Seventeen Gifts for Frannie and Jess

by Nasser Hashmi

  ‘Oh no Frannie, come on, stay a bit longer. We were just starting to have a bit of fun.’

  We head to the door and Jessica opens it. Gillian gets up and rushes behind us.

  ‘I’m so sorry about his behaviour,’ says Gillian. ‘What I can do? I’ll make sure he doesn’t come tomorrow to spoil things…’

  ‘I HEARD THAT. I WOULDN’T WANT TO FUCKING COME ANYWAY!’

  I get out of the living room as fast as I can and head for the front door. I don’t want a beautiful, glorious day to be tarnished at the finishing line. Gillian kisses me on the cheek. Jessica puts her arm round me. We head out into the street and I have to admit Lawrence has sown a seed of doubt. Would Donald want all those people in my house tomorrow? Maybe not, but he’s not with us anymore; I make the decisions now. I want a full house after months of devastating silence. Is that so bad? If it is, I can take it because I’ve grown up so much in the last two weeks. It’s like the timid, old Francesca that took baby steps into the Olympic Park never existed. For that, I can only be thankful.

  DAY SEVENTEEN

  I wake up just before 8am with a terrible pain in my back. Just my luck with all these visitors expected today. Is it anxiety or am I exhausted after the intensity and euphoria of a two-week spectacle? Neither, it feels as if Lawrence’s return to aggressive behaviour has caused the pain; I had a dream a few hours earlier that he’d chased William all the way up the Yorkshire Moors and they had a duel at dawn in one of the fields, pistols at the ready, hats on and paces metronomically mapped out. They were wearing purple and red Games Maker uniforms. The only upside to this wild image is that I remember Gillian’s medicine is still in my cabinet (I’d only used it once) so I get out of bed and go downstairs in the hope it will work its magic again. I pour some water and take two tablets. I think about the dream again. What happened when they were about to shoot each other? It’s a hazy image but they actually end up exchanging t-shirts rather than firing bullets. It is an utterly stupid denouement (as Abigail would say after watching a terrible Hollywood film) but does have a certain logic to it.

  I still feel tired and go back to bed. The drowsiness of the tablets puts me back to sleep. I wake up a couple of hours later and the pain is even greater now, a throbbing, searing discomfort in my lower back peppered by a glut of prickly muscle spasms. I think of home visits by the doctor and invasive investigations: scans, blood tests, pokes and prods. How would that go down with so many guests here? Everyone enjoying themselves while I’m bedridden, unable to tap into the nostalgia and feelgood factor. I get up again, annoyed that these thoughts are being allowed to seep into my head once more. If I hadn’t gone to Lawrence’s house last night, everything would have been fine. Jessica and I were happier than ever a couple of hours before that. I go downstairs and have breakfast; the warm coffee and buttery toast give me a lift. I write down the number of guests and the time they’re expected to arrive. Only Deborah and Simon are expected by lunch – everyone else after 4pm. It would be great if none of them arrived until the Closing Ceremony which isn’t expected to start until 9pm. That would give me time to have more pills – and be properly mobile.

  Jessica wakes up just after noon, looking refreshed and relaxed, her cheeks glowing and her hair untied to make her look mature and graceful (with her London 2012 cap she looked at least 10 years younger). She puts the kettle on and turns on the radio. She changes the station from Radio Three to 6 Music, whatever that is. She prepares a hard-boiled egg, peanut butter on toast and peppermint tea and then comes down to sit at the breakfast table. She starts eating and then, finally, looks up at me.

  ‘I don’t want my parents to come,’ she says, rubbing a bit of butter off her fingers. ‘I’m not sure this was a good idea after all…’

  There is a moment of silence as I try to absorb Jessica’s revelation with a mixture of astonishment and confusion.

  ‘What are you on about?’ I reply, trying not to exert myself as a bout of nerve pain had a habit of shooting down my back when I was under strain. ‘You invited them all. How can you feel like that now?’

  ‘I didn’t invite them all…’

  ‘Well, you know what I mean. If it was up to me, only your parents and Richard Krystal would come to the house.’ I pick up the only letter I’ve opened from the stack of unopened mail lying in the centre of the breakfast table. ‘This is from Abigail, my sister, who lives in Paris. Even she’s congratulating us on a ‘great Olympics’. Wonders will never cease.’

  ‘Why didn’t you invite her over?’

  The mere raising of the question seems to increase the pain in my back. Jessica notices my discomfort.

  ‘Okay maybe not. What’s up anyway? Is it the back trouble? I saw some of those pills near the kettle.’

  ‘Perceptive as ever,’ I say, putting my hand on my lower back. ‘I woke up with it this morning. The pain was excruciating.’

  ‘Don’t eat any more of those pills. We’ll try something else after breakfast…’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Just trust me,’ she says, taking a bite of her egg and following it up with a precise sip of peppermint tea. ‘It’s the lack of movement that causes it.’

  ‘But I’ve been moving for the past two weeks. And besides, the pills have worked before.’

  ‘You didn’t have 30 people at your house that day. Or Lawrence’s voice ringing in your ears…’

  ‘Maybe you’re right, maybe it is stress-related but if that’s the case you’re not exactly helping the cause. Why don’t you want people to come? And particularly now, after we’ve been through all that trouble.’

  She finishes off her egg and wipes her hands with a serviette. ‘I’m worried Lawrence will have a barney with my Dad, that’s the reason. If that happened in this house I would never forgive myself.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘But that threat’s been looming over us since you moved in here. And also when you started seeing William. What’s changed now?’

  She pauses and runs her finger round the rim of her teacup. ‘It was last night, really. After his apology, I thought Lawrence would be a bit more respectful. If anything, he’s gone the other way so it made me think a lot before I went to bed. I didn’t sleep till about three…’

  ‘But that’s giving in to him. You’ve never been like that before. This is our house and we decide who we want here…’

  ‘I know and I felt like that too but…’ She folds her arms and leans back on the chair, ‘…he didn’t let William come home last night after his shift so it’s made me change my thoughts a little. He was locked out. William texted me at about 2am, asking if he could come here. I knew you were asleep so I said no; I didn’t want to disturb you. It was bad enough, you dealing with Lawrence yesterday…’

  ‘You should have just asked him to come round,’ I say, tutting and shaking my head. ‘I wouldn’t have minded. I was fast asleep anyway. Where did he stay then? What happened?’

  ‘He went to his landlord’s house and he let him in and he slept on the sofa…’

  I sigh and continue to shake my head. ‘You should stop looking after me so much. I can handle it now. Poor William, Lord knows how he got through the night.’

  ‘It wasn’t too bad, they had a few drinks and watched DVDs…’

  ‘I suppose he can’t wait to leave home now…’

  ‘He wanted to go this morning but I told him it was impossible.’

  ‘And I’ll tell you something else that is impossible…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You telling anyone that they’re not coming to my house. They are. And I’ll be waiting for them.’

  ‘But what if your back doesn’t improve?’

  ‘It will,’ I say, with a smile. ‘You just need to be true to your word. That still counts within these four wal
ls.’

  Jessica has some weird Bat for Lashes music playing in the living room as she demonstrates a yoga stretch while lying flat on her back on the carpet. She says this will cure my lower back pain. I watch, with no little anxiety, as she pulls up one leg to her chest and then does the same with the other. Then she raises one leg in the air, keeping her back still and straight, then the other. It looks quite strenuous and awkward for this time on a Sunday afternoon but I must admit I’m not in the mood to rule anything out as the pain in my lower back has actually got worse with medication not better. I thought Gillian said the pills worked every time? Not on this occasion. Jessica looks up at me from the carpet and tells me why I should follow her lead.

  ‘When I played hockey, a few of my team-mates always had niggly back injuries,’ she says, breathing deeply through her stomach. ‘It’s not surprising because we were bent over all the time with our hockey sticks sniffing around for the ball so our backs took a lot of strain. Anyway, this one girl did yoga and said it cured her back problems. I never had that problem but I still did the exercises because they’re good for flexibility and movement…’

  ‘I’m not sure Jessica,’ I say, sitting down on the edge of the sofa with my hand on my chin. ‘I don’t want to make it worse.’

  ‘It won’t get worse, trust me. It can only help.’

  ‘But I’m 68 years old! And I’ve never lay down on that carpet before. I’ll almost be able to hear Donald’s pounding boots if I did that.’

  ‘All the more reason to do it then…’ says, Jessica, now out of breath. ‘Come on, you won’t regret it.’

  ‘But your mum and dad will be here soon…’

  ‘Yes, and they won’t want to see you suffer. Do you want to spend the whole day moping or being active? Two weeks of joy followed by one day of hell. You don’t want it to end like that.’

  I sigh and look around the room. It’s as if there’s a silent presence watching me from somewhere, waiting to laugh at me if I do something as silly this on my own carpet. But what have I got to lose? A bit of embarrassment is worth it if it reduces the pain. I reluctantly take off my shoes and lie down, awkwardly, next to Jessica. I look up at the high ceiling and wonder why Donald and I never replaced the patterned wallpaper we inherited. The globe-shaped light cover too. It all looked very old.

  ‘Okay, close your eyes and relax first, Frannie,’ she says, using her hand to demonstrate how to breathe deeply. ‘Then we’ll start moving the legs.’

  I imagine Jessica could do a fine job as a yoga instructor: she’s bossy enough, for a start! She asks me to grab hold of my left leg and raise it as high as I can past 90 degrees. I find it difficult, but the groans and the creaks seem to lessen as I raise the leg up and release it, doing the same motion again three times. I think of inspiring sportswomen and the way they move their bodies: Beth Tweddle, Jessica Ennis and Jayne Torvill; highly flexible and graceful. I gradually do more moves and find them oddly reassuring and soothing. For a while I even can’t tell what Jessica is saying, as if I’m in some kind of zone. I imagine what it would be like if Simon and Deborah walked in now. I didn’t care. Perhaps it was time for me to stop worrying about others people’s perceptions and be bold. I look across at Jessica – her head all twisted and her hair all over the front of her face – and want to thank her for making me feel that way.

  Jessica is in Donald’s study browsing eBay on his old computer. She is seeing how much Olympic memorabilia is already up on the site – and what price it’s selling for. She keeps shouting out these ridiculous prices and I do wonder if she’s exaggerating.

  ‘A basketball used in last night’s men’s final is going for more than three grand,’ she says with more excitement than necessary. ‘A maypole used in the opening ceremony; the asking price is £500. Those mascots too, what are they called?’

  ‘Wenlock and Mandeville…’

  ‘Should have put them in Stoke Mandeville. Anyway, there’s sculptures of them going for £300 to begin with, I’m sure that’ll increase. A Bradley Wiggins replica jersey: 600 smackers to begin with.’

  ‘I thought people were a bit hard up…’

  ‘They are – but everyone wants a piece of the best-tasting cake ever right now.’

  The bell rings and I leave the bedroom to answer it.

  ‘Oh, what about this…’ she says. ‘A Beth Tweddle gymnast outfit…’

  ‘No…’

  ‘Going for £150…’

  ‘Funnily enough, I was just thinking about her…’

  Jessica looks up at me. ‘…And that’s why you feel better now, yes?’

  I hold my back and open the door. ‘A little – but there’s still a bit to go.’

  ‘You need a couple more sessions this evening…’

  ‘You must be joking!’

  I leave the room and walk downstairs to answer the door. A woman, who I don’t recognise is in front of me, but I look over her shoulder and see Simon clearing the boot of his car so I realise it must be Deborah, Jessica’s mum.

  ‘Hello, Frannie, I’m so happy to be here,’ she says, offering a firm handshake. ‘What have you done with Jessica? You haven’t locked her in the cellar have you? Wouldn’t be surprised with her behaviour.’

  ‘No, she’s upstairs on the internet…’

  Deborah rolls her eyes. ‘Hope she cooked Sunday lunch for you?’

  ‘We got up too late, really. I suppose we’ve skipped it. You’re not hungry are you? We could still grab a late lunch.’

  ‘No, we grabbed lunch at a crappy service station somewhere near Staffordshire.’ She smiles and holds her stomach. ‘I think it’s still talking to me now!’

  I laugh as she walks in. She is wearing a loose-fitting cardigan, dark jeans and trainers. Her light brown hair is very short and she has earrings in both ears. I notice a small tattoo on the side of the neck. She isn’t the kind of dinnerlady I expected. I point the way to Donald’s study, and she rushes up the stairs energetically. I continue to hold the door open for Simon. He is taking his time. He has a case of wine, cans of beer, some carrier bags of groceries and even a colourful woman’s dress on a coat hanger.

  ‘Who is that for?’ I shout, as he finally shuts the boot.

  ‘For me, of course, don’t you know I lead a double life!’

  ‘I always knew you were a funny one…’

  He laughs and walks towards the house. He comes in and I shut the door behind him.

  ‘What about all that food and wine?’ I ask. ‘Who’s going to drink that? Must have cost you a fortune.’

  ‘I wanted to indulge a little to celebrate my new job, Frannie,’ he says, dropping a couple of bags in the hallway and taking a breather. ‘I’ve never felt happier after leaving that shithole bookies.’

  ‘Do you have to swear?’

  ‘No,’ he says, with a grin. ‘But it paints the picture a bit better, don’t you think? You wouldn’t want to get a job there.’

  ‘I’d probably agree with that,’ I say, picking up one of his bags and taking it into the kitchen. I am pleased that my back seems to be holding up.

  ‘How’s Jessica been anyway?’ he asks, following me into the kitchen with his cases of wine. ‘Behaving well, I hope.’

  ‘She’s been great…’ I say, suddenly realising this is her last day in my house.

  Simon expects me to elaborate but I don’t.

  ‘I sense a ‘but’ coming,’ he says. ‘She hasn’t had students coming round for all-night parties has she? The lass does like her music.’

  ‘No, she’s been fine,’ I say, looking at Simon. ‘It’s just suddenly dawned on me that she’ll be gone by midnight tonight – and I might not see her again for a long time.’

  ‘Hey, come on it’s a bit early to think that way,’ he says, walking up to me and putting his arm round me
. ‘There’ll be loads of visits after this. We’ll all be going back and forth. Let’s just think about today for now. This is your day – and we’re going to top these wonderful Olympics off in style.’

  I nod and he seems to acknowledge this as a green light to walk towards the case of wine and pull out a bottle. As if to pre-empt his thoughts, I point to the cupboard with the bottle opener and he pulls it out. He uncorks the bottle and reaches for two glasses. He pours two glasses of white wine – and I do not stop him even though it’s very early in the day for me. He offers me the glass of wine and I take it, hesitating as I inch it towards my lips. I take a drink and then break out into a very slow, deliberate smile.

  ‘CHEERS!’ he says, touching my glass with his.

  ‘Cheers…’

  ‘To Frannie, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for looking after my beautiful, beautiful daughter. She is my life and my soul – and, from today, you are too…’

  Simon and Jessica are watching British boxer Anthony Joshua on TV as he fights for the gold medal. Deborah and I are chatting on the sofa, discussing the differences in volunteering skills in the two parts of the country. The front door bell rings thick and fast during this period. Sheena, her husband Gary, and their three childen: Theo, Jack and Nicola, all come in to make it a packed living room. Eric arrives soon after, looking resplendent in a dark blue blazer, grey trousers and a Union flag dicky-bow tie. Is he overdressed? Probably, but he mentions that as a bachelor if he can’t get noticed by the way he dresses how is he going to get attention? Richard Krystal and his girlfriend Melissa arrive about 15 minutes later, with a couple of homemade cards, made by Melissa’s two daughters. They show five wonky, but colourful, Olympic rings with the letters T-H-A-N-K written in each of the rings and then a ‘U’ underneath them. It’s curiously uplifting. By this time, Anthony Joshua has won gold in the super heavyweight final – and everyone’s mood is boisterous and upbeat. I go into the kitchen and start preparing dinner – but Deborah and Sheena are adamant they want me out of the kitchen this evening because I shouldn’t have ‘to lift a finger tonight’. I show them where everything is and off they go, preparing the steak, washing the salad and peeling the potatoes. I go back into the living room and end up sitting near Gary who smiles at me but doesn’t say anything. He reaches into his pocket and starts fiddling with his mobile phone.