The Family Firm

Chapter 16

Charlie Evans peered over his racing paper and spotted his daughter's little red Peugeot roll into the drive and park at a slant, and he knew there was going to be hell to pay. Frankie rarely showed up unannounced, especially not this late at night, and the fact that she ended up parking half-on the drive, half-on the lawn meant she was either drunk or mad—or both. Neither of which was a good sign but combined he knew the girl would cause murders.

Charlie had mellowed out over the years. He had once been a ruthless bastard, a real villain, but marriage had a way of calming him down, especially marriage to a woman like Beth. She was a law unto herself but then again so was their daughter. The two were getting into rows constantly and so he wasn't surprised when the pounding on the front door began, he only thought, what has this silly bitch gotten herself into this time?

'Open the fecking door!'

The shouting came as no surprise. Charlie looked impassively at his wife, who seemed frozen in place ahead of her sewing, and asked dryly, 'You'd better get that, love.'

His sarcastic use of the nickname snapped Beth back into reality, and suddenly her expression grew stern, stubborn. 'I shall do no such thing,' she said, returning to her embroidery. 'Not until she learns how to treat her mother with some bleeding respect.'

The furious pounding on the door had ceased, and immediately this was a cause for alarm. Charlie was amused by the situation more than anything but for his own sake he was dead careful not to let the smirk etch its way onto his features.

Soon enough, Frankie appeared in the window of the front room where her parents sat, pressing her face up against the glass in order to peer inside. She saw her mum sitting there all prim and proper and grew infuriated at her passiveness. Fortunately, she knew how to get the old hag's attention. A brick would do the trick.

'No!' Beth had shouted almost instantaneously upon seeing her daughter raise a brick and ready it intimidatingly, as if she were about to throw it as hard as she could at the large window at the centre of the room. Beth stumbled up from her seat and spilled her sewing kit all over, not bothering to waste time looking back at the mess before she hurriedly made to unlock the door.

Frankie, satisfied at her mum's defeat, dropped the brick, though she had considered, if only for a moment, bashing it into the cow's face until her head caved in. It was a miracle that she hadn't, and an even greater miracle that as she stormed in and watched her mother frantically stumble backwards, she didn't rip out the woman's hair from the roots and give her a proper pummelling. She had done it before to other women and would do it again, mark her words.

'You told Donny to come here?!' she screamed in accusation, and Beth shielded her face as if Frankie was about to punch her directly in it. Even old Charlie couldn't hide his snort of amusement, though he pretended not to pay attention by focusing intensely on his paper, even though it would have been easier to ignore a herd of elephants stampeding through the gaff than the two women rowing in the front room.

'Would you fucking relax, girl?' said Beth, trying to maintain what little dignity she had left. 'Sit down and have a cuppa, for Christ's sake.'

Frankie wasn't having it. 'You stood here and you lied to me, Mum! You lied right to my fucking face about it! Now I wanna know what your problem is, why you've had to come and bring me ex into all of this when neither of us want a bloody thing to do with each other!'

Beth was still frightened of her daughter, then again she had been for some time. Frankie had never been a timid girl, she almost always spoke her mind and would cause murders in the honour of herself, her son, or her brother. Even the past few years as she battled depression with pills and port, there was a ferocity in Frankie that had never left and Beth was terrified that she might explode and all of her rage would pour out of her like molten lava and burn them all to the ground.