by Freya North
PART TWO
JULY TO DECEMBER
‘Hello you. I thought I’d phone to say Happy July. What are you doing? Is it a lovely day?’
‘It’s going to be hot – I was just about to take Buddy out.’
‘I’ve just brought Annabel home from school. We’re going to rehearse her lines for the school play.’
‘She sounded pretty word perfect the other day – that was funny.’
‘Won’t you come? There are three performances. Please?’
‘Frankie –’
‘I miss you.’
Oh her voice.
‘I miss you, Scott – it’s hard. Feeling so much and not having you here.’
‘Frankie – come. Book a flight and just come.’
‘It just doesn’t seem fair – finally feeling all of this and not spending time together precisely when we should be, really. Are you there?’
The line had gone quiet and when Scott replied, his voice was quiet, fractured.
‘Book a flight and come – tomorrow, the next day. The weekend. Just do it.’
‘The kids, Scott. I’m a three-headed being.’
‘You’re all welcome – you know that.’
‘But it’s school until the eighteenth.’
‘So you come, then, just you. This week. Next week. My God, you’ve worked like a crazy person. You need to recharge. Frankie?’
‘Yes?’
‘You thinking?’
‘Sometimes when I speak to you – and then we stop – I just feel so incredibly lonely. You seem impossibly far away.’
‘For God’s sake.’ His voice creaked. ‘Will you at least think about it? I need to see you too.’
‘But I’ve never left the kids – gone that far.’
‘Maybe you should. It’s not going to damage them. Won’t make you a bad parent – you need to do things for you. They need to see you make decisions. They need to see you embrace your life as an independent being.’
‘I can’t leave them on their own!’
‘Crazy girl – I know that. I’m just saying – think about it. There’ll be solutions – people you can ask. Doesn’t have to be your ma.’
‘There’s no chance of you coming over here?’
‘I have a lot of work on at the moment.’
‘I know. But – in some ways it’s easier for you. Like Paris.’
‘Not right now, hey – I need to be here just now, for work, for Jenna. But Frankie – you know what? I’d like you to come here. I want you in my home, my bed. I want to show you my life. You know – you can do your job any place. I was thinking about that. So if you feel it’s too – say – self-indulgent to take a vacation, just come out here and work.’
‘You don’t understand.’
‘Excuse me?’ Scott was taken aback by her defensiveness. ‘Meaning?’
‘Me – and the children. We’re – tight.’
‘And you think I don’t understand?’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘It’s been a month – since I came.’
‘I’d have to come over for at least a week – just to make sense of the journey.’
‘And that’s a hardship?’ He paused. ‘A week with me?’
‘Scott I didn’t mean—’ Frankie was wishing she could rewind the conversation, start again. Or just phone later and blether about something bland.
‘Do you want this relationship to be based on me coming to you? Is that how you see it? On your timescale, in your home?’
She hadn’t heard him like this. She’d offended him unwittingly, he was challenging her and it was unnerving her, pissing her off. ‘It’s not that – it’s just my situation –’
‘– isn’t any harder than mine.’
‘Well –’ And immediately she knew she shouldn’t have procrastinated, shouldn’t have stressed the ‘my’, shouldn’t have infused her ‘well –’ with such uncertainty. But why couldn’t he just hop on a plane? It was easier for him.
‘I’m sorry – are you implying that it is?’
‘No – but I have two much younger children. Whereas Jenna’s –’
‘You know what? I’m going to go now, Frankie.’
‘But –’
‘We’ll talk later.’
Fuck the sodding the phone. It made things so stilted. How could it bring such joy and togetherness one day, such discord and distance another? And sod fucking Canada where he was fresh with morning whereas she was tired and crotchety because it was evening after a long day with bolshy kids in bloody Norfolk.
What just happened?
They’d had day after day of gloriously mundane emails and phone calls chatting about nothing and loving whatever it was that the other said. They’d hung on each other’s words, relishing the affection, the everydayness, and always delayed hanging up. The things that irked them had nothing to do with each other, just general annoyances that made the other one laugh. The longing they felt had always been shared – as if they were helpless yet united in the undoubted romantic tragedy of being flung so far apart.
But then what just happened? Scott asked Frankie to come over to him because she told him how she missed him. And it all deteriorated into heated silences and stuttering sentences said badly and taken the wrong way. Now he didn’t want to speak to her and she didn’t know what to say.
He wasn’t answering his phone. He was making a sandwich, filling a water bottle, Buddy watching his every move, the dog’s brow lifting this way that way trying to read his master’s agitated silence, wondering if it had anything to do with him.
‘You stay here Buddy.’
Out Scott went, driving to the meadows road between the Ryan and Lillooet rivers, turning off up the old Hurley pass, driving his truck hard, finding a peculiar comfort in the way his brain shook in his skull. Parking along the old logging road, he hiked hard up the trail to Tenquille Lake. It was a favourite hike, 12 km, but one he usually took his dog on, one he usually took his time over, chatting to fellow hikers. But not today. He wanted to be on his own and he wanted his lungs to burn so that he had an excuse not to speak or even think about what he was meant to think or do next. Jenna had left a chatty message about nothing, really, and Aaron had sent him a text about meeting for a beer. He hadn’t responded to either. Sometimes he just really liked being out here on his own. It’s what he knew best.
Frankie in turmoil turned straight to others to straighten her out, needing female energy to infuse and soothe, craving advice and the company of people she trusted to workshop what she was feeling and what she was going to do. It was always a calculated risk to phone her sister, on account of her searing honesty and outspoken manner, but in the first instance, it would always be Peta whom Frankie phoned.
‘Do not say I told you so,’ Frankie begged her.
Peta’s sigh was exasperated. ‘But you’re miserable – and what’s making you miserable is the fact that you’ve gone and fallen headlong for a man who lives on the other side of the world. Don’t say I didn’t warn you about that. Don’t say you didn’t have ample opportunity not to.’ She paused. ‘I know it sounds horrible of me – but I wish you’d never met him. I wish you’d listened.’
‘I love him.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Match dot com could have brought love within a ten-mile radius of where you live, Frankie. Love’s love – wherever you find it.’
‘I don’t agree with you.’ Frankie wished Ruth would text back so she could hang up on her sister. ‘It would have been wrong not to embrace it, to turn away from an opportunity, a gift, like that. Everything with Scott – it’s been extraordinary.’
‘And now it’s not.’ Peta paused, acutely aware that no one else in her sister’s life would dare speak to her the way she could. ‘I highly recommend you finish it now. It’s only going to get worse. He’ll never leave Canada and you’re hardly likely to up sticks and move there – it was momentous enough for you to make the
break with London and sometimes I still don’t feel you’re even sure about that. Did you join Ruth’s book club?’
‘No.’
‘Have you got to know your neighbours better?’
‘They’re ancient farmers, remember.’
‘Have you made an effort with the mums at Annabel’s school?’
‘I just don’t get the feeling that they’re my people. For God’s sake Peta, this isn’t about Norfolk, it’s about Canada.’
‘If you’re going to be with Scott, then the two places are inextricably linked.’
‘He just wants me to go out there – so we can be together again. So that he can bring me into his life.’
‘I beg you not to. Jet lag on your already ragged state will make you ill. You’re a single parent, the sole provider, you cannot afford to be ill. You’ve only just got your writing back on track, you can’t afford to disrupt that – you literally can’t afford it. Look –’ Peta softened her voice – ‘you’ve done so well – all this upheaval, the writer’s block – and look how you’ve pulled through. It’s just stupid, Frankie – potentially counterproductive in all areas of your life. Don’t entertain thoughts of going out there. You’ll drive yourself mad about the kids anyway and want to come home early. You’ll have all this passionate sex and gaze at him in the moonlight – it’s not based in reality. You cannot have a real relationship with this man.’
‘Thanks for the support.’
Peta understood her sister’s petulance. ‘It is support – you’ll see it, some day. You need to let him go. It’s not like you’ll have to deal with bumping into him the whole time. You can count on the fingers of one hand how many days you’ve actually spent with him.’
‘And you can count on the fingers of one hand the number of meaningful conversations you’ve had with your husband your entire marriage.’
‘That’s below the belt.’ Peta paused but decided to let it go. ‘Please Frankie – use your head, not your heart. Love is just chemical imbalances playing havoc with your system. Get your head out of the clouds and ground yourself where you’ve set up home for your family.’
‘So if I said I wanted to go – could I ask you to stay?’
Hadn’t she listened to a bloody word Peta had said? ‘I can’t leave my family for a week, Frankie. I won’t.’
‘But the boys are old enough to look after themselves.’
‘But I have my husband to think of.’
‘Lucky fucking you,’ said Frankie and she hung up.
Frankie was, quite literally, in Ruth’s hands; standing barefoot in Ruth’s studio, a vaulted room drenched by the sun and almost soporifically warm. Frankie was standing still, looking out onto Ruth’s garden and Ruth was behind her, a hand gently at the base of Frankie’s skull, another under her arm. Without Frankie having to do a thing, Ruth was standing her up, sitting her down, standing her up, sitting her down. Over and over until Frankie’s mind left her body and floated around the room as if in zero gravity. Ruth’s hands moved fractionally, a little vibration now and then; smoothing a shoulder blade, easing torsion, straightening a kink. Stand up sit down stand up sit down stand. Up. Down. This was Frankie’s sixth Alexander session with Ruth and if the Technique was meant to free her body of habits and her mind of muddles, it was working.
‘Come and lie semi-supine.’
Frankie settled herself on the treatment table, a pile of magazines supporting her head.
‘I bet you haven’t done this have you?’ Ruth, unlike Peta, spoke sympathetically not accusingly. ‘If you can find twenty minutes a day to lie like this, it’s so good for you physically. You’re all bunched up today. You’ll give yourself a headache.’ She slipped her hand between Frankie’s back and the table, her other hand gently rolling her shoulder, repositioning her arm.
‘Why does this feel so good?’ Frankie asked her.
‘Because you’re letting go, allowing me to move you. You’re feeling the emotional benefit of the physical release. That’s what it’s about.’
Frankie could never be sure what exactly it was that Ruth was doing, in fact sometimes it was almost too subtle to detect. But what Frankie did know was that she could quite suddenly experience an overwhelming sense of openness and flow. None as powerful as just then.
‘Frankie?’ Ruth was suddenly aware of silent tears.
‘My sister tells me to end it. Scott is angry with me.’
‘You haven’t ended it have you?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t listen to your sister.’
‘She’s often right.’
‘Why is Scott angry?’
‘He wants me to go over. I’ve asked him to come here. I implied it’s easier for him.’
‘But perhaps it is.’
‘But I didn’t mean to belittle the things that keep him out there. And I know I did.’
‘I’m sure he didn’t –’
‘But he did – I know he did.’ Frankie put her hands to her face. ‘I was stroppy, indignant. And he went cold.’
Ruth sat Frankie up in one fluid movement.
‘I can’t leave my children.’ Frankie looked at Ruth flabbergasted. ‘I’m all they have. I can’t just up and leave and take a break in Beautiful British Columbia because I fancy a change of scene. I need to finish my book, I need to agree my publication schedule with my editor. My agent wants a synopsis of a new book so he can draft a new contract. My life is here. Scott needs to see that.’
Frankie could see Ruth thinking by the way her glossy bob moved, as if various theories were streaming out.
‘But Scott’s life is there – and you need to acknowledge that. You either need to pick one country – or find a way to straddle the two that you’re both happy with.’
She put her arm gently around Frankie’s shoulder.
‘Well, I think you should go over – not just because I think he’s lovely.’ Ruth thought back to meeting him the day he’d left for Canada via Paris. He’d been everything she’d hoped he’d be. ‘He’s good for you. You should go.’
‘How?’
‘Book a flight, bite the bullet – just go.’
‘I’ve never done anything like that.’
‘How liberating, in that case. Think about it – you’ve met someone who makes you feel closer to yourself than ever you have, who’s brought such pleasure into your life and a depth of connection you’ve never had before. Don’t feel guilty about that.’ Ruth laughed. ‘Oh my God girl – this one’s for keeps.’
‘But the children –’
‘What?’ Ruth mimicked them. ‘Mum – I can’t believe you’re leaving us here – in our home, being looked after by someone you trust while you visit the man you love who we really like too.’ She laughed again, made her voice higher still. ‘Oh Mum – why are you going to Canada when we have to go to school every day?’ She looked at Frankie, tipped her head to one side. ‘They’re far more likely to say cool! bring us an amazing present when you’re out there. You need to do this for you. Yes, being their mother defines you – but not exclusively. If your heart and soul are yearning to go – you must find a way or you’re just denying a fundamental part of you that exists. That’s not right. That’s not healthy.’
‘It’s not possible in real life. Only in films.’
‘Oh bollocks Frankie. Aren’t you itching to see where he lives, how he lives? Don’t you simply need to be with him again?’
‘Of course.’
‘Sex?’
‘Oh God – yes.’
‘It’s a beautiful place, the world – and do you know what, it’s not so very big. The distance between those destined for each other isn’t impassable. Make it happen, Frankie. Get out there.’
Frankie looked at Ruth, a little awe-struck. She’d never before had a friend quite like her.
It was the adrenalin that woke Frankie, churning through her veins and compromising the gentle transition of reverie. No slow yawning, no leisurely stretching, no lying under a waft o
f sheets listening to the dawn and musing on the day ahead while warm feet purred against cool cotton. Instead, she lurched from fitfully asleep to wide awake and fretful.
She felt nauseous. Cross with herself, frustrated with fate for bringing Scott to her, for bringing love into her life but forcing them to live a ten-hour transatlantic flight and eight-hour time zone apart. She put her hand to her heart, convinced it was beating far faster than it actually was. She didn’t have to get up for another hour and she tried to lie still, to focus on the tumble of thoughts, attempting to sift through the emotions that accompanied them. It was no good. She crept out of her bedroom in the oversized T-shirt she slept in, grabbing the throw from the back of the sofa in the living room, and took her phone out into the garden. There was dew on the grass and a mistiness out over the fields. She’d never been awake, out here, at this time. It was beautiful. She thought about time, how this scene played out like this whatever the century, whether folk witnessed it or not. Mist and dew and daybreak. She could hear sounds of life from the Mawbys’ farm: barn doors sliding open, machinery being coaxed awake. He’s up at this time every day, Keith Mawby, thought Frankie. He knows when’s best. I never knew dawn could be so useful.
She walked beyond her defunct writing room, aware of wet feet squeaking in flip-flops. A nettle flicked its sting-itch against her leg. Dawn here, not quite ten at night there, leaving Scott still in yesterday, enabling her to somehow turn back time.
‘I wanted to phone you before you went to bed,’ she said as soon as he answered.
‘Hey.’
Was his voice soft because he was tired? Or not happy to hear from her? Please not neutral.
‘I don’t believe in going to sleep on an argument,’ she said. ‘But I had to do it last night here – and I had a dreadful night. I woke feeling quite sick … Scott?’ Was he there? Did he hear?
‘Yeah?’
‘Say something?’