Whatever Love Is (9 page)

‘He’s helping Nerys move her stuff,’ Frankie replied stiffly. ‘Her boiler finally gave up the ghost and apparently the dogs get traumatised by workmen so she’s
moving into the house.’

‘I would have thought that any animal who could cope with your aunt Nerys would find a couple of gas fitters a doddle,’ she said.

Frankie struggled to suppress her laughter and failed. She had to admit that, like her brother, Alice could be very witty, and if she hadn’t been after Ned, Frankie might well have
regarded her as a friend.

‘Sorry, that wasn’t very kind, was it?’ Alice admitted. ‘So I guess she’ll keep Ned occupied for ages?’

‘Probably. Tina’s gone away to a health spa with an old school friend so Nerys is in charge. And don’t we all know it!’

‘I bet.’ Alice laughed. ‘So . . . I don’t suppose – well, would you . . . Could you possibly . . .?’

‘What?’

‘Help me with these?’ She hitched the saddle higher up her arm and brandished the halter. ‘And do the gates while I try to catch Fling and get him into the stable? He’s
been somewhat spooked by the move and I want to get him indoors before they start testing the sound systems again for the festival. That high-pitched whistle freaks him out.’ She looked
pleadingly at Frankie. ‘I don’t reckon I can manage everything on my own.’

‘OK, as long as I don’t have to go near the horse,’ Frankie replied. ‘They scare me rigid.’

She waited for some sarcastic reply but Alice simply nodded. ‘With me, it’s caterpillars,’ she said.

‘Caterpillars?’

‘Mmm, the way they loop along and their bodies are all squidgy and furry and – yuck!’

She shivered and handed the halter and bridle to Frankie as they began to walk across the lawn and round the back of the house.

‘What’s going on in there?’ She gestured through the conservatory window, where a man and a woman were setting up reflectors and umbrellas and fiddling with a camera on a
tripod.

‘
Country Life
,’ Frankie told her. ‘They’re about to take the engagement photograph of Mia and Nick.’

Alice pulled a face. ‘Very upmarket,’ she said. ‘Don’t you find it hard?’

‘Hard? What do you mean?’

‘Well, fitting in here,’ Alice said. ‘Poppy told me that you’d had a pretty dire childhood and you weren’t exactly wealthy.’

‘Oh, that makes me somehow inferior does it?’ Frankie blurted out. ‘That and not being a
live wire
!’

The moment the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. She wasn’t proud of eavesdropping and, despite her feelings, she hated to embarrass anyone deliberately.

‘Live wire? What do you mean,’ Alice cried, clearly having missed the allusion. ‘I do this all the time – I open my mouth before engaging my brain. I wasn’t saying
you were inferior, honestly. I’m so sorry. What I meant was, you’re more like me and Henry than the Bertrams.’

‘Hardly,’ Frankie said. ‘For one thing, I didn’t go to a posh boarding school.’

‘Our school wasn’t posh and we only went because my mother couldn’t wait to get us out of the way so that she could devote herself to a succession of different men,’
Alice said bitterly. ‘And you know what? Even now, all these years on, I feel so angry at what she did. I mean – how could she?’ She kicked at the gravel on the pathway to the
paddock. ‘She woke us up in the middle of the night – we were only eight at the time – and dragged us off to Cornwall to this man Derek. She left a note for my father:
Can’t do this any more,
it said. Can you believe that?’

Frankie bit her lip. ‘My dad . . .’ she began and then thought better of it. Family loyalty, she thought, counted for something.

‘See?’ Alice replied. ‘I knew you’d understand – that’s why I felt a connection the moment I met you. Henry feels the same, I guess; he’s been seeing
quite a bit of you, hasn’t he? Didn’t he come over yesterday when you got back from Hove?’ Her eyes twinkled as she winked at Frankie.

‘What? Oh, no it’s nothing like
that,’
she said hastily. ‘He just came over to talk about his project.’

‘Hey! It’s no problem. He likes you, he told me so. What’s more, I happen to know he told one of his mates that you were cute and have got a lot of untapped potential. Which
for Henry is as good as saying he’s smitten.’

Frankie smiled and shrugged, unsure of her feelings about this latest revelation. ‘So did you live in Cornwall for a long time?’ she said, desperate to change the subject.

‘You’re blushing,’ Alice teased. ‘I’ll tell Henry he’s in with a good chance!’

‘No, don’t! I . . .’

‘Just teasing,’ she laughed. ‘And in answer to your question, Mummy got tired of Derek a couple of years later and moved us on to Liverpool – that was Aidan – and
now she’s with Greg in East Grinstead. He’s a real slimeball, which is why we’re here with Dad and —’

‘Yes, that’s it. That’s absolutely it!’ Frankie stopped short when she realised she was speaking out loud.

‘
What’s
it?’

She could hardly tell Alice that the saga of her mother’s erratic love life had just triggered a brilliant twist to the Jasper story that had been taxing her.

‘Nothing – I mean, I knew that was why you were here.’

They had reached the paddock and Alice took the halter from Frankie’s hand. ‘Come on, Fling,’ she called. ‘We need to get you ready for Ned’s lesson.’ She
turned to Frankie. ‘He’s a cutie, isn’t he? A real sweetheart.’

‘I guess.’ Frankie shrugged. ‘Like I said, I don’t know anything about horses.’

‘Not Fling, silly! Ned. Although I suppose seeing as how you are cousins, you don’t see it. But believe me, he’s one fit guy. And you know what?

‘What?’

‘I’m pretty sure he likes me. I’m useless at this driving lark – my last instructor gave up on me in the end and Dad finds reasons to put off taking me out, even though
he shelled out loads to get me insured on his car – but Ned’s so patient, and I’m sure that’s because he fancies me. By the way, your test was last week, wasn’t it?
I’m sure Ned said. How did you get on?

‘I cancelled it.’

‘What on earth for?’

‘I need loads more practice.’ Frankie sighed.

‘So get Ned to take you out,’ Alice said airily. ‘Like I said, he’s really patient.’

‘And always round your place,’ Frankie muttered, and then immediately regretted it.

‘Oh, I get it! I’m sorry – I didn’t realise. Well, don’t worry, I’ll tell him to take you too,’ Alice declared. ‘He said he’d do anything I
asked – isn’t that sweet? I’ll sort it, OK?’

‘No, I . . .’

‘Enough!’ Alice said. ‘I’ve messed up again because I’m a self-centred cow wanting him all to myself and now I’m going to put it right. Am I
forgiven?’

‘Of course,’ Frankie murmured. What else could she say?

‘That’s good.’ Alice grinned. ‘Because, to be honest, I guess I’ll never change! Come on, open the gate, will you?’

Frankie was on her way back to the house, eager to get her latest idea onto her laptop, when her thoughts were rudely interrupted by a motorbike roaring its way up the drive,
throwing up gravel and screeching to a halt at the front door. Its rider, clad from head to toe in leathers despite the warmth of the day, leapt off the bike and, taking the steps to the entrance
in a single stride, pulled off his helmet.

Frankie did a double take. The guy was black with close-cropped hair and a pair of diamond nose studs. As she drew near he turned, and ran down the steps towards her.

‘Well hi! Now let me guess. You’re Jemma? No? Mia then.’

Frankie shook her head. ‘Frankie,’ she said.

‘Aha – the cousin rescued from the pits of poverty.’ He nodded. ‘I’ve heard about you.’

Frankie bit her lip so hard she could taste blood on her tongue. ‘Are you looking for someone?’ she asked curtly.

‘James. Where is he?’

‘Mexico,’ Frankie replied.

‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ he said, glancing at a flashy watch on his wrist. ‘See, he sent me a text not three hours ago to say he’d landed at Heathrow and
needed to see me, like now. Sounded really hassled.’

‘But he’s not due back for another week,’ Frankie said.

‘That’s what I thought,’ he said. ‘Jump Leads – that’s our band – lost the festival slot because of James going off all of a sudden. Then Skid –
he’s our keyboard player – blew a fuse and has gone off backpacking with some mates, and Natalie – she does backing vocals – has jacked us in for good.’ He kicked at
the gravel. ‘It’s a total mess.’ He sighed. ‘I’m Jon, by the way. Jon Yates.’

‘Oh yes, James has talked about you. You’re a rapper, right?’ Despite their bad start, Frankie couldn’t help liking this guy.

He grinned. ‘Rapper, songwriter, street dancer – you name it, I’m it!’ he said. ‘In between I write freelance stuff on the music scene for whichever paper will take
it! Even the
Daily Telegraph
– get that! Mind you, my godfather works there which helps. So, are you going to ask me in or what?’

To her great relief, Frankie caught sight of Nerys staggering up the driveway from Keeper’s Cottage, her face almost completely masked by the enormous dog basket she was carrying. She was
about to call out to her when Nerys dumped the basket down and waved officiously in their direction.

‘Young man! YOUNG MAN!’

Jon looked at her in surprise.

‘And about time too,’ Nerys stormed, striding over to him. ‘You call this premier service? Twelve pounds a month I pay British Gas for the privilege of hanging about all
morning waiting for you to show up. It’s simply not good enough and I’ve a mind to write —’

‘Nerys, this is Jon Yates. He’s nothing to do with British Gas. He’s a friend of James,’ Frankie explained hastily.

‘What? You’re Jon? But you’re . . . really? How very strange.’ She eyed Jon up and down suspiciously. ‘Well, he’s out of the country so you’ve had a
wasted journey.’ She sniffed.

Frankie was about to explain the situation when Ned appeared round the side of the house.

‘Is that the lot, Nerys? You’re only going to be here for a few days and there’s enough stuff to — Oh, sorry! I didn’t realise . . .’

‘This young man says he’s a friend of James,’ Nerys announced, in a tone of voice that suggested that she would prefer to believe that Thornton Parslow had been taken over by
aliens.

‘Jon!’ A look of recognition crossed Ned’s face. ‘Hi, how are you doing? Remember me? Ned, James’s brother? We met at that gig in London.’

‘Oh sure, I remember – you’re Golden Boy.’

‘I wish people would stop . . .’ Ned retorted, colour flooding his face.

‘Hey, lighten up, man!’ Jon laughed. ‘I’m just joking.’

Ned shrugged. ‘Anyway, James is away, I’m afraid.’

‘So who’s that then?’ Jon said as a black cab drove up to the house and a holdall was flung from the door, followed by a dishevelled-looking James. ‘Hey, mate, good to
see ya!’

Jon threw an arm round James’s shoulder as he climbed out of the taxi and slapped him on the back.

‘James? What are you doing back so soon? Where’s Dad?’ Ned asked. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Wrong? Depends how you look at it,’ James said.

‘Where is Dad?’ Ned asked again.

‘Still shouting the odds in Mexico, I guess. Not that I give a damn.’

The expression on his face suggested to Frankie that his last remark was a total lie.

‘But how come he agreed to let you come back?’ Ned persisted.

‘I said it was wrong to let the band down,’ James mumbled. ‘Besides, he was quite happy to be rid of me.’

‘Really? But I thought Dad wanted you to —’

‘Dad wanted, Dad wanted – well, for once, Dad’s not getting his own way. And if you knew the things he’s . . . Oh, forget it! Now be a good little brother and pay the
cab, will you? I’m skint.’

With that, he picked up his bag and, with Jon hard on his heels, disappeared into the house.

Friend Request.

Henry Crawford has invited you to be a friend on Facebook. Accept/ignore.

Frankie hesitated. She couldn’t very well press
ignore
– he’d be sure to want an explanation. She pressed
accept
– after all, she didn’t have to take
any notice of his posts; she could say she rarely went online. The moment she pressed
accept
, his profile came up and there he was, smiling confidently. Under
About me
he had written,
I’m young, fit, open to all sorts of offers, as long as they involve fun and pushing the boundaries. Check me out, babes!

‘Typical!’ she muttered, her eyes scanning the extensive list of his friends. She had to admit his profile threw up some interesting and unexpected facts about him – the plays
he’d seen, his love of Chekhov, Alan Ayckbourn and Harold Pinter, and his ambition to work in theatres on every continent of the world. She was about to write him a message (Pinter she simply
didn’t get), when a message popped up at the corner of her screen.

Frankie smiled to herself. William had many attributes but putting up with illness wasn’t one of them.

Frankie was overcome by a surge of guilt. She had it so easy – and there was William, only three years older, having to earn every penny for himself with just the small allowance that
Thomas gave him to top up his meagre salary. That’s why she saw so little of him – every time he was on leave from the ship, he would dash up to Northamptonshire, spend a couple of days
with her, and then go to Hove to visit their mum and earn money at whatever fast-food chain or pier café took him on.