Seventeen Gifts for Frannie and Jess Read online

  ‘Come in, Lawrence, why don’t I make you a cuppa?’

  ‘No, I’ve just got back from London…’

  ‘So have I…’

  ‘No, from work I mean, so I can’t really hang around. I have a couple more reports to write this evening. It’s rather hectic right now.’

  I pause and don’t take the trilby from Lawrence immediately. It amazes me that Lawrence has never stepped foot in this house. Of course, he was friends with Donald and they attended a few Test matches together but that was because they had a shared love for cricket. I got the impression they had little else in common. And then the rumours of Gillian’s dalliance with Donald started and that widened the gap between the two men further. Lawrence always claimed to be too busy to be a ‘good neighbour’ but it was more that he wasn’t a neighbour at all. I hardly saw him. His work for a global software company meant he caught the train at the crack of dawn and didn’t return from London earlier than 9pm each night. Gillian had been going on about it for years. Yet it did give her the freedom and the resources to pursue her own passions which were obviously the library, the theatre and the local community. Perhaps they didn’t step on each other’s toes – and they liked it that way.

  ‘Well, if you’re not going to come in…’ I say, folding my arms in a clear indication I wasn’t going to take anything from him. ‘…I really would like to know why William can’t keep the hat. Donald gave it to him – and he likes it. Can’t we just let things be?’

  ‘Look Francesca, I know you’ve been through a lot but I really want you to take this. William was actually wearing it this morning when he went to work in Beaconsfield, can you believe that? A part-time barman in his early 20s wearing a checked trilby hat; it looked ridiculous.’

  ‘I thought he was full-time?’

  ‘Full-time, part-time, who cares? It’s a mind-numbing job anyway and he needs to find something that’ll motivate him a bit more. Here, please take the hat?’

  He hands it over again – and I keep my arms folded.

  ‘I don’t think the hat looks so bad on William,’ I say. ‘He was wearing it last night in this house. He looked quite stylish, I thought.’

  ‘Please take it…’

  I am annoyed Lawrence isn’t engaging with my line of argument.

  ‘Only if you come in. The Olympics are still on. We can talk about the separate worlds of London we inhabit. You should have seen the Olympic Park today; there was so much goodwill I had to pinch myself that I was in the capital…’

  He eases the hat back by his side and steps back a little.

  ‘No, it’s a gracious offer but if I waste any more minutes this evening, I won’t be able to function for the rest of the week.’ He sighs and looks down at his phone. ‘Gillian won’t be back until midweek at the earliest – and we’re surviving on pizzas and takeaways right now, so that’s another consideration.’

  ‘You should cook a bit more often…’

  ‘I do – at weekends. But I rely on Gillian throughout the week – and she’s not here.’ He looks down at the trilby and shakes it a couple of times as though he’s trying to clear some dandruff or errant strands of hair. ‘I’ll see you again soon, Francesca. I hope you’re enjoying your work at the Olympics. Oh, keep the Tube empty will you. I can’t do with all these new spectators and visitors to London.’ He offers the first smile of the evening and starts to walk away.

  ‘Who knows, you might have to speak to them one day…’

  ‘Hope not,’ he says, raising a hand without looking behind him. ‘It’s like Last Night of the Proms with all those garish flags. No thanks…’

  ‘You should get behind the team?’ I say, a bit louder.

  ‘I only deal with winners…’

  With that, Lawrence heads off down the street and I shut the door, a little more annoyed than I was a few minutes ago. But I truly will be annoyed if he doesn’t give the hat back to William. What is his problem anyway? My guess is when he sees his son wearing the trilby hat, he’s actually seeing Donald – and all the niggly problems they had in the later years. He might also think William was – and still is – too close to Donald; that their relationship is more like father and son than his own. This can’t be too pleasant for him – but perhaps he should do more to ensure his son doesn’t feel that way about his father. It does get me worked up when I see parents and children not seeing eye-to-eye. I never would have let that happen. It still pains me that I didn’t have the choice.

  Lawrence has put me off any more television for the evening so I go upstairs and prepare for bed. Yet his visit has also aroused a curious urge to look through some old photo albums with Donald specifically wearing the checked trilby hat. It’s like I need to put it back into its rightful place. So I pull out some of the dusty albums from the bottom drawer of the cupboard in our bedroom. I sit on the bed and flick through them. I log a few of the places Donald is wearing his favourite hat: at a picnic with me in the Lake District; at a Ramblers walk through the Chilterns, outside the Norden Farm Arts Centre in Maidenhead, outside Chelmsford cricket ground. I go through another album but on the first page, there’s a reminder I don’t want to see. He’s wearing the hat outside Wexham Park Hospital. At hospital – with me inside. I feel a tiredness when I see him out there. I close the album and place it back into the cupboard. I’m not ready for this yet. Lawrence has fiddled with my emotions again. I quickly get changed and hope to put the light out as soon as possible. My mobile phone rings just as I’m about to get into bed. Who now? The Olympics has increased the numbers of conversations but not always to my benefit. It can wear me out at the wrong time.

  ‘Hello Frannie, how are you? It’s Jessica here. I’m at Rob’s place in Watford watching Great Britain v Algeria in the volleyball. You weren’t asleep were you?’

  ‘It’s late Jessica…’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry about that but I needed to tell you something, I’m not sure it can wait.’

  ‘We’ll be awake again in a few hours, can’t it wait till the morning?’

  ‘No, because my Dad’s coming down from Leeds. He got worried about the little problem I had in Streatham and, once he heard about the police, he decided to get down here as fast as he could. I told him not to worry but he didn’t listen…’

  ‘But what’s that got to do with me?’ I say, sitting up in bed and trying to get the mobile closer to my ear. ‘He just sounds worried. Is that so bad?’

  ‘It’s not bad – but I’m afraid he might be coming your way first…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He has your address so he might be heading down there as we speak.’

  ‘For Lord’s sake, Jessica, how did he get that? Did you give it to him? I sincerely hope not.’

  ‘Well look, things have been very confusing for the past couple of days. I didn’t know if I was coming or going, never mind where I was staying. My intention was to take up your offer of staying at your place but then Dad rang and everything got muddled up again. I gave him your address to reassure him, I didn’t expect him to waltz down south and get all cranky.’

  ‘Why didn’t you give him Rob’s address?’

  ‘I tried to but he was already travelling down to London by then. His phone was either not in service or breaking up all the time. He’s still got one of those old crap ones with no internet access. I just couldn’t get through. Also, I knew it was very crowded at Rob’s and I didn’t think I’d be able to stay that long.’

  ‘Whereas I’m living in the house that time forgot, yes?’

  ‘I made a mistake, Frannie, I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect him to get carried away like that. He still thinks I’m a little girl…’

  ‘Hmm, maybe Ben was right about you. Bad luck follows you around…’

  ‘Well, he should know. Only had his driving licence for eight months and he�
��s wrote off three cars already.’

  ‘I didn’t know that…’

  ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about Ben but forget him, I just wanted to make sure you were prepared if, for some reason, my father turns up your door.’

  ‘But it’s late. Why would he do that at this time of night?’

  ‘It’s still early where we’re from. On days off, he’s usually watching telly till about 3am.’

  ‘I won’t answer the door.’

  ‘Fine, I just thought I’d warn you.’

  There is a long silence as I think of something to say – and I decide there’s no point in skirting round the issue anymore.

  ‘Why didn’t you take up my offer of staying at my place when I asked you the first time?’ I say. ‘Is it because I’m old and a widow? Because I will make you look bad in front of your cool young friends? Is that it Jessica? Because that’s how it feels to me…’

  ‘No, course not. I don’t think that way…’

  ‘Are you sure, Jessica? I’m sorry if I’m getting emotional and oversensitive but it’s better to feel like that than to feel nothing at all. After Donald died, I felt so numb in mind and body that I feared it would never leave me – but it did. But then when you rejected my offer, the numbness came flooding back again. I know I might be overreacting but that’s the truth, I can’t hide it…’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Francesca, I really am. I shouldn’t have called you in the first place…’

  ‘No, you did the right thing,’ I say, lying down and resting my head on the pillow. ‘Because now it means we both know where we stand. If you want to come and live here, you need to understand exactly how I’ve been feeling. I don’t think you really grasped that before. Am I right?’

  ‘Maybe…’

  ‘Am I right?’

  ‘Yes. It’s true I’ve never lost anyone close to me like that. My grandfather did pass away – but I was only three then so I don’t really have memories of it. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, honestly.’ She pauses and sighs. ‘I’ll let you go now because you’re probably extremely tired…’

  I turn my head to the right and look at Donald’s face in our framed anniversary photo lying on the bedside table.

  ‘I’ll be more tired if you don’t come and stay here with me…’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘You might be seeing my Dad first…’

  ‘Not tonight I won’t. I’ve talked to enough people for one day.’ I turn over in bed and try to get comfortable. ‘Goodbye Jessica.’

  ‘Wait, if he calls, you will let him in won’t you?’

  ‘Bye. See you tomorrow, I hope.’

  I end the call abruptly and put my mobile under my pillow. I don’t care if I’m on the end of a chippy-style raid in Streatham, I won’t move from this bed till morning.

  DAY FIVE

  The distant sound of my front door being thumped wakes me up. At least I am prepared for it. I ignore it but glance over at my alarm clock and, amazingly it’s 5.15am already – in other words; close to getting up time. Did I have that much unbroken sleep? How? This Olympic adventure is doing strange things to my body. I imagine what Jessica’s dad looks like. His impulsiveness makes me think of people like Albert Finney, Tom Courtenay or Ted Hughes; northern men who knew their own mind and had a certain uncompromising manner about them (even it was an act). Is Jessica’s dad the same? I hope not. He’s got off on the wrong foot with me to begin with. I get up and head to the bathroom as the banging on the door continues. It stops after a couple of minutes. I get changed and head downstairs to eat breakfast. It’s so nice to have some peace back in the house. I listen to Radio Three to get my mind back in order – and then prepare to leave the house. If Jessica’s dad has gone away then it’s been an excellent few hours: good sleep, good breakfast and good music; I’m ready for another marathon day in the Olympic Park. I open the front door and step out of my house – wondering if I’ll get a seat on the Chiltern Railways train to Marylebone – when I notice a man sitting down on the ground a few yards away, his back against the fence, his hands in his coat pockets, collars up, sleeves slightly torn. I surprise myself by not being startled. He gets up immediately; quite athletically, with a thrust of his shoulders and smooth pivot of his lean body. I’m not surprised Jessica is so mad about sport. I can see where she got it from. He walks towards me but still doesn’t say anything. I am quite intimidated because he should be making steps to compromise not the other way round. He stops just inches away, hands still in his pockets.

  ‘A pleasure, Mrs Hartford,’ he says, finally offering his hand tentatively while flitting his eyes across the front of the house. ‘I’m Simon Lees, Jessica’s dad. Can you get her for us? When does her shift start?’

  ‘No, she’s not here,’ I reply, as he grips my hand for longer than necessary. ‘I thought you knew that? She’s in Watford, didn’t she tell you that?’

  ‘Sort of – but it wasn’t clear…’

  ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘By train. I hopped on the last one from Leeds to Euston – and then a cab. I can’t drive on motorways anymore. Got an injury while doing pole vault at Harriers when I was 17. I get double vision trying to keep up with the pace and the speed of the cars. Too dangerous.’

  I look into his tired eyes and feel some sympathy – but not for long.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s irrational to bang on a stranger’s door in the early hours? I can’t see how you think that’s normal behaviour.’

  ‘Yes, but when my daughter’s involved with the police, I get involved, simple as. If I woke you up then I’m sorry but a father’s got to look out for his daughter and if he doesn’t he’s no father at all.’

  ‘You didn’t wake me up,’ I say, asking him to make way so I can get to the gate. ‘We still don’t do that kind of thing round here. We have a bit more respect.’

  ‘Like the police had for Jess when they raided that shithole she was living in?’

  ‘That was in London, I meant here – in our village…’

  ‘Same thing.’

  ‘Look if you’ll excuse me, Mr Lees, I have to catch the train at a certain time otherwise I’ll be late.’

  ‘Can I come back for dinner tonight?’

  ‘Sorry?’ I say, with a touch of bewilderment. ‘I don’t know, I might be back late anyway.’ I walk past him but then stop to examine him for a few seconds. ‘Have you called Jessica this morning? I don’t see why I should get involved in your family disputes.’

  ‘She’s not answering her calls,’ he says, pulling out a packet of Lambert & Butler cigarettes from his coat pocket. ‘Probably ashamed that her old man’s travelled nearly 200 miles to save her from the big bad city.’ He lights his cigarette with a copper-coloured Zippo lighter.

  ‘You can’t smoke here…’

  ‘Why? Brekkie’s never the same without a fag. Perks me up in the morning.’

  ‘I said you can’t smoke in my front garden. Isn’t your wife a dinnerlady? I thought she might have taught you a bit about health considerations. Not to mention Jessica’s sport science degree. Aren’t you setting a bad example and being hypocritical?’

  ‘What like McDonald’s and Coca-Cola sponsoring the Olympics? I’m sure the athletes could run faster if they ate and drank that stuff.’

  I pause and look at him and he puts his cigarettes back in his pocket.

  ‘You’re the second person to mention McDonald’s to me in just a few days,’ I say. ‘Is this something people are getting worked up about? I hope it doesn’t spoil the whole event.’

  ‘That, and the army coming in, and the empty seats and God knows what else. These big events always bring a lot of baggage. I went to an England game at the 2010 World Cup in South Africa and the media banged on about the crime
rate in the country but nothing happened. We had a ridiculously good time.’

  ‘Oh no, not football…look I’ve really got to go.’

  ‘I’m not a Three Lions obsessive, if that’s what you’re thinking. The tickets came through Jessie’s sporting connections at university. I’ve been a Huddersfield Town fan for 36 years.’

  ‘Why would you think I’d be interested in that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he says, turning the collars of his coat down. ‘Because I do care about things. And if I didn’t, why the hell would I be outside your front door at 5am?’

  I sigh and walk past him. ‘I still haven’t worked that one out.’ I head to the front gate and open it, praying that he’s just behind me which would indicate that he’s about to leave.

  ‘How about I totter down to London with you today?’ he says. ‘I’m here now so I might as well make myself useful.’

  ‘Oh no, you’ll wear me out on the train. It’s out of the question.’ I close the gate behind me and look at him. ‘I still can’t understand why you’re here in the first place. I’m sure you knew Jessica wasn’t here.’

  He pauses and walks towards me. He stops at the gate and puts his hands on it.

  ‘Honestly, I thought she might be here – and that’s the truth. But there was another consideration. I’ve never been in this part of the country before and things have been tight for the family in the last few years, at least in economic terms. So when I heard Jessie might be staying in a well-to-do house like this, I thought I’d come down and see what the job situation was in this neck of the woods.’

  ‘So this is not about Jessica at all…’

  ‘It’s all about Jessie – but we also have to keep the big picture in mind. I took her to Harriers when she was 12-years-old and Debbie and I have supported her through university. We now need to make sure her Olympic volunteering dream doesn’t go belly up before it’s started. We’ve done everything for her and if I can do more, in this part of the country, then I will.’