Frank must have come home whilst I was sleeping.
I call them again – and then suddenly Matthew’s inside, face like he’s about to kill someone, and he’s pushing past me on the stairs.
‘Get the hell off her,’ he’s yelling, taking the stairs two at a time. He’s headed for Frank’s room. ‘I can see you, you little fucker.’
‘Matthew, wait!’ I cry, following behind him.
I reach the bedroom seconds after him.
He’s got my son by the neck, against the wall, and he’s shouting in his face, that vein throbbing in his forehead again, and Frankie’s spluttering and trying to speak over the garage music that thumps out, and Scarlett’s crying and pulling at her dad’s arm, saying something that Matthew won’t listen to.
‘Get off him!’ I shout. ‘Matthew, let him go!’
‘She’s only fifteen,’ he keeps blustering, and Frankie’s going red now, struggling to breathe where Matthew’s hands are around his neck. With the most tremendous effort, I manage to pull my husband off my son, and I stand between them.
‘What’s going on?’ I literally can’t hear myself think. ‘Turn the music off please, Frankie.’
He does so with ill-temper, rubbing his sore red neck, the fingerprints visible, glaring at Matthew. ‘That really bloody hurt,’ he mutters.
My heart contracts. This man I love has left marks on my son. I move nearer Frankie. ‘Matthew, this is unacceptable.’
‘I could see him from the garden; I saw you pawing her,’ Matthew says, and he’s so angry, he’s shaking visibly.
‘I’m sure he wasn’t—’ I interject, but Frankie’s angry now.
‘She said she had something in her eye,’ Frank protests. ‘I was just having a look because she asked me to.’
That old trick. Like mother, like daughter, I think.
‘Likely story,’ Matthew jeers – and Frank explodes.
‘I’m not interested in her, for God’s sake, if that’s what you think. She’s a kid, and I’ve got a girlfriend.’
‘I’m not a kid,’ Scarlett interjects. ‘I’m fifteen.’
‘You’re a bloody child – and you expect me to believe that?’ Matthew switches his attention to Frank.
‘Matthew, look…’ I say, but he grabs his daughter by the arm and drags her out of the room.
Scarlett wails, ‘Stop it, Dad!’ He ignores her, whisking her away from us.
We hear a door slam – and then silence falls.
Speechless, Frankie and I look at each other.
‘Mum?’ he says, and he sounds like a little boy. I’d better not cry; he hates it when I cry – he always has. Like Marlena, it panics him.
‘I’m okay,’ I lie. ‘Let him calm down. I’ll talk to him later.’
But later I will think: This was the moment I felt defeat.
We are not going to get through this now, Matthew and I. We can’t make a family. We can’t force it.
You can’t take two halves of two different things and try to make a whole. It just won’t work.
God knows I’ve tried.
* * *
I sit with Frankie in his room for a while, but he’s so angry, he won’t calm down. And I don’t blame him, not really. Poor lad. I’ve let him down, I think.
‘Why would he do that? Why would he not believe me?’
‘I’ll talk to him, Frankie, I promise, lovey,’ I say. ‘I’ll sort it out.’
‘He didn’t believe me. He didn’t want to believe me, more to the point. God…’
He clenches his fists, and I feel a surge of panic. He’s getting angry again, and I don’t want that – I don’t want them to fight again. I feel the tension in the house; it’s palpable.
‘It’s her, Mum. Not me. She’s the one coming on to me.’
And this, I think, might be the whole problem. Matthew can’t cope with his daughter growing up, with her being sexually attracted to a boy. No parent can cope with any inconvenient truth. Otto’s couldn’t either…
‘Let me talk to him on his own,’ I plead, ‘and we’ll sort it out properly, okay?’ I grab Frankie’s hand and hold it tight. ‘Okay?’
Frankie stares at me unseeing. I remember playground tussles when he was very small: brave little soldier, teased for having no dad. I can’t bear the idea of him fighting now. ‘Frank, okay? I don’t want you to do anything stupid.’
‘No, okay, Mum.’ He shakes me off irritably. ‘I won’t.’
I feel the energy drain out of me as he agrees, my shoulders literally slumping where I stand.
‘Mum?’ Frank’s worried, I realise, and I feel a wave of love for him, a great tidal wave of it.
‘I’m fine, Frankie, really. I don’t know why, I’m just really tired today. I got up too early.’
‘If you’re all right,’ he says, ‘I’m going to see Jenna now.’
‘Great stuff.’ I feel fresh relief he’s found someone good. ‘Off you go then.’
I walk down the landing to mine and Matthew’s room – except Matthew’s hardly slept here this past week.
The bed is big and empty.
* * *