Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,82
their children as a daily responsibility, they began carrying pictures of them around like some distant memento of the past. Was it easier to be proud of them, to love them, I wondered, if you didn’t have to see them every day?
“They look nice,” I said, still studying Frank’s children, the way the sea shimmered so blue behind them and the sand glinted as it reflected back the sun. They looked happy in the picture, and I wondered if they continued to be, now that their parents were apart.
“Interested in Do-It-Yourself, Frank?” my father asked chirpily. “Fancy a look at some of my handiwork? I’ve been doing quite a lot of repairs.”
“Aye, that’d be nice, Mike,” Frank answered, giving my father a grateful look as they both beat an exit into the hall.
When the kettle boiled, my mother set out a plate of the biscuits that had been languishing in a tin in the back of the pantry since we moved in. I, for one, didn’t plan on eating any—they looked crumbly and stale.
Mabel searched about in her handbag again, finally looking up with a sigh. “I don’t know what the heck I’ve done with my lighter, and I’m gasping for a ciggy. You got any matches in here?” she asked, looking around the kitchen.
“Just run out,” my mother said stonily. “And, anyway, didn’t I tell you to give that dirty habit up?”
Mabel ignored her, turning to me. “Jesse, be a love would you and go and ask Frank to let me borrow his lighter?”
“All right, Auntie Mabel,” I said, and went out into the hallway, where my father and Frank had apparently graduated from discussing my father’s talents as a handyman to more personal things. I stood in the shadows by the kitchen door, reluctant to interrupt and a little curious to find out more about Frank.
“So, you work at Tuggles, then, Frank?” my father said. “They make good sausages, do Tuggles.”
“Aye,” Frank said. “Like I said, been there seventeen years.”
“So you must like it, then?”
“It’s all right,” Frank said, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. “It’s a job. Though I have to say, with paying the ex-wife and the kids’ maintenance, well, there’s not much left over. With two incomes coming in, mind, I wouldn’t be so bad off.”
“You thinking about getting another job as well?” my father asked, surprised.
“Bloody hell, no. One’s enough for me, thank you very much. But, well, Mabel makes a decent bit of cash with all that makeup and Tupperware she flogs. And she’s got a right nice little house on that new estate. I mean, if we pooled our resources … Right now I’m stuck in a poky little bedsit over a betting shop on Holderness Road. It’s handy if I want to make a flutter on the horses, but not much of a home. And, anyway, what do we men know about making somewhere feel like home, eh?” He gave a raspy little laugh. “Need a woman to take care of that kind of thing. A man my age, I wasn’t meant to live by myself. I can’t cook, not much for cleaning, and I bloody hate doing my own washing.”
“Yes, well,” my father said, scratching the back of his neck and looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure there’s anyone really likes cleaning and washing, Frank. Evelyn, well, when she gets in the mood she can be like a flipping tornado going through the house. But I don’t think she’d ever tell you she likes doing housework. She did get into a bit of a cooking phase for a while, mind you. She seemed to like that.” He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “Made all this bloody French food. Can’t say I really cared for it.”
“Don’t blame you,” Frank said. “Me, I prefer a nice plate of meat, gravy, and potatoes. Thankfully, that’s what Mabel makes best.”
“So, Frank, how come it didn’t work out with your ex-wife, then? I mean, divorce—that’s a serious step.” Though my father might be a little less vocal than my mother in his judgments, he’d never approved of divorce.
“To be honest with you, Mike,” Frank said, “my ex, she was a bit of a bitch. Always complaining that I was going to the pub with my mates too much, spending too much on the horses, not giving her enough money to make ends meet. Nag, nag, nag.” He flapped his thumb and fingers open and shut to imitate a chattering jaw. “Finally, I just