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

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      Peta wanted to retract that. Her sister was not shallow. Her sister’s problem was that she was unable to see trouble even when it was up so close and very personal. She pitied her, really, worried for her. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I didn’t mean that. I just meant – it’s been so long, and I have to be your sensible older sister and say please, please don’t go for anyone flaky who’s going to hurt you.’

      ‘Why should being a musician make him flaky? Maybe he really likes me and has no intention of hurting me – have you thought of that?’

      ‘You’ve known him for what – forty-eight hours? Please don’t come out with but I feel I’ve known him my whole life.’

      ‘But it honestly feels like I have.’

      Oh Frankie. Peta calmed herself. Soundtracks for films? Well it was better than poems that made no sense and were never published, or that actor who was too arrogant to learn lines or attend auditions, or the artist who didn’t know one end of the paintbrush from the other. Or Miles – bloody Miles with his charm and his bullshit and his gorgeous face and abject disregard for responsibility and total uselessness when it came to anything important, anything that could hurt or endanger those he professed to love.

      Peta laughed gently. ‘What do you call a guitarist with no girlfriend?’

      ‘Is this an actual joke?’ Frankie asked. Peta’s skill lay in neutralizing atmospheres, however bizarre and untimely her tactic.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘OK – what do you call a guitarist with no girlfriend?’

      ‘Homeless!’

      Frankie had to giggle.

      ‘Is this Scott person homeless? Ask yourself that.’

      ‘No he’s not homeless, you silly cow.’

      ‘Well,’ Peta sighed, ‘that’s something, I suppose.’

      Frankie took a deep breath. ‘He has an amazing house, with land and everything.’ She let that information settle. ‘In Canada.’

      Peta thought, I am actually going to close my eyes, dig my nails into the palms of my hands and count to ten. ‘Canada,’ she said, when she’d done so. It wasn’t a question.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘You truly think it’s remotely feasible to fall in love with a musician who lives in Canada?’

      ‘Yes!’ Frankie sang it out. There was nothing wrong with any of it. It was brilliant – all of it.

      ‘Frankie.’ Peta knew to tread carefully but she wasn’t entirely sure what to say next. ‘How long is he here for before he returns home – to Canada?’

      ‘He flies on Sunday.’

      ‘Sunday as in the day after tomorrow?’

      ‘I need to see him tomorrow. That’s why I’m phoning – to tell you what happened and to ask if the kids and I can stay.’

      ‘You mean the kids to stay – because you’ll be elsewhere shagging Scott senseless.’

      ‘Don’t say it like that. I just need to see him again,’ Frankie said thoughtfully. ‘Before he goes.’

      ‘Have you slept with him?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Are you going to?’

      ‘I don’t know. I hope so. I don’t know.’

      Peta heard her sister, her voice level yet full of thought, passion, need. And she thought to herself, you know what, even if Frankie and this Scott bloke have a night of passion and she never hears from him again – is there really anything so wrong in that? She’s only known him two days so he can’t actually break her heart. Perhaps a stupendous shag – or whatever she wants to call it – is no bad thing. Hopefully, it will get it out of her system. He lives in Canada. He’ll be gone the day after tomorrow, a different continent, a different time zone, a different world. Perhaps it’s a very good idea – scratch that phantom itch and then pave the way for something more realistic with someone like Chris.

      ‘OK,’ Peta said. ‘Come. I’d love to see you – and the kids. Come. You’re welcome.’

      ‘Thank you so so much.’

      ‘You’re welcome.’

      Annabel was excited; she’d been given a Claire’s Accessories voucher last Christmas but had been bemused to find she lived nowhere near a branch. But London? There were as many Claire’s Accessories as there were pigeons. Sam, however, was utterly resistant. He’d have to miss a cricket match, his first for the B team.

      ‘I’ll write a note,’ Frankie told him.

      ‘That’s not the point,’ he said. ‘It’s not about the note – it’s about what I want to do.’

      ‘Sometimes I have to make decisions for the family, though,’ said Frankie.

      ‘Moving out here was a decision for the family,’ Sam retorted. ‘And I had to leave my old school and my mates and everything. And you told me to try hard to join in – well that’s what I’ve been doing. I’m crap at winter sports but I’m good at cricket. And now I can’t play because I’m being dragged off to London because of your stupid work. I’m letting the team down, I’ll never get chosen again. God!’ He was picking up random items and banging them down again; an orange, Annabel’s school book, his mother’s hairbrush, all of which he’d rather throw at the windowpane while yelling fuck! whatever the consequences.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ said Frankie, meaning it.

      ‘No you’re not.’

      ‘I am, sweetie. But I can’t change things now. Peta’s looking forward to seeing us. So are Josh and Stan.’

      ‘Josh and Stan are thugs – you said so yourself. Not even in private. You said so yourself – to us – after our last visit.’

      ‘That was then,’ she told her children brightly. ‘Teenagers go through phases – they’re probably sweetness and light these days.’ Quietly, they all doubted that.

      ‘If I can find someone on the team and they say I can stay at theirs – then can I stay?’ Sam’s cheeks had reddened and his voice creaked.

      Hitherto, Sam hadn’t asked if any of his schoolmates could come over and though the school assured her he was much more settled, she worried that his friendships were conducted via Instagram rather than reality.

      ‘Yes,’ Frankie smiled. ‘That’ll work.’

      Still slightly slouched, Sam went off with his phone.

      Annabel fixed Frankie with her oversized hazel eyes. ‘Why do you have a work thing on a Saturday – when offices are closed at weekends?’

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