‘But it’s going to cost you more, you know with the travel for us three. To be honest we could leave Spud at home, he’s bloody useless most of the time but Dad’s promised his mum we’ll keep him out of trouble. His mates get up to all sorts so he’s better off coming with us. He can cut your grass, with scissors.’ Jed grimaced when he received an elbow in the ribs for that.
‘Don’t be tight. Spud’s cute in his own spaced-out way. I bet he’ll enjoy the trip over on the boat and he might even get a suntan if he ever takes off those bloody awful baggy jeans and his hoodie.’
Jed tutted. ‘They’re welded to his body, I’m convinced. But on a serious note, I can’t believe you’re actually leaving. These past few weeks have gone too fast and I wish we could go back to the start and do it all again.’
Hearing this, Frankie sat upright and turned to face him. ‘Me too, and as much as I’m looking forward to going and getting my dogs – who I still haven’t decided on names for yet – half of my heart will be here with you. Yep, soppy but it’s true.’
Jed pulled Frankie to him and held her tight. ‘Why does life have to be so flaming complicated? Part of me wants you to stay because I’m not scared of that nutcase when he gets out of jail, and believe me he’d be sorry if he ever turned up while I’m there.’
‘I know he would.’ Frankie snuggled further against Jed, enjoying the sense of safety his words and body provided.
He responded with a kiss to the top of her head. ‘Then another part of me wants you to go because this is your dream and it’s not fair for anyone to spoil that, me included. I just want you to know that I’m going to try everything to make it work, you know, us, as long as that’s what you want too.’
The best response Frankie could give was to untangle her body, then kiss him passionately and afterwards, try to put how she felt into words. ‘Look, cards on table time. Even though this, us, has moved quickly and come at the worst possible time, I want it to work more than anything and I believe we can do it. Somehow we’ll manage. This is a fresh start for me but I really want you to be a part of it too. Does that answer your question?’
Jed looked relieved, a smile spreading across his face. ‘Yep, loud and clear. So what should we do next? Check out some ferries, or check out my brand-new duvet set? Look, it’s all ready and waiting to be tested out.’ Jed pointed to his bed under the eaves.
Laughing, allowing herself to be pulled towards the duvet, Frankie also allowed herself a moment of hope, a taste of victory perhaps. While she’d been determined to let Jed know how she felt, she was just as determined that her words would come true. No matter how many nutcases they let out of prison this was her time, her life and nobody was going to spoil things for her. Of that she was sure.
11
Margaret stared out across Asda car park, not really seeing the people wheeling their shopping trolleys to and fro, hearing but not acknowledging the screech of a child having a tantrum as its mother strapped it into the car seat. Her car window was down because it was warm and she needed air; the screaming was irritating her, though. Robotically she switched on the engine and raised the glass to block out the noise, all the time staring blankly ahead.
Asda car park probably wasn’t the best choice, not when you craved solitude and time to think, but she’d been on autopilot and somehow ended up there. Margaret couldn’t actually remember the journey from her house to where she was parked which was worrying. What if she’d gone through a red light?So what. What if she’d been speeding?Who cares?
Margaret was numb. Her whole body felt like her lips had when the dentist anaesthetised her gums. The only feeling she did have was in her heart. The only other organ that felt like it was functioning was her brain. Right there and then she wished both would stop. Give up the ghost. Then she could become one and float around haunting people she hated, and there was quite a list.
Her phone rang again. Margaret ignored it. She knew who it would be and had no intention of talking to him. Then another torrent of thoughts. Who else would ring you, Margaret? Because you have no one, do you? Nobody rings you for a chat, or to invite you anywhere, or to see how you are, do they? Why’s that, Margaret? Because you gave everything up for a loser. You backed the wrong horse and now you’re left with nothing, nil, nada, zilch. You are so pathetic, Margaret Tibbs, completely and utterly pathetic.
When a tear leaked from her right eye it at first surprised her because she rarely cried, not as a child when her parents scolded her, or the other kids were mean, even at films or words in books. This meant she was losing control and Margaret hated that. It made her angry.
It wasn’t fair that she should feel like this, not now. She’d been so joyful that morning when she woke up next to Herbert. Eight days of happiness they’d had before he dropped the bombshell over breakfast – dippy eggs and soldiers. It was the letter that started it off and after that, everything fell to pieces, minute by minute, word by word, horrible fact after fact.
Margaret wished she’d not picked the letter addressed to Herbert up off the mat, and that she hadn’t thought it curious, the blue NHS trust stamp and name of the local hospital. She should have stuck it in the drawer, forgotten all about it and they could have had another day, maybe two.
Even better, the postman could have been knocked down by a huge wagon that squashed him all over the road, his delivery sack mushed up with blood and body parts, then the letter from the oncology department would never have arrived. But it had and she’d taken it into the kitchen and passed it to Herbert, then watched as he paled. She’d heard her voice when she asked why he wasn’t opening it and his reply, because he already knew what it would say. Then Margaret had asked the stupid question. Before she could make another pot of tea – because by this time she’d realised it was going to be bad news and wanted to stall for time – he came right out and told her.
Margaret looked again at the envelope that lay next to Herbert’s yolk-stained plate, then back to his face and eyes that wouldn’t meet hers.
‘I’m sorry, Margaret, I don’t know how to say it… I’ve been trying to pluck up the courage and find the right words but I couldn’t.’ Herbert’s eyes remained downcast as he pushed his knife closer to his spoon on the centre of the plate.
‘Tell me what, Herbert? Please, just say it.’ Margaret’s voice was clipped, nerves expressing themselves as impatience.
Instead he pushed the letter across the table. ‘Open it, and then you’ll understand.’
Without hesitation Margaret snatched up the letter and ripped it open, her fingers trembling as she unfolded the sheets and read the first line. By the end of the paragraph she understood. ‘You have cancer.’
‘Yes.’
‘How long– I mean how long have you known?’
A long silence wasn’t helped by the washing machine starting its spin cycle. The whirring sound became almost a screech that pierced Margaret’s brain. She wanted to get up and put her foot through the glass window and make it stop. Instead, she stood and pushed the button on the front, then returned to her seat, heart rate slowing in time with the spinning drum. ‘Herbert, how long and why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Around three months. That’s when the tests began and once they gave me the prognosis I was afraid that you’d reject me and not want me to come back here. I was desperate to spend time with you, my love.’
At this Margaret softened slightly. ‘Of course I still want you, Herbert. I can’t believe you’d think that. Look at me, we will go through this together and yes, I know treatment can be awful but I’ll be with you every step of the way. We will beat this, Herbert, I promise.’
Margaret reached out and took his hand, squeezing her belief into it. When he finally looked up the gratitude she expected wasn’t there in his eyes. In fact, Herbert looked annoyed.
