The Turning Point

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The Turning Point Page 13

by Freya North


  ‘Are they just practising?’ Annabel asked, worried.

  ‘Yes,’ Frankie laughed.

  Brancaster was not as breathtaking as Holkham in so much as the beach wasn’t reached after a magical walk through pines and dunes, but the sand was just as soft, the light just as extraordinary, the sea just as far or near depending on the tide. Often, a little less crowded too.

  ‘Can I take my socks off?’ Annabel asked having done so already, her feet scrunched into the sand as if she was toeless.

  ‘Where are they? Where are your trainers?’

  ‘There!’ she pointed blithely at nowhere in particular.

  ‘I’d better take mine off too, then,’ said Sam, hopping about as he divested his feet of shoes and socks.

  ‘Am I carrying these?’ Frankie called after him.

  ‘You’re the mum,’ he laughed over his shoulder as he belted for the shore. ‘It’s your job!’

  She found Annabel’s a little way along and sunk herself down onto the sand with only her children’s shoes for company. I have a boyfriend, she told them, and his name is Scott. He’s important to me and I think you’ll really like each other. Jesus Christ I’m talking to shoes.

  Sam and Annabel flopped down beside her a little while later, asking after snacks and towels and cans of Coke when it was quite obvious that their mother, in only a T-shirt and jeans, had none.

  ‘Come on,’ she told them, ‘let’s walk on to where the beach curves and then we’ll have an early lunch at the Jolly. Or the Victoria. I don’t mind – you choose.’

  ‘I’m cool with the Jolly,’ Sam said and started chanting the jolly sailors the jolly sailors tunelessly as he strolled ahead, kicking sand.

  With her son’s shoes in one hand, her daughter’s in the other, Frankie listened contentedly to Sam singing and Annabel rabbiting on about something very involved about Harry and Hermione until she realized which Harry and which Hermione and then she joined in. Annabel loved it that her mother knew the Harry Potter books so well. And she loved that, although her brother had read them some time ago, it was a topic he was still happy to join in with.

  ‘You would have thought you’d have met JK by now,’ Annabel sighed. ‘With you doing the same job.’

  ‘Hardly the same job,’ said Sam. ‘Mum’s not a gazillionaire.’

  ‘I did meet Jay Kay once,’ Frankie told them, ‘but a different JK. He was the singer in a band called Jamiroquai who wore funky hats.’

  This barely registered on her children’s scale of cool.

  ‘And – also – I know someone who writes the music for films. For the movies.’

  Had they heard her?

  She filled her lungs with salty air. Should she repeat it? Elaborate?

  ‘Can we have a dog?’ Annabel asked, looking wistfully at the motley assortment gambolling about on the beach.

  Frankie looked around. Various breeds were bounding about but her attention was drawn to a brown Labrador having a good roll in the sand.

  ‘My friend has a dog called Buddy,’ she told her children. ‘The same friend who writes music for films.’

  ‘Dogs make walks feel – not so boring,’ said Annabel. ‘That’s why we should get one. I’d never moan about going for a walk if there was a dog.’

  ‘With or without a dog, this beach is an optical illusion,’ said Sam. ‘You think the end of the curve is so much nearer – then it all straightens out and there it is again, ages away.’

  Frankie bopped his bum gently with his shoes. ‘So, kids – I wanted to talk to you about something.’

  She didn’t see her children glancing at each other; she was looking intently at the beach as she walked, believing there to be as many words to choose from as there were pips of shale and grains of sand underfoot. I’ve met … There’s this chap … You know how I’ve been on my own for a while … So, guess what …

  ‘Frankie? Frankie!’

  Just ahead and walking towards her, waving and calling, was Ruth with her two children, husband and two black Labradors. Scott, Frankie realized with both disappointment and relief, would have to remain out of sight.

  A day for new friends. It was a table for seven that they nabbed at the Jolly Sailors a little later. Ruth’s children were in awe of Frankie’s who appeared to relish being regarded as supercool. Frankie was flattered to find Peter knew so much about her from Ruth.

  ‘Any news?’ Ruth said quietly when the kids were utterly focused on pizza.

  ‘Lots,’ Frankie told her. ‘Twice, maybe three times a day.’

  She passed Ruth her phone so she could see the photos.

  ‘Miss him?’

  ‘Desperately.’

  ‘Happy?’

  ‘Very. But fantastically frustrated.’

  ‘You need to plan, Frankie. You need to plan The Next Time.’

  ‘How do I do that?’

  ‘You look at your diary and he looks at his and you make the effort.’

  ‘It’s not like midway between us is somewhere like London or even bloody Baldock.’ She looked at Ruth and started giggling. ‘Actually, I’ve already checked. It’s somewhere called Pangnirtung. And the bizarre thing is – it’s in Canada.’

  Ruth considered this. ‘I guess you can hardly nip there and back in time for the school run. I had no idea Canada was so vast.’

  ‘Huge,’ said Frankie. ‘British Columbia alone is four times the size of Great Britain. And he lives right over that side.’ She gestured to her left and Ruth laughed and said what? in the Jolly’s car park?

  ‘We’ll get you there,’ Ruth said. ‘Let’s do wine one evening. See if there’s a short cut?’

  ‘I’d love that. I still don’t know local babysitters though.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Am I seeing you on Tuesday morning? For an Alexander session?’

  ‘Definitely,’ said Ruth. ‘And let’s do Thursday evening when we don’t have to watch what we say.’ She motioned to the children, to her husband and she winked at Frankie.

  I like you, thought Frankie. I really do.

  Driving back home, Frankie’s children agreed that Brancaster had been a good plan and that lunch had been so amazing they could have eaten it all over again.

  ‘Isn’t Ruth lovely?’ Frankie enthused. ‘We’re going out one evening. Probably Thursday.’

  ‘I heard,’ said Annabel. ‘For wine.’

  ‘That’s OK, though, isn’t it?’ said Frankie.

  ‘Is Ruth the friend, then?’ asked Annabel.

  ‘She is my friend, yes.’

  ‘The friend,’ said Annabel.

  ‘The friend,’ said Sam.

  Frankie glanced at them in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘The one you were talking about on the beach in your Important Voice,’ said Annabel and Frankie saw her daughter glance at Sam.

  ‘The friend that writes music for movies,’ said Sam, though he knew that Ruth taught something like Alexander’s Yoga.

  ‘With the dog – called Buddy,’ Annabel chipped in, though she knew the Ingrams’ dogs were Bessie and Alfie.

  The lane ahead twisted as though it kept changing its mind which way to go and the hedges were banked so high to either side they threatened to converge overhead. One needed to concentrate on a road like this, which could narrow to a single lane as suddenly as it could turn sharply with no warning. It was one of the reasons Frankie’s mother said she really didn’t like Norfolk. It’s not like the Cotswolds, she’d told Frankie. It’s not like the Cotswolds at all. It can be quite oppressive.You can’t see where you’re going.

  What was this obsession her mother had with the chuffing Cotswolds?

  ‘Mummy?’

  Frankie realized she was deviating her thoughts to buy time not to answer her children.

  But not here, not now. This wasn’t how she’d planned it. This wasn’t the right place at all. She’d wanted to tell them while they walked on the beach; if it wasn’t to be there, now she was envisaging the kitchen ta
ble, always a conducive location for their heart-to-hearts. She wanted to be able to look at them intently, to gauge their reaction, to sit and talk and tell them all about Scott and answer all their questions. This road was not built for that; it could be potentially hazardous.

  ‘No – that’s not Ruth,’ Frankie told them. ‘She’s the one who teaches Alexander.’

  ‘Who’s Alexander?’ asked Annabel. ‘She has the most amazing hair. Not even the wind or her sticky little girl could mess it up. It’s called a bob. Let’s call her Bob.’

  ‘So if Ruth doesn’t do the film music – who does?’ Sam asked.

  OK, thought Frankie. OK.

  There was a lay-by approaching. Indicating – though no other car was anywhere to be seen – Frankie slowed right down and pulled in. By the time she realized how uncomfortable her seat belt was, with her twisting to face the children seated in the back of the car, it was too disruptive to unclip it.

  ‘Well,’ she said and then paused. ‘Kids,’ she said, looking from one to the other. ‘I made a friend, you see.’ She scrabbled around her mind for the next sentence the way she might rummage in her bag for her keys. She tried again. ‘You know that I’ve been on my own for a while –’

  ‘Single Mum,’ said Annabel, knowingly.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Frankie. ‘Well, it’s important that you know that it’s not like I haven’t been happy. I have – you two and me, we’re a team and it’s the best thing in my life. Only, without warning, without looking, I met someone – a man – who I felt.’

  The children stared at her blankly. Frankie thought, I can’t leave them with the fact that I felt a man.

  ‘A man who I feel – a. Lot. For. For whom I feel a lot. And who feels the same way about me.’

  The children regarded her unflinchingly, silently, expressions neutral.

  ‘We met and really like each other – and we have things in common as well as unique qualities which just seem – to complement – each other.’

  Still there was no response from the back row. Not even a widening of the eyes or a smirk.

  ‘And he’s been on his own for a while too. And sometimes, you have this situation where grown-ups who are strangers, who never knew the other person even existed, who never thought any of it was possible – well, as luck would have it, they meet. And they experience this really strong connection. And even though he lives in Canada and we don’t – we live in Norfolk of course – and even though the world is a huge place – Canada is vast, massive – and he was happy enough and I was happy enough – still, somehow, we managed to meet and feel that special, unexpected – connection. So that’s what I mean. That’s who my friend is. That’s why he’s so special – as a person. And that, children, is what makes him so significant to me. And anyway his name,’ said Frankie. ‘Is Scott.’

  Both children thought immediately that Scott was the reason they were watching so much TV these days and for that, they liked him enough already. They looked at their mother very intently. They thought, really for an author she doesn’t half get her words in a jumble. There was a redness dashing up her throat in a mottled path, as if what she felt inside was being expressed on the outside. Her eyes were going this way and that, as if there was so much more to see when you had a special connection with someone significant who lived in Canada, and she kept licking her bottom lip and then her top lip in turn as if there was a fantastic taste to her words.

  ‘So what you’re trying to say is that Scott is your boyfriend,’ said Annabel.

  Frankie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, whether her children were waiting for an affirmative or negative. Just the truth, she told herself, nothing beats the truth.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘he is.’

  They were in a snuggle that evening, the three of them, watching Monsters, Inc., their go-to film when they couldn’t agree on what to watch. When it was over and the popcorn was finished and even the non-popped kernels had been masticated and were stuck in their molars and down the side of the sofa, Frankie had an idea.

  ‘Hang on,’ she told her children and she disappeared.

  ‘Hang on,’ she told Scott when her FaceTime connected.

  She was grinning at him as she made her way through her home and he tried to catch the details as she walked him by. Photographs on walls, stripped wooden doors, an old-fashioned dresser heaving with books and bowls and an assortment of pretty china, sudden skeins of evening light blanching her features.

  Switch off the telly, he heard her say. Kids – switch it off!

  Then there was a fuzzed darkness which Scott realized was her phone attempting to focus on her jeans and, when the images came into view again, there she was, sitting between her children.

  ‘It’s Scott,’ he could see her saying quietly to them. ‘This is Scott. I thought you’d like to see him. I think he wants to say hello.’

  Everyone stared at the phone in front of them.

  ‘Scott! May I present Annabel and Sam!’

  The children looked at Scott and Scott looked at the children and, for a moment, they each wondered who’d say what next.

  ‘Hey.’ Scott spoke first.

  ‘I’m Annabel,’ said Annabel.

  ‘I’m Sam,’ said Sam.

  ‘This is Buddy,’ said Scott. ‘Oh – so he’s a little shy right now. See – there he goes.’

  There was an awkward pause as everyone focused on the brown Lab in a slump doing absolutely nothing.

  Don’t say about before. Don’t tell her about South Park.

  Of course I won’t, kids, of course I won’t.

  ‘So one day I hope to meet you guys,’ Scott said.

  Annabel looked at her mother eagerly.

  Sam, however, stared at a point just over Scott’s shoulder, skilfully avoiding eye contact without actually appearing rude.

  ‘Hey Buddy.’

  Scott took a moment before replying. It always amused him when he answered the phone and someone said Hey Buddy. He wanted to say, oh this isn’t Buddy, it’s Scott – but I can fetch him for you if you like.

  Today, it was Dave, his agent.

  ‘Good time to talk?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘You well? Jenna?

  ‘I’m doing great. And Jenna – little blip, but she’s good right now. How are you?’

  ‘Good. So there’s this movie – Reardon’s just come on board after Morrison pulled out. It’s – fuck – romance slash comedy slash family drama. Think Steel Magnolias meets This is 40, for fuck’s sake. It’s a mess right now but the money’s there. And it’s something a little different for you. They’re over in Europe right now but I said no way would you go to Paris so we’ll set up a conference call, Skype, fucking smoke signals, instead. They love your work.’

  A tangle of thoughts wove through Scott’s mind fast, twisting around themselves and sending out shoots like rampant brambles. On the one side, there was Jenna, on the other side Frankie and there, sitting resolutely on the fence, Scott himself. Jenna had said she felt queer last week and had taken a day off work. She was fine – he’d been to see her and they were seeing her specialist tomorrow. But still.

  And Frankie last night – whispering to him that she was lying in her bed thinking of him, longing for him. Saying I wish you were here. I wish you weren’t so far away.

  He’d been back home almost three weeks.

  ‘I can do Paris,’ Scott told his agent.

  ‘Listen, I’m pretty sure you have it in the bag. Don’t stress about travelling.’

  ‘It’s OK – I can do it.’

  ‘You don’t have to sell yourself, you know? They’ve bought in already.’

  ‘Sure I’m sure,’ said Scott and he turned away from the framed photograph of Jenna with Buddy.

  ‘Send over the script.’

  He went for a long walk with Buddy that afternoon, filling his lungs as he tried to empty his head. Since he’d been back, whenever he’d seen Jenna, she’d asked after F
rankie, asked about her. When is she coming here? Jenna wanted to know. When do I get to meet her, Pops? What’s she like?

  ‘Frankie out here,’ Scott said quietly. He could so clearly envisage her right by his side, right this second, trying to talk and walk at his pace, marvelling a little breathlessly at the expansive views. She’d say, wow – it’s beautiful. She’d say, we don’t have mountains like this in the UK – we hardly have hills in Norfolk. She’d never have seen cottonwood, or an ice field, or the Lillooet or wild blue lupins. She won’t have had a double double from Tim Horton’s, a cinnamon bun from the Blackbird Bakery. He wanted her to see Joffre Lakes, perhaps even a bear or two. And Aaron. And Jenna. Valerie. The Sturdys.

  He sat down at the base of a cedar, the scent of the tree familiar and comforting, the shade welcome. Summer, when it came, was going to be really hot. Buddy was panting – when Scott’s mind was full, he walked fast. He put his hand on the dog’s head and said sorry old pal, sorry to drag you out and into all of this.

  All of what?

  When had he ever not known which way to turn? There had never been a time when he’d felt caught between two women. Sure, there had been girls who’d said, don’t you love me Scott? when he’d said no, I can’t see you, I’m hanging with my daughter; other girls who’d said, make your mind up Scott, when he’d declined a holiday or an invite to a wedding of people he didn’t know; some who’d said, I need to know where I stand, when he’d made an excuse not to meet parents or best friends. There had been one, Lisa, when Jenna was much younger – she’d come close but he hadn’t let her come close enough. And since then? It was easy. A no-brainer. It wasn’t about love, it was never about love – whatever gave them that idea? It was just about someone cute and a period of sex. Nice when you can get it but what the hey – life’s not so bad without it. He never gave false hope.

 

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