Chapter 6
6
Frankie
Frankie didn’t used to be the kind of person who watched from the sidelines, but she was now. On days when she was trying to be kinder to herself, she realised that not everything that went awry was her wrongdoing. If she didn’t understand why she pushed people away, why would they? Sometimes though, she wondered whether all it would have taken was for someone to ask the right questions, someone astute enough to see beneath the perfect veneer of her life. Trouble was, she hadn’t peered beneath it either, not for a long time, and by the time she did, everyone had gone. Moved on.
It sounded harsh, but the truth was harsh. It brought with it a lengthy period of self-loathing which had stuck to her like glue. It wasn’t until she realised she could peel it from her skin that she began to understand that what happened wasn’t because of the choices she’d made, but because those choices only seemed like hers. They weren’t though, they hadn’t been for a long time. But some of the glue still stuck to her, in the tiny nooks and crevices where it was hard to get at, which was why thoughts about what happened last night were still swirling around her head.
She hadn’t even stopped to think about the consequences when she saw the woman fall. She’d instinctively rushed out to help but, afterwards, when she started to dissect what had happened, the doubts began to creep in. At first, she had been pleased – what she’d done were the actions of the woman Frankie used to be, and the fact that she could still behave in this way was reassuring. Then she realised she had broken free from the sanctuary of the bakery, and the thought sent a sharp flick of fear through her belly.
A cup of tea and some deep breathing had calmed her, as had the fact that in all likelihood she would never see the woman again but, hours later, she was still on her mind. She’d hurt her knee, and was anxious to get home to her husband, but there was something else about her which had pricked Frankie’s thoughts, as if looking at her was like looking in a mirror and seeing something of herself reflected back. It wasn’t until much later, when she was taking a tray of morning rolls from the oven, that she understood why she couldn’t get thoughts of the woman from her head. What she had seen mirrored in the woman’s eyes was pain – not from the graze on her knee, or the anxiety over what had happened to her husband, but the kind that ran deep, just like Frankie’s did.
She’d remained distracted right until the end of her shift, yearning for the oblivion of sleep, but then, twenty minutes ago, her boss, Vivienne, had rung to say she was poorly and that eclipsed everything she had been feeling. Vivienne wouldn’t be able to take over from Frankie as she normally did. Instead, Frankie would need to stay on for another hour or so until someone came to cover for her. It would probably be Melanie, who normally only worked on Vivienne’s days off, but Melanie had children she had to take to school. At such short notice, Frankie reckoned the earliest Melanie could relieve her would be half past nine, and while the thought of adding another two hours on top of her normal shift wasn’t pleasing, this wasn’t what had made her stomach lurch. The morning rush started just after eight. And Frankie would have to cope with it, alone. All those people…
Frankie knew what needed to be done to get the bakery ready for customers; that wasn’t what worried her. Nor was it setting aside bread for the regular orders or accepting the deliveries which often arrived first thing. What terrified her was the sheer number of people who would come through the door – having conversation after conversation till her head rang with voices which would still be there long after she left. It would be exhausting. And she always felt as if she were on a stage, projecting an image of herself which was based on reality yet was not truly her. Would she ever lose the self-consciousness which made her feel so detached, as if she were looking at her life through a window?
She stood in the centre of the shop for a few moments, pulling her mind into order, listing everything in her head which needed to be done, and then, with a deep breath, she went through to the rear of the bakery, the space she still thought of as her sanctuary, to collect the first of the loaves.
Duggan’s wasn’t the smartest of shops. The fittings were old and showed their age, but every morning, before her shift was due to end, Frankie made sure she left everything just as she found it. She wiped down the work surfaces and mopped the floor, and also washed and dried the equipment she’d used overnight, before returning it to the huge storeroom. For as long as she had been there, not only had this room housed all the things she used on a daily basis, but also a fair amount of old and obsolete equipment, including display materials and damaged shop fittings. Not quite as old as those stored in her flat, but it was evident that they hadn’t been used recently. To make her life easier, she had separated these from the rest of the things, relocating them to the furthest shelves. She had, however, kept them just as neat, clean, and organised as everything else, and among these were three beautiful wicker baskets. She assumed they had been used for display in the shop at some point, and yet although there was still room for them, Vivienne preferred to put the loaves straight onto the shelves.
Frankie went to look at them again, regarding them with a critical eye, and to her mind they were still the only thing about the shop which had any charm. She’d never really considered how it looked before – not her job – but it was bland, basic, utilitarian even: the display cabinet for the pastries was made from plain glass, the shelves for the bread had once been painted but were now turning yellow with age, and the counter where the till sat was covered in Formica, off-white and chipped at the edges. She was halfway to the shop floor, baskets in hand, before she stopped herself. What was she doing? If Vivienne had wanted to use the baskets she would have. Similarly, if she’d thought placing a vase of fresh flowers on the counter was a good idea, she’d have done that too, and replaced the board with prices on it where the letters kept falling off. Imagine how Vivienne would feel when she came back to work and found Frankie had taken it upon herself to change things? She returned the baskets to the storeroom and firmly closed the door. She was procrastinating, inventing things to take her mind off opening the shop when what she really needed was to get on and do it.
They say that people are often hard to recognise when seen out of context, and it must be true because, when a woman came in an hour later and stood right in front of Frankie with a big smile on her face, and a cheery ‘hi’ on her lips, Frankie stared at her blankly for far longer than she should have. Goodness only knows what her face must have looked like as her brain trawled its data banks for a clue as to the woman’s identity. Her memory had definitely got worse as she’d got older, but the woman must have thought she was a complete idiot. Frankie had literally seen her only a few hours before but now her brain had stuck fast.
Thankfully, the woman just laughed. ‘I don’t think I even told you my name, but it’s Beth. And you’re Frankie, right?’
Finally, the penny dropped. Frankie nodded, smiling as her cheeks bloomed with embarrassment. ‘Was everything okay? How’s your husband?’ Frankie couldn’t remember if she’d been told his name or not. She suspected she had, but her panicked brain was refusing to yield it up.
‘Oh, he’s okay…’ Beth rolled her eyes, but it was a reflex action. Frankie could still see anxiety etched in the creases of her face. ‘He’s got a massive bruise on his backside, and a similar dent in his pride, but nothing broken, thank God.’
‘And how are you? Did you get home all right?’
‘I did. My knee hurt like buggery changing gear but other than that, it was fine. Scared myself senseless in the car park, mind, but that was me just being silly.’
Frankie turned away for a moment to serve another customer. ‘Sorry, go on,’ she said, turning back. ‘What scared you?’
‘I park in the little place around the corner, you know where I mean?’ She paused fractionally for Frankie’s answering nod. ‘It’s usually pretty empty overnight, aside from the odd car or two, but you get to know which ones are the regulars. I’ve never noticed anything out of the ordinary before, but last night as I walked past this one car, there was a bloke inside with his head lolling against the window. I honestly thought he was dead.’ She shook her head in amusement. ‘But like I said, just me being silly. After a few seconds, with me peering at him while trying not to look like I was peering at him, he gave a massive snort, and his head lolled the other way. He was just asleep. Mind you, that’s a bit worrying in itself, but…’ She smiled. ‘Anyway, never mind that. I hoped you’d still be here. I wasn’t sure what time you finished.’
‘I’m usually gone by now,’ replied Frankie, eyeing the street. ‘But the owner’s poorly so I’m helping out for a bit until the cavalry arrives…’
Beth nodded. ‘I’m glad I caught you then. I wanted to give you these…’ She laid a box of chocolates on the counter. Posh ones, too, from Hotel Chocolat. ‘First, for coming to my rescue, to Jack’s rescue, and also because those croissants you gave us were the best we’ve ever eaten. Honestly. We had them for breakfast.’ She inched the box forward. ‘I wasn’t sure if you like?—’
‘Oh, I do,’ Frankie replied. ‘I absolutely do.’ She stared at the gift which Beth had no need to bring her but had done so anyway. ‘It really wasn’t necessary, and I should probably modestly refuse them, saying you shouldn’t have. But I’m not going to, because I bloody love these.’
Beth grinned. ‘In that case, I’m even more glad. It’s just a small kindness to say thank you for a big kindness, that’s all.’
Frankie would have said it was the other way around. Either way, it was a lovely thing for Beth to do and she suddenly felt quite emotional, reminded of a quote she’d always loved: So shines a good deed in a weary world . But Shakespeare had written another line before that and Frankie wracked her brain trying to remember how it went; something about candles. That was it – how far that little candle throws his beams … Which one of them was the candle, she wondered? Or perhaps they both were. She, holding out a hand to Beth in the dark, or Beth standing before Frankie now and reaching back with a good deed of her own. Beth’s smile was a bright flicker of light in a world which for a long time had felt dark, and overwhelmingly weary – not just for her, or for Beth. Everywhere she looked were people just trying to make it through the day. A tiny glowing filament had strung itself between them, so when Frankie saw Melanie coming through the door to relieve her, just at the moment Beth invited her for a coffee, she did something she hadn’t done in a long time. She said yes.