Frank Derrick's Holiday of a Lifetime (22 page)

‘I know,’ Frank said to show that he understood.

The last photograph in the album was Frank on the short brown leather sofa under the dreadful curtains. Jimmy was sitting on the sofa next to him. They were both asleep and wearing paper Christmas hats. Frank now knew why Laura had asked him to pack photographs, ‘bring memories,’ she’d said. He’d certainly done that. And not just of ice cream soda and the
Radio Times
. When Beth looked at the pictures of her mother and father together Laura may have been hoping that Beth would have been reminded of her own happier times with Jimmy. But looking at Jimmy in this last photograph, the two men on the sofa asleep in their Christmas hats with their arms folded and their mouths wide open, Frank realized what Laura had meant when she’d called him her secret weapon. Beth watching Jimmy’s favourite films or listening to his music and eating his food was one thing but if there was really any truth in the theory that women married men who reminded them of their fathers, then maybe Beth’s father would remind her of her husband. Photographs of Jimmy would be powerful enough but Frank was the real thing. He was Jimmy in 3D. The second time that Frank heard Beth sniff he realized that she was crying.

20

Frank waved goodbye to Beth and Laura and watched them drive off together in Beth’s car, missing them already, as people used to say here. He wished he could tie a ball of string to them both and pull them back to the house. He hoped that Beth was all right. He’d hated to see her so unhappy. A few tears were an understandable reaction to seeing the old photographs but then she’d started to really cry; she was sobbing and shaking and Frank had never felt so useless. There was hardly even enough room on the doorstep for him to put a comforting arm around her.

Frank had seen Beth cry as a child but only once as an adult. It was after Sheila’s funeral. Beth had been so calm and organized up until then, helping Frank arrange everything, paying for death certificates and breaking the bad news to distant family members and friends when he couldn’t bear to tell another person. Beth had kept her composure before and during the service, and even when the coffin disappeared behind the crematorium curtains, she simply bowed her head. It was only afterwards in the crematorium car park when the other mourners had set off for the wake that Beth had finally broken down. She’d wept uncontrollably, shivering and making almost inhuman sounds that terrified Frank whose immediate instinct had been to look around for Sheila. Luckily, Jimmy had been there. And he said all the right things. Frank was on his own last night. Bill was there but he didn’t help. The two of them watched helplessly while Beth let it all out, rocking back and forth on the doorstep with her hands holding on to her knees. Between sobs she took deep gasps of breath that sounded so desperate and vital that Frank wondered if he should call an ambulance and, after what seemed like an eternity but was probably less than a minute, the sobbing stopped and she was crying at a less alarming level and then she began to settle. She was silent but for a few last, deep, deliberate breaths. She apologized and then almost laughed as she said, ‘I’m an unhappy number living on an unlucky street.’

This morning, Frank had been desperate to speak to Laura alone so that he could inform the project leader that the latest phase of her plan had spectacularly backfired and perhaps all the subconscious reminiscing might actually be making Beth unhappier than she already was. He wanted to ask Laura about the photograph of him and Jimmy on the sofa in Christmas cracker hats too. He’d been puzzled by the picture. It wasn’t just because of its devastating effect on Beth but because he had no recollection of it ever being in the photo album.

Beth had been quite chirpy this morning, rushing about the house, getting ready for work and making sandwiches for Frank. She’d asked him a number of times if he was sure that he’d be all right on his own all day and she told him to make sure he ate the sandwiches and to drink lots of water. She left a tube of sunscreen on the living-room desk in case Frank wanted to sit outside and she reminded him to sit in the shade under the tree if he did and to put the door on the latch or take the keys outside with him. He asked her if he could wash some of his clothes as he had run out of clean shirts and Beth quickly showed him how to use the washing machine. She put a box of washing powder on top of the machine and said that she would ring him when she was on her lunch break to check that he hadn’t locked himself out or flooded the house.

‘If I’ve locked myself out, I won’t be able to answer the phone,’ Frank said.

‘Change of plan,’ Beth said. ‘Don’t lock yourself out.’

She called out to Laura who was in the bathroom to hurry up, as though she was driving her to school rather than work, and then they were both in the car and Frank hadn’t had the chance to speak to Laura alone.

Without them there the house suddenly seemed so quiet, as though they’d taken all the world’s sounds away with them. He put on one of Laura’s mix-tape CDs and sat at the table and looked at books that Laura had strategically placed around the house. Books that Beth and Jimmy had shared, Beth reading a chapter and then passing the book to Jimmy or vice versa, one of them always slightly ahead of the other in the story, like Fullwind was in relation to Los Angeles.

Frank hadn’t managed to read a book for a number of years. He seemed to have lost the concentration required and now he only browsed. It was the same with newspapers and magazines. He would read the headlines and look at the pictures and draw his own conclusions.

He wasn’t enjoying the music that he’d put on. It wasn’t music that he would describe as ‘good’. He turned the volume down and went into Laura’s bedroom to get his holiday shirts. He took them into the small utility area at the back of the kitchen. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d used a washing machine and, like photo booths, they’d changed. He looked at the control panel on the front of the machine. There were three main knobs and various buttons and a display that was flashing a row of eights on and off like his DVD player at home. He had entirely forgotten the simple instructions that Beth had given him. When anyone tried to teach Frank something new or give him directions he would be listening but the information wouldn’t be sticking around for long.

He looked at the numbers and symbols on the washing machine control panel and compared them to those on the label on one of the shirts. Nothing matched. None of the words on either of the shirts’ labels were in English and what instructions there were on the front of the washing machine appeared to be in symbol form and hieroglyphics, apart from a few words that made little sense and appeared to be in the same dropped Scrabble board of American English as Beth’s job descriptions.

He looked around the kitchen for a manual. In the cutlery drawer he moved a spoon into the fork compartment to give Jimmy something to do if he came round. He eventually found the washing machine instructions and, after ten minutes, he thought that he’d worked out how to do a simple quick wash. ‘Don’t mix ColorSync,’ the instructions said. He looked at his shirts and he wondered how that was physically possible and he put them in the machine. He thought about putting some of Beth’s and Laura’s clothes in too, but he didn’t want to risk shrinking them or any of the colours of his shirts running. In spite of how little a goth or an emo Laura claimed to be, Frank doubted that she would be overjoyed if he dyed all of her black clothes yellow. He closed the washing-machine door and tipped some powder into the drawer.

He pushed the on switch, the machine clicked and whirred a few times, lights flashed, and it filled up with water. There was a moment of silence as though it wasn’t going to work and then the drum started to turn. Frank walked into the living room feeling pleased with himself.

‘Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?’ he said to Bill and then immediately apologized for having used the ‘D word’.

Before the first rinse Frank was bored again. He turned the music back up. He was listening to more Reunion Project music and looking at more books than Beth. He’d been watching the films and TV shows and was even wearing Jimmy’s aftershave; at this rate, Frank was in danger of falling in love with Jimmy himself.

He went and looked at the washing machine, staring at the dial to see if he noticed any movement as it went through its various cycles. With just his two shirts being thrown around inside the machine the shirt buttons slapped against the metal drum. He should have washed more clothes. Wasn’t there a drought in California? He felt guilty for contributing to it.

Frank missed having the company that he’d just started to get used to. Even Bill was asleep. He wondered how far it would be if he walked to the grocery store to ask Old Man Packing Bags if he wanted to go for a drink. He could quiz him on what it was like to be an old man in America. Did he have a pension and what happened if he got sick? Did he live in a retirement community with palm trees and crazy golf? How welcoming were they to old people from other countries? ‘Old Man Packing Bags’ could have been Frank’s Native American name, too, a few weeks ago when he was folding his clothes into his suitcase, and in a few days’ time it could be his name once again as he packed to go home. It made Frank want to hide his suitcase. He wondered whether it would fit through one of the ceiling-tile spaces. He went into the bedroom and started unpacking the case. He hadn’t wanted to trespass on any more of Laura’s personal space by using her wardrobe and chest of drawers and had left most of his clothes in the suitcase. He found the emptiest of the drawers and put in two pairs of socks and he hung a cardigan in the wardrobe. In amongst all the cool black clothes, the cardigan’s beige cable knit and brown leather-look buttons were like a parent waiting to pick up their children at a school disco but unpacking a few things made Frank feel less like his holiday was over. He thought about deliberately leaving the cardigan or the socks when he went home. Sheila always used to say that when Beth had left her jacket or her purse behind after visiting them it meant that she was coming back.

The phone rang. The loud and alien ringtone surprised and unnerved Frank and he hesitated before eventually answering it. It was Beth. She couldn’t concentrate at work because she’d convinced herself that he actually would flood the house. He told her that he’d managed fine with the washing machine and it was already on its final spin, which was why he was CURRENTLY SHOUTING. He asked how she was and she said that she was okay. She reminded him again about the sunscreen and the garden chairs, the latch and the door keys and she wished him a lovely relaxing day.

After Frank hung up, he saw that the speed-dial list on the phone began with: 1. DAD. He’d never won anything in his life. His bogus Premium Bonds win was the closest he’d come to a prize. And yet here he was, at the top of the US speed-dial charts. He wanted to take the big foam hand down from Laura’s bedroom wall and run around the house pointing and shouting, ‘I’m number one!’

Ten minutes later, he picked up the phone and pressed the number and listened to the ringtone, imagining what it sounded like at the other end of the line in his empty flat. He wondered if anyone would answer: the landlord or the estate agent or somebody who was viewing the property. Perhaps a squatter would answer the phone, or the new tenant who had already moved in: sitting on Frank’s sofa, watching his television and answering his phone. Maybe the police would pick up the phone and ask him if he was a relative of Frank Derrick. Or maybe he would answer the phone himself, like in a science fiction film or an episode of
Tales of the Unexpected
. Frank thought that he might not be the ‘DAD’ at the top of the speed-dial charts after all and he could be ringing Jimmy. He quickly hung the phone up and, as soon as he did, it start ringing. He walked away, deciding to ignore it. He went into the kitchen and stood near the washing machine, hoping for a loud spin to drown out the sound of the telephone but the machine had finished its final cycle. The phone kept on ringing. The answer machine would surely switch on soon. If it was turned on. He went back into the living room and held his hand above the phone, trying to trick it into thinking that he was about to answer so that sod’s law would cause the phone to stop ringing. Could it possibly be somebody calling him back from his home phone? What if it was Beth again? If he didn’t answer it, she would worry and she’d have to drive all the way back home or call the police. If it didn’t stop in two more rings, he would answer it. After a further five rings he picked up the phone.

‘Hello,’ he said, expecting to hear Jimmy, Beth, Laura, the police, an estate agent or his own voice from the future.

‘Hi, there.’ It was a young-sounding man. American. ‘My name is Arnold from West Coast telemarketing. May I take up just a few moments of your time?’

‘I think you probably want to speak to my daughter.’

‘If I could just take up a few moments of your time?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Frank said. ‘I don’t live here.’

‘That’s not a problem, sir. Can I take your name?’

‘It’s Frank, but I—’

‘Frank,’ Arnold repeated.

Frank heard the sound of typing on a computer keyboard.

‘Can I take your last name, Frank?’

‘I’m here on holiday.’

‘That’s okay, sir. If I could just take your last name.’

‘It’s my daughter’s telephone. I don’t actually live here.’

‘If I could just take your last name.’

‘Derrick,’ Frank said. He heard the sound of typing and then a pause on the other end of the line. ‘D.E.R.R.I.C.K.’ Frank spelled out his name for the man. There was the sound of more typing, possible backspacing and typing again.