when she started university in Vancouver in the fall. That’s why he loved her so, worried about her so – anyone hurts my little girl I’ll fucking kill them.
Jenna caught sight of her father and waved for him to come in, insisted he sat down and had something to eat, bounded into the kitchen and told the short-order chef hey! my pop’s here – can you do him something special? She knew when he was working he could forget to eat only to snack on stupid stuff at odd hours. She planned to cook for them tonight, make extra and put it in the freezer for him.
‘So how was England?’
Scott ate another few forkfuls of food, chewing thoughtfully. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘You know.’
‘Does the score sound amazing?’
‘It’s sounding pretty good. Paul Broucek was there. He says hi.’
Suddenly, Scott remembered Jenna when she was little, coming down at night in her PJs to find him at the piano, how she’d clamber onto his lap, cosy between his arms while he worked. She’d fall asleep and he’d carry her up to bed. He’d work on into the small hours and she’d wake him in the morning. School – you have to take me to school, Dad! And she’d make him toast and feed the dog and get her bags ready, all the while humming, note for note, what he’d been working on the night before.
‘Jenna,’ he said. ‘While I was away –’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Dad – stop worrying – nothing happened. I was fine. I swear.’
He didn’t mean that, he wasn’t refer
ring to her. For the first time in twenty years, another girl had snuck in front of Jenna.
On the way home, they stopped in Pemberton and took Buddy for a walk along the Ryan river then mooched back into the village for iced coffee, happy to chat to various people many of whom said Scott! where you been? Jenna! they said, your old pa’s becoming a hermit these days. While Jenna shopped for food, Scott sat outside. Mount Currie sedate and awe-inspiring in front of him while next to him a hobo pushed a shopping cart half-filled with scavenged aluminum cans. He gave the guy five bucks and wished him well. The yin and yang of where he lived. Over the road, mountain bikers emerged from the Blackbird Bakery before taking to the hills and a couple of school kids assumed they were having an illicit cigarette unseen. A horse and rider clopped past, a delivery truck clanged to a standstill outside the pharmacy.
‘Yoo hoo!’ Valerie Megeney waved and came over. ‘Hey stranger – how’s it going with Jonah and the band?’
‘They’re pretty good, you know.’
‘Will we hear them any time soon?’
‘If they work on their songs, I’ve promised them a spot at the Pony perhaps next month.’
‘And how’s Jenna doing?’
‘She’s over there – in the store. She’s doing OK – you know – but no change really. She has the usual tests in a couple of weeks – we have our meeting with her consultant.’
‘I was reading about a new operation they can do – I have it at home. I’ll send it to you.’
‘Thank you.’ He’d read the piece already, of course. It was unlikely to be appropriate for Jenna’s type of epilepsy but he accepted the information graciously. There was a lot of love in the village for Jenna and a ready support network for him, should he choose to take it.
‘Well, it’s great to see you – say hi from me to Aaron and Rose when you see them.’
As they drove home, Jenna turned to her father and patted his face.
‘You’re going to turn into Grizzly Adams,’ she laughed. ‘And I don’t mean this,’ she emphasized, stroking his beard. ‘You mustn’t become too self-sufficient in your old age, Pa.’