Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-seven
Somehow I manage to stagger through the working day. Apart from Marilyn, who was thrilled to hear about the night’s escapade, we’re all a little hungover. Prish and Jamie reassure me that Frank’s overreacted because pressures have been running high. He needs a little cooling-off time, that’s all. Meanwhile books are returned and borrowed. Thelma Campbell comes in to order a reference book about Victorian ferneries. A confused-looking young man, who appears from time to time, installs himself in the comfiest chair and has a doze. I wake him gently and hand him a coffee. ‘Thanks,’ he murmurs with a smile.
Later, my heart is filled with hope as I march home along the blustery seafront. It’ll be okay, I tell myself. Frank just had to let off some steam, and why not? We all have to do that sometimes. But by seven o’clock, when he’s usually home from the garage, he still hasn’t shown up. By eight, I’m frantic. I call and call and call. Frank doesn’t pick up. Dad is clearly unbothered and Eddie seems to have barely noticed; too busy anticipating the return of his phone. ‘I literally can’t take this one out in public,’ he announces over dinner, and I manage not to point out that he never goes out anyway.
‘Diddums,’ Dad says.
Eddie stares at him. ‘ Diddums ? What does that mean?’
‘No need to be rude,’ I exclaim, clearing the plates.
‘I’m not!’ He shrugs dramatically. ‘Oh, and you do remember Lyla’s coming to stay tonight—’
‘Is she?’ I stare at him.
‘Yeah, I told you, didn’t I?’
Oh, sorry! I’ve just been a little preoccupied with your dressing-gown-burning father who seems to have left me. ‘I think you did,’ I murmur.
‘Another person moving in? Getting a bit crowded around here, isn’t it?’ Dad asks, forkful of spaghetti halfway to his mouth. I look at him, wondering how I’ll ever manage to raise the issue of him moving back to his own place. Because really, there is absolutely no reason why he shouldn’t. However, I suspect he’s enjoying being a spectator here, with all the activity and bizarre events: the burning of clothing, the breakdown of my marriage. Makes a change from Cash or Crash .
‘Lyla’s not moving in,’ I say, more forcefully than I intended. ‘Just visiting.’ I glare at Eddie. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘ Yeh -ah,’ he says, still eye-rolling me at twenty-two years old. Imagine, assuming that someone might move into Kilmory Cottage without clearing it with me first!
In the sanctuary of the kitchen, I replay recent events, making a mental list of what I should have done.
Not gone for a drink after work.
Not had any fun whatsoever.
Definitely not had the library lock-in.
Or at least called Frank to tell him, and not expected a perfectly clear note to remain where I’d left it. Because nothing is where it’s supposed to be around here anymore. Dad puts kitchen things in weird places and, although Eddie’s made a perfunctory attempt to tidy his room in preparation for Lyla’s arrival, he still hoards mugs and glasses and suddenly we’ll have no bread, and the cheese I’d planned to use for a lasagne has all been guzzled. My expensive shower gel – a gift from Jamie – was all used up during a single shower, the empty bottle tossed close to (but crucially not into) the bathroom bin.
And Frank. Frank is not where he’s supposed to be either. I go out to look for him, expecting to see him walking down the street towards me. He’s sulking, I reason. He’s staying late at the garage to pay me back.
I walk, miserably, to the end of the street, tempted to keep walking and walking, right along the seafront until Sandybanks peters out. I could do that. I could just keep walking. There’s a mile or so of countryside and then the next town, posher than ours, where the chip shop does -scallops and lobster, and people flock to it from miles around.
However, at the end our street I stop as a battered old Land Rover turns into our road. I blink at it. A young woman waves from the passenger window, and I turn and watch as it slows down, and then stops, outside our house.
I hurry back towards it as Lyla, and then her uncle Oliver climb out. ‘Hi!’ she says brightly. She is roundly, splendidly pregnant. The sight of her causes my eyes to well up instantly.
‘Lyla, hi! Oliver! Nice to see you!’ So it’s real. Of course I knew it; but now her bump is high and round beneath a lightweight sweater.
‘You too,’ Oliver says with a wide smile. ‘This is really lovely.’ He looks up and down the street. ‘What a view you have.’
‘I know, we’re ever so lucky,’ I gush. ‘Anyway, do come in!’
As I lead them into the house, I’m aware of seeing the place through newcomers’ eyes. The scuffs on the walls, the worn stair carpet, the dated lamps. What must they think? ‘Eddie?’ I call out. ‘Lyla and her uncle Oliver are here!’
He emerges from the kitchen and smiles unsteadily. ‘Hi, hi …’
Then Dad appears, making his way downstairs. ‘Hello?’ He looks quizzical.
‘This is Kenny, my dad,’ I start. ‘Dad, this is Lyla, Eddie’s, um … and this is her uncle Oliver. We met that time I went up to Suki’s place in Perthshire—’
‘Oh yes, when I ended up in hospital,’ he announces.
Oliver seems to flinch. ‘So sorry about that. I hope you’ve recovered?’
‘Never been better,’ Dad says firmly.
A pause hovers. ‘So, Eddie, d’you want to show Lyla your room?’ I suggest. ‘I assume you’re staying, Lyla?’
‘Just tonight, yes. If that’s okay?’ She smiles brightly.
‘Of course it is,’ I say.
‘Great.’ She fishes into the pocket of her loose, silky trousers and hands Eddie his phone. ‘It was down the side of the sofa. Sorry I didn’t get it to you before now …’
‘Thank you so, so much,’ he exclaims, like a man being thrown a lifebelt in stormy seas. He takes it from her and presses it to his heart. Then up they go upstairs together, and Dad, Oliver and I settle in the living room, where no one wants a drink of any kind, and Dad is literally twitching, wanting to put the TV on.
‘Have you lived here long?’ Oliver leans forward, hands pressed together, and glances out at the view.
‘Erm, yes. Twenty-two years,’ I reply.
‘Wow. A long time.’ He nods.
‘It is. We thought it’d be a good place to raise a family.’
‘Yeah, I can imagine. It really is great .’ I can sense a hormonal flush coming over me as the conversation limps on.
‘So, you live close by?’ Oliver asks my dad. No, he lives here! He rules this house!
‘Few miles up the coast,’ Dad replies. He doesn’t ask Oliver anything about his life, and seems to be observing him archly as I turn to grilling him about his latest beaver reintroduction project which, as it turns out, is why he’s in the area.
‘Just doing an exploratory visit,’ Oliver explains. ‘And Lyla wanted to see Eddie, so …’ He tails off and smiles. ‘I’d better get going. Nice to meet you, Kenny …’
‘So, it’s all right to bring beavers to an area so they destroy the forestry and remodel the waterways, is it?’ Dad blasts out.
‘Dad!’ I exclaim in shock, but he only shrugs, self-satisfyingly.
Now standing, Oliver takes a beat to reply. ‘It is a controversial issue,’ he concedes, levelly. ‘We always do a really thorough survey, though. And of course everyone has to be in agreement that it’s the best thing for the location. Because you’re right, they do change things dramatically. They’re little engineers really, as I’m sure you know—’
‘Dad’s an engineer,’ I chip in, inanely, as if this might persuade my father to approve of Oliver’s work.
‘Really?’ Oliver looks suitably impressed. ‘Well, anyway—’
‘Yes, we shouldn’t keep you,’ I babble, and then Oliver calls up to Lyla and she appears, descending the stairs carefully, all smiles and long, loose golden hair and that magnificent bump.
She hugs Oliver. ‘Bye, Uncle Olly. You’re coming to pick me up tomorrow?’
‘Yeah, of course, love.’
‘Where are you staying?’ I ask him.
‘Premier Inn. Only the best.’ He grins. Then he heads out and climbs into the Land Rover.
We’ve all come out, and I’m gripped by an urge to run over before he drives away and say, Sorry about that – and how awkward it was. It’s just the way Dad is – but it’s not only that. Frank isn’t home and I’m starting to think he might never come back. So, you know. Timing …
Obviously, I don’t say any of that. I don’t say anything at all. As Lyla and Eddie head back inside, I raise a hand. Oliver looks back and something catches between us. He smiles, in a what-was-all-that? kind of way.
‘Sorry about the beaver thing,’ I call out, and quickly shut the door.
In the hallway now, aware of Eddie and Lyla chatting upstairs, I check my phone for messages or missed calls. I’m itching to call Frank again, but is it better to let him call when he’s ready? Jamie was right; he probably just needs a cooling-off period. He’ll be at a friend’s, I decide. Frank has plenty of mates locally; they go hiking sometimes, and for the occasional drink. But he’s not an out-every-night kind of man. Far from it. It’s home that Frank loves – or at least, he did.
Later still, at just gone eleven when I’m getting ready for bed, my phone rings. ‘Frank!’ I say. Thank God he’s okay.
‘Hi,’ he says dully. Then nothing.
‘Where are you?’
‘Never mind. I just can’t be there at the moment.’
‘What, here with us? With me?’ My voice fractures as I glimpse Mum’s cracked vase on the chest of drawers.
‘I just can’t be at home right now,’ he says quickly, ‘so I’ve got somewhere to stay—’
‘Are you with a friend? With Dev or Mick or—’
‘I’ve just found somewhere. And I wanted you to know I’m all right …’
‘Frank, tell me where you are!’ I plead. ‘Are you in a hotel? This is crazy! You don’t need to stay away from me. I told you I’m so sorry about last night. And I really am. It was mad and selfish and—’
‘I’d never do that to you,’ he announces. ‘Never.’
My stomach seems to clench and a tear rolls down my face. ‘No. I know that.’
The pause seems to hang. Lyla’s bright laughter filters through from Eddie’s room. I should be happy that she’s here, and that she and Eddie seem so much more at ease together now. Surely that should tell me that everything’s going to be okay?
However, I’m not sure it is now as Frank says, ‘I’m going now. I’ll call you.’ And then he’s gone.