It’s my turn to pick Frankie up from school today. With no work to be getting on with – other than the impossible task of naming the deli (I’m thinking of calling it The Stomach Ulcer) – I’ve been going a little crazy, seeing so much of Nathan. The only thing worse than seeing so much of Nathan, is seeing so much of Frankie hanging out with him, looking at him with adoration in his eyes, thinking he’s the coolest person in the world.
When they came home from school yesterday, they’d roped Viv into buying the supplies they needed for Nathan to build Frankie a tree house in the back garden. He was telling Frankie all about the huts he would build for people who didn’t have homes, and when Frankie said they sounded cool, he offered to build him one. I didn’t say anything at the time, but when they came home yesterday with supplies, I took my mum to one side and begged her not to give Nathan money, because he’s taking the mick, living here, not paying his way, demanding special food and near-exclusive use of the TV. He has a newfound passion for daytime TV that is driving me absolutely mad. He just lounges in front of the TV, heckling the people on the screen – as though they can hear him – passing judgement on their lives. It’s unbelievable.
So now he’s building Frankie this tree house, which will be great if he gets it finished. The Nathan I knew had never finished a thing in his life, but if he’s been building houses out of wood on his travels, then at least he knows what he’s doing.
Today was the day he was going to make a start. When I said I was leaving to go and pick Frankie up he jumped up from the sofa and headed out into the back garden to get cracking – finally.
I left a little bit earlier today, unwilling to spend a second more in his company, especially seeing as my mum has been out all day – God knows where.
I’m sitting on one of the benches outside school, ignoring my surroundings, just enjoying the sunshine. It doesn’t bother me now, that the other mums don’t talk to me. To be honest, it’s easier when they don’t. More peaceful.
It’s been a strange couple of days, really. I haven’t seen Alfie, Nathan is always there, wherever I turn, and as for Frankie’s bald head, well, I don’t have a panic attack every time I see it now, which is progress, but I’m also worried this is my new normal. This isn’t the life I hoped for when I moved here.
Mrs Snowball appears in the school doorway, which is strange, given that now is about the time the Little Acorns usually make a break for it.
‘Mums and dads, if you have a moment, could you gather in the hall, please?’ she bellows across the small playground.
Oh, here we go. Of course there’s an assembly with Mrs Snowball on the day I pick Frankie up. I shuffle in with the others, showing no real urgency and, as Mrs Snowball addresses us, I glance around the room. There’s a wall of family portraits that the kids have drawn so I glance around to find Frankie’s. I takes me a moment to find it but there it is, Frankie holding hands with Viv and me. It’s cute.
‘It’s important that we contain this,’ Mrs Snowball says. ‘Or before we know it, we’ll all have headlice.’
My ears prick up when I realise what she’s talking about.
‘So, just a few tips to help prevent the spread from child to child,’ she continues. ‘Keep long hair tied back until the case has cleared up and apply a little tea tree oil to your child’s hair to discourage the lice. Check your child’s hair for lice – and eggs – and remember: shaving your child’s head to rid them of lice is entirely unnecessary…like using a bomb to get rid of a spider in your bath.’
Everyone turns to look at me.
‘Frankie doesn’t have nits,’ I announce defensively.
‘Because you shaved his head,’ one of the mums I don’t know suggests.
‘No, he didn’t before either. His dad took him for a haircut and I didn’t think it was appropriate for school, so he shaved his head, that’s all.’
‘So Frankie does have a dad?’ Mary-Ann asks.
‘No, the stork brought him,’ I say sarcastically.
‘I thought he had two mums,’ Mary-Ann says, pointing to the drawing on the wall.
‘No,’ Mrs Snowball interjects. ‘That’s Lily’s sister, Vivien.’
Oh, it’s just so like my mum to pass herself off as my sister.
‘She’s the one who flirted with my husband when he picked Josh up on Wednesday,’ I hear someone mutter.
‘So his dad is the man who had dreadlocks?’ Jessica asks.
‘Yes.’
‘I heard he’s been living rough in Africa for the past twelve years,’ I hear a man behind me whisper to someone else. ‘Maybe that’s when he got the nits.’
I turn around, unsure who I’m addressing because I only heard his voice, so I tell everyone.
‘If he’d been in Africa for twelve years he would have struggled to father my child from all the way over there,’ I point out. ‘And for the tenth time: Frankie does not and has not had nits.’
‘I thought she was seeing Alfie Barton,’ someone whispers behind me.
‘He dumped her,’ another whisper replies.
‘I heard a different story entirely,’ Avril pipes up. I furrow my brow because it’s not like Avril to come to my defence.
‘I was at the vet’s this morning,’ she starts and I wonder whether she was there for her pet or herself. ‘And I heard a rumour that you shaved his head so we’d all think he was ill, so we’d stop giving you a hard time about the deli.’
Gasps echo around the room.
My eyebrows shoot up.
‘What?’ I can’t help but laugh. ‘That’s ridiculous. And you heard this at the vet’s? From Charlie then?’
‘I don’t disclose my sources,’ she replies.
‘OK, OK, everyone settle down. I didn’t call this meeting for a witch hunt, just to alert everyone to the fact that we may or may not have a louse infestation in this school. I’m not saying any child is known to have lice and I’m sure there is no truth in the story that Lily shaved her child’s head for sympathy – that’s just ridiculous.’
‘Thank you,’ I say.
Mrs Snowball claps her hands.
‘OK, meeting over,’ she announces with a big smile. ‘And don’t forget we’ve got the autumn show coming up and the kids have all been working so hard on their performances. I’ll go and fetch the children from their classrooms and you can all get home.’
As I wait for Frankie I notice a few stares and hear a few whispers. It concerns me, how rumours are started and shared in this town. People seem to take the smallest element of a truth and run with it, until a monster of a story has formed that can’t be beaten.
Poor Frankie doesn’t need kids avoiding him because they think he’s got nits, and I could definitely do without people thinking I’m actually evil. Opening a deli in a small town isn’t evil, despite what they say, but pretending a child is ill for sympathy is abhorrent.
‘Mum,’ Frankie says excitedly as he charges over to me.
‘Hey, kiddo, good day?’
He pulls a funny face.
‘Same,’ I laugh. ‘But your dad is building your tree house as we speak, and we’re gonna stop at the shops on the way home and get some stuff for dinner.’
‘Cool,’ he replies. ‘I can’t wait until my tree house is ready. Can I sleep in it?’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ I say, ushering him out of the building.
‘Dad told me that he slept in a tree when he was in Canada and it wasn’t even a tree house, it was just a tree. He said that he was exploring, and he saw a bear, and the bear saw him,’ he tells me, pausing for just a second while I buckle him into the car. ‘And he told me that you’re supposed to sing to them, to stop them killing you, so he sang “Earth Song”, but it didn’t work, so he had to climb a tree and wait for the bear to go, except he didn’t go for ages, so he had to sleep in the tree.’
‘Oh really?’ I say, pretending to sound fascinated, but I highly doubt that happened.
‘Yeah, he’s really cool,’ Frankie tells me.
‘Isn’t he just,’ I reply. I don’t vocalise to my son that, after hearing so many of Nathan’s stories since he got back, I’m starting to wonder if any of them are true. The only one that I do believe, without a doubt in my mind, is the first one he told me, about being sacked from the farm. Working on a farm in Australia isn’t exactly changing the world, is it?
I park up outside the shop and we head inside. I grab a basket and fill it with the few bits we need for dinner as Frankie follows me.
‘Dad said he could help me stop eating animals,’ Frankie says. ‘I don’t like the food he eats, but he says we can find ones that I do like.’
‘Frankie, you’re a just a kid. It’s OK for you to eat whatever you want and then make up your own mind when you’re an adult with all the facts.’
‘But Dad says what we eat is bad.’
‘He also says that playing video games instead of football is going to turn you into a fat girl – but that’s not right either,’ I point out.
With everything we need I join the queue, only to spot Mary-Ann in front of me. I keep quiet, hoping she won’t notice me, the awkward events from school playing on my mind still.
‘£11.95,’ the man behind the counter tells her with a smile.
Mary-Ann takes a card from her purse and places it in the machine before punching her pin in.
‘Oops, could you try again, please,’ the man instructs.
‘Erm, yes,’ she says awkwardly, doing as he asks. It doesn’t work though.
‘Am I typing my pin wrong?’ she asks.
‘No, I don’t think so, it says there’s a problem with the transaction,’ he tells her.
Mary-Ann glances around to see if anyone is in the shop to witness this and that’s when her eyes find mine and she grimaces.
‘Can you try it again, please?’ she asks, panic in her voice.
The shopkeeper tries one more time, still with no luck.
That’s when Alfie’s words pop back into my head – when he suggested I do nice things for the locals to try and get them onside.
‘I’ve got this,’ I say.
‘What? Don’t be crazy,’ Mary-Ann says.
‘It’s no big deal, you can give me it later,’ I insist, putting my card forward. ‘You know what these machines are like.’
Mary-Ann watches me silently as I pay for her shopping.
‘Thank you,’ she says sincerely.
I bat my hand.
‘It’s nothing.’
She smiles at me and picks up her bags before leaving.
‘That’s your good deed for the day,’ the shopkeeper tells me.
‘No good deed goes unpunished,’ I remind him and he nods in agreement.
‘Right, kiddo, let’s go home and see how this tree house is doing.’
As we walk out of the shop, we bump into Henry outside.
‘Hello, strangers,’ he says. ‘We’ve not seen you in a while.’
‘Hello,’ I reply.
‘Henry,’ Frankie chirps, running over to him to tell him all about his dad’s return.
‘Sounds like you’ve had a hectic week,’ he says.
‘You have no idea,’ I reply.
‘Seen much of Alfie?’
‘Not really,’ I reply with a sigh.
‘Well, if you ever need us to look after this one, just give us a shout,’ he says as he heads for the shop. ‘Give Alfie a call, see if he’s available.’
I smile and nod, but I know that, as far as I’m concerned, Alfie is completely unavailable.