Page 42 of Broken Country

I think I have injected the right amount of enthusiasm into my voice but I can never fool Frank.

“Why don’t you want to?”

I pause for a moment, trying to find the words to help him understand.

“I know it feels like the right time. But I’m not ready to cut ties with Bobby just yet. I’m sure I will be one day, but we’re still so young, you and I. And it’s different for mothers, so full-time and unrelenting. I wouldn’t be able to be with him in the way I am now. Does that make sense?”

This is the thing about Frank: He always gets it. He reaches out an arm and pulls me toward him until my face is pressed against his chest. “Perfect sense. We got the best one. Why risk it with another?”

It’s different the way we make love tonight. For a start we never break eye contact, not once. Frank presses himself very deeply inside me and he stays there, not moving, looking down at me, and I feel so turned on by him, running my hands up and down his chest, feeling the hardness of muscle under skin, his broadness, his strength, the heft of him and, also, how much I love him. When he finally starts to move in slow, deep circles, each one draws a gasp ofpleasure from my throat, even though we always try to be quiet with the rest of the family just across the corridor. But I’m too taken to stop, my whole body starts to spiral and shake and I’m gripping on to him, crying his name, and he’s whispering in the darkness, “It’s OK,” and it feels violent and tender and like nothing on earth. And then Frank is moving hard and fast now, his breathing hectic and broken, but he still keeps looking at me, as he comes, as I do, and then, instantly, we are holding each other, laughing and laughing at the intensity, the raw madness of it.

Frank whispers: “Christ. What was that?”

And I’m half crying, half laughing, when I whisper back: “I know.”

We ease into our sleeping positions, his arm wrapped around me, and his voice is already slippery with drowsiness. “Why would we want to change a thing?”

1968

Leo and I are in the garden at Meadowlands when a black taxi comes rattling up the drive. It’s such an unusual sight, here in the depths of Dorset, we stand together and watch to see who it is arriving.

“Do you think that cab’s come all the way from London?” Leo says.

“Only if they’re a millionaire. No one else would be able to afford it.”

“It’s my mom, it’s my mom!” Leo shrieks, as the passenger in the back seat first comes into view. He’s running over to the taxi, trying to open the door before it’s even drawn to a halt.

Louisa steps out, her arms held wide, and her son leaps into them.

“Mom. Mom. Mama.” He says it over and over, his voice reducing to a whimper, and it is all I can do to stop myself from bursting into tears.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming?” Leo says, when they break apart.

“I wanted to surprise you. I did check in with your dad to make sure you’d be here, but I didn’t tell him either.”

Louisa looks over at me for the first time. A guarded smile. “Beth,” she says. “It’s nice to see you again. I’ve heard so much about you in the last few months.”

The front door opens, Gabriel comes running down the steps. “My God, Louisa,” he says. “I can’t believe it.”

She looks up at him, a little wary, but he’s grinning as he kisses her cheek.

“This is the best surprise, isn’t it, Leo? How long can you stay?”

“A few days while my parents look after Marcus. I thought, if it was all right with you, I could take Leo to London. We could stay in a hotel, visit some of our old haunts.” She looks down at her son. “Would you like that?”

“I would love it!”

Leo wraps his arms around his mother’s waist and the three of them start walking toward the house, father, mother, son. It’s an odd sensation watching them, picturing the family they once were. Two parents and one son. Just like Frank and me and Bobby.

At the front door, Gabriel remembers me. “Beth, won’t you come in for a cup of tea?”

I shake my head. “Absolutely not,” I say. “It’s lovely for Leo to have some time alone with both of you. I’ll leave you to it.”

Later, Frank and I are finishing supper when the phone rings.

“Beth? Is that you?”

The voice is high, nervous, American.