The next morning, Frankie sat in the passenger seat of her father’s Range Rover as they made their way to the hospital. They’d woken to find the outside world covered with a dusting of snow that sparkled in the bright morning light. It was already beginning to thaw but she couldn’t deny that it made London seem clean and fresh, reminding her of a Dickensian scene on a Christmas card.
When her father drove them into the hospital’s underground car park, the knot in her stomach tightened. She wished they could have stayed at home with her mother and Jonas and enjoyed a lazy morning, the four of them talking and laughing and learning more about one another. Last night had been a night of revelations in more ways than one, what with her finding out more about her father’s regrets and seeing how well her parents got on. Her mother and father could have been angry with each other, resentful of how the one had not been strong and supportive and the other had run away, but she didn’t see any of that between them at all. Instead, there was a sadness, a mutual awareness of years lost and love wasted, of pride in their daughter and regrets that things hadn’t been different. But when it came down to it, neither of them was fully to blame, if at all. Freya had been ill and done what she thought was best. Hugo had been afraid of losing his child as well as his wife, so stayed and allowed his mother to take control. He’d also been fearful of being rejected by Freya if he did go after her, and that would’ve meant he’d have been a single father without any other support, because if he’d crossed Grandma by leaving to follow Freya, she’d never have forgiven him. Perhaps her father would have coped alone, but Frankie could see how it would have been a daunting prospect, especially after the upbringing he’d had. It was a sad tale indeed but, as her mother had said, they all had a second chance to try to put things right. Of course, there was also the fact that Frankie hadn’t contacted Freya when she turned eighteen. Had she done so, then the lost years might have been fewer. So when it came down to apportioning blame, perhaps she had to accept some of it herself.
And now she had to see her grandmother for the first time since she’d run away from her wedding to Rolo. She was trying to prepare herself for a barrage of recriminations and hostility, because Grandma was good at hurling verbal abuse, but even better at coldness that could penetrate your bones and hang around you for weeks at a time. The coldness was something Frankie had dreaded even more than the rows, because she always longed to be loved and accepted, to have her grandmother be proud of her, even if she didn’t seem to love her. But nothing had ever seemed to be enough to merit Grandma’s pride or affection.
Once her father had parked, they got out of the car and crossed the car park in silence that was only punctuated by the click-clack of Frankie’s low-heeled boots. They took the lift to the first floor then Hugo led her to a ward where they were greeted by a nurse with a warm smile and a very white outfit of tunic and trousers.
‘How is she today?’ Hugo asked.
‘Well, Mr Ashford, she’s stable now and improving steadily but she shouldn’t tire herself or become agitated in any way.’
He nodded.
‘Perhaps me visiting isn’t a good idea then?’ Frankie asked, looking from the nurse to her father and back again.
‘Are you Frankie?’ The nurse displayed a set of small square teeth as white as her uniform.
‘Yes.’
‘She’ll be delighted to see you. We’ve all heard so much about you.’
‘You have?’ Frankie shivered, imagining what Grandma might have said to them about her only grandchild, the one who’d fled her wedding and run off to Norway without a second thought for her poor, loving grandmother. She’d heard her grandmother on the phone many times when she was younger, and usually Frankie didn’t sound like the perfect granddaughter in Grandma’s eyes at all.
‘Oh yes. She talks about you all the time. Come this way.’
She ushered them along the ward and to a private room at the end of the corridor. The whole place smelt clean, a mixture of antiseptic and lemons. It was also very quiet, as if the staff moved around in a permanent state of hush, not wanting to agitate or alarm the patients who paid handsomely for the privilege of private health care.
‘She’s in here. Now remember, try not to tire her or give her any… bad news.’
‘Of course.’ Hugo nodded, then the nurse walked away. ‘We’d better…’ He gestured at the hand sanitizer sitting in a holder on the wall.
‘Of course.’
Hugo placed his hands under the bottle and it automatically squirted the clear astringent liquid onto his open palm. He rubbed his hands together vigorously. Frankie copied his actions, rubbing her hands until they were dry again.
‘Dad… I don’t know if I can…’
‘I know, darling. I felt the same when I first came here. I was nervous about seeing her, about how she’d be and what she’d say. I was also afraid she’d be abusing the staff and even get herself thrown out.’
‘Can they throw you out if you’re paying for your healthcare?’
He shrugged. ‘If you’re hostile enough, I suppose, although Mother has always been jolly good at putting on a public face. Be prepared though, as you’ll see some changes in her. She’s not her usual feisty self, so just be ready for that.’ He squeezed her shoulder.
A passing patient’s slippers whispered over the tiled floor as he walked past pushing his IV stand. He gave them a cursory nod, then disappeared into the room next to Grandma’s.
‘OK. Let’s go in then.’
As they entered the hospital room, she wondered how she could prepare for something like that, especially when she found it hard to imagine the severe matriarch of her childhood as anything less than fierce. The aromas that Frankie had encountered in the corridor were stronger in the confined space of the hospital room and she wondered how Grandma could bear it. Even just inside the doorway, she already felt as though she would choke on the heavy air. She took a few steadying breaths, aware that her tightened throat was probably more to do with anxiety than the smells; in fact, it had probably heightened her senses, making everything seem far stronger.
The room was shadowy, as the blinds were drawn, but over near the window she could make out a bed with a monitor next to it and an IV stand. The green light from the monitor filtered through the gloom, creating an ethereal atmosphere.
They approached the bed, Frankie on her tiptoes to avoid the click-clacking from her heels, and her breath caught in her throat, because the tiny form curled up under the blankets could not possibly be her grandmother. They must have entered the wrong room.
‘Hugo? Is that you?’
A shock of white hair above a thin wrinkled face peered over the blankets at them, ghostly in the unnatural light, and Frankie took a step back. That wasn’t Grandma; it looked nothing like her. Grandma usually reminded her of the Queen with her coiffed white hair in a style she hadn’t changed since the Fifties. She had beady slate-grey eyes that could bore right through you and her flawless make-up was worn from dawn until dusk; she was never seen without it.
‘Yes, Mother, I’m here, and Frankie is too.’
‘Open the blinds.’ The faint voice issued an order and Frankie did as she was told, her instinct to obey Grandma still strong.
Morning light flooded the room, banishing the shadows and revealing the white hospital sheets and the shining floor tiles. They were so clean she could see her hazy reflection in them when she looked down. At least Grandma was in a place she couldn’t find fault with in terms of cleanliness, although Frankie supposed she’d likely find fault in other ways.
She turned back to the bed and watched as the sheets were folded down and her father helped Grandma sit up against her pillows. When she was comfortable, she looked at Frankie, causing her to swallow hard.
If Grandma was going to have her say, Frankie had just as well let her crack on, because it was, surely, inevitable. So she sat on the chair next to the bed, tucked her legs to the side and crossed her ankles, folded her hands in her lap and waited for the onslaught to begin.
But it didn’t come.
Grandma really was much changed. She seemed so tiny propped up against the bright white hospital issue pillowcases, her white hair blending in with the material. Her skin was transparent, the veins in her bony hands standing out, blue and purple roads that bulged then disappeared beneath the long sleeves of her lilac nightgown. The skin on her face was stretched tightly over her cheekbones but it gathered in wrinkled folds around her eyes and mouth, as if the fat beneath had been sucked out while she slept. Her eyes were dull, their grey diminished without the usual steeliness behind their slate, and without her fuchsia lipstick, her lips were thin and pale.
‘Thank you for coming, Frances.’
‘Of course I’d come, Grandma. Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Well… I wasn’t even sure you’d return to London.’
Frankie had to lean forwards to hear her grandmother because she spoke so quietly, as if every word took great effort.
‘It’s my home.’
‘That may be but you left it, left us, and ran away.’
‘I didn’t really run away, so much as take a break.’
Her grandmother’s lips curved slightly.
‘Was it all that bad then, Frances? Rolo. A country estate. The chance to be someone.’
Frankie dug her nails into her palms and counted to ten before replying.
‘To be “someone”?’
‘Yes. To be Mrs Rolo Bellamy. When his parents passed on you’d have had that whole estate at your disposal. You’d have been wealthy and comfortable for the rest of your life.’
‘Grandma… I am “someone”. I’m me. Frankie Ashford. Your granddaughter, Dad’s daughter and… Freya’s daughter.’ Her grandmother winced when she said her mother’s name. ‘I’m sorry, Grandma, I don’t want to upset you but Freya is my mother. She always was.’
Helen gave a small cough then reached up and rubbed her throat.
‘Are you OK, Mother?’ Hugo stood up, pushing his chair backwards with his legs so he could get closer to the bed.
Helen nodded but gestured at the bedside table. ‘Some water…’
He filled the plastic cup from a jug then helped her to take a drink.
She nodded when she’d had enough, and he sat back down heavily, as if his knees would have given way had he stood any longer.
‘I only ever wanted the best for you, Frankie. I’m sorry if I did wrong… I’ve had time to think since I… collapsed and I know I could… I could go at any time now.’
‘Don’t say that.’ Frankie shifted in her seat.
‘But it’s true, darling girl. I’m eighty-one. The doctors say I could live another twenty years… if I quit smoking and drinking, but as I said to them, where’s the fun in that?’ She started to cough, so Hugo gave her some more water. When she’d caught her breath again she said, ‘I’m too old to change my ways now.’
‘You could and you should. None of us want to lose you.’ Frankie reached out and squeezed her grandmother’s hand, trying not to wince at how thin it was. She seemed so fragile that a breeze could snap her.
‘Who’s “us”? Frances, when I go you and your father will be free. Apart from you two, no one else cares.’
‘Your friends care.’
‘Friends?’ Grandma shook her head. ‘The people I know are acquaintances rather than friends. They have their own lives and reputations to think of. One or two might shed a tear, but they’ll move on, as they should do. I don’t want anyone to grieve for me. We’re all alone in this life.’
‘Mother, you’re not going yet so please don’t talk like this.’
‘And we’re not alone.’ Frankie shook her head. What an awful way to think. Had Grandma felt that way all her life? No wonder she had been so harsh and unsentimental.
Frankie looked at her father and her heart sank. Since she’d returned to London, she’d seen a different side to him, one that smiled and laughed freely, that ate and drank and sang. And it had all been because of her mother. So really, Grandma was right; Hugo would be freed when she passed away. It was tragic. But true. Her father could only be himself when his mother wasn’t around. How sad that some families ended up in such awful situations, that the people who should be there for them could be the ones who hurt and oppressed them the most.
‘Oh, Hugo, always the pacifier. Time for you to grow a set, isn’t it?’
‘What?’ Hugo’s eyebrows shot up his forehead.
‘Come on, Hugo, darling, you’ve let me rule you all your adult life.’
‘But… but… I didn’t want to upset you, Mother.’
‘And look where that got you. Your wife walked away and your daughter was sent off to boarding school.’
‘Mother, really, I—’
‘Let me speak candidly now, Hugo, please. It’s about time.’ She licked her lips then sucked in a breath. ‘If I’m not going to be around… then some things need to change. I won’t be like one of those voice-automated devices that you can put in every room so you can ask it questions, will I? There’s no link to heaven… or hell… or wherever I’m heading.’
She paused again, her lips tinted blue, and Frankie stood up.
‘Shall I call the nurse?’
Grandma shook her head. ‘Be OK… in a minute.’
They waited, the tension in the room palpable, and Frankie could see that it was taking a lot of effort for her father to stay in his seat. He obviously wanted to call for the nurse but he was torn between obedience and concern, as he had, apparently, always been.
‘You loved Freya and she loved you,’ Grandma finally continued, ‘but I didn’t think she was good enough for you. At first I thought you’d grow out of your fascination with her, but as time wore on I realized it would take a seismic shift to separate you from that… from Freya. I had high hopes that you would marry from your own class, but no, soft romantic that you are, you fell head-over-heels for her. That was where the problems started.’
Hugo hung his head and Frankie’s heart went out to him. This would be hard to hear but if Grandma was right, and this was the last chance she’d have to speak candidly, then she should have that opportunity. Besides, Frankie was still shocked that Grandma hadn’t launched into a reprimand that would have made an army general look like a fluffy bunny.
‘Actually, I’ve been fibbing. In truth, it all started with Pip Bellamy.’ Grandma sighed.
‘Pip Bellamy?’ Frankie asked
‘Yes, dear. I loved him very much.’
‘You loved Rolo’s grandfather?’ Her mother had mentioned something about this but Frankie hadn’t thought it could have been this serious, had wondered if it had in fact been a rumour as Freya told her Hugo had said.
‘Oh yes. Before your dear grandfather came along, Pip and I fell madly in love. I was sixteen and he was eighteen when we met. He was a junior clerk at my father’s firm in London and I met him there one day when I’d gone to see Papa. I fell for him instantly with his handsome face and his twinkly blue eyes. He seemed so much older, so worldly wise, rather marvellous, in fact. We managed to exchange notes and to accidentally on purpose bump into each other when he was on errands, and soon I knew I wanted to be his wife. He said it was impossible but we were a bit like Romeo and Juliet; everything was so passionate, intense and painful. It was terribly thrilling and back then I had such a thirst for excitement and adventure. However, someone saw us together, only talking… but it was enough in those days to raise eyebrows and my father hit the roof. He fired Pip and told him that if he ever came near me again, he would make sure he regretted it. My father was a powerful man in certain circles and back then, as now in many ways, money equalled power.’
‘Sorry… I can’t get my head around this.’ Frankie had abandoned her ladylike pose and was now hunched forwards on the chair with her hands on the bed. ‘You and Pip actually were in love. Like… properly in love?’
‘We were. Is it hard to imagine as you look at my wrinkled old form now?’
‘No. That’s not what I meant. I just find it so sad that Great-Grandpa would have done that to you.’
‘My mother agreed with him, of course. Marrying into another class was frowned upon then, even though we’d been through two world wars and lost so many of our young men. Some things never change.’
‘I hadn’t realized you loved him, Mother.’ Hugo shook his head. ‘I’m so sorry Grandpa did that to you.’
‘If I’d married Pip, I’d never have married your father and had you, Hugo, so don’t feel sorry for me. It was all a very long time ago and look at Pip now! He’s done so well for himself.’
‘So Pip started out… poor?’
Grandma nodded. ‘After my father fired him, he went away for a while and when he came back, he had money and a new confidence. It was as if my father had given him the push he needed, and he built his business from scratch, starting small with buying a few residential properties and warehouses and renting them out, then he kept on going. Now, as you know, he has an extensive property development portfolio. Money breeds money, eh?’
Frankie nodded. She knew a lot of people who’d made their money from investing in property, especially in areas like Belgravia and Mayfair.
‘Then, he married Henrietta Walford, whose father had long since passed and whose mother was far too interested in her gin bottle to care. Henrietta was wealthy too, having already been widowed, and together they built their empire. So, Pip did pretty well out of it all. Sometimes, my dears, things happen the way they’re meant to.’
Frankie nodded, but something wasn’t sitting well with her.
‘Grandma, I can understand all of that but what about my mother and father? You pushed Freya away when she was ill. Why did you do that? Did you… hate her that much?’
Helen smoothed out the quilt cover and when she opened her mouth, her lips trembled slightly.
‘I never hated Freya. It wasn’t hate, more disapproval. She was so arty-farty and—’
‘Arty-farty?’ Hugo’s voice rose. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean, Mother?’
Helen waved her hands around as if searching for the words. ‘You know… she was a painter and had no solid income or aspirations and I didn’t believe she was good for you. Either of you. And her… her weakness irritated me.’
‘Weakness?’ Frankie’s jaw dropped. ‘Grandma, she had post-natal depression. That’s an illness not a weakness. She was low enough as it was and you offered her no support. Instead, you kicked her when she was down.’
Grandma nodded but she didn’t seem smug about it. Her eyes were sad when they met Frankie’s, her shoulders hunched forwards as if the knowledge was a weight around her scrawny neck.
‘So you forced my parents apart because of social class.’
‘I did.’
‘You thought it wouldn’t work?’
‘Yes. I suspected she might have been after his money and the security of marrying into our family… that she was a scrounger.’
‘But you’ve already admitted that you wanted something like that for me… by marrying me to Rolo.’
‘I did, Frances, but you are from the same class as Rolo and you have a good career. You’re not living off pennies you make from selling your paintings.’ Hugo coughed so Helen turned to him. ‘Oh come on, Hugo, she wasn’t exactly raking it in, was she? You, Frances, had much to offer Rolo in return. There was no inequality between you. Freya was from a council estate and from… hippy parents. They’d both died by the time I met her and she seemed so… lost and needy. Your father has such a big heart and I feared he’d give her everything, or that at some point she would tire of him and take him to the cleaners, as they say.’
‘I wanted to give her everything, Mother.’
‘I regret what I did now… seeing the hurt it has caused you two, but it was almost thirty years ago. Things change. People change.’
‘Are you saying you’d do it differently now, Grandma?’
‘Who knows? Maybe I would. But hindsight has a lot to do with that. At that time, when I found you all alone, a tiny baby abandoned by her mother, I thought I was doing the best for you. What if she’d done it when I wasn’t there, Frances? As it was, you were in your cot, but if you’d been a bit older and toddling around and she’d walked out, you could have wandered into the garden and fallen in the pond or down the steps. You could have trotted out onto the street and been abducted by someone or mown down by a car. Anything could have happened and you were far too precious for that.’
‘But if you’d got my mother some help, it wouldn’t have happened. She needed help. She was a member of your family too.’ Frankie’s throat was tight and she swallowed hard. She didn’t want to lose her temper, or to start crying, because she wanted to hear Grandma out. But this was incredibly difficult. ‘Anyway… if I was so precious why did you send me away to boarding school when I was six?’
Grandma winced then rubbed her eyes. ‘As you grew, you started to remind me of Freya. It was like being haunted by a spectre that increased my guilt. Your eyes were like hers, the way you sang when you were in the garden, the way your little nose wrinkled up when you were sad. It all reminded me of how I’d pushed her away from you and awareness of what I’d done started to gnaw at me. Not seeing you every day was a way of trying to forget.’
‘You could have sent me to my mother.’
‘That couldn’t have happened. As far as we knew, Freya had moved on. I thought Hugo would move on… I was wrong.’
The three of them sat in silence as Grandma’s words drifted around them, a tale of loss and heartbreak, passion and class. Frankie’s chest was tight, heavy with sadness and grief, for what had been lost and for what was to come if Grandma didn’t recover.
‘I hate my job.’ Frankie blurted her confession, the silence in the room had become imposing and she needed to be honest too.
‘Pardon?’ Grandma frowned.
Hugo’s face, already pale, blanched completely.
‘I need to say it now, while we’re sharing candidly.’
‘But why, dear? It’s a good job.’
‘I find it boring. I find no satisfaction in it at all. It is a good career for some, but it’s not for me.’
‘Then change it now, Frankie.’ Her father nodded. ‘Do it.’
‘And do what instead, now you won’t have a wealthy husband to support you?’ Grandma asked.
‘I want to design clothing.’
‘Oh no, not that again.’ Grandma sighed dramatically.
‘Mother!’ Hugo’s tone was sharp and his mother gasped then buried her face in her hands.
‘I’m sorry. Old habits are hard to break.’ She looked up again. ‘Frances… you must do what makes you happy, and if that means finding your mother too, then do it. I am sure that she will be glad to see you.’
Frankie met her father’s eyes and his widened.
‘Actually, Mother, there’s something I need to tell you. Frankie didn’t return to London alone…’