The Turning Point Page 10

  On her own in the lobby, she wondered about following him up to his room. But the cliché of Scott opening the door in a bathrobe with a smouldering smile was so unlikely it made her laugh out loud. Yes of course she wanted to get naked with him, she was practically stuck to her underwear after all that kissing in the taxi. But he’d made a dinner reservation and she liked the thought of that; an evening unfolding with the chance to talk, to discover and connect, to find further similarities over and above a loathing of olives.

  She walked over to the table with the complimentary newspapers and magazines. Kate Moss had gone. It was Miley Cyrus now and Frankie really had nothing to say to her apart from where’s your dignity, dear – put some bloody clothes on.

  ‘All set?’

  She turned to Scott and nodded.

  ‘I hope you like where we’re going – I asked the concierge, he said it was a great place to go and we can walk there.’

  He took her to Covent Garden and Joe Allen’s, taking great pleasure in whispering that even though it wasn’t on the menu, if she wanted a burger all she had to do was ask. She hadn’t the heart to tell him that she’d ordered from the not-so-secret menu many times before. However, though the wine was poured and the burgers came in their delicious brioche buns, the patties duveted with gooey cheese and all the condiments they could ask for, neither Frankie nor Scott had an appetite. She was aware she’d skipped breakfast and had only picked at the salad Peta had prepared for lunch; by rights she should be starving. But, with her stomach in a knot and her heart in her mouth, food was of no consequence. She glanced at Scott’s plate to see that it was as loaded as hers.

  ‘I don’t seem to have an appetite,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t either.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be.’

  They looked from their plates to each other and back again.

  ‘It’s nuts,’ Frankie said.

  Scott caught her eye and kept it, slipped his hand over hers on the table, licked his lips before he spoke as if the taste of the words were to be sublime.

  ‘Will you come back with me?’ he asked her. ‘Can I take you to bed?’

  Housekeeping had been in and turned down the sheets; they knew by now that there was only one person in the suite and only one chocolate necessary for all those pillows. They knew that the guest was not profligate with the bath towels, which he folded and hung up again. The shower gel always needed replenishing but the body lotion and hair conditioner remained untouched. The complimentary slippers would still be in their plastic packaging, the bathrobe still cinched a number of times around the waist by the belt like a boa constrictor. All that they had to do was pile up the scatter cushions, dim the lights, draw the curtains, put the one chocolate on the pillow and fold the loo paper into a neat triangle.

  Frankie looked around the room, noted Scott’s guitar case propped against a wall, his old satchel in worn leather burnished like rich wood, slung over the chair. Out of the corner of her eye, through the archway, the edge of the bed. She slipped off her shoes for the feel of fat carpet underfoot and walked over to the window, parting the curtains to look at the view. It was a far better view than she’d had. Obviously, there were upgrades and upgrades.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, behind her, his hands lightly on her waist, swaying her gently, his eyes closing as he inhaled the scent of her; something floral and soft, freshly washed hair and clean clothes and whatever perfume it was she wore. She leant back against him and he put his lips on her neck, just resting them there. She turned instinctively, raised her face to find his mouth, placed her arms around his neck and looked at him.

  ‘You’re shaking,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ she said.

  ‘You OK?’

  Frankie thought how best to answer. ‘It’s been a while.’

  He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips, tipped his head to one side and looked at her quizzically. ‘You reckon you’ve forgotten what to do?’

  She giggled. Then she looked at him straight and shrugged. ‘It’s just it’s been – a long time.’

  ‘It’s like riding a bike,’ he murmured, while he unzipped her dress.

  ‘Hold on tight and hope you don’t fall off?’ she said, running her hands over his shirt, wanting to feel his skin.

  ‘Something like that.’

  She slipped her hands up his shirt, her touch light and tantalizingly slow up his back and down again. The feel of a man after so long, the thrill that touching another’s body could make her own body thrum. Scott pushed her dress down from her shoulders and focused on her standing there. Lace bras with obvious scaffolding had never done it for him yet over the years he assumed they were worn by women the world over. He never realized how there could be something so much more tantalizing about the sight of a girl just in a simple white bra and panties. And here she was.

  Frankie wondered if everything was OK. Scott was motionless, his eyes apparently fixed on her stomach.

  ‘I’ve had two babies,’ she said with some apology, folding her arms over her abdomen.

  ‘You’re gorgeous,’ he whispered. ‘You’re just – gorgeous.’ He took her hands away and trailed his fingertips up and down her arms, across her collarbone, down to the soft white cups of her bra.

  For Scott, sex in the last few years had nothing to do with lingering or marvelling at what there was to behold, it hadn’t had anything to do with taking his time and being in the moment. It had solely and soullessly focused on getting the fuck out of his pants and getting the fuck out of his system. It was, quite literally, about coming and going. He’d thought about Frankie often these last few days, fantasized about how she’d feel, smell, taste. He hadn’t been far wrong but right now, reality was blindingly better.

  Frankie stepped in close, unbuttoning his shirt.

  ‘You’re still fully clothed, Scott,’ she said, ‘and that’s not fair.’

  The feel of him rhythmically sweeping his hands up and down her back, over her bottom and down to where her thighs met her buttocks threatened to push her heart right through her breastbone. He unhooked her bra and that was that. He pulled his shirt over his head, unbuckled his belt, unzipped his flies and stumbled out of his jeans. White trunks, the shape of his erection. He pulled her against him, now kissing her hungrily while his hands were everywhere and she could barely breathe. Over her breasts, up between her legs, at her knickers, under them. So long since she’d been touched or felt desired, it made her almost giddy.

  Better than sex – a stupidly overused phrase describing chocolate or buying new shoes or some vodka cocktail or other self-indulgent triviality. Just then, though, being enclosed in his arms, against his chest that had both strength and softness, was hard to beat. His lips against hers again, maddeningly slowly. With fingers entwined, Scott led Frankie to bed.

  Having writhed and fondled, tasted and sucked, when Scott finally pushed up into her, they both became very still and, eyes locked, bodies melding, they just gazed at each other. Where did I find you? And now that I have you, where will we go? With surges of long-dormant emotion increasing the intense pleasure of the physical, they knew that this was something new, this was lovemaking. They marvelled at the fact that – my God – it’s taken till now to figure out that this is how it should feel.

  ‘Will you stay?’

  A rapid tumble of calculations and scenarios filled Frankie’s mind. She could text Peta. She could get up really early. She could text Peta and say she’d phone Annabel first thing. She could phone Annabel first thing in the morning and say Mummy’s on her way back. But what if Annabel woke in the night – and found her gone? But tomorrow – Scott would be gone. And oceans and time zones would barge in on the connection and closeness they’d found tonight.

  But – Annabel.

  Frankie raised her face from Scott’s chest.

  ‘I can’t – my little girl.’

  ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘But I want to.’


  ‘I want you to.’

  ‘It’s just –’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘But you go tomorrow.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You go in – hours.’

  ‘I do.’

  If she asked him to change his flight, what would he do, they both wondered.

  ‘Did you tell your daughter about tonight?’ Scott asked.

  Frankie shook her head. ‘I didn’t. She was a bit out of sorts. It’s odd – not having Sam with us.’

  ‘You’re a tight little unit, eh.’

  ‘We are,’ said Frankie, liking Scott’s description.

  ‘I get that. Believe me.’

  ‘But it’s early – I don’t need to go just yet.’

  ‘Good.’ He stroked her hair but oh to fall asleep and wake to find her here.

  Frankie propped herself up on her arm and gave Scott a lascivious smile. ‘I remembered what to do.’

  ‘You certainly did,’ he laughed.

  ‘I hung on tight, and I didn’t fall off.’

  ‘You want to go for another ride?’

  ‘Right now? Blimey.’

  ‘I love that – blimey.’

  She woke with a start. It was almost three in the morning.

  ‘Please stay.’ His voice, steady in the darkness.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘I know. I shouldn’t have asked. You can’t have it all – but if I could, I’d have you stay.’

  ‘Change your flight,’ she said. ‘Please. Even by a day.’

  A stream of variants poured into his head. ‘I can’t.’ He reached for the bedside lamp and flicked it on. He looked lovely, mussed with sleep.

  Frankie stroked his cheeks, his bristles soft against the back of her hand. He cupped her face and kissed her.

  ‘This,’ she started. However wide open it left her, she couldn’t leave without saying it. ‘I know it defies reason.’ Even if she made a fool of herself, even if it was beyond ludicrous, she had to know that she’d said it. ‘I just wanted to say –’ She tried to concentrate, picking over a jumble of disconnected words and phrases, all of which seemed woefully inadequate. She sank back into his arms. Ten past three. She had to go. But what if Annabel remained fast asleep until ten past nine? Later, even? What if she hadn’t woken since going to bed?

  But what if she had.

  Frankie thought, why on earth didn’t I just say to her that I’m staying with a friend and you’re staying with Auntie Peta – because I’m your mum and I say so.

  Scott could sense Frankie’s thoughts in freefall.

  ‘You want to say that this is crazy – you and me. That we live in different continents, that we have commitments to where we live and the people in our lives – so what the heck are we thinking?’

  She nodded. ‘That this is real life – not the movies. Logic would say it will be impossible, stupid.’

  ‘Common sense is stacked against us.’

  ‘Friends and family will beg us not to get involved. You’ve never been to Canada, they’ll say – don’t go there.’ Frankie thought about it. ‘They’ll say it’ll end in tears.’

  ‘All of that and then some,’ Scott said.

  ‘But I don’t care about that.’ She was serious. Then she started laughing, she wasn’t sure why. Never mind Canada or Norfolk, this was the place and she wanted more time in the now, in the crook of his arm, enfolded and desired. She traced patterns across his chest with her fingertip while he pulled locks of her hair through his hand. She sat up and looked at him. ‘What I want to say is – I can wait between times, I can live between time zones. This feels good and I think it can get even better. So actually, who cares what’s reasonable and what people think? I’m happy to do this and I wonder if you might be too? If that makes any sense.’

  Scott thought about the warning bells he’d heard over the last three days which he’d systematically turned a deaf ear to. He thought of all the negatives that made so much sense but which he’d rejected one by one. Of course it was doomed to fail, on paper – so the best thing to do was to tear the paper up, take a new sheet and write something different.

  ‘Want to be my girl?’ he asked, looking at her straight.

  In his one question lay all the answers to hers. ‘Yes please,’ she said.

  ‘Look!’

  Frankie woke to find Annabel brandishing her fingernails in her face, clawing at the air like a ten-legged arachnid.

  ‘That’s very red,’ Frankie said.

  ‘Auntie Peta says it’s her favourite shade – for times when a girl wants to be a Scarlet Woman.’

  Peta. Christ.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘Yes. I went to bed at half-past ten and I just woke up.’

  ‘Did you have a lovely evening?’

  ‘It was brilliant. Come on, get up now. It’s ten past nine.’

  Annabel left the room, blowing on her fingernails as if the polish was still drying. Frankie mused that it was funny, really, how her children rarely asked, and how are you, Mummy? How was your day? Did you have a lovely evening? They weren’t wilfully thoughtless because their worlds were places that she had ensured were all about them. Mum’s just Mum, isn’t she?

  How was your evening Mummy?

  Oh, I spent it in bed with a man I’ve fallen for.

  Did you have fun? Do you love him?

  Do you know something, kids, I think I do.

  Downstairs, Frankie found Annabel playing with Peta’s hair, lovingly picking through it like a young chimp. Stan and Josh were thumping each other, careening around the kitchen. Philip stretched out the Sunday Times, holding it up in front of him like a barrier. Frankie remembered him doing this when she’d visited Peta at university. She’d told her friends how Peta’s boyfriend was a pompous twat. But today, with the decibel level louder than in his student digs, she felt a sympathy for him. The boys were now throwing toast and calling each other pussy. Peta and Frankie glanced at Annabel but she regarded her cousins only fleetingly; quite obviously thinking them savages not worth her attention.

  Only once the boys had left the house for some place called ‘Out Just Out’ and Philip had taken the business section to his study and Annabel had been granted her dearest wish to watch Pitch Perfect again with a packet of Haribo, were Peta and Frankie finally alone. Peta knew her sister had come in during the small hours and, from Frankie’s current glow despite so little sleep, she knew that her night had been a success. Peta cursed herself for finding Frankie’s euphoria so compelling – it was hard to play devil’s advocate when actually what she wanted was to relive vicariously being on the brink of throwing oneself headlong into the first flush of falling in love.

  ‘Sex with passion and meaning?’ Peta sighed nostalgically, pouring more tea and regarding her sister with wistful envy. ‘Rather than being a perfunctory and self-centred means to an end.’

  ‘It was out of this world,’ Frankie told her. ‘Really intense. In the past I’ve flinched away from eye contact. It’s unnerved me – too instrusive, made me feel self-conscious. But last night, with Scott, we just gazed and gazed.’ She shook her head and grinned. ‘He’s just so –’

  ‘Did you take photos?’

  Frankie balked.

  ‘Not those sorts of photos, idiot – just a regular one, of him.’

  Peta scrolled through Frankie’s phone. She had to admit it, he was lovely looking. Nothing like she was expecting. Not at all like Miles. Or the poncey poet or any of the other ridiculous entanglements her sister had consorted with earlier in her life. Scott was handsome in an open way – as if his looks, worn in and comfortable, were a product of his lifestyle and described him well. Even on the screen of a phone, he exuded contentment, kindness, strength, as though he spent a lot of time outdoors.

  ‘Stupid as it sounds,’ Peta said, ‘he sort of looks like a proper man.’

  Frankie took back her phone and gazed at the screen. ‘He is.’

  �
�And back off to Canada today. You’ll see him again – when?’ Peta’s question was reasonable but sharp.

  ‘We will see each other again – but I don’t know when.’

  ‘So – in between times, what? You’ll stand alone for months on end on the metaphorical shore with your eyes trained on the horizon? You’ll put your life on hold while you wait, increasingly lovelorn, lonely and paranoid?’

  ‘Why would I get paranoid?’ Why can’t my bloody sister just be happy for me?

  ‘Because he’s a handsome guy probably with a coterie of bunk-ups on speed-dial.’

  ‘He says not.’

  ‘And you believe him?’

  ‘Yes I do.’

  Peta could feel her sister closing off from her, a self-defence tactic at which she was adept. ‘I just really don’t want to see you hurt. Or even distracted. You’ve your career to focus on. And your new life in Norfolk. And the children.’

  ‘When you meet him – when – all your fears will be allayed,’ said Frankie. ‘You’ll see why it makes so much sense. Scott and me.’

  Peta nodded. ‘OK,’ she said softly, ‘I hope so.’

  A text bleeped through from Ruth.

  ‘Is that him?’ Peta asked.

  ‘No – Ruth,’ Frankie said as she texted Ruth: It was out of this world! xx

  Peta was pleased about Ruth. ‘If you think about it Frankie, now’s the time for you to commit to Norfolk, for consolidating new friendships like with this Ruth lady. In London, you never really had a circle, a close friend in particular.’

  ‘I was the odd one out – a mum who worked and a single mum at that. I couldn’t do lazy lunches during the week and I was rarely invited to dinner parties – or even over for an evening – during the weekends.’