She turns to me and hands me a mug of tea. I decline her offer of sugar.
‘Come and sit down,’ she says and I follow her into the living room and perch on the edge of the sofa. ‘Leon!’ she calls. ‘Frankie’s here.’
I can’t imagine how it must feel for Leon to be living back here again after all this time. Oppressive. And depressing. I wonder what he’s been doing all these years, where he’s been working.
‘How have you been?’ she asks, cupping her mug.
‘Good, thanks.’
‘I heard about your dad …’
I can imagine them all gossiping about it at the local pub.
‘Terrible, for all of you. Such a shock. How is your mum coping?’
‘Well, it’s difficult.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘And you?’ I ask, to change the subject. I don’t want to talk about my dad. He would hate being gossiped about. We might have moved from the area years ago but memories are long. My dad wasn’t just the local businessman, he was involved with the town council and had ‘fingers in many pies’, as he always liked to tell me. ‘I’m going to see a man about a dog,’ he would say when I was a kid, tapping the side of his nose and winking. The first time he did it I was about six and I sat with my nose pressed to the window all afternoon, waiting for his return, convinced that he was going to come home with a puppy. As I grew older I realised it was just a saying he used when he was off to do some business. Everybody in Oldcliffe knew who Alistair Howe was.
Steph chuckles. ‘I’ve been kept busy, what with five kids. Our Caitlin just had a baby, so I’m a grandma. Can you believe it? A grandma at forty-one.’
I smile politely and ask after Caitlin and the baby. She asks me, like I knew she would, if I have any children, and I say, as I always do, that no, it never happened for me, unfortunately.
A shadow in my peripheral vision makes me turn around and Leon is standing in the doorway.
‘Frankie. Back again?’
‘I … um,’ I cough, suddenly uncomfortable. Maybe coming here was a mistake. ‘Um, yes. I wondered if you were free to go for a drink?’
He looks taken aback. He glances at his watch. ‘It’s only two o’clock.’
‘Lunch then? I’m starving.’
‘I could make you a bite to eat?’ offers Steph, standing up.
Leon waves his hand dismissively. ‘No, you’re all right, ta, Steph. We’ll go out. We’ve got a lot to talk about, haven’t we, Frankie.’
His tone is light and he raises an eyebrow at me, but I can hear the dark undercurrent to his words even if Steph is oblivious. He takes my arm and steers me out of the room.
‘Wait there,’ he instructs and I stand awkwardly in the narrow hallway while he grabs a raincoat from the end of the banister. He shoulders it on, indicating with his head for me to follow him, and then practically drags me out of the door.
‘Ow, you’re hurting my arm,’ I say as he wrestles me through the garden gate. ‘You don’t have to be so rough.’
‘What are you doing here?’ he says sharply.
‘I wanted to see you.’
‘I only saw you yesterday. Why are you here again?’ His blue eyes are cold and hard.
‘It’s important. But I can’t explain here. Can we go somewhere?’
For a second I wonder if he’s going to tell me to get lost. I hold my breath, relieved when he gives a resigned nod. I point the key fob at the car and he opens the passenger door and slides into the cream leather seat. I try not to give him sideways glances as I get behind the wheel and drive towards town.
I find a parking space overlooking the sludgy sand and the Grand Pier. The tide is out but the deserted beach is dotted with little puddles where the sea has been. The clouds decide this is the time to explode, the rain coming down hard, pounding on the roof and the windscreen, obscuring our view. The air in the car feels thick and oppressive. I turn the ignition off.
‘What is this all about, Frankie? I haven’t got the time or energy to play your little games.’ He turns to me, a frown on his face. He dislikes me, that much is obvious, Soph. It’s evident in the tension I notice in his shoulders, the steeliness behind his eyes, the scowl that he doesn’t even try to hide. He was civil to me yesterday – I suppose he had to be. But today all pretence of friendliness has gone.
He hasn’t forgiven me.
‘Frankie?’ His impatient voice jolts me back to the present.
‘I’m sorry.’ I shift in my seat. I open my mouth to speak but no words come out. What do I say?
‘Are you sending me anonymous letters to try and freak me out?’ There really is no other way of putting it.
He appears taken aback. ‘What are you talking about now?’
I explain, as quickly as I can, about the notes.
‘Why would I do that?’
‘I don’t know,’ I lie. I can’t tell him about Jason if he doesn’t know. If you haven’t told him.
He frowns. His eyes are lined, bruised with shadows. ‘What’s going on, Frankie? Is there something you’re trying to tell me here?’
I can feel myself blushing. ‘No, of course not.’
The rain stops as abruptly as it began.
There is an uneasy silence between us. How could I have thought I was in love with him? I was so vain and naive. For years I thought he was the one that got away. Since then, of course, worse things have happened in my so-called ‘shiny’ life. Like the collapse of my marriage, the discovery that I can’t conceive, your remains being found.
‘I’m going to be moving on soon,’ says Leon, reaching for the door handle. ‘I have another contract. Dubai this time.’
‘Good for you,’ I say.
He narrows his eyes at me as though I’m being sarcastic.
‘I don’t know who’s sending you those letters, or messing with your head, Frankie. Maybe it’s got something to do with your dad.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with my dad.’
He smiles at me but it doesn’t reach his eyes and in that moment I can see the cruelness of Lorcan in him. What did I ever see in him? What did you?
‘I read all about him. In the newspaper. Nice guy.’
‘He is a nice guy.’ I feel on the edge of tears. ‘It’s all untrue, all of it.’
He shrugs. ‘Whatever.’
I’m suddenly overcome with this urge to hit him. I clench my fists. ‘Get out,’ I say.
‘With pleasure.’ He opens the car door, but he doesn’t get out. Instead he stares at me, his mouth twisting cruelly. ‘You couldn’t stand the thought that I loved her, could you?’
‘It wasn’t love,’ I spit. ‘You hardly knew her. It was infatuation, that’s all.’
He shakes his head sorrowfully. ‘I feel sorry for you. Nearly forty years old and still not happy. Always wanting what you can’t have.’
‘That’s not true.’ But I think of Daniel, his one-time devotion. I could have had him. And now I want him, it’s too late.
He sneers. ‘Believe what you want to believe, Frankie. You always have.’
He slams the door behind him. I wait until he’s sloped off along the promenade, his shoulders hunched against the wind, then I collapse in a heap over the steering wheel and let the tears flow.
21
Sophie
Sunday, 3 August 1997
I can’t sleep. It’s only 6 a.m. but I need to write this down, to make sense of what’s going on in my screwed-up mind.
Leon came over on Thursday night, worried that I was cross with him. I considered not seeing him, scared that the fact I’d kissed Frankie’s father would be written all over my face. Every time I think of it (and I’ve been unable to do much else, it keeps playing over and over in my mind), a wave of shame washes over me and I feel queasy. But I’d not seen Leon since it happened and I knew I couldn’t put him off for ever.
He came over about seven and we walked into town together, neither of us speaking, the atmosphere between us ten
se and awkward. He held my hand, more out of duty, I felt, than desire. I wanted to snatch it away but that would have been rude. The sun was still blazing in the sky and as we approached the centre there were people lying out on the beach, trying to eke out the remnants of the sunshine. The pubs were packed, people spilling out onto the main road with beer glasses and fags. The big wheel was going round, lights flashing, and children were shrieking with excitement as they sped down the helter-skelter, no doubt regretting it later as they assessed burn marks to elbows and legs.
When we reached the entrance to the Grand Pier we hovered awkwardly by the ice-cream stall. I could see Frankie’s candy-pink hotel across the road and I imagined what Alistair might be doing. Was he thinking about me? About that kiss? Was he regretting it as much as I was?
I felt so confused in that moment that I nearly blurted it out to Leon.
After the kiss I’d managed to avoid Alistair for the rest of my shift. We bumped into each other once, on the landing, me clutching a basketful of dirty towels and him with a cup of coffee in his hand. It was a bit awkward as I tried to pass him, the two of us side-stepping each other while apologising, so it looked like we were taking part in a barn dance. It would have been funny but I was too embarrassed to laugh. Then I scuttled off as fast as my legs would carry me.
And I’ve not seen him since. Frankie said he had to go and visit his father, but I think he’s been avoiding me too.
‘You’re still angry at me, aren’t you?’ Leon’s voice cut into my thoughts. He leaned against the sea wall, but his expression was serious, worried even. ‘You’ve not wanted to see me since Saturday night.’
‘No, I’m not.’
He grabbed my hand. ‘I’m sorry I overreacted. I’ve apologised to Lorcan and him to me. He admitted he was acting like a twat, and he deserved it.’
‘Nobody deserves to get a broken nose, Leon.’
I’d heard, through Frankie of course, that Lorcan had to go to the hospital for an X-ray.
‘He’d already broken it twice when we were kids, getting into fights. It didn’t take much.’
‘Oh, so that’s OK then?’
‘No, no, of course not. I feel dreadful about it. I’m so sorry. I just wanted to protect you. I hated that he was trying it on with you. I can’t stand the thought of anyone doing that.’
As his arms circled my waist I wondered if I’d ever be on the receiving end of his fists. I once read that having an abusive father makes you more likely to fall for an abusive partner, even though my dad never laid a finger on me. Maybe if he’d stayed around he would have done. Leon seems so kind, so doting, so soft right now. But they all must start off that way – charming, devoted. Intense. Possessive.
‘My dad was an arsehole who used to hit my mum,’ I said. I’ve hardly told anyone that before.
Leon’s eyes widened and then realisation dawned on him. ‘Fucking hell. That’s why you reacted like you did?’
I pulled away from him. ‘No. What you did was wrong.’
He hung his head, his soft brown curls falling across his forehead and into his eyes. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ He stepped towards me and gently put his hands on my waist. ‘I don’t want to fight with you. I’ve not felt this way about anybody in a long time.’
‘Not even with Frankie?’ I didn’t mean to ask the question, but I hoped he would understand what I was getting at. I braced myself for his answer.
‘Frankie? I’ve never felt anything for Frankie. What are you talking about?’
So I told him. Everything. What she said to me while we were dancing, that first night in The Basement, how he stalked her and wouldn’t take no for an answer. His expression grew darker with every word that came out of my mouth, until he looked apoplectic with rage.
‘She really told you all that?’
I nodded.
‘What a fucking liar!’ His anger made me recoil.
‘It’s not true?’
His arms dropped from around my waist. ‘It’s the other way around. She chased me, she made a move on me. I turned her down. She began following me. She’s a fucking bunny-boiler.’
Would Frankie really tell such dreadful lies? Or is Leon the one making it up?
I convinced him to walk with me along the beach. I took my flip-flops off, the sand soft and warm underfoot, but Leon kept his trainers on. I’ve only known him just over a month; I’ve known Frankie for ever, but as we ambled across the beach with the sun on our backs, I realised I wanted to believe him over her.
‘You know, I’d never have gone out with you if I’d known she liked you.’
‘Really?’ He looked disappointed.
‘Well, it’s that unwritten rule, isn’t it? You don’t go after the bloke your friend fancies.’
He shrugged. ‘I suppose. Then I’m glad she didn’t tell you.’ He grinned at me, all his anger forgotten. We decided to sit in a secluded spot by a slimy rock, the tangy smell of seaweed strong. The sun was going down, a bright orange ball in the sky. It hurt my eyes to look at it.
Leon took my hand. ‘I know we’ve only known each other for six weeks, but I love you, Sophie.’
I thought of the interview with Little Leaf Publishing on Monday. If I get the job and leave this town, would we stay together? And if we did, how could we spend the rest of our lives together with this huge secret between us? Not to mention the fact that I’ve cheated on him. Already. And with a man old enough to be my father.
He tried to pull me onto his lap but I resisted.
‘What is it? You don’t feel the same?’
Tears stung my eyes. ‘I do feel the same.’
‘Then what is it? Something’s troubling you. You can tell me anything, Soph.’
But how could I tell him? He reacted in anger when he thought his brother was coming on to me. What would he think if I told him about Frankie’s dad?
The secrets and lies sat between us.
‘I’m not sure if I want anything serious,’ I said instead. ‘I’ll be leaving as soon as I get a job. You know that.’
He stroked my hair, relief on his face. ‘You don’t have to worry about that yet. Who knows what the future holds. But right now I’m happy to be here, with you.’ He kissed me slowly, sensuously, and I pushed the doubts to the corner of my mind where they belonged.
22
Frankie
I remember thinking that Leon was so beautiful, so cool with his unusual music tastes. More often than not he was secreted away at a table in the corner of the Seagull, scribbling poetry into his notebook. With his ink-stained fingers and floppy hair, he was different from the beer-swilling Oldcliffe lads who thought they were cool just because they liked Oasis, yet decried anything more avant-garde as being for ‘poofters’. That first time I talked to him in The Basement his eyes seemed to see right into my soul. That must sound stupid to you. He was in love with you. Or was he? Was it just infatuation, Soph? You were both so young. There was always something dangerous about him. There still is. Maybe that’s part of his attraction.
I’m trembling all over and grip the steering wheel, afraid I’m about to be sick. I take deep breaths and stare out of the windscreen, trying to calm myself by looking out into the horizon, at the black silhouette of Flat Holm Island in the distance.
I made some mistakes back then. We both did. I thought I could escape it all and become a different person in London. A better person. London is perfect for starting again, for becoming who you want to be rather than the person everyone thinks you are; after all, who wants to be remembered for pissing their pants at the back of the class aged seven, or for vomiting in the street at eighteen? You couldn’t take an illegal substance or have an underage drink in Oldcliffe without someone knowing about it. The town was full of curtain-twitchers; every move was recorded, talked about. I’d wanted to get away from all that, Sophie. I wanted to get away from the sympathetic faces and the sad eyes when you disappeared. ‘There she is, Sophie Collier’s best friend. How awful for her.�
�� People gossiping, staring, you ceasing to be just good old Soph but ‘poor Sophie Collier’ instead. The tragic victim. I wanted to start again. Is that so bad?
But I’m haunted by the past. I’m haunted by you.
I’m nearly forty years old. I’m not Frankie Howe any more. I’m Francesca Bloom – yes, I still use my married name. I’m successful, I’m in control. I have a shiny life. That’s what people see in London and that’s how I like it. I would do anything to keep it that way.
When I’ve composed myself, I leave the car and walk across the road to the Tesco Express that replaced Safeway. I know my eyes must look red and swollen, my face pale, my lips puffy. The wind and rain has turned my hair to frizz and my jeans need a wash. I avoid eye contact with the staff stacking the shelves and the pimply-faced youth behind the till, relieved that at least these aren’t people who knew me in the past – they would have been toddlers when I lived here. I grab a ready meal from the fridge – I haven’t eaten since breakfast and it’s nearly 4 p.m. I grab a couple of bottles of wine and push them into the basket.
When I’ve paid I hurry back to the car, the plastic bag swinging from my arm, the wine bottles knocking my hip, hoping not to see anyone, although the streets are deserted. My car is the only one parked in the spaces by the promenade and looks lonely and conspicuous with its glossy black paintwork and brand-new number plate. I long for the anonymity of London. I slide into the driver’s seat and slam the door on the town, instantly feeling comforted by my familiar space, as though nothing can touch me while I’m in the cocoon of my Range Rover.
I contemplate phoning Daniel and telling him about my conversation with Leon. He would sympathise, hating Leon as he does, but I dismiss the idea at once. I don’t want to cause any more problems between him and Mia. I think I’ve caused enough already.
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