The Stepmother(54)

 

‘Sorry,’ she cuts me off, ‘I’m late for a meeting. Good luck, Jeanie. I’m sure something will turn up.’ Tiny pause. ‘Your references were very good you know.’

 

Small comfort.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When I get home, wondering if Frankie’s on the next train, I don’t know whether I feel angry or depressed – or maybe both.

 

I drag myself out of the car, and then I hear something odd.

 

I rush up the path.

 

My fears are confirmed as I open the front door: Frankie and Matthew are in the hall, standing opposite one another, and it looks horribly as if they might be about to have a fight.

 

‘What on earth’s going on?’ I move in-between them.

 

‘Ask your husband,’ Frankie says. He’s deathly pale, which is never a good sign. It reminds me of a childhood sickness he had when he was tiny; when for a night or two, I thought I might lose him.

 

I reach my hand out towards him. ‘Frankie…’

 

‘You know exactly what’s going on, Jeanie.’ Matthew’s voice is loud, and unlike Frank, he’s very flushed. ‘I won’t have that filth in my house.’

 

‘I don’t look at filth,’ Frankie spits, and I can see that his rage isn’t helping. ‘It wasn’t f*cking well me.’

 

‘Just who the hell are you swearing at?’ Matthew is growing ever nearer apoplexy. ‘I won’t have that language in my house.’

 

‘No? Well, strikes me you won’t have anything much in your house.’ Frankie picks up the bag he’s just arrived home with. ‘So I’ll make it easy for you and I’ll leave.’

 

‘Frankie, please!’ I plead. ‘Don’t go. We’ll sort it out. Wait a minute…’

 

But he’s already at the door – and one thing I know about my son is the sheer level of his determination when he’s set on something. ‘Frank—’

 

I follow him out to the drive.

 

‘I’m sorry, Mum, and I don’t mean to swear – but I think he’s a proper wanker.’ He is visibly shaken.

 

‘Please, Frank…’

 

‘He thinks the sun shines out of his own kids’ arses – but he looks at me with contempt.’ He swings his bag over his shoulder.

 

‘He doesn’t…’ I begin, but then I wonder: maybe he’s right – maybe Matthew does. Is it true?

 

What have I done? What care have I taken of Frank in the search for my own happiness? I think of my own mother, who cared nothing for our welfare whenever it meant she could have a bloke around – blokes who were always unsuitable, never the least bit interested in us.

 

Am I following in her footsteps?

 

Hardly! I hear Marlena say. You’ve done everything for that boy. Everything. It’s time you had a life of your own, Jeanie.

 

Is that what she’d say though? Or have I simply sacrificed Frankie’s happiness for my own?

 

Or maybe this is just normal life? Kids and parents battling it out for a bit of equality. I’ve never had a man around, not really; not since Simon, and it’s hard to know what’s normal…

 

‘I’m going to George’s,’ Frank says dully, and he kisses me on the cheek. ‘Take care, Mum. You need to take care.’

 

‘Don’t go, Frank, please,’ I plead, but he’s already slouching down the drive. ‘I’ll ring you later, darling,’ I call after him, and he raises one weary hand in farewell, but he doesn’t look round.

 

Slowly I turn and walk back into the house.

 

 

 

 

 

Thirty-Five

 

 

 

 

 

Marlena

 

 

 

 

 

Now what are you looking at?

 

Okay, yes, that is what I’d have said about Frankie and Jeanie. She’d done everything for that boy – above and beyond the call of duty.

 

Everything. Which was especially difficult, given the early circumstances of his life.

 

But let’s not discuss that right now, all right?

 

Yes, I’m getting upset.

 

Leave it there please.

 

And Jeanie did deserve happiness, of course. But when you’ve got no blueprint for a healthy relationship, how do you know where to find it? It wasn’t surprising she thought her dreams would be wrapped up by finding her Prince Charming.

 

Prince Charming’s a stupid old fantasy though, isn’t he? He doesn’t exist. You only need to look at the divorce statistics to know that.