What a charming family unit they make: Alice, Frank and Romaine. Alice, who has no experience whatsoever of being part of a conventional family, feels like a fraud. She wants to tell people that he’s not her husband, that Romaine isn’t his daughter, that she’s not that normal, that she’s not that good at making life choices.
The sunny morning has brought out half the town and it’s fairly buzzing. There’s a French food market setting up in the square and they stop to buy freshly baked croissants and strong, milky coffees. Alice feels strangely proud of her lovely little town – and then a glow of happiness at the idea that she now thinks of this place as her little town. She has felt like an outsider for so long.
‘You know, they’ve filmed all sorts here,’ she says, wanting to prolong the fleeting sense of belonging. ‘They once shut the whole place off for two days to film Pirates of the Caribbean. Seriously. We weren’t allowed in or out of our houses. For forty-eight hours. And not even a sideways glimpse of Johnny Depp.’
She looks at Frank and realises that he has no idea what Pirates of the Caribbean is or who Johnny Depp is and she remembers that he is essentially an alien. They’re outside the Ridinghouse Grand. It’s a tiny cinema, far from grand, built of breeze blocks and showing one film at a time. She notices that he is staring at the cinema intently.
‘Are you remembering something?’ she asks.
He half nods, half shakes his head. ‘I’m not sure. I think I might. It’s . . .’ He clasps his head by the temples and turns away abruptly. ‘I can see that girl again,’ he says. ‘The one with the brown hair. I saw her going in there.’ He points at the heavy glass doors. His hand moves from his head to his chest and he starts kneading at his heart. ‘I feel . . .’ he said. ‘I don’t know. I feel sick. I feel . . .’ His skin is clammy and grey. Alice leads him to a bench and sits next to him. She takes his coffee cup and puts it by her side, then she takes his hand and offers him the brown paper bag that her croissant came in. He bats it away.
‘Stay with me, Frank,’ she says. ‘Stay with me. We don’t want you doing another overnight stint on the beach. Breathe. Breathe.’
He grips on to her hand and she feels his breath slowing.
‘That’s it,’ she says. ‘I’m here. It’s OK.’
Romaine stands and watches, curiously. ‘Are you going to be sick?’
He shakes his head and forces a smile.
‘You can be sick in that bin, if you want.’
‘No, thank you.’ His voice is shaking. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’
They sit for a while and wait for Frank to emerge from his panic attack. Because that is clearly what it is. Alice has had enough in her time to recognise the signs.
‘OK?’ she asks a few minutes later.
‘OK.’ He smiles. She passes him his coffee and he gets to his feet. ‘Right,’ he says, ‘let’s keep going.’
‘You sure? We can always come back later if you’re not up to it?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘This has gone on for long enough. It’s all in there: I can feel it. It’s there and I want to get it out. I want to know. Let’s keep walking.’
‘Good,’ she says. ‘Fine.’
She looks at him as they pass the cinema again, his gaze fixed upon the front doors. He looks terrified, she thinks. He looks distraught. What happened to Frank in this town? And what part did he play in it all?