‘How are the business plans coming along?’ Jack asked once he, Vevie and George were left alone.
George nodded. ‘Good. We’re putting the final touches to the business plan, so fingers crossed we’ll get the money we need.’
‘I’m sure you will.’
George shrugged. ‘Who knows? Frankie’s quietly optimistic, Katie’s already planning a celebration, and I’m…’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure what I am, to be honest.’
‘You’re a talented woman, that’s what you are.’
George looked down at the sand. Her pumps were covered in damp sand. She’d need to give them a thorough clean before work in the morning. She only looked up again when she heard the whoops of joy as three bucketloads of water gushed into the moat.
Jack rubbed his hands together as the trio tore off towards the shallows again. ‘Do you fancy a coffee? Warm up a bit?’ He nodded towards the promenade, towards the café they’d visited a few weeks ago. ‘Or we could go to my place? It’s only across the road. Service isn’t as nearly as efficient though.’ He pulled a face and George laughed.
‘Why not?’
It took a bit of persuasion – plus some physical manhandling – to get the kids from their moat-filling duties to Jack’s place. The boys proved to be the most persistent, abandoning their buckets so they could make a dash for it. Rising to the challenge, Jack tore after them, scooping one wriggling child under each arm before he jogged to catch up with George and the girls who, after gathering the buckets and spades, had wandered towards the stone steps. Thomas and Leo’s cheeks were pink from the exertion, but they weren’t too put out as they were plonked down on the promenade.
‘Can we do that again?’ Leo was about to twist around and sprint for the stone steps, but Jack was too quick.
‘I don’t think so, mister.’ With a hand on his son’s shoulder, he guided him across the road. ‘Let’s get you warmed up with a hot chocolate and then you need to get changed. Your mum’s picking you up on the way home from work and I’m not sure she wants you trailing sand on her new carpet.’
Jack’s house had a similar layout to Katie’s, apart from the kitchen, which hadn’t been extended out. It was much smaller but cosy, with oak worktops, warm cream walls and an original fireplace at the chimneybreast. A nineteenth-century butcher’s table had been transformed into an island and now sat at the centre of the kitchen, with three tall stools and a high chair tucked around it.
‘Take a seat.’ Jack indicated the island, and George hopped up onto one of the stools as gracefully as she could. The children had barrelled straight into the living room and the familiar sounds of kids’ TV filtered through.
‘How long have you lived here?’ George glanced around the room, smiling at the paintings and scribbles attached to the fridge with souvenir magnets. There was a jar of wilting dandelions on the windowsill and a corkboard filled with family photos. In one of them, Jack was clinging on tightly to the safety bar of a rollercoaster, his eyes clamped shut and mouth gaping, mid-scream. She placed a hand over her mouth to hide her amusement.
‘Coming up to a year. We moved in just before the summer holidays, which was…’ Jack paused, his head tilting to one side until realisation dawned. ‘Oh, God. You’re looking at the photo taken of me on The Big One, aren’t you?’
‘If you mean that photo of you looking like you’re about to wet yourself, then yes.’ George pressed her lips together as Jack emitted a low groan.
‘Not my most heroic moment, I know. I only went on the damn thing to try to impress Anita, which as you can tell, I totally did.’
George guessed Anita was the woman sitting next to Jack in the photo. The one turning towards him, her mouth wide open in laughter rather than fear.
‘It was before we were married. Before she realised what a complete wuss I am when it comes to rollercoasters.’
George couldn’t imagine this self-assured man, with his strong persona, could be afraid of anything. Quite the opposite, in fact. She imagined she’d feel unquestionably safe with Jack around in times of danger.
She twisted on her stool, so she could view the photos again. ‘How long were you married for?’
‘Six years, but we were together for nine.’ Jack filled the kettle while George gazed at the photos. There were numerous shots of the children, from when they were tiny babies to present day, plus group shots of Jack and the children, a couple of Jack and his ex-wife (including the rollercoaster souvenir shot) and a handful of the complete family unit.
‘What happened?’ George knew she was being incredibly nosy, but they all looked so happy in the photos. There wasn’t a hint of animosity, no sign that trouble was brewing.
‘Nothing specific. There were no major events – no cheating or anything like that or even big rows. I guess we grew apart and Anita was brave enough to face up to it.’
‘Still, it must have been tough.’ George’s gaze paused on a photo of a young Leo and his parents. Anita was quite heavily pregnant in the photo and Jack was kissing the bump while trying not to laugh as Leo clambered on his back. It wasn’t a perfect family portrait, but it was a perfect shot of family life.
‘It was, but there’s no bad feeling between us, which makes it easier for the kids. We’ve never argued over access arrangements or parenting decisions. I know she’s a brilliant mum and I trusted her judgement when we were together – why would that not be the case now?’
‘It sounds like you’ve both got a healthy attitude towards your divorce.’ George pulled herself away from the photos and turned to face Jack again.
He shrugged. ‘It’s the best way for the kids, who are the most important people in all this.’ He turned to open a cupboard, lining up mugs on the counter. ‘What about you? I’ve never heard you mention Thomas’ dad.’
George was glad Jack was busy spooning hot chocolate powder into three of the mugs so he couldn’t see the grimace on her face. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of the way Thomas was conceived, but she did know it was unexpected.
‘His dad isn’t in the picture. Thomas has never even met him.’
Jack turned, a frown on his face, a trail of hot chocolate powder on the counter. ‘He ran out on you?’
‘Oh, no.’ George shook her head forcefully. She never wanted anyone to look unfavourably towards the donor. He’d never met George, didn’t know a thing about her, and yet he’d given her the most precious gift. ‘Thomas was conceived using IVF with an anonymous donor. There never was a dad – of any sort – in the picture. I chose to do this solo from the very start.’ She explained about the breakdown of her relationship and the unrelenting yearning to be a mum.
‘That was incredibly brave of you.’
George gave a one-shouldered shrug. ‘People say that, but I don’t feel brave.’
‘Are you kidding me?’ Jack blinked at her, giving a slight shake of his head. ‘After all you do for Thomas? Plus, you’re starting a brand new business.’
George scoffed. ‘With my friends holding my hand.’
‘But you’re doing it. And that’s brave.’
He was still watching her, eyes burning into hers, as the kettle clicked off, the water continuing to bubble noisily in the background. George felt heat rising to her face under his gaze, but she couldn’t look away. He swallowed hard. George did too. And then whatever spell had been cast upon them vanished in an instant as George’s text tone rang out from her pocket.
‘Sorry.’ She fumbled for the phone, eyes flicking up to check on Jack as she pulled it from her pocket. But he’d returned to his hot-chocolate-making, leaving her free to read the message. It was from Frankie, updating her on her mum’s condition.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Frankie
Her mum looked so small as she lay in the hospital bed with the blanket pulled up to her chin. Her hair was matted with blood where the cut ran into her hairline, but it wasn’t as big as Frankie had imagined during the drive over.
‘You shouldn’t have come.’ Christina winced as she tried to sit up in bed. ‘There’s no need for a fuss. I’ve just sent Susan home. You’ve had a wasted journey. I could have told you over the phone that I was fine.’
Frankie shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t have believed you.’
Christina started to raise her eyebrow but thought better of it. ‘And that’s why they were supposed to phone your brother. There was no answer, apparently.’
‘It would have been switched off or on silent. No phones in the classroom and all that.’ Frankie had texted him before setting off, asking if he could pick the twins up from nursery once he’d finished work, perhaps have them overnight, and luckily he’d replied saying it was no problem by the time she arrived at the hospital. ‘I’ll stay at your house tonight, if that’s alright. That way I can bring you home in the morning.’
‘If they let me out.’ Christina scowled. ‘There’s no need for me to be in here in the first place. I’m all patched up – what good is lying here with other people’s germs going to do?’
‘You hit your head. They just want to keep an eye on you overnight.’ Frankie reached for her mum’s hand, but she tugged it away and smoothed down her blanket.
‘Fuss. That’s what they want to do. And there’s no need.’
‘Mum.’ Frankie sighed with frustration. ‘You passed out – again – and cut your head open.’
‘I did no such thing.’
Frankie’s eyes flicked to the stitches holding her mum’s wound together.
‘Yes, I cut myself a bit.’ Using her hands, Christina managed to wriggle into a sitting position. ‘But I’ve only had a couple of stitches. Nothing major. And I did not pass out.’
‘Then how did you end up with the stitches?’
A smile twitched at the corners of Christina’s lips. ‘It was a misjudged step, that’s all. I landed a bit funny.’
‘A misjudged step?’ Of all the excuses…
Christina shrugged. ‘I was doing the Macarena if you must know, and as you keep pointing out, I’m no spring chicken any more. One minute I’m having a laugh, the next I’m on the floor and my head’s bleeding.’
Frankie narrowed her eyes, her head tilting to one side. ‘You fell over doing the Macarena?’
Christina pressed a hand to her mouth, but Frankie caught the flash of smile before it was covered. ‘I may have been dancing on the table outside The Farthing at the time.’
Frankie’s eyes widened. ‘Had you been drinking?’
Christina looked her daughter in the eye, her chest heaving with a suppressed sigh. ‘I was dancing the Macarena, on top of the table outside the pub. What do you think?’ She bit her lip as her mouth started to twitch again. ‘I may have been a little bit tipsy.’
‘Mum.’ Frankie’s jaw opened in outrage. ‘The hospital phoned me at lunchtime. How on earth were you drunk enough to fall over and cut your head open at that time? No, no.’ She shook her head, a humourless laugh escaping. ‘How were you drunk enough to dance on a table at that time?’
Christina shrugged. ‘It’s Susan’s birthday. We were celebrating.’
Frankie dropped her head into her hands. She couldn’t believe it! There she was, worried about her mum’s ailing health, and it was all down to having one too many gin and tonics.
Christina reached out for Frankie’s hand, the smile wiped entirely from her face. ‘Sorry, darling. You must have been so worried, but you need to stop obsessing about everybody else and start putting yourself first for once. Live your life instead of fearing the worst will happen if you start to relax and enjoy yourself.’
‘I don’t do that,’ Frankie said, but she still couldn’t meet her mum’s gaze.
‘You do, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t care about people, but you need to have fun again. What happened to Bradley was tragic, but there isn’t anything you could have done. There were no signs of his illness. No signs that he was going to do what he did. You couldn’t have stopped him.’
‘I could have got him some help. If I’d known. If I’d been paying closer attention.’ She’d told everybody at the time that there hadn’t been any signs of Bradley’s ailing mental health – that Bradley had seemed fine, his normal self. A bit tired, but then the twins were so small, and they were both knackered – but was that true? Maybe there had been signs, but she hadn’t spotted them.
‘You didn’t know.’ Christina looked Frankie in the eye so intensely, she had to look away. ‘And that isn’t down to you. Nobody knew what was going on with Bradley. He kept it all locked up inside. Maybe he didn’t want to worry you, or he was ashamed? We simply don’t know, but I do know he loved you and the twins so much.’
Frankie wanted to believe that, but how could he choose to leave them if that was true? How could he have climbed up onto that motorway bridge, knowing he was about to end his life? That he would never see his children grow up? Deep down, she knew it hadn’t been a choice, that Bradley was ill, that he couldn’t see any other way of escaping the darkness, but there were times when she hit a wall of anger, of pure rage, that he’d done this. To her. To the twins. And then she felt guilty all over again, for feeling anything but deep sorrow that they’d lost an amazing man to a silent killer. And it was still silent even now. She rarely spoke of Bradley, the stigma of suicide and mental health smothering the words, and it made her feel ashamed that she was pushing his memory aside.
She needed to talk about Bradley. To share what a wonderful man he was, what a brilliant father he’d been and would have continued to be if he only could. She needed to fill Finn and Skye to the brim with knowledge of their father, so they could be proud of him, so they would know how much he loved them, even though he couldn’t stay to watch them grow.
‘She’s in there somewhere.’
Frankie glanced around her mother’s bedside. ‘Who is?’
‘My old Frankie.’ Christina reached up to rest a hand on Frankie’s cheek. ‘Let her out to play once in a while – please?’
Later, as she sat in her car, with the smell of disinfectant and indistinguishable food and other things Frankie didn’t want to think about behind her, she sent Isaac a message to update him on their mum’s condition and to ask whether he was still happy to have the twins overnight. But she wasn’t spending the night at Christina’s. She was taking Katie up on her offer to have a celebratory drink or two – and she was going to stop worrying and enjoy herself for once.
Her lungs felt as though they were about to burst as she slumped against the harbour wall, pulling in quick, sharp breaths as she gripped the stone for support. She’d pushed her body more than she normally would and she felt amazing as her body swam with a heady cocktail of adrenaline and endorphins. It wasn’t unlike the feeling she’d experienced the night before as she’d sipped actual cocktails with her friends, except there wouldn’t be a hint of a hangover in the morning.
She pushed herself away from the wall now and started to walk back towards the main road that would lead back through the town, one hand clutching at her side, her breathing laboured. She was completely spent, and her only concern now was her ability to get home before her jellied legs gave way. She would get there, she reasoned, one step at a time.
The harbour wall was disappearing from view when something caught her eye in the bushes lining the road. Her first instinct was fear; it was starting to grow dark, she was alone, and she was too knackered to run anymore. She quickened her step, her eyes never leaving the bushes, and then she saw it again, clearer this time. It wasn’t someone in the bush, but something. Something large and furry and whimpering.
She moved quickly, crouching in front of the injured dog, a hand moving to her mouth when she realised it was Alex’s dog. Jake’s paw was held aloft, and she noticed a gash on the dog’s neck that made her feel queasy as it oozed blood, the surrounding fur wet and matted. She sank onto her knees, one hand held onto her clammy forehead while the other stroked the dog’s head with a gentle, soothing motion.
Unzipping the pocket on the front of her jacket, Frankie pulled her mobile out and tapped on her contacts, grateful that she hadn’t got round to deleting his details. She hesitated for a moment, but one more look at the dog, at his wide, fearful eyes, and she knew she had no choice. The phone rang six times, sending a jab of panic to Frankie’s gut each time, before it was answered.
‘Hi.’ She faltered on that one word, but she looked into the baleful eyes of Jake and gave herself a mental kick up the arse. ‘It’s Frankie McCarthy. We went out for dinner once, quite a while back?’
She heard a throat being cleared. ‘I remember you.’ Neither friendly or hostile.
Frankie shifted position to ease the pressure on her knees as she was still crouching. ‘It’s about your dog. Jake.’
‘Excuse me?’ Alex – understandably – sounded confused.
‘I’ve just found your dog down near the harbour. He’s hurt. And scared.’
‘Hurt? How? Has he been run over? Attacked?’ Frankie didn’t have time to answer the question before the next was fired at her. ‘Where are you?’
‘We’re near the harbour, on the bend before the cliffs. I’m not sure what’s happened. He’s got a gash on his neck, and maybe hurt his paw.’ Frankie didn’t dare check, in case she caused further pain for the poor animal. She winced as the dog shifted, whining with the movement.
‘There’s a vet not far from where you are. Over on Carter Lane. Can you make it over there?’
Frankie looked at the dog. At the sheer size of the beast. ‘I don’t think so. He’s huge.’
‘Stay where you are. I’ll come and meet you.’
It seemed to take an age for Alex to arrive, but it must have only been a few minutes in reality. Frankie had tried to encourage the dog out of the bush, but he was in obvious discomfort and reluctant to move, so she’d left him where he was, continuing to comfort him as best as she could.
‘I’ve been at work and didn’t even realise he’d got out,’ Alex said as he rushed over from the car after opening the passenger door at the back so they could lay Jake across the seat. Frankie shifted over as he knelt on the grass in front of the dog. ‘Look at you, mate. What have you done to yourself?’
The Single Mums' Picnic Club Page 20