I felt every emotion under the sun in the space of a few seconds. I heard my friends shout as I rushed out of the room and went barrelling down the stairs. I didn’t stop, I didn’t listen, I didn’t. Getting to Frankie . . . it was the only thing that mattered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
FRANKIE
Just keep breathing.
Those three words had gotten me through what was possibly the worst week of my life. I thought the week that followed my Mum’s diagnosis and my break-up with Risk nine years ago couldn’t be topped, but it had been. At least back then, I grieved the loss of my relationship and the boy I loved in private. I had the peace of my own home and the comfort only a mother could provide. This time around, that hadn’t happened. I had no privacy and my mother was no longer the woman she used to be, she didn’t recognise me any more so seeking comfort from her was impossible.
One thing Risk had said was true: the first four days after the concert there were paparazzi lingering outside of my home but from the fifth, they seemed to simply disappear. I followed my normal schedule, I went to work then to the hospice and that was it. I think my routine wasn’t exciting enough for the media so they sought out bigger fish to fry. If they asked me questions, I didn’t answer them. I treated them as if they weren’t there. A time or two when my work was disrupted by paparazzi having the balls to enter the premises, a couple of customers and Joe stood up for me. Three very expensive cameras were broken in a single altercation.
The police were called but everyone in the diner sided against the paparazzi who were saying they were attacked. They got the short end of the stick, they got in to trouble with the police and their expensive cameras were smashed to pieces. Joe also stole their memory cards and broke them so any images of me that were on there were lost. I appreciated the support; it was nice to know that I had people who had my back.
It was Wednesday and I had to leave work early so I could go to the hospice. Michael had an eye test he had to attend because he needed a new prescription for his glasses. He had been putting it off for months and finally decided to get it over and done with. Neither of us liked my mum being left alone in the hospice because of how her health was declining. Once he called and told me he was delayed, I got Joe’s permission, left work early and headed straight to the hospice. I had just walked through the doors when I spotted Erica, one of the lovely nurses.
“Frankie.” She smiled when she saw me. “How’re you, hon?”
“I’m good,” I lied.
I wasn’t good, all of mine and Risk’s issues were still up in the air. We hadn’t spoken since the night of the concert on the pier. I gave him an ultimatum and I had no clue if he made a choice on it or not. He hadn’t contacted me so for all I knew he made his choice and it probably wasn’t going back to rehab. I hurt to think that was a possibility but I powered on because life didn’t stop, it kept on going . . . no matter how much I wanted to hit pause.
After I spoke to Erica, I walked down the hallway towards my mum’s room when my phone rang. When I saw it was Michael calling, I answered.
“I just got here,” I told Michael. “Erica says she is a little off today.”
“I’m on my way,” he said. “Bloody machine acted up, but it’s done. I collect my new glasses on Wednesday.”
“Don’t rush, take your time.” I opened the door to my mum’s room. “She’s asleep.”
“Okay, see you soon, kid.”
I hung up and closed the door behind me. Mum’s body jolted and her eyes suddenly opened. She managed to lift her hand to her chest and, for a moment, I worried she was in pain but when she dropped her hand and sighed, I relaxed.
“Hello there,” I smiled fondly as I approached her and removed my bag and coat, draping them over the chair. “D’you know who I am, lovely lady?”
My mum stared at me, tilting her head slightly as she tried to place me in her mind.
“It’s okay if you don’t,” I assured her. “I can tell you a nice story of how we know each other, if you’d like?”
“You don’t have . . . to do that,” Mum shook her head after a moment. “I know who you are.”
Her words were mumbled, but I heard her.
“Oh, yeah?” Amused, I hung up my coat and asked, “Who am I?”
“You’re my baby.”
I felt my lips part for a moment as shock consumed me before I hurriedly moved to sit on the side of my mother’s bed. I grabbed her hand and lifted it to my mouth. I kissed it gently and never wanted to let it go.
“D’you know my name, Mum?”
“Yep,” she grinned, her voice was no more than a whisper. “My Frankie.”
My heart jumped.
“Yes, Mum,” I trembled. “Yes, it’s me. It’s Frankie. I’m Frankie!”
“I know who you are,” she tittered to herself, wheezing as she went. “I’d never forget you . . . you’re my girl.”
I couldn’t believe it. She recognised me. She knew me! I wanted to jump and scream and cry my eyes out. My mum knew who I was!
“I love you, Mum.” Tears welled in my eyes. “I love you so much. You’re the best mother to me, you gave me all the love in the world. I am the woman I am today because you raised me to be her. I love you. Always
