Breach of Faith (18 page)

“She’s got a few … problems at the moment and I’m going over to
England to help her. There’s also something I need to tell her.”

“Problems?” Will seemed sympathetic, “mental problems?”

Frank chuckled, “nah, she’s just in a bit of trouble.”

“And you’re going to help her? Must be some major trouble she got herself into; this is one hell of an expensive trip.”

Frank shrugged, wondering just how much detail he should share. Sometimes, chatting to a stranger about things like this was easier than talking to someone you know. Strangers didn’t really care, they tended not to judge you. However, they could sometimes give pretty good advice. He glanced over at Will. The other man was leaning back in his seat, eyes closed, his hand surprisingly empty of alcohol. Useful advice may not be forthcoming from Will, in fact there was a very real possibility that he may pass out at any moment and not hear one word. But it could help, just to speak out loud.

Putting aside his niggling doubts, Frank continued.

“She’s pregnant, and not dealing with it very well.”

Will opened blood-shot eyes and stared at Frank. At least, Frank thought that was what he was doing, it was quite difficult to tell where the man’s focus was.

“Firs’ baby, is it?” Will asked.

“My first, not hers. It’s not the pregnancy itself that’s the problem, it’s more to do with the fact that I’m the baby’s father.”

Will’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What? Nice bloke like you?” He swayed conspiratorially towards to Frank and winked. “Not a serial killer, are you?”

Frank snorted, “yeah, I drown people in custard pies.”

Will guffawed loudly, eliciting grunting and shushing noises from the people around them. Frank held up his hand in apology.

“Custard pies, hey? I like that one.” Will’s chuckling subsided. “Really, though, what’s up with the woman? Don’t she like you no more?”

Frank scratched his head, “to be honest, she never really thought of me as anything other than a friend. It’s a bit … complicated.”

“Well, tha’s no surprise,” Will muttered. “Everything to do wi’ women is comp’cated. Take my wife, one minute she’s ‘appy as Larry, doing her thing, not a care in the world. All of a sudden she starts acting all funny. Asking questions, not wanting me to go places. It’s weird.” He clapped Frank understandingly on the shoulder, “all woman are comp’cated.”

Frank rubbed tired hands over exhausted eyes, “there’s more to it than that.”

Will had settled back in his seat, eyes once again closed. He grunted quietly in response. Frank looked over at him, almost asleep by the look of it. Never mind, he wasn’t really saying all this for the other man’s benefit. It was purely an attempt to get it all straight in his mind.

“She made a mistake.” Frank admitted finally, wondering why he felt the need to defend Kate to this stranger. “She’s already married,”

Will grunted again, “too bad, mate,” he slurred.

Frank nodded and continued in his quiet voice, “She ran away: from him and me. But I need to talk to her. I need to tell her something important.”

Frank fell silent, caught up in his own thoughts. After a few seconds he realised Will was staring at him, breathing heavily, his body rigid against the back of the seat. Frank sincerely hoped that he wasn’t going to be sick. Excusing himself, he hurriedly pushed out of his own seat and made his way to the bathroom. If Will
was
going to be sick, best he did it into an empty seat, after all.

Making his way back through the darkened aircraft to his seat, Frank was suddenly stopped by a figure materialising in front of him, blocking his way.

“What’s her name?”

“What? Who?” Frank was confused, all he wanted to think about now was sleep.

“What’s her name?” Will repeated.

The stench of alcohol was overpowering and Frank took a hasty step back. Overhead lights were being turned on by irate passengers, disturbed from their slumber. Over Will’s shoulder, Frank could see an air hostess making her way towards them. Realising what this must look like, Frank put a calming hand on Will’s arm. “Come on, mate, sit down.”

“What’s her name?”

“Is everything all right, here?” Kathy looked worried. “Please take your seat, sir.”

“Will?” Frank tried to manoeuvre Will back to his seat but the other man roughly shook the hand off his arm.

“Tell.
Me. Her. Name.”

Frank held up his hands in defeat, “fine, I’ll tell you. It’s Kate. Her name is Kate.”

With a dawning horror, Frank suddenly realised where he had seen this man before. And as Will’s fist connected heavily with his face, he thought with the utmost clarity, that he really should learn to keep his big mouth closed.

Will was flailing wildly, fists flying, after that first unexpected punch. Another lucky slug had smashed into Frank’s left eye and he’d found himself sprawled inelegantly on the lap of a smart business woman, one hand resting on her breast while his mouth had dripped blood onto her clean and only slightly creased white blouse.

The woman screamed, her arms and legs waving madly beneath him. Will was yelling incoherent obscenities at the place where Frank had been standing only moments ago, his fists pumping crazily. Kathy was backing away down the aisle calling urgently for help.

“You bastard, you fucking bastard,” Will screeched.

“Get him off. Get him off!” the business woman cried hysterically.

“Sir, you really must stop. Please stop,” a panicked Kathy begged.

“You … you … you bastard,” Will’s arms dropped suddenly to his sides and with a vaguely bemused look on his face he toppled headlong into row twenty three, bouncing unconsciously off the arm of a seat and vomiting bourbon and coke all over its occupant’s shoes.

“The whole plane was silent after that.” Frank cringed. I was speechless; what the hell was happening to my husband?

He’d extricated himself from the brunette’s lap, offering quiet apologies to her teary face. As if his movement had flicked on a switch, that whole section of the plane erupted.

“What’s going on?” someone asked.

“Is it terrorists?” enquired another curious voice.

“What’s that smell?”

“Would everybody take their seats please,” Kathy had once more taken control, helping the other passengers and giving Frank a filthy look as she went past. Two of Kathy’s co-workers had dragged Will from the lap of the middle-aged man with vomit on his shoes, the poor bloke looking seriously repulsed by the whole episode. Will had been taken away and hopefully tied down somewhere safe, somewhere very far away.

“He’s a bit the worse for drink, I’m afraid,” Frank ventured as Kathy came hurrying past, damp cloths in her hands. She looked at him and forced a smile, hiding the fact that she really wanted to stuff the wet rags as far as she could down his throat.

“Yes, sir,” she answered through her teeth, “we worked that out for ourselves.” Grudgingly, she peered at Frank’s injuries, “someone will see to you soon,” she informed him before disappearing down row twenty three to polish vomit-man’s shoes.

*

“I didn’t see Will again after that. For all I knew, they could have stuffed him in a parachute and thrown him out at forty thousand feet.”

I snorted, “bloody fool. I’ll kill him when I next lay eyes on him.”

Frank grabbed my hand and held on tight, “Kate, it’s all right. A few bruises are the least of my problems right now. Anyway,” a small smile turned up the corners of his mouth, “you’re not the only one to blame, you know. You weren’t alone in that bed.” He put his hand on my stomach in illustration, his cold fingers covering mine.

I grimaced, “no, I wasn’t alone. But I should have been, I should have had more self-discipline, more integrity; Frank I ought to have said no.”

“Maybe. But, Kate, we can’t turn back time, for better or for worse this baby is mine and there are a few things we need to sort out and a few things I need to tell you.”

Frank released my hand and started walking slowly along the beach. I fell into step beside him and glanced again at his face. It wasn’t just the bruises, there was something else, something that hadn’t been there before. The lines around his eyes seemed just a little deeper, his mouth lacked its usual casual impudence, even his cold, red nose seemed dull. He was thinner too, his cheekbones sharply defined in the angles of his face. I sighed, this baby business was affecting him worse than I’d ever imagined and I moved closer, threading my arm through his. Frank squeezed my arm gently against his side with his own and we continued our slow trek along the empty beach.

Frank took a deep breath, stopping suddenly and turning to face me, running his fingertips softly down my cheek. “I wish it could have been different,” he whispered, “between us, I mean. For the life of me, I don’t know why this has all happened, why it is all still happening.” I opened my mouth to reply but he placed the tip of his index finger on my lips, silencing me without a word then looked directly into my eyes.

I gasped,
Oh my God, is this a dream?
All the hunger, the yearning, the sorrow, it was all there; exposed for me to see, to share. If I wanted to. All of a sudden I was once more under the spell of those deep blue pools, unable to look away. Leaning towards me, Frank put both hands on my shoulders, his face just centimetres from mine.

“I’m sorry, Kate,” he whispered, ‘so sorry. I didn’t want it to come to this.”

Marriage proposal,
said the little voice gleefully.

I frowned, “come to what?”

Frank smiled, a sad empty smile, “I’m dying, Kate,” and, closing the distance between us he touched my frozen lips with his own.

5 January

When I was fourteen years old, I kissed a boy.

Not my first kiss, not by any stretch of the imagination
;
that
had been nearly thirty years ago at the grand old age of six. No, not the first, but the most special?

I remembered it distinctly, down to the smallest
detail. A good friend, he’d walked me home one evening, our fingers touching oh-so-accidentally, sending a shot of excitement up my arm. Reaching my house, we’d stopped under the tree at the foot of the garden; talking, laughing.

Suddenly he’d taken my hands in his and, using broken French and German, with a smattering of English thrown in, the boy of my dreams had asked me out.

Standing there now on the beach with Frank, our lips locked in intimate embrace, my mind recalled this experience as if it had happened only yesterday.

I’d laughingly enquired which language he would like my answer in and he had kissed me, as only a fourteen year old boy could. My ultimate teenage fantasy.

And my heart had fluttered, as only a fourteen year old girl’s heart could flutter.

With a sudden jolt of shock, I realised Frank’s lips reminded me powerfully of the lips in my memory and for a fleeting second, the boy of my dreams was back. The ghost, twenty years extinct, had come back to haunt.

Angus.

A second later I crashed back to earth as my brain scrambled past the kiss, registering Frank’s last comment in my conscious mind. My eyes opened wide and I pulled away sharply, my hands gripping his upper arms tight, my eyes searching the shadows on his face.

“What did you say?” my voice was surprisingly quiet, calm even to my own ears.

He’s dying.

Frank reached up and pushed a stray wisp of hair off my face, his fingers caressing my cheek. “It’s the cancer, Kate.”

“But they can treat it, can’t they? Chemotherapy? Radiation? Aromatherapy?.”

Frank smiled faintly at the words and shrugged, the answer clear in his face, mirrored in his eyes. A small sob escaped my throat; despair, disbelief and I threw my arms around the father of my baby, pressing my face hard into his chest.

“No. NO!” The harsh sound unrecognisable as my voice, muffled in the thick corduroy of Frank’s jacket. Again and again, one word, denying the truth. I felt his cheek rest gently on the top of my head, his hand fiercely cupping my skull, fingers intertwined in my hair and I clutched even tighter.

“They’re wrong. I’m carrying your baby, you can’t die.”

A small snort came from above my head, “I like your reasoning but I don’t think cancer cares about things like that.”

Releasing my hold, I punched him hard on the arm, “it’s not funny,” I hissed, staring furiously into his face, “don’t laugh about this. Don’t bloody laugh.”

Frank pulled me tight to him again. “I’m sorry. I guess I’ve had more time to get my head around it. Denial, anger, despair, and me are all great friends now.”

“I’m carrying your baby,” I repeated. I could hear my own voice, thick with tears and I willed myself to keep the floodgates closed. Frank didn’t need my pity, he needed my support, and bawling my eyes out wouldn’t help. I could feel his hand rubbing my back; comforting and strong and I lifted my head, looking at him once more.

“I do care about you, Frank,” I said quietly. “I even thought I might be falling in love with you.”