Chapter 35
Thirty-Five
American abstract expressionist painter and colourist. Activity: colour block work.
(Taken from Calliope Thorne’s teaching notes.)
Having made another pot of tea Callie took it into the garden. The afternoon was easing away but it was still warm enough to sit outside. The low sun slid blocks of mellow orange and gold light over the walls and the blackbird returned, ever optimistic.
Frida lowered herself into the deck chair and straightened her leg, wincing. ‘It’s well cool here, isn’t it?’
‘Sea Haven House or Lullbury Bay?’ Callie passed her a mug of tea.
‘Both I suppose.’
‘We have a nice enough garden at home.’
‘Yeah, but we don’t ever sit in it.’
Well, we’re not on holiday at home.’ Callie adopted a sensible tone. ‘Let’s make a promise to use it more often. Buy a barbeque or something.’
Frida rolled her eyes. ‘Mum, neither of us are the barbequing sort.’
‘True. What about some new garden furniture then? Might pick up some bargains now the summer’s nearly over.
’ The instant the words were out, Callie regretted them.
It had been exactly the penny-pinching thing her mother would have said.
‘Scratch that,’ she amended hurriedly, ‘why the hell wait until the good weather’s over and they’ll sit getting musty in the shed all winter.
We’ll hit the garden centre as soon as we get home. ’
Frida saluted her with her mug. ‘Way to go, Mum. A trip to the garden centre. You know how to live.’
‘Less of the sarcasm, young lady. How are you feeling now?’
‘Bit stiff. Feel better for all the sleep.’ She yawned.
‘Are you still going for the journalism degree?’
‘Are we having that conversation now?’
‘Are you up to it?’
Frida shrugged. She put her mug down on the grass and lay back, closing her eyes and lifting her face to what was left of the day’s sun. ‘Suppose.’
‘Because, if that’s really what you want to do, then it’s fine by me. Not that you need my approval.’
‘I don’t.’ Frida opened her eyes and stared at her mother. ‘But it would mean a lot if I did.’ She reached out a hand. ‘I don’t want to fight.’
Callie took it. ‘Neither do I, lovey.’ She took a breath. ‘There’s something else. Sunil suggested he fund your degree and I agreed. But only if that’s all right with you?’
Frida slid back up the deck chair, eyes wide. ‘What? Ouch. Shouldn’t have moved that quickly.’
‘Are you all right?’ Callie asked in alarm. ‘The doctor said you need to take it easy until the wound heals.’
‘Yeah, yeah, it’s all good, don’t fuss, Mum. I just jarred it. The painkillers are wearing off.’ Frida pulled a face. ‘Sunil’s going to fund my course? That’s amazing! Mind you, he can afford it, he’s never paid any child support so it’s the least he can do.’
‘Frida, that’s uncharitable!’
Frida put up her hands. ‘Joke!’
‘Sunil has been nothing but understanding and supportive since he came back into our lives. He paid for you to change your flight too, didn’t he?’
‘He did. Sorry, Mum. I really was just joking. And I’ve offered to repay him for the flight but he refused. Oh, but if he could pay my uni fees that would be such a load off.’ She turned to her mother, questioningly. ‘Are you sure he said that?’
Callie nodded.
‘And it’s okay with his other kids? His oldest daughter is about to start her A-levels. It’s one reason they moved back. They want to get her into the English education system to get her prepped for uni.’
‘You’re his oldest daughter, Fri,’ Callie pointed out.
‘Yeah. Suppose I am.’ Frida gave a nervous giggle. ‘Still getting used to the whole having sisters and a brother thing.’ She pulled an anxious face, her nose wrinkling. ‘Will they like me, do you think?’
Frida had made such great strides in confidence and sense of purpose this summer but her insecurity lurked not far beneath the surface. Callie gave her daughter a warm smile. ‘Of course they will, love. Who wouldn’t?’
Frida looked suddenly vulnerable. ‘I just don’t want them to get jealous or anything.’
‘It’ll be a big change for them, as it will be for us, but we’ll take it slowly. Might not be plain sailing but I’m sure Sunil and Lina will be supportive, as will I. I’ve got your back, baby girl. Always. Besides, Lina sounds amazing so I can’t imagine the children being anything but nice.’
‘She sounds well cool.’ Frida nodded vigorously and picked up her mug, looking reassured.
‘When we get back, we can get things moving.’
‘Okay.’ Frida sounded uncertain again. ‘So, you want to go back to Worcester, Mum? Might be nice to see the old homestead, I suppose,’ she added slowly. ‘And I’m getting bored of wearing Ibiza clothes.’
‘I’d like to. I’d actually like to go back early if possible. Would like to see Donna for a catch-up and get some school prep done.’
‘Okay.’
‘Tomorrow then? Do you think you’ll be up to it? You can sit across the backseat if you like. Stretch out. And we can stop as often as you want. Maybe at Gloucester Services? You like it there.’
‘Gloucester Services and a garden centre. Must remember to get spiked on a rusty nail more often.’ Frida grinned cheekily and then slapped a hand to her forehead. ‘Austin!’
‘Don’t worry, he understands you couldn’t rescue his stuff and hopes you’re okay.’
‘He’s a nice man. A real character. Got to know him quite well in the caff.’ She groaned. ‘I’ve let Tracey down too, Mum.’
‘You haven’t let anyone down, love. Everyone knows what happened and that you’re injured.’
Frida flexed her leg. ‘It’s not too bad though. Reckon I could put in a shift.’
‘Don’t be daft. Working in the café means being on your feet all day. I’ve obviously got to take you home to force you to rest.’
‘Point taken.’ Frida slurped tea. ‘Ugh,’ she grimaced. ‘It’s gone cold. Any more in the pot?’
‘Thought you were strictly a herbal girl?’
‘Just fancied some proper builders’. Must be the shock.’
‘Pass your mug over then and I’ll top you up. Frida,’ Callie said, as she refilled it. ‘Can I talk to you about something?’
‘Sure. But we’ve talked uni courses and you’ve green-lighted that. You’re cool with me and the Patel fam. Can’t we just relax and chill?’ Frida affected a dramatically pathetic tone. ‘I am wounded you know and have been through a traumatic experience.’
‘Have your tea,’ Callie retorted. ‘That’ll cure you.’
‘Okay. Spill.’ Frida sounded casual but her eyes remained guarded.
‘I know what you and Sunil argued about.’
Frida pressed her lips together.
‘And I’d like to talk to you about it.’
‘I don’t want to.’ This time the tone was mutinous.
‘But I do. Hear me out, will you?’
Frida let her chin drop to her chest so her hair fell over her face, obscuring her expression.
Callie pressed on doggedly. They needed to have this discussion, however painful. ‘I was nineteen when I became pregnant with you. I loved Sunil and he was my only boyfriend, the only person I’d ever slept with.’
‘God, Mum,’ Frida said, her voice muffled by hair. ‘Do you have to? This is sooo grim.’
Callie went on, determined. This needed to be said.
‘I lived with parents who weren’t cruel exactly, not in any conventional sense, but they were, and still are, lacking in any warmth, love or imagination.
I was stifled. I only realised how dysfunctional my upbringing was when I began to hang out with Donna and her family.
They became my proxy family. She became my sister.
But I can’t tell you how much it hurt seeing how wonderful and generous and normal her family was. In comparison to mine.’
Frida looked up, hooking a long black lock of hair behind her ear.
‘I was longing to find love. Craving it. I suppose that’s why I tried to find love with Sunil.
And I did, in a studenty way. I was a very young nineteen, very na?ve, and determined to cram in as much life as I could.
I’d missed out on so much growing up in that house.
I’d been fed, had a roof over my head but that was about it.
I ate dull food of which there was never enough, had hardly any books to read and the ones I had access to were strictly regulated by my mother.
I was never allowed any friends round. Was encouraged not to make friends, to keep myself to myself as, “People can’t be trusted.
They’re a bad lot, Calliope.” There was no life, no colour.
Certainly no fun. I’ve often wondered why my mother named me Calliope,’ Callie continued, almost talking to herself.
‘It was the one and only imaginative and non-conformist thing she ever did. I have no idea what my parents thought would happen when I got to college and saw there was a whole new way to live. I thank whatever god is around up there that I had Donna.’
‘You met at school?’ Frida interrupted.
‘Yes, primary school. She joined when she was ten. Her family moved to Worcester because of her dad’s job.
She got me through the worst of the years before I could escape.
Sounds awful but I used to go to bed praying something would happen to my parents.
Nothing too dreadful, just enough to let me choose where I could live.
And then I could go to live with Donna and her mum and dad. ’
‘Oh, Mum! I knew you had it bad, but I had no idea it was like that!’
‘Well, I’ve purposely and deliberately put it behind me.
Found out people could be trusted, that they weren’t all a bad lot.
And that some could be very loveable indeed.
’ Callie smiled over at her daughter. ‘I didn’t see much point in going on and on about it.
’ She wondered how Frida was going to react to the news that she’d just had a stilted phone conversation with her mother but didn’t think now was the time to tell her.
‘I don’t think either Sunil or I had much idea of birth control. ’
‘Which you’ve always hammered into me.’
‘With just reason,’ Callie said, crisply. ‘So when I found out I was pregnant, I panicked.’
‘You would.’ Frida nodded. ‘So would I.’