The Turning Point: A gripping love story, keep the tissues close.... Freya NorthЧитать онлайн книгу.
replaced by pricey generic ones, humble cafés and the occasional corner shop swallowed up by each and every coffee company. But still, above eye level, the windows and chimneys and brickwork and roofs of the beautiful buildings remained unaltered. And, Frankie had to admit, a visit to Whistles or Karen Millen for first time in nine months was attractive. She could stock up on jeans and tops for the kids from Gap and then pop across to Waterstones to check stock levels of her books after which a frappuccino might be in order.
Peta’s house had changed since Frankie had last visited.
‘Grey,’ Peta explained. ‘Actually – greige. It’s all about greige these days.’
‘Where are the menfolk?’
‘Philip’s at bloody work – of course – and the boys are at athletics. They’ll be home soon.’ Peta smiled at Annabel. ‘They’re looking forward to seeing you.’
Annabel rolled her eyes at her mother and, for a moment, Frankie was sure she was going to say bloody thugs. But then again, Peta would probably concur.
‘Take your stuff upstairs and freshen up – I’ve made us a light lunch.’
Frankie poked her head around the door to the smallest spare room to find Annabel staring at the bed.
‘Auntie Peta always puts this doll and this teddy out for me,’ she told her mum.
‘That’s because she’s thoughtful,’ said Frankie. ‘She has a soft spot for you because you’re a gorgeous girl and not a monstrous boy.’
‘I think I’d probably rather have stayed at home though,’ said Annabel. ‘What with you going out and everything.’
Frankie thought about it. ‘But Auntie Peta has planned popcorn and chocolate and a DVD just for the both of you. Also she has much better nail varnishes than me.’
‘Listen!’
The house appeared to shake.
‘It’s only Stan and Josh,’ Frankie said.
‘Do you think they’ll talk to me?’
‘Think of it as a mercy if they don’t,’ Frankie laughed.
‘Do you think Sam’s OK?’
Frankie looked at her watch. ‘The match’ll be under way.’
‘Don’t you think it’s odd – not being the three of us?’
Frankie nodded. ‘It is odd. But it’s also normal for there to be times when we have to do – our own things.’
‘I don’t have my own things to do,’ said Annabel crossly. ‘I just have to follow.’
‘Your time’ll come,’ Frankie said, stroking her daughter’s little face and putting her hand back there even after Annabel had pushed it away.
Later, Annabel watched Frankie get changed.
‘What’s wrong with the clothes you were wearing?’
‘Nothing?’ Frankie said.
‘So why are you getting changed? It’s only teatime.’
‘I felt stuffy in what I was wearing – after the long car journey and everything. Anyway, I’m going out to dinner – and I don’t often wear a frock these days.’
‘A dress – it’s called a dress,’ said Annabel. ‘What time will you be back?’
How many times today had her daughter already asked her this? ‘I don’t know. But lateish.’ Frankie wished Annabel would just rummage around her make-up bag or try on her shoes and stop asking her these questions.
‘The boys are so rude!’ Annabel whispered. ‘Did you hear them? Did you hear what Josh said about Auntie Peta’s food?’
‘I did. Ghastly – but it’s just a phase.’
‘Well, if Sam goes through a phase, we will have to kill him.’
‘He might, you know – but we’ll find a way to deal with it that doesn’t involve death.’
‘They’re so rude!’ Annabel shook her head. ‘When can I have a phone?’
‘A phone?’
‘So you can phone me.’
‘When you’re at secondary school – like Sam.’
‘But you can’t phone me tonight to tell me if you’re going to be later than lateish.’
‘I’ll keep in touch with Peta.’
‘You look – lovely,’ Peta told Frankie sweetly, glancing over at Annabel who was seemingly engrossed in Frozen. ‘Smile?’
Frankie raised her eyebrow at herself. ‘I’m so nervous. It’s crazy.’ She scanned her sister’s face for reassurance. ‘Am I mad?’
Peta sighed. ‘It is nuts – all of it. But if you were me, you wouldn’t be doing it and if I was you – then hell yes, I would!’ She paused. ‘Go. Stop thinking. Don’t worry about Annabel. Go and have fun – or there’s absolutely no point.’
Gazing at her daughter, Frankie suddenly thought perhaps I shouldn’t be doing this, perhaps my place is on a sofa, watching Frozen. She thought of Sam and the unknown Massey family. Did they win the cricket? Was he OK? Did he feel palmed off? It all felt a bit self-centred, slightly dishonest.
‘Go!’ said Peta with a friendly shove.
Frankie looked down at her shoes. Were her feet going to be sore in an hour? Did Scott really want to see her?
‘Will you make it really lovely for Annabel?’
‘I have the best night planned,’ Peta said. ‘Pink fake cocktails in sugar-crusted martini glasses, popcorn, mini-marshmallows and chocs and we’re going to watch Pitch Perfect. I’ve only ever watched it once, secretly on the laptop with headphones on in the top room. My boys would smash the DVD otherwise.’
‘Where will they be? Josh and Stan?’
‘On their phones in their rooms with music on and stinky socks.’
‘So Annabel will be fine?’
‘Yes, Frankie – and so will you. Now – go.’
The further the cab took Frankie from Hampstead, the lighter her nerves became, metamorphosing from a leaden plug of guilt and anxiety in the pit of her stomach, to a feathering of butterflies swirling up against her diaphragm. She loved her dress and it really was a frock, whatever Annabel claimed to the contrary. Petrol blue, scooped neck and back, little cap sleeves – it had something of the 1950s about it. Changing her shoes to trusty ballet pumps at the last minute was a good idea, and she felt a femininity that months of slopping around at home in old jeans and shabby tops had compromised. She checked her phone. No messages at all. The taxi was travelling down Fitzjohn’s Avenue and all the traffic seemed to be going the other way. The lights were green. Nothing, it seemed, was standing in her way.
In Abbey Road, Scott was working. He’d be back again in the morning, for a couple of hours before his flight, but was nearly done for now. The week had been a good one and he was happy with the results. He looked at his watch. Almost six o’clock – a curious in-between time, not quite evening, long since afternoon. He phoned his daughter.
‘Hey Pops.’
‘Hey Jenna.’
‘How’s it going?’
‘Oh – good. How’s you?’
‘Fine – I promise! Dad – don’t do the loaded pause. What time do you get in tomorrow – is Aaron picking you up?’
‘I arrive around six. And yes – or I’ll be hitching home.’