Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,124

did it, and I’m glad that you danced with me at the disco, because that was really wonderful as well. But sometimes I wish that you hadn’t done any of those things. Sometimes I even feel really mad at you for making me think that maybe you liked me. I suppose that doesn’t matter now, because I know that you think my loving you is a horrible thing. I have never been more miserable in my life, Amanda. Even when they took my mum off to Delapole, I don’t think I felt as bad as this….”

The knob on my bedroom door turned, the door burst open, and I jumped in shock. It was Frank. “Oh, hello, Jesse, love,” he said, pulling his thin lips into an arcing smirk.

“Don’t you know to knock?” I demanded, slamming shut my notebook and scrambling to sit up. I wanted to sound confident, outraged. Instead, my voice came out thin and uncertain.

“Didn’t know you were in here, did I? Your mam was telling me and Mabel about how she’d decorated the bedrooms and I thought I’d come up and take a look.” He took a few steps into the room and gave the wallpaper an appraising look. “Got interesting tastes has your mam,” he said, cocking an eyebrow. “Or maybe all them squiggles remind her of the state of her brain. I hope it doesn’t end up driving you nuts as well.”

I looked at him without comment, teeth clenched, willing him to leave and desperately aware of all those words I’d just written in my notebook—my most heartfelt confessions spelled out on the page.

“Oh, come on, now, you’re not still mad with me about what happened at Christmas, are you, love?” He moved closer.

Instinctively, I ran a finger over the place where my hand had been cut. It had healed over, but there was still a perceptible ridge in my skin. “I’ve got homework to do,” I said.

“Quite the conscientious student, aren’t you?” he said, coming closer still. Now, as he stood in the light that came in through the window, I could see his expression—the wrinkled tightness around his eyes, the scornful camber of his lips.

“Not really.” I willed him to stop his steady approach. But he didn’t. Instead, he arrived at the bed and lowered himself to sit beside me. The mattress sank under his weight, and I felt myself tilted so that my body fell in his direction. I pulled myself away and tried to push my notebook farther from him to the corner of the bed.

“Sorry to say, I wasn’t much of a student when I was a lad,” he said, sighing. “And when I did read it was mostly comics. Superman was my favorite. You ever like Superman?”

I shook my head, watching him warily as I breathed in his sweat, cigarette, and aftershave smells.

“So what you writing, then?”

“Nothing,” I said, pulling the notebook to me and pressing it against my chest.

“Oh,” he said, his mouth turning upward in a knowing smile. “One of them teenage diaries, is it? Tell it all your private secrets, do you?”

“No,” I said as I felt the blush rise in my cheeks. “It’s just homework.”

“Anything you want to share with your uncle Frank?”

“Actually, I’d like you to leave now,” I said. “I’ve got to finish my homework.”

Frank pulled his thin lips downward, mimicking an expression of disappointment. “Not much of a hostess, are you, love? And here’s me just trying to get to know my little niece.”

“I’m not your niece. And you’re not my uncle.”

“Will be soon,” he said, grinning.

“What do you mean?” I asked softly.

“Mabel and me, we’re getting married.”

“Oh.” I was stunned. Surely this couldn’t be true. Mabel would never get married, and certainly not to Frank. He must be lying.

Frank laughed sourly. “You’re supposed to say ‘Congratulations!’ Supposed to say ‘Welcome to the family, Uncle Frank.’ Actually, if you were really going to be as polite and nice to me as you should, you’d give me a kiss.” He patted his hand against his whiskery cheek. “Right here.”

I backed away until I felt the cold solidity of the wall against my back.

Frank threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, don’t worry, love. I won’t make you. But you might want to change your attitude. I mean, with me going to be your uncle—well, we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the future. You should write that in your little diary. ‘Saturday, the fifteenth of February’”—he mimicked writing in the