The Turning Point: A gripping emotional page-turner with a breathtaking twist. Freya North

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СКАЧАТЬ Buddy fly too?’ Frankie hoped he did – there could be a story in that. Buddy Flies to the Rescue, Buddy Takes to the Skies, Buddy and the Eagle’s Nest.

      ‘Oh sure,’ said Scott, ‘he loves it.’

      ‘What about when Jenna goes to college – could she take Buddy?’

      ‘She could – but she won’t. She wants to be seen as normal. She doesn’t like people to know, really. There are still a lot of misconceptions about epilepsy despite the fact that it’s the most common brain disorder worldwide. Unfortunately, we’re still on a bit of an expedition finding the right medication for Jenna. She’s one of the twenty per cent who don’t have much luck on that front.’

      Frankie looked at Scott. ‘When Sam was a toddler we were out in the park and a man started having a fit.’ She paused. ‘It frightened me. Somebody else went to his aid.’

      ‘It is frightening. It still scares the shit out of me and I know how to deal with a seizure.’

      Frankie thought of Sam. Taller than her now, his voice swinging from childlike to croaky; a boy-man in the making sometimes battling with himself to figure out if he was to become a rebel or remain a geek. She thought of Annabel with her button nose that was just the same as when she’d been a toddler; a contrary yet thoughtful child with a vulnerability she kept hidden behind liveliness. She thought of how they loved their bedrooms, their things, the chaos and clatter, the tempers and laughter. She’d never had to worry about their health. On those blessed occasions when all went quiet in their rooms, she always thought thank God for that, a moment’s peace.

      ‘I just can’t begin to imagine,’ she said quietly.

      ‘Well, my theory is you have to live life to the full, whatever is thrown at you. It’s like a ball game really, keep batting, keep playing, keep believing yours is the winning team.’

      ‘I like your philosophy, Scott,’ said Frankie. ‘I ought to pin it up on my fridge. Don’t laugh – I’m serious! Authors can be introverted and overemotional souls.’

      Scott was grinning. ‘I can’t believe you told me you were an accountant.’ Frankie reddened. He nudged her. She nudged him back. She thought, I’ve just smiled coyly, on purpose. She thought, he’s not letting my eyes go.

      But the hotel lobby was emptying. Sharp-suited businessmen, previously lairy, now just dull drunk, slumped around the bar like scrunches of rejected paper at the end of a brainstorm. In a corner, a couple engrossed in a hungry snog, only half-hidden by decorative bamboo. At a neighbouring table, an elderly lady sipping tea as though she’d quite lost sense of what time of day it was. And still Frankie and Scott sat side by side.

      ‘How long are you staying?’

      ‘Another night,’ said Frankie. ‘You?’

      ‘I fly out Sunday afternoon. I’ll have been here a week.’

      ‘Are you working all that time?’ Shall I say something? Shall I try? ‘Are you working tomorrow?’

      ‘Yes, I’m in the studio. You?’

      ‘I have a couple of meetings. Dinner with my agent.’ Try and make it happen. ‘Where’s your studio?’

      ‘Abbey Road.’

      ‘Well that’s a good address for a studio,’ said Frankie guilelessly. ‘There’s a world-famous one called just that. The Beatles – the zebra crossing.’

      Scott laughed. ‘There’s only one Abbey Road, Frankie.’

      ‘And you’re there?’

      ‘British session musicians are the best in the world when it comes to sight-reading and playing to a “click”. I think it’s down to a lack of funding from your government – they have limited rehearsal opportunity. I love working with them.’

      ‘Do you use the zebra crossing every day?’

      ‘Oh I try to. Barefoot. Like Lennon. But the tourists get in the way. Reality is I’m inside all the time.’

      ‘Recording your soundtrack?’

      He nodded.

      ‘Who’s in your film?’

      ‘Well it isn’t my film – I’ve just written the music. But Jeff Bridges is the lead.’

      ‘Oh I love him,’ said Frankie, thinking Scott’s modesty was beguiling. ‘And anyway, music is often as much a lead character in a film – like setting can be in a book.’

      ‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Scott but their glasses were empty and the bar was closed. Only the little old lady remained and she’d just asked for her bill. Scott was brought his though he hadn’t requested it.

      They were going to have to go, really.

      Frankie wondered, how do we leave these seats, this table, our little corner in which my world expanded? How can we stay in our bubble?

      And then, in her mind, she heard Ruth saying go for it! and Peta saying don’t be so stupid.

      ‘If you get some time tomorrow,’ she said, ‘and I do too – shall we try and meet? Perhaps I could come to The Abbey Road?’ He was just looking at her, not speaking. ‘Or if not there, somewhere?’

      ‘Anywhere,’ said Scott softly. ‘Why don’t we make it happen, Frankie. Crazy as it sounds.’

      * * *

      As slowly as they walked across the atrium, soon enough they were behind the huge urns and bamboo, back at the lifts. As they stood waiting, Scott looked down on her head and thought how Frankie would tuck just under his chin. And Frankie glanced sideways at his chest and imagined laying her cheek against it. He had his hands in his back pockets and she wanted to link her arm through his.

      Into the elevator, just the two of them. Her mind reeling through a thousand movie scenes of impulsive kisses when the doors slide shut, of fumbling with keys and falling into an anonymous hotel room shedding clothes, broiling with desire.

      But Frankie and Scott just stood side by side.

      Fifth floor.

      ‘This is me,’ said Frankie.

      ‘Tomorrow?’ said Scott.

      Frankie tapped her watch. ‘Today.’

      And she walked down the corridor on her own aware that, downstairs in the lobby, Kate Moss was still smiling on the magazine table.

      Enormously tired. Stratospherically tired but high as a kite. Running that bath, eating chocolates left on the pillow, flicking on the television and zapping through the channels. One two three four five six seven scatter pillows pedantically rearranged at the foot of the bed. Four plump pillows and a waft of duvet enticingly folded back to reveal the downy comfort of a beautifully made bed. So long since she’d felt this wired, this alert, this sentient. So long since she’d had any of these feelings. Longing and kinship and warmth and attraction and wave after wave of desire. Something deep inside had stirred. СКАЧАТЬ