The Turning Point. Freya North
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Peta knew to tread carefully but she wasn’t entirely sure what to say next. ‘How long is he here for before he returns home – to Canada?’
‘He flies on Sunday.’
‘Sunday as in the day after tomorrow?’
‘I need to see him tomorrow. That’s why I’m phoning – to tell you what happened and to ask if the kids and I can stay.’
‘You mean the kids to stay – because you’ll be elsewhere shagging Scott senseless.’
‘Don’t say it like that. I just need to see him again,’ Frankie said thoughtfully. ‘Before he goes.’
‘Have you slept with him?’
‘No.’
‘Are you going to?’
‘I don’t know. I hope so. I don’t know.’
Peta heard her sister, her voice level yet full of thought, passion, need. And she thought to herself, you know what, even if Frankie and this Scott bloke have a night of passion and she never hears from him again – is there really anything so wrong in that? She’s only known him two days so he can’t actually break her heart. Perhaps a stupendous shag – or whatever she wants to call it – is no bad thing. Hopefully, it will get it out of her system. He lives in Canada. He’ll be gone the day after tomorrow, a different continent, a different time zone, a different world. Perhaps it’s a very good idea – scratch that phantom itch and then pave the way for something more realistic with someone like Chris.
‘OK,’ Peta said. ‘Come. I’d love to see you – and the kids. Come. You’re welcome.’
‘Thank you so so much.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Annabel was excited; she’d been given a Claire’s Accessories voucher last Christmas but had been bemused to find she lived nowhere near a branch. But London? There were as many Claire’s Accessories as there were pigeons. Sam, however, was utterly resistant. He’d have to miss a cricket match, his first for the B team.
‘I’ll write a note,’ Frankie told him.
‘That’s not the point,’ he said. ‘It’s not about the note – it’s about what I want to do.’
‘Sometimes I have to make decisions for the family, though,’ said Frankie.
‘Moving out here was a decision for the family,’ Sam retorted. ‘And I had to leave my old school and my mates and everything. And you told me to try hard to join in – well that’s what I’ve been doing. I’m crap at winter sports but I’m good at cricket. And now I can’t play because I’m being dragged off to London because of your stupid work. I’m letting the team down, I’ll never get chosen again. God!’ He was picking up random items and banging them down again; an orange, Annabel’s school book, his mother’s hairbrush, all of which he’d rather throw at the windowpane while yelling fuck! whatever the consequences.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Frankie, meaning it.
‘No you’re not.’
‘I am, sweetie. But I can’t change things now. Peta’s looking forward to seeing us. So are Josh and Stan.’
‘Josh and Stan are thugs – you said so yourself. Not even in private. You said so yourself – to us – after our last visit.’
‘That was then,’ she told her children brightly. ‘Teenagers go through phases – they’re probably sweetness and light these days.’ Quietly, they all doubted that.
‘If I can find someone on the team and they say I can stay at theirs – then can I stay?’ Sam’s cheeks had reddened and his voice creaked.
Hitherto, Sam hadn’t asked if any of his schoolmates could come over and though the school assured her he was much more settled, she worried that his friendships were conducted via Instagram rather than reality.
‘Yes,’ Frankie smiled. ‘That’ll work.’
Still slightly slouched, Sam went off with his phone.
Annabel fixed Frankie with her oversized hazel eyes. ‘Why do you have a work thing on a Saturday – when offices are closed at weekends?’
Frankie didn’t lie to her children. Ever. She just manipulated language instead. ‘It’s someone I met when I was down in London working last week. They don’t live here. They live in Canada and I need to see them before they go.’
‘What’s their name?’
Frankie paused. ‘Scott,’ she said. ‘His name is Scott.’
‘They’re a man?’
‘Half the world is men, Annabel.’
Annabel looked at her mother long and hard. ‘What time will you be back?’
‘I won’t know till I’m there, really. But I’ll let Auntie Peta know.’
‘Or Sam.’
‘Yes – or Sam.’
‘If he comes,’ said Annabel, ‘if he can’t magic himself some friends by then.’
‘Dom says I can stay at his.’ Sam bounced back in.
‘I don’t think I’ve heard you mention Dom,’ said Frankie.
Sam shrugged. ‘He’s a brilliant bowler.’
‘Is he nice?’
Sam balked at the question. ‘He’s in my maths set,’ he said. ‘He’s cool.’
‘I ought to speak to his mum,’ said Frankie.
Sam shrugged. ‘She said it was fine.’
‘Still – I ought to speak to her.’
Sam sent a text at breakneck speed and a reply pinged back almost immediately. ‘Here – this is her mobile number.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sam said, as if it was preposterous.
‘What’s Dom’s surname?’
‘Massey.’
‘I’ll give Mrs Massey a ring, then.’
‘Unless she’s a single mum with a different surname,’ said Annabel. ‘Like you.’
But Mrs Massey told Frankie to call her Sarah and assured her it would be a pleasure for Sam to stay.
‘Maybe Dom would like to come over to ours one day,’ Frankie said to Sam.
‘Cool,’ said Sam, settling down on the couch. ‘Simpsons!’ he called to his family and they gathered together next to him, and did what they did so well, with Frankie in the middle.
‘I love this one.’
‘Me too.’
‘Marge! She’s my role model you know.’
‘She has better hair than you, Mum.’
I’m going!
Ruth was the first person Frankie wanted to tell.
FanTASTic! Ruth texted back.
You coming? Scott texted Frankie.
Yes. Frankie texted back.
‘Mummy! Put your phone down.’
There had been a time, after university and once she’d landed her first job at a greetings-card company, when Frankie aspired to living in Hampstead. It seemed such a perfect place: slightly bohemian, still villagey, up high as if it had cleaner air than the rest of London. She’d gaze at the buildings and imagine herself ensconced in basement flats or up in attics – all