by Jo Verity
Miriam opened the door to the spare bedroom. ‘You’re in here.’
‘Bliss,’ Frankie flopped onto the bed. ‘I didn’t realise how knackered I was.’
‘Where have you driven from? I forgot to ask.’
‘Hastings.’
Miriam had assumed London or Bristol, or some other big city. ‘Hastings? I don’t think I’ve been there.’
‘You’ve not missed much.’
Miriam left her to ‘freshen up’. She’d bought fillet steaks for supper which she planned to serve with jacket potatoes and salad. Fruit and cheese to follow. She took everything out of the fridge and dug out a decent bottle of red wine from the stash under the stairs. Bing should be home around seven-thirty and they’d eat at eight. Checking her phone, she found a text from her father. They’d been to visit a National Trust property close to where they were staying and were now putting their feet up before their evening meal. Good to think someone was having a stress-free time.
She waited ten minutes then went to the bottom of the stairs and called, ‘Got everything you need?’ There was no reply, no sound of activity. ‘Frankie?’
The bedroom door was ajar and she tiptoed in. Frankie was lying on her back on the bed, out for the count. Her mouth was open and she was breathing noisily. She’d unbuttoned her jeans and her leopard-print top had ridden up revealing a yellowing bruise a few centimetres above her waistline. There was a similar mark on her forearm. A fall? A bump in the car? There were endless innocent explanations. Frankie mumbled and rolled onto her side. A shaft of evening sunlight hit the wall above the bed head. Miriam closed the curtains and draped a blanket over her sleeping friend.
She was rinsing salad leaves when she heard the clunk of a car door and, standing a little back from the window, she watched Bing take his bag off the back seat, lock the car and walk up the path. This reunion repeated itself most days but nevertheless her heart leapt as it had on that snowy day when he’d come to claim her.
He hung his head like a contrite schoolboy. ‘I’m an idiot, aren’t I?’
‘You are,’ she said offering her lips to be kissed.
He pointed to the jacket slung on the back of the chair. ‘She turned up then?’
‘Yes. She’s upstairs. Asleep.’
He nodded. ‘Same old Frankie?’
‘Not really.’ She described the bruises. ‘She looks defeated. I’ve asked her to stay. That’s okay, isn’t it?’
‘Of course,’ he said, and she loved him for his acceptance.
While he changed, she cooked the steaks, setting Frankie’s to one side. They ate in the kitchen, discussing whether to shop around for a better deal on house insurance and marvelling at her father’s mastery of technology. Frankie might have been their delinquent daughter, banished to her room until she came to her senses.
She was stacking the dishwasher when Frankie came down wearing her dressing gown on top of her clothes. ‘How long did I sleep?’
‘Four hours.’
‘Really?’ She yawned and shivered. ‘Sorry. I’ve buggered up your evening.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Miriam pointed to the remaining food. ‘Help yourself.’
‘Thanks. Maybe later. Where’s Bing? Paul. I’m going to get this wrong.’
‘I’m sure “Bing” will be fine. After all, you knew him before I did. He’s watching the news. We’ll be off to bed soon. Surgery starts at eight, and I need to leave before nine.’
Miriam had told Frankie about her job, yet the puzzled look on her face showed it had failed to register. ‘The bookshop? I knock off at one. We could have lunch at The Angel. Unless you have other plans.’
‘No. No plans.’
Miriam nodded towards the living room. ‘Why don’t you go and say hi? I’ll finish up here.’
She pottered around, allowing her lover and her best friend ten minutes to negotiate their first encounter in over forty years.
The sun had come out and it was warm enough to take their lunch into the hotel garden. Frankie, wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt and black jeans, looked tired but less shambolic than she had yesterday. She’d toned down her make-up too.
‘Any reservations about moving in together so soon?’ Frankie said. ‘I suppose you’re used to the idea of marriage.’
‘None at all. And we’re not married.’
‘But you will be.’
‘Mmmm. Bing’s keen but I sometimes think it’d be best to leave things as they are. His children wouldn’t have to worry that some wicked stepmother was after their inheritance. And I know deep down my parents would prefer me not to marry “out”, even if they haven’t put it into words.’
‘“My parents.” “Bing’s children.”’ Frankie rolled her eyes. ‘Where are you in all this?’
‘Precisely where I want to be.’ She took a cocktail stick and stabbed an olive. ‘Where are you heading next? You said you were “passing through”.’
‘Did I?’
‘Look. It’s obvious something’s come unstuck. D’you want talk about it?’
‘Not really. It’s the usual pathetically predictable story. Bob owns the agency where I work. Correction – worked. We’d been having a “thing”, pretty much since I started there. In fact he asked me to marry him. He’s not the most exciting man in the world, but it might have worked. I was on the point of accepting when his son showed up. Dominic’s a real charmer. Sex on legs, to be honest. So when he came on to me…’ Frankie covered her face with her hands. ‘Don’t look at me like that. Mim.’
‘Go on.’
‘Naturally my job went down the pan. Everything was good for a few weeks then Dom started leaving his phone where he knew I’d see it. He was getting these suggestive messages from a girl called Chloe and—’
‘You listened to his messages?’
‘Oh, come on. Don’t you check Bing’s phone?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Well you should. Anyway, it was obvious he wanted me to find out. He never fancied me, I can see that now. He was using me to get at his dad. Some stupid feud. I confronted him and, well, it got out of hand.’ She grimaced. ‘I don’t have much luck do I?’
When they were shunting their trays along the food counter, she’d hustled Frankie past the alcohol instead picking up a large bottle of Evian. Now Frankie’s eyes wandered to the next table where four young women were sipping white wine and, without saying anything, Miriam went to the bar and returned with two glasses of Prosecco.
‘Thanks,’ Frankie said and they chinked glasses.
‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Oh, God.’
‘You’ve had a lot of boyfriends – men – lovers – whatever you care to call them. Was there ever anyone you thought you might spend the rest of your life with? You don’t have to answer.’
‘You mean a soul mate?’ Frankie hooked the air with her fingers.
‘If you like.’
‘As a matter of fact, there was.’ She took a swig from her glass. ‘His name was Andrew. Andrew Latham. He was a librarian, would you believe? We met on a bus, in Brighton. I seem to have spent half my life in Brighton. The bus broke down and it was raining, and we were heading in the same direction so we shared a taxi. He told me that getting in a taxi with a total stranger was reckless. That I shouldn’t do things like that. But he never felt like a stranger.’
‘What was different about Andrew Latham?’
‘He wasn’t sexy, for a start. Or even good-looking. He didn’t care what he looked like – and neither did I. He had this wonderful calm about him, as though he’d found the answer.’
‘Was he religious?’
‘Well, he believed in me if that counts as religion.’
‘Married?’
‘No. And he never had been which was strange because he was lovely. Gentle. Kind. Funny. Considerate in bed. He taught me that simply lying still next to someone can be satisfying. I can’t tell you how redemptive that was. I wish you could have met him. Someti
mes I think I invented him.’
Frankie reached for Miriam’s wine and drank it down. ‘I expect you’re waiting for me to tell you I ballsed it up. I didn’t. Some cunt in a transit van ploughed into him when he was cycling to work. I heard the police sirens from the flat. You never imagine it’s going to be your tragedy, do you?’ She glanced around. ‘D’you think they’d notice if I had a quick fag?’
‘I’m sure they would. Let’s find a bike shed for you to skulk behind.’
They wandered in the direction of the river. ‘Aren’t you going to give me a lecture?’ Frankie said.
‘On?’
‘Pretty much everything.’
They found a low wall and perched on it and, while Frankie was fiddling with her lighter, a text came through on Miriam’s phone.
‘It’s Dad. “Safe home. Early night. See you tomorrow around 3pm.” Well that’s tomorrow sorted for me.’
‘I love your parents,’ Frankie said. ‘They were unbelievably kind to me when Mum was in hospital. Your mother used to feed me huge meals, as though nothing could go wrong if my belly was full.’
‘She hasn’t changed. Actually, that’s not true. They’ve become inward-looking. They’re not interested in anything that goes on beyond their road, or anyone outside the family.’
‘Neither will I if I get to be their age.’
‘I understand that, although it worries me that they’re cutting themselves off. It’s not good.’
‘What about this trip they’ve just been on?’
‘I haven’t got to the bottom of that.’
‘D’you think it’d be okay if I popped in tomorrow? I’d like to say hello before I leave town.’
‘They’d love to see you.’ They would and yet Miriam felt uneasy at the prospect of her parents and Frankie buddying up. ‘What’s the plan?’
‘Find a job. A place to live.’ She lit another cigarette. ‘I know my way around an office, and I’m good with figures. I should be able to find something. That job you had at the college, how did you find that?’
‘Word of mouth. It was only a few hours a week.’
‘I need to work full-time. Or two part-time jobs would do. ’Specially if they were cash-in-hand.’
‘No chance of making it up with Bob?’
Frankie wrinkled her nose. ‘To be honest, he’s a boring fart. And he makes this funny squeaking noise when he comes.’
They fell about giggling and they were eleven years old again.
Bing’s tight smile revealed his displeasure at seeing Frankie’s jacket on the peg.
‘She’s upstairs,’ Miriam whispered. ‘She’ll be off first thing tomorrow. Honest. I thought we might eat out to make the evening a bit special.’
Il Barocco was one of their regular haunts. The food was authentic, the wine affordable, the atmosphere homely – perfect for an evening with her oldest and dearest friends. Yet she was on pins. Trapped in their seats, there was no alternative to conversation and whichever course that took – reminiscence, catch-up or plans for the future – something problematic was sure to surface. Bing must have felt the same way and, like a couple of sheepdogs, whenever the conversation threatened to stray into hazardous territory, they herded it in another direction. But by the time coffee arrived, Frankie had drunk best part of a bottle of wine and refused to be distracted.
‘So, Dr Paul Crosby. You were married to thingy.’
‘Eloise,’ he said.
‘Eloise. That’s the one. So what went wrong? Why did you divorce?’
Miriam folded her napkin – once, twice, three times.
‘It worked for a bit and then it stopped working. I like to think fate was setting things straight. Clearing the way for Mim and me.’
‘Well it took its bloody time.’ Frankie held the upturned bottle over her glass, catching the last few drops. ‘I gather Naomi thinks you’re the dog’s doodahs – but she would, wouldn’t she? Her father turned out to be a shit and you’re a knight in shining armour. She’s had a tough time, poor kid. Not as tough as Mim, of course.’ She swivelled the bottle so that it was a gun pointing at Bing. ‘Don’t you let them down or you’ll have me to reckon with.’
Miriam loved her for making the childish threat.
Bing took Miriam’s hand and squeezed it. ‘I would never do that.’
‘Good,’ Frankie said. ‘So what do your kids – you’ve got three, so I’m told – make of the situation? Do they see Mim as a wicked stepmother, or a fairy godmother?’
‘Here.’ Miriam pushed the tiny espresso cup towards Frankie. She could tell from Bing’s expression he was wondering how much she’d confided in Frankie. ‘We’re taking it slowly,’ she said.
Bing stood up. ‘I’ll get the bill.’
When they got back, she coaxed Frankie up the stairs, promising to wake her before she left for the bookshop.
‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’ she said when they were getting undressed.
‘Beats me why you bother with her,’ he said.
‘Aren’t the most enduring connections made through the gut not the brain?’
‘But somewhere along the line, reason has to kick in.’ He tossed his shirt towards the laundry basket. ‘She’s amoral and feckless. She drinks too much. She’s… tacky.’
They got into bed and Bing lay on his side, facing away from her.
‘Frankie’s been my friend for fifty years,’ she said. ‘I knew her before I knew you existed. I’m well aware you don’t like her. I’m simply asking you to accept that I do.’
19
The clocks went back AND by five o’clock it was dark. There were few days when it was worth pegging out washing. The garden chairs were stacked in the shed. Dahlia buds rotted on the stem, and the acer shed its fiery foliage, leaving the garden drab and inhospitable.
As a practice member, Bing was invited to all manner of ‘dos’ but he almost always wriggled out of them telling Miriam he spent enough time with work colleagues. When neighbours asked them in for coffee or drinks he concocted reasons not to go – ‘start that and we’ll have half the neighbourhood knocking the door for medical advice’. He was never happier than when they locked the door on the outside world. Miriam loved that too – the two of them, talking, reading, making love. She still couldn’t believe how things had turned out and found herself touching his hand or the back of his neck, making sure he was there, that he was hers.
And yet.
Sam had been a gregarious man. Friends, neighbours, people from the office, were forever popping in. This wasn’t always convenient but she’d enjoyed the unpredictability of it. Those difficult months when she was at Naomi’s had been leavened by the household’s chaotic schedule. And there had been the stimulation of working with Callum and Moat. Now she’d left that behind. From the moment Bing crossed the snowy road, before they’d exchanged more than a few words, their future had been inescapable. They belonged together, and that was that. But without realising it, she’d conflated belonging with Bing and belonging here, in this city when, in truth, she’d not belonged here for forty years. There were moments when she had the feeling she was drifting into a lazy backwater.
‘You really should tell him how you’re feeling.’ Hazel said when she mentioned yet another declined invitation. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Like a displaced person. And there’s something wrong with that house. Something lacking.’
‘You could always look for something with more character. Older perhaps. Nearer the centre of town.’
‘I suppose so. I know I only have to ask. But what if it’s me, not the house? When I was at Naomi’s, I dreamed of reclaiming my life. Now I can’t work out what that means. Or, to be honest, what I’m for. Don’t get me wrong, I love working here, with you, but it’s as if I’m marking time. Everything feels temporary. One thing I am sure of – Paul and I are permanent. We fit. Does that sound cheesy?’
‘Horribly, although from what I’ve seen you do seem remarkably well-suited
.’ She paused. ‘Aren’t you being a tad optimistic in assuming you can pick up your relationship where you left off? It’s been an awfully long time.’ She raised her hands. ‘Sorry. This is none of my business.’
‘No. I asked for your opinion. I can see how it must look to outsiders. A couple of sixty-year-olds who’ve messed up, snatching at a last chance. The thing is, we didn’t mess up. Not in the conventional way. We would have stayed together – spent our lives together – were it not for my parents. I’m sure of that. Had I challenged them they might have relented. I’ll never know.’
‘Well, they’ve taken Paul to their bosoms now, from what you tell me.’
‘Yes. I suspect it had a lot to do with their giving up on Danny. Heaven knows how they’ve squared it with their consciences. Frankly I’m amazed he’s prepared to forgive them after the way they treated him.’
‘He cares for you very much. He’s doing it for you.’
‘I know.’