Greatest Love Story of All Time (23 page)

When I put the phone down and slouched back in my seat, a large, kindly face framed by mousy curls
was staring at me from between the two seats in front. ‘Erm, are you OK?’ the face said.

Clearly, I was not. ‘Yes,’ I croaked, with a weak smile. ‘Never better.’

The face smiled kindly. ‘You poor thing,’ she said, in a broad Dorset accent. ‘I’ve just bin reading about it all. Get your mum into Alcoholics Anonymous, OK? It’s
’mazin’
. Totally sorted my husband out.’

I tried to smile again. ‘I’m working on it. Thanks.’ And then I wept into my salami napkin, realizing I’d just admitted to a complete stranger – probably another fucking reporter, knowing my luck – that my mum was an alcoholic.

When I got off at Cheam, the sky was overcast and the air damp. Planes moved slowly across the sky above me, banking down into Heathrow as calmly and slowly as a feather falls to the ground. I jogged along the street as fast as my hangover would allow, praying that Mum hadn’t drunk herself unconscious and wondering how on earth she would cope if Nick really was leaving her.

As I rounded the corner to her house I stopped dead and caught my breath. Outside there was a small gaggle of paparazzi and – far worse – four news cameras. In the middle of them, wrapped up in a grubby army coat and a strange Bolivian hat, was Dave.

‘Oi! Fran! Great photo in the
Mirror
, doofus!’ It was Raza, one of our political correspondents. I
turned puce as I walked slowly towards them in my hoody, with tear-stained cheeks. The journalists’ code of honour was evidently not in place: every single camera, except Dave’s, turned and pointed at me. Raza trotted up to me as I began to run through the crowd towards Mum’s house. ‘Look, get Eve to give us a quick comment and we’ll leave you alone, my love.’ I ignored him. ‘Fran, come on, dear, you know I have to do this. It’s that or some dick misquotes her in the
Daily Mail
.’

As I made a run for the front gate, Dave piped up: ‘Leave her alone, Raza, you cunt,’ he said. And then, as I fumbled with the latch, he called, ‘Fannybaws, I’m coming with you. Without the camera,’ he added, appearing next to me. I looked briefly at him and considered punching him hard on his craggy nose. ‘They didn’t tell me who it was,’ he muttered. ‘They just told me to meet Raza down here urgently. You know I’d never have come otherwise.’ He grabbed my hand and followed me up the path. I let him; I wasn’t in any state to start scrapping. His hand felt rough and alien in mine. Right at this moment I missed Michael more than I’d ever missed him before.

Dave took the keys out of my shaking hands and let us into Mum’s house.

‘He’s told me we can’t ever see each other again and that I’m not to contact him,’ said Mum, when we sat down in the lounge a few minutes later. ‘Ever.’ She
was drunk, of course, although not as badly as I’d feared. She was still in her dressing-gown, looking old and heartbreakingly vulnerable. Her hair was flat and her eyes were glazed.

‘Oi, Fran! Come on, babe!’ yelled Raza, through the door.

‘I’ll sort it,’ said Dave, abruptly, and went outside.

‘Don’t come back,’ I said, following him out. ‘You’ll get sacked. It’s not worth it. I’ll explain it all to you next week.’

He looked uncomfortable. ‘Seriously, Dave,’ I said. ‘Hugh will whup your ass. But thanks for coming in.’

Dave stood his ground. ‘Why didn’t you tell me things were this bad with your mum, Fannybaws?’ he asked softly. His normally inscrutable face was kind and concerned, enough to tip me over the edge.

‘Because I …’ I stopped, unsure.

‘Because you didn’t want to believe it was happening, aye?’

I nodded. Dave hugged me. ‘She’ll survive this, Fran. Just be there for her. Listen to her. Don’t tell her what to do. She’ll get help when it’s the right time.’ Without any further ado, he disappeared out of the front door, yelling, ‘Raza, if you don’t fucking piss off, I’ll knock you out.’

‘Surely Nick’ll change his mind, Mum,’ I said, knowing he would do no such thing. ‘Surely Laura will kick him out and he’ll come running.’

Mum just shook her head and then she started crying. ‘Be a dear and go and get me a bottle of Gordon’s,’ she said pathetically. ‘Franny, I have none left and I can’t take another moment of this. Please, darling.’

I started listing every reason I could think of why this was a very poor idea indeed but was interrupted by a phone call from Leonie. Terrified she was ringing to say that further pictures of my lady garden had made their way into the press, I answered.

‘God, Franny, are you OK? Are you with your mum?’

‘Yes. Not good.’

‘Oh, God … is she drunk?’

I nodded, although she couldn’t see me, and shuffled into the downstairs loo.

‘Franny?’

‘Sorry. Yes. But she’s not too bad. She’s run out of gin. She wants me to go and buy booze. She looks like she’s going to top herself. I think I’ll have to.’

‘Oh, fuck, Fran. This is awful.’

There was a lengthy silence and then I heard a sniffly noise. ‘Leonie?’ Nothing. ‘Leonie, are you crying?’

‘Yes.’

Further silence.

‘Fran, I need to tell you something.’

‘Go ahead,’ I said dully, bracing myself for some further breach of our privacy.

‘Fran, it wasn’t Alex.’

‘Er, it
was,
’ I began, and stopped. Hang on. ‘How
do you know I thought it was him?’ I asked. A small tendril of something not nice had begun to wind its way around my stomach.

Leonie exhaled nervously. ‘Because I’m with him right now. We listened to your message together.’

The tendril got larger. A snake, perhaps. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I’m with him now. Fran, I’m sorry you had to find out like this but I’ve been seeing Alex for a while now. Since, erm … since you broke up with Michael.’

I watched a money spider swing awkwardly from the bottom of the basin.

‘No,’ I said eventually. This could not be true. Of that I was quite sure.

‘Yes,’ Leonie said firmly. ‘Yes, I have. I’m sorry, I know the timing’s poor but I’m with Alex and I plan to continue being.’

The snake in my guts was going fairly mad now. This news was simply too preposterous to take in. ‘Leonie, I hope you’re lying. Because this would be a betrayal of the worst kind,’ I said, as clearly as I could.

‘No, I’m not lying. It’s not a betrayal at all. It happened. And I’m telling you, Alex did
not
sell the story to the
Mirror.
’

‘He fucking DID!’ I yelled, suddenly furious. ‘He fucking TOLD me he knew about Mum and Nick – and the article was in the same fucking WORDS he used. He’s a cunt and a weasel and a fucking scummy, pushy journalist. He cares about politics more than anything else. You fucking KNOW THAT.’

‘Fran?’ Mum was in the hallway. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Stay there,’ I hissed at Leonie, and opened the toilet door. ‘Mum, remember Michael’s friend Alex? He spent a lot of time with Nick recently. Do you think he found out?’

Mum nodded meekly. ‘Yes. Nick’s been a bit worried about it, actually. But I told him we could trust Alex, what with him being Michael’s friend –’ She broke off, her voice faltering. ‘Oh dear. I really do need that gin, Frances. Can you go now?’ She shuffled off, clutching her stomach.

‘Did you hear that?’ I asked Leonie quietly.

She replied strong and clear: ‘He wouldn’t do it. He
didn’t
do it. Sorry, Fran, you’re just going to have to accept that.’ She ended the call.

Hello Fran.

Thank you for filling me in. Your friends sound mental. I particularly like the sound of the one who lives in your shed – she sounds as fierce as your cat. Who is obviously a right little ballsack.

Why did you brush off your job like that? I’ve got a friend who works in News so I KNOW that you’ve got a really posh job. You should be showing off.

Er, in answer to your question: ‘Love Over Gold’. Have you heard the intro to ‘Telegraph Road’?

How’s your weekend been anyway? Did you date any munters? How’d you feel about going on a date with me? I’m abroad for another two weeks; you’ve got plenty of time to prepare yourself. It will be the best night of your life, of course.

Freddy X

Dave took one look at my outfit – a shoulder-padded power dress from Jaeger in royal blue – and fell about laughing, stopping only for a coughing fit. ‘This is the
best
outfit I’ve ever seen, Fannybaws,’ he said reverentially.

In spite of myself, I smiled. ‘You’re jealous. You’re secretly wishing that Freya didn’t wear Fairtrade linens and instead dressed like this.’ He merely stared at my ensemble, shaking his head in wonder. ‘How
is
Freya by the way? I haven’t seen her in … well, in ages.’

Dave fixed me with a Stern Look. ‘Stop evading the question,’ he said. ‘Tell me what’s going on with your mum.’

We were sitting in the staffroom at lunchtime, where I had taken to hiding when I wasn’t required at my desk. It was now Wednesday and everyone at ITN had been pretending I was invisible since Monday. After all, what could one say to a news producer whose crotch had been a noteworthy feature of Sunday’s news? Alex – the
scumbag
– had moved to a bank of desks round the corner from the main newsroom floor and was avoiding me like the plague. This worked well for me: I was still overwhelmed with rage and did not need a homicide on my record too.

Hugh had merely sent me an email on Monday saying that in light of my sudden infamy he would prefer me to base myself in the office for the foreseeable future and not to make or receive any telephone calls. I had less status than Jacinta, the eighteen-year-old work-experience girl, but none of the popularity or sex appeal. And because I’d had to stay at Mum’s since Sunday night I’d had to spend the week wearing polyester power outfits from her wardrobe.

‘Mum’s pretty shit,’ I replied. ‘And I’m running out
of ideas. Dad agreed that I should take her to AA but she refused. I tried to talk to her about it last night and she just started crying and saying she couldn’t believe I’d start shit-stirring when she was going through hell. If I don’t go and buy her booze she literally goes mental, Dave. I can’t take much more.’

Dave got a bag of Krispy Kremes out of his satchel and offered it to me. ‘Oh, Fannybaws, that’s rough,’ he said.

‘Thanks.’ I took a Kreme-filled monster. ‘It breaks my heart, Dave. She’s only OK when she’s got a drink in her hand.’

Dave nodded reflectively. ‘Of course.’

‘Do
you
know an alcoholic then? You sounded like you knew what you were on about the other day.’

‘Aye. My cousin Rosa.’

‘What happened?’

‘She died.’

I sat back. ‘Jesus. I’m so sorry.’

He shook his head. ‘No, you’re OK. Her sister, Betty, went to AA. She’s in fuckin’ great shape, these days.’

‘Really?’

‘Aye. I think they’re the only folks who can help.’

‘I know.’ I sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted. ‘But I can’t drag her there.’

‘No. But I reckon she’ll be ready soon, Fannybaws,’ he said reflectively.

I helped myself to another doughnut and slumped
over the table to scoff it. Dave watched me for a while with a mixture of pity and concern. ‘Fran, you need some time off. Go home, get some kip and some normal clothes. You look like Thatcher. You can’t help your mum when you’re this shagged out.’

I finished the second doughnut in three bites. ‘Yeah. I’ll go home tonight maybe. I just don’t want to leave her on her own.’

I reached for the bag again and Dave raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? Three doughnuts?’

‘Oh, piss off.’ I took the third, hurt. Why did Dave have such a remarkable ability to point out my most embarrassing behaviour?

‘So. Did you decide what to do about Charlie?’ he asked, after a pause.

‘Er, yes. I went on a date and shagged him.’

Dave sat back and whistled. ‘Really? I hope you were careful, Franny …’

‘Yes yes yes, I was. And you know what? It was great sex. I’m glad I did it.’ I was pretty sure I believed myself.

Dave looked slightly ill. ‘Erugh. Now, Fannybaws, listen. I was at a party on Saturday and I met someone who knows him. Told me Charlie’s got a massive coke problem. Apparently he stole some jewellery from her house last year.’

I scowled at Dave over the Krispy Kremes bag, wishing that, just for once, my friends had something nice to say about my love life. ‘Really? Well, he didn’t
steal from me. He just gave me a jolly good bang. I needed it, Dave. I’m in hell over Michael. I needed to know I’m not …’ I felt miserable tears swelling fatly in my eyes. ‘I needed to know I’m not completely disgusting to men any more.’

Dave began to roll a cigarette. ‘Don’t be a pillock. You’ve got loads of men lined up on the Internet wanting a date with you – you’re in demand, girl!’

‘Oh, who cares?’ I cried, letting out an almighty sob. Dave put his cigarette down to pat my hand awkwardly. ‘The only person I
want
is Michael. He’s sent me three messages now. I miss him. I need him. I can’t do this shit on my own. I’m going to text him back.’

It was true. I was done. I needed my boy.

‘But, Fran … he’s riding Nellie Daniels! You can’t want him back!’

‘Of course I do. I still love him,’ I said quietly, tears falling off my nose and into the Krispy Kremes. Dave moved them and leaned forward to give me a proper hug. ‘Listen here, Fannybaws,’ he said, into my hair, ‘I think you should keep your distance. You don’t know what he’s up to and you’ve got another month till the ninety days are up. Why don’t you have it out with him then? When you know more about him and Nellie?’

I wiped my eyes on Dave’s sleeve. ‘I’m just so tired, Dave. I’m tired of coping with Mum, I’m tired of having to do this fucking stupid Internet dating, I’m tired of trying to do this job, I’m tired of restraining
myself from punching Alex and, most of all, I’m tired of not being able to just crawl into bed with Michael for a cuddle.’

Dave sat back. ‘You’re doing OK,’ he said quietly. ‘You really are. Don’t give up. It’s only another month. Think how much saner you’ll be then, eh? No offence, love, but I’m not sure I’d take you back in this state.’ He smiled cheekily but I failed to see the comedy. I put my face in my sugary hands and howled.