The Midnight Bakery

Chapter 22

22

Frankie

Frankie didn’t read the note at first. She stooped to pluck the envelope from the floor as she opened up the bakery, juggling her keys, lunch box and phone before walking through to the back where she dumped them on the table. She took off her coat and hung it up, along with her bag, and then wandered through to the storeroom to collect a clean apron.

She put her lunch box in the fridge and picked up her phone, immediately opening her Spotify app to search for that night’s playlist, and it wasn’t until she had set her music playing and boiled the kettle that she returned to see what had been posted through the door.

It had been a week since her conversation with Vivienne and she’d heard nothing more from her since. She assumed it would be a while before anything happened with the sale, but perhaps she’d been fooling herself, trying to allay her panic instead of dealing with the situation. She’d been guilty of that in the past. What she really wanted was to do nothing – to have a new owner take over the business with Frankie in situ, leaving life to carry on as before – but experience should have taught her that ignoring a situation didn’t make it go away. So, should she jump ship and look for a job somewhere else? Or should she wait, in the hope of not missing out on the opportunity to stay? They were impossible questions to answer.

It was with these thoughts in her head that she opened the envelope, expecting to see one thing but, instead, seeing another. And what she saw made her stomach lurch in shock.

Hello Frances .

She stared at the note, at the first two words written there, at the handwriting she knew so well, and the name she no longer used. Her hands began to shake in fear. Robert had found her.

There were more words beneath, a whole jumble of them, but she couldn’t seem to get the letters to arrange themselves into something she could make sense of, and her eyes remained unfocused on the page. With a cry, she threw the note back onto the table as if it burned.

She whirled about, staring through the window at the dark outside, knowing that she, in the light of the room, stood out with a clarity denied to anyone standing just metres away, hiding in the shadows. There was no one there, and yet…Her gaze returned to the table. There could be.

The storeroom was the only real place where she could hide and she rushed inside, standing behind the door with her chest heaving. The air around her felt thick, like treacle, and she could scarcely draw it in. Her head was spinning. She had work to do, but even though the bakery doors were locked, how could she possibly spend the night there knowing that she could be seen? Knowing that he might be out there, watching, waiting until the morning came and it was time for her to leave? He could have her in his sights right now.

Her eyes felt curiously hot and dry, even though they spilled tears down her cheeks. She dashed them away, anger beginning to burn through her. She had come so far, done things she never thought she’d have to and, against the odds, had achieved so much. What did she have to do to be free of him?

From across the room, her music still played, her phone lying on the table where she’d left it. But who would she call? Not her boss. It was eleven o’clock at night and Vivienne was still recuperating. And Beth? Her first real friend? Frankie remembered how happy she’d been, keying Beth’s number into her phone contacts, but Beth would be at work by now and unable to help.

Frankie switched her attention towards the front door of the bakery. She could leave via the back door and run towards the car park, but that would mean the darkness of the alley and the narrow road beyond. Even if she reached Tam, she wasn’t sure how he could help her. She needed to be invisible. She needed to be inside, and that meant the front door was her only option. Her flat was the only place where she’d be safe. But as soon as the thought entered her head, she realised that wasn’t the answer either. Her flat might be safe, but if she went up there she’d be trapped, holed up until…until she came down to find him waiting for her. And besides, there was just a chance he might not know where she lived yet. Thinking hard, she realised there was only one choice open to her. She had an advantage over Robert because she knew this town and he didn’t. She could hide somewhere, she could…

Gritting her teeth, Frankie peered around the door of the storeroom, snatching a quick glance through the window before ducking her head back inside. Her keys were hanging up beside her coat and bag, she could be out of the door in seconds – keys then phone – one, two – and then, gone. She took a deep breath and started running.

Her fingers fumbled, the lock was stiff – how had she not remembered that? Then she was through, but in her haste to relock the door she dropped the keys, the noise like a gunshot in the silent night. She swore, crying out in desperation, as she swiped the keys from the floor, hairs standing to attention on the back of her neck. Something was moving, coming closer…

There! She was done, the door was locked. She turned, pushing away with her feet, propelling herself down the street, but the pavement had gone from under her, slick from icy rain.

She crashed to the ground, pain shooting through her wrist, blooming within one knee, and she scrabbled frantically to right herself. None of it mattered. They were small things. Sacrifices in the face of something much bigger. She snatched up her phone, seeing the crack across the screen. It didn’t matter. Get up, Frankie. Run …

Her gaze fell on the street ahead – it was clear. But then a sound came from behind and her world stood still. How could she have been so stupid? She’d never make it anywhere. If Robert was behind her, he would catch her easily, her short legs no match for his long stride. She focused on something. A possibility. Yes, take it… move!

Moments later, her fist pounded against a green door, her fingers stabbing at the doorbell, again and again, as she prayed that William would be home. If he had already left for work, if he wasn’t there…

But then a light came on, and the door opened, and he stood before her, tall and solid and safe …She didn’t care – she pushed herself through the gap, flattened herself against him and slammed the door behind her.

For the first few seconds all she could do was breathe. There were words coming out of her mouth, but she had no idea what they were. There were words coming out of William’s mouth too, but all she could hear was white noise, foaming white water, crashing inside her head.

Gradually, the tumult slowed. Her hearing returned, her breathing softened, and she swallowed, William’s shirt glued to her cheek.

He pulled away, his arms gently holding hers. ‘It’s okay, Frankie, hey, it’s okay.’ He stared into her eyes. ‘Whatever’s wrong, we’ll sort it. You’re safe …’

She nodded, feeling her tears begin in earnest as the shock of her situation caught up with her, the realisation of what she’d just done flooding her with embarrassment. She turned her face away, only for William to slide a hand through her hair and gently turn her head back.

‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ And then, after another searching look, ‘Come on, I think you need to sit down.’

Her legs were still trembling violently and, as she followed William up the stairs, she almost laughed at the absurdity of her movements – hanging onto the banister as if she’d forgotten how to walk.

She emerged through a door at the top of the stairs, knee and wrist throbbing, into a sitting room a similar size to her own. The furniture was basic, just as hers was, but whereas her flat was bright and full of colour, his was more muted, furnished in soft tones of blues and green, colours of the earth, the sky. There were plants everywhere. She hadn’t ever considered what William’s flat would look like until now, but she must have had a stereotypical image in her mind because the reality didn’t match with it at all. Looking around in surprise, she wondered whether she preferred it to her own. She had deliberately chosen bright colours, thinking them to be cheerful and uplifting, but now she wondered whether perhaps she’d been trying too hard. William’s room was calming and serene, and with heavy curtains closed against the night outside, a cocoon.

He steered her towards an armchair in one corner, beside a small table holding a lamp and a stack of books – his chair, and obviously favoured over a sofa which sat opposite. She could still see where the cushions held the imprint of his weight. She was about to protest when he interrupted her thoughts.

‘No arguments – sit,’ he said. ‘And I’ll get you something to drink. Something warm, or something strong?’

‘Warm,’ she said, nodding. ‘Thank you.’

Taking advantage of his exit, she inspected her wrist and knee for damage. No skin was broken but although the dim light didn’t reveal any bruising, she was sure it was there. She tentatively flexed her wrist, gasping at the white-hot flare of pain which shot through it and up her arm. What on earth would she do now? Bread making was not an activity you could undertake single-handed. She shook her head angrily. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

She spent the next few minutes until William reappeared trying not to cry.

From the other room, she could hear sounds of a kettle coming to boil and she sat a little more upright, sniffing and blinking hard. Anything to stifle her emotions and bring back a sense of normality. She took a deep breath.

‘I owe you an explanation,’ she said, as soon as William returned.

He was carrying two mugs which he put down on a coffee table in front of the sofa.

‘Possibly…’ He smiled a little. ‘I’ll admit I’m burning with curiosity, but you don’t owe me anything, Frankie.’

‘After what just happened? I don’t normally go around throwing myself into the arms of virtual strangers.’ Just saying the words made her blush.

‘I guessed that. And one day we’ll probably laugh about this, but right now…I’m not sure which one of us is the more embarrassed. You, for throwing yourself at me, or me, for catching you and hanging on.’

‘Did you?’

‘Oh yes…’ The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘Although I’m not sure you noticed so I probably shouldn’t have said anything.’ He shook his head in amusement and sat down on the sofa. ‘In all seriousness though, whatever the reason for it, I’m glad you found your way here.’

‘I didn’t know where else to go. I was running and then I saw your door, the green door you’d told me about when we first met and, suddenly, it was all I could think of.’

He pushed a mug towards her. ‘No need to think about that now. Here, it’s hot chocolate, and probably sickeningly sweet, but under the circumstances…’

She accepted it gratefully, wincing a little as she lifted the mug to her nose and inhaled the fragrant warmth. Taking a cautious sip, she smiled. ‘Sickeningly sweet, but very, very nice.’

‘Good. Catch your breath, there’s no rush.’

And suddenly there wasn’t. All this moment needed was to sit and be still. No expectations, no judgements, nothing but the slow passage of time. She pushed herself deeper into the chair and, finally, felt her body relax.

She had almost finished her drink before she realised she was in serious danger of falling asleep. Her head was the weight of a bowling ball, her neck far too slender to support it. It was so, so tempting to give in, but Frankie knew if she did so she would probably let out the most horrendous snort and she didn’t think she’d survive any more embarrassment. She inhaled sharply, attempting to rouse herself.

‘Sorry…’ she murmured. ‘I’m not exactly being scintillating company.’

But William merely smiled, his eyes catching the light from the lamp as he did so.

‘I ought to get back to work,’ she said, and then checked herself. ‘God, you probably need to get to work, don’t you? I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s my day off, you’re in luck.’

Frankie realised just how lucky she had been. ‘I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here.’

A startled look came over his face. ‘Those lads didn’t pay you a repeat visit, did they? It wasn’t anyone from the club giving you grief?’

Frankie shook her head. ‘No, nothing like that.’

‘But someone was following you? You said you were running.’

‘I don’t even know if they were,’ admitted Frankie. ‘I think so. I heard noises and…’ She stopped. The only way to explain was to explain properly, but after all this time, holding everything in, never admitting to anyone who knew her what had happened, Frankie wasn’t sure she could.

Yet if she were to tell anyone, she’d like it to be William. He was sitting on the sofa opposite, with one leg tucked beneath the other, in a pose which he obviously favoured. He radiated such an air of still calm, it was like a soothing balm. She could feel her blood pressure lowering just by being in his presence.

‘You really don’t need to tell me,’ he said, sensing her hesitation. ‘I’m guessing that whatever got you this upset is not something you would normally share with a virtual stranger. And that’s okay.’

She stared down at her mug, still clasped in her hands. It wasn’t okay, and it would never be okay unless she let people into her life. People who might understand.

‘There was a note waiting for me when I got to work this evening,’ she said. ‘Someone had pushed it through the bakery’s letterbox.’ She shook her head. ‘Not someone…I know who it was.’ Was she really going to do this? William had been so kind to her, and she had ruined his evening, was ruining his evening…

‘I was married. Am married…The note was from my husband, and he—’ The breath caught in her throat. ‘He shouldn’t know where I am, but he does, and now…I don’t know what I’m going to do.’ She swallowed. ‘It took me such a long time to get away.’

There was silence. She didn’t want to look at William and see the irritation in his eyes, the realisation that she’d just shoved him straight into the middle of a marital dispute. She didn’t want him questioning her motives. But, as the seconds ticked by, she found she couldn’t bear it and, looking up, was surprised to see an altogether different expression on his face.

‘He hurt you?’ he said softly.

‘No…’ She frowned. ‘He didn’t hit me. That’s what you mean, isn’t it? He wasn’t violent, but he did hurt me. And sometimes I wish he had used his fists, at least then I’d have something to prove what a monster he was. A monster I lived with for nearly thirty years, stupidly believing for most of them that I was happy – that I was married to a man who loved me, and cared for me, and would do anything for me. But it was only when I had reached rock bottom, when I depended on him almost for my very existence, that a teeny spark inside of me began to wonder if it was him who was the problem, not me. And, as soon as I realised, that’s when the monster appeared.’ She winced. ‘They call it gaslighting now, coercive control, and I’m glad, finally, to have some way of labelling his behaviour. To know that people recognise it, talk about it even. Before, it was just me, losing my mind, making a fuss about a man who was so kind and considerate. No wonder people thought I was mad.’

William nodded. ‘I’m from the same generation as you so I’m learning about the terms for these things too. I’m sure they existed in the past, but I don’t think people understood, not really.’

‘He made me depend on him for everything. Even the things I believed in came from him – his mind, his opinions. He changed the way I thought, how I felt even, and if I found myself disagreeing, I told myself it was because I didn’t understand, or I was stupid. You lose all faith in yourself, in your abilities, but it happens so gradually you never even notice.’

‘Like the boiling frog analogy?’

She stared at him. ‘ Exactly like that, yes. It all starts off so innocuously. In fact, when we first got married, I congratulated myself over and over at how lucky I was to be with a man like him. Someone who wanted nothing more than to take care of me. It wasn’t until I woke up one day and realised he controlled every aspect of my life that I understood he was the very opposite of kind and caring. The trouble is that, even now, when people recognise this kind of behaviour, they still don’t understand how you could let yourself be fooled by it, and to such an extent. They don’t believe they could be so easily manipulated, so they don’t understand how you could be, therefore …maybe there was some truth in the things he said about you.’ She bit her lip. ‘I thought at the very least my family would understand, but I hardly speak to them now.’

‘Your family?’ William’s expression was unbelievably sad.

Frankie nodded. ‘They’d joke about me when we were all together, saying, “What are you like?” rolling their eyes and smiling as if they were indulging my behaviour. And I wondered why they were saying such things. Now, of course, I know why. But even though they knew me, could see the reality of the situation I was in, suggestion is a hideously powerful tool. All it takes is for an idea to be planted, and he was so good at that – idea bombs – scattering them like seeds and watching them grow.’

William cleared his throat a little, swallowing. ‘But you got out? What did you do?’

‘I tried staying with a friend for a while, no more than a couple of weeks, but it was enough to show me that it would never work. How even my friends had bought into the lies he’d spread. She was sympathetic, and consoling, but deep down I could see she believed him over me. She wasn’t sure about me, and it showed. He was just so nice, you see, so reasonable – so full of concern for me and my mental health, which had been deteriorating bit by bit over the years. At times, it truly felt like I was going mad, and I almost believed I was, almost . But not quite. Some part of me still wanted to fight.

‘And it was the same with all my friends. Their sympathy was ever so slightly condescending. They’d say things like, “Robert’s devastated, I’ve never seen him so upset.” They’d acknowledge I was upset, but they all expected me to “feel better” after a while and realise that Robert only wanted what was best for me. He’d convinced them, you see, just like he’d tried to convince me. And, because it was drip-fed to them, slowly, slowly, over time, no one had any reason to question what was actually going on.’

‘They don’t sound much like friends to me.’

‘I don’t think they were either,’ replied Frankie, fumbling in her pocket for a tissue. ‘And for the longest time that was one of the biggest hurts. Until I realised that I could never make any true friends when all I had to offer was some watered-down, projected version of me. Until I could reclaim who I really was…am…nothing would change.’

William nodded, getting up from the sofa and fetching a box of tissues from the kitchen. He laid it on the table between them and Frankie took one, nodding in gratitude. She took a deep breath.

‘So, I cut my losses,’ she continued. ‘Did what research I could, and I ran away. I had no money of my own, but I managed to save a tiny amount, literally enough to buy a train fare, and I threw myself on the mercy of a women’s refuge. And wow, that really opened my eyes. But it also gave me strength, and although Robert found me, I got better at planning, at hiding, and so here I am, nearly eighteen months after I first left.’ She gave a nervous smile, even now anxious that she be believed.

William was silent, deep in thought and, although his brow was furrowed, his expression gave nothing away. She swallowed, dropping her head to hide her face. She didn’t think she could bear his dismissal.

‘So, what did the note say?’ William asked eventually, pursing his lips.

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘When I saw who it was from, I panicked. I threw it down and then…came running in your direction.’

‘So, it’s still back at the bakery?’

She nodded.

‘Well then, we need to take a look. Find out what he wants and then work out what to do. Together. I believe you, Frankie, and you’re not alone now, not any more.’

Relief flooded through her; relief, and something else too which brought heat flooding back into her cheeks. Before she could reply, however, he grinned.

‘Would you like something to eat? I’m starving and I’ve a slab of fruit cake if you’d like some? Shop-bought, I’m afraid, so not a patch on yours.’

‘No thanks,’ she said. It was an automatic reply, born out of years of being careful about what she ate. ‘You see! I can’t even decide whether I want cake or not. What I meant to say was, yes please, I’d love some cake.’ She tutted, cross with herself.

William grinned. ‘With cheese?’

‘Cheese?’

‘Wensleydale…it’s a surprisingly good combination.’

She stared at him, amused. ‘Okay, that’s completely weird, but cheese it is.’