Dinner was relatively easy, much to Frankie's surprise. They all sat in the rather large dining room that had been meticulously set by her and her mother and it seemed that everyone had really enjoyed themselves. She wasn't sure whether it was because it was the first real time they'd all gotten together properly in far too long, or if it was because Junior, after all those months, was finally well again, or even simply because their entire extended family hadn't come over, which was honestly a bit of a rarity in the Evans clan. If there was one thing pavees were known for it was the fact that nothing was more important that family and community, both of which could be massive in size.
But Frankie was thankful that it had just been her, Freddie, their parents, Donny, Junior, and Katie that had gathered together that Easter. That way, they got to connect without the hassle of monitoring young children and catering to a needy crowd of loud, drunken gypsies.
Regardless of whatever the change, things had gone smoothly. The food was good and the conversation even better, and Frankie was genuinely happy. Her family seemed like a real family now, coming together over a meal in the real Irish way, as her father Charlie liked to reaffirm. She was shrewd enough to realise this had more meaning to the old man than most; moving away from the caravan all those years ago had been hard on him. In fact her mum nearly ran him to the end of his tether with all of her antics and peculiarities, but it was times like these that old Charlie seemed to be really happy, and for that Frankie was thankful.
She had never really been close to her father. And her mother? That was a laugh. Freddie had always been her dear old mum's favourite. In fact, through most of their childhood, Frankie had been incredibly jealous of him. She regretted all those bitter feelings now. Freddie had always put her first, before anyone else, even their parents. He had taught her everything she knew, and had been with her through all the rough spots—and in their family, Lord knew there were plenty of those. He was a good man, no matter what anyone else said. As far as she was concerned, anyone with eyes should have been able to see that.
After dinner, when they were all tidying up, she was watching him, her brother, chatting away with Katie. Now that was a sight, wasn't it. It didn't seem that long ago that Katie had hated Freddie. She had never really trusted him, and Frankie suspected she still didn't, not really. But something had changed between them somewhere, and Franks wasn't quite sure what that exactly was.
'Need help, love?' This was from Beth as she manoeuvred into the kitchen, past the others. Frankie realised she was staring at her brother, who was slipping on his familiar leather jacket and preparing to head out into the cold spring air. Katie was stood next to him in her pea jacket, bundled up and nodding at something Fred was saying.
Frankie had to force herself to look away towards her mum at last, who was staring at her a bit curiously. 'Oh, sure, Mum. You're a star.'
Beth stepped forward and began sorting out the kitchen alongside her daughter, and Frankie was too lost in her own thoughts to realise the woman had noticed her lack of focus.
'Where are you, love?' asked Beth, who still seemed immaculate in her appearance, though the years had begun to age her faster than she could counteract with injections and creams. 'Somewhere on Mars?'
Frankie blinked away her thoughts and focused instead on pulling a roll of cling film over the pot of leftovers. 'Yeah, sorry. Just a bit tired is all.'
Katie approached them then, brushing some of her hair behind her ear. She was wearing it a bit longer then, down to her shoulders, and Frankie noticed, oddly, that while Katie had an almost masculine abrasiveness to her, her edges had softened over the years in her maturity.
'Freddie's taking me home,' she explained with a crooked smile that mirrored her father's, the father she would never really know she had. 'Where's Junior?'
Frankie felt something tighten inside her and she wasn't quite sure what it was. 'He went upstairs for a nap. Gets tired easily these days, you know.'
Katie nodded. 'Yeah . . . Well, tell him I said I'll nip 'round later, eh? Probably tomorrow or summink. Me and him had plans with me mate Mags and her bloke.'
Freddie joined them then at last, and they all hugged and said their goodbyes. Freddie kissed both Beth and Frankie's cheeks before heading outside with his daughter, and Frankie bit her lip as she watched them disappear behind the front door.
Beth was wringing out a rag in the sink as she watched the younger woman standing aimlessly in the centre of the kitchen. 'You've been spacier than a bleeding astronaut, girl.'
Canned laughter from the television in the lounge—certainly from whatever programme Donny and Charlie had settled on after dinner—seemed to break up Frankie's temporary reverie, and she cleared her throat. 'Just thinking me husband could afford to help a bit in the kitchen instead of watching telly all bloody day.'
Even Frankie wasn't quite certain where the vitriol had come from. She supposed it was like the old days, when no matter what was upsetting her, she always seemed to take it out on her husband. Beth liked to say Franks would fight her own fingernails if she had no one better to argue with. But Donny was no angel, neither, and even if he had made any sort of attempt to become a better man, Frankie knew she wouldn't have forgiven him for his one biggest fault; not because of their past, not even because of his cruelty towards her or his laziness, but for the simple reason that he just wasn't Fred.
It didn't seem to matter what he did; the more she thought of Fred, the more she began to compare Donny to him, just like the old days. And, as it had always been, Donny would never compare. He was just a knock-off Fred, all talk and no bollocks. Then again, Frankie's infatuation with her brother was dangerous; in her mind, even the Messiah couldn't hold a candle to him.
Of course, Frankie had spat her insult loud enough for Donny to hear, and so a moment or two later he had emerged from the lounge in a white vest and jeans, having shed his button-down sometime after the meal. She noticed that, while still handsome, he had accumulated a bit of a gut. Not unlike Freddie, but everything looked uglier on Donny in her mind. Both men arguably had aged well, and Franks knew her husband would have no trouble getting any tart he wanted. In fact, she suspected him of doing so regardless. But Freddie was her soul mate, her one-and-only, and no matter what happened between them she would never be able to settle for anything less.
She wondered why she was ever stupid enough to give Donny a second chance.
'Now just what are you chatting about?' he asked as he joined the two women in the kitchen, smoothing out his thinning hair. Frankie noticed his accent had its old Mancunian lilt. He seemed to change dialects as it suited him—cockney when he was with the old boys, Manc when he was pissed. And he was always pissed those days, the same as she was.
She could almost laugh at herself for ever being intimidated by him back when they'd met up that first time in that American-style diner. She supposed that had just been one of his many disguises, the well-dressed chap with nice hair and a sly grin. Now that they'd rekindled things, she could see him for what he truly was—a liar and a fake.
'Well,' began Frankie as she put a container into the fridge. 'You and me dad's just been on your arses all afternoon, when me and Mum was the ones what done all this food up for you. Least you could do is help out, eh? Then again, you don't really do much of anything these days, do you?'
Donny stood his ground, staring at his wife in disbelief. 'The fuck did I do to you, eh? It's Easter Sunday and you're starting a row.'
Frankie knew the truth in her husband's words but, in her own stubbornness, refused to admit it. 'Yeah, it's Easter Sunday and you haven't lifted a finger all day! You never do a bloody thing around here other than sit on your arse or keep yourself away in that office of yours, taking phone calls.'
Donny's expression twisted into something dark, and he stepped forward, speaking lowly. 'Those phone calls are what pay the bills, Franks. But no, you can't wrap your tiny little mind around that, can you, because you're too busy looking at the bottom end of your wine glass.'
Frankie set her jaw and turned away from him, forcing a sarcastic laugh up from her throat. 'Oh yeah? Why do you think I drink, eh Donny? You can't answer that, because back when I needed you, when Junior needed you, you was too busy pissing away all our money on your schemes. And now, it's the same thing, isn't it? You and your bloody schemes would be the death of us if it wasn't for my Freddie.'
She saw the anger in his eyes, but couldn't stop herself from running her gob. 'Yeah, that's right, Freddie. Without him, who knows where we'd be. The funny thing is, he did more for us banged up in fucking Brixton than you ever did.'
The words hardly had a chance to leave her mouth before Donny's hand had snatched a fistful of her hair. For a moment, panic washed over her, but her face was set into a hard grimace; she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of her fear.
The funny thing was, Freddie had done a lot worse to her than Donny ever had, even if her husband smacked her around from time to time. She would rationalise and make excuses for Fred even if he murdered her—and with his seemingly-tipping sanity, that prospect had begun to seem realer and realer over the years. But while her brother could do no wrong, the blame always fell on Donny. It was an unfortunate circumstance for all of them really.
After only a moment or two, Donny released her, and she pulled away from him violently. Their eyes met, and for the first time in a long time, they both looked at one another with genuine hatred.
Donny's resolve broke first, and he turned around, wordlessly storming out the front door. Frankie felt waves of anxiety and adrenaline rush over her, and she couldn't stop herself from shouting after him: 'Yeah, that's right, walk away! Just like you always do!'
It sounded lame even to her own ears, but she always had to get the last word in. Silently, she cursed herself and Donny and God Himself as she returned to her glass of Liebfraumilch, refilling it from the bottle with shaky hands. Closing her eyes, she tried to breathe steadily from her nose and relax herself without the use of her "magic pills". Falling apart in front of her own mum was the last thing she needed right then.
Beth, of course, had been watching silently through the entire argument, and gently leant against the marble counter top. 'You've got to learn when to shut that stroppy mouth of yours.'
Frankie didn't have time for her mother's antics, and spat out harshly, 'Oh fuck off, would you?'
Beth raised her brows at her daughter patronisingly before huffing. 'Well, I certainly don't need that from you today. Come on, Charlie, we're going babe!'
Charlie, who had been avoiding the noisy argument by staring at the TV, stood from his chair warily and collected his things in silence along with his wife. Frankie forced down her annoyance and watched the two preparing to leave.
'Come on, Mum, don't . . . '
Beth pointedly ignored her daughter, and after only a few moments, had headed out the door with Charlie in tow, leaving Frankie alone in her spacious kitchen with only her thoughts and her glass of wine. Frustrated nearly to the point of tears, she sank into a chair at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands.
'Mum, you all right?'
Peering up through her fingers, Frankie noticed her son standing at the bottom of the steps, tired-faced and leaning heavily on the railing. Blinking away her tears, she lifted her head and offered a weak smile towards him.
'Yeah, babe. I'm all right. Go have your nap.'
Junior paused a moment before stepping forward. Silently, he leaned down and kissed the top of her head, letting his lips rest against her hair a long moment before pulling back and heading back up the stairs. Frankie watched him until he had hobbled into his room, and only then did she allow herself to cry.