The Turning Point: A gripping love story, keep the tissues close...

What did her brain say? What was going on behind the scramble of thoughts? Was it ludicrous to feel that this could be life-changing and wholly good? Or was she just selfish and insane to pursue it? Her romanticizing tendencies had brought all sorts of trouble in the past.

‘Be rational.’

She shook her head.

‘Defy reason.’

She shook her head.

Returning to the table she pushed the page with the words onto the floor and stared at the furl of pencil sharpenings and tiny shards of lead.

She looked at the sketch of Alice and drew her again, quickly, with the chains now around her feet.

Thank you, said Alice.

It’s a pleasure, said Frankie.

Can you write me a story where the Ditch Monster comes to my rescue? Instead of the two of us always unravelling everything together? Think about what Scott said.

What did Scott say?

When he told you – to actually ask me.

Frankie was transported back to Maison Bertaux and there she stayed awhile, conjuring the taste of the cakes, the warmth from Scott’s knee next to hers, the lurch in her stomach, the soar of her heart, the buzz between her legs when his fingers had entwined with hers. All they had talked about. The timbre of his voice. The way he looked when he listened, the way his mouth moved when he talked, the way his eyes made her feel when they locked onto hers.

What’s your favourite song, Alice?

Not that noisy one you just played about your brain, thank you. My favourite song is ‘Mr Tambourine Man’.

I never knew that.

You do now.

It had been a jingle-jangle morning of sorts.

I’ll be back in a mo’ – don’t go anywhere, Alice, I just need to make a phone call. Then I’ll play you the Byrds’ version. Which I like better than Bob Dylan’s.

Frankie walked into the kitchen, to the window which looked out to the garden. It was her favourite place to muse. Her heartbeat competed with the silence. She phoned Scott.

‘It’s Frankie.’

‘I know.’

Just two words and she could hear him smiling. She laid her head gently against the wall.

‘How are you?’ he asked. ‘How’s Norfolk?’

‘Alice is back.’

‘Well that’s just great.’

‘Are you at work? Can you talk?’

‘I’m at work but I can talk. I’m playing some guitar.’

‘Really?’

‘Listen.’ He really was. ‘You liked it?’

‘It’s beautiful!’

Should she tell him about the Byrds? That’s not why she’d phoned.

‘It’s Friday,’ she rushed.

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Scott.’

‘Yes.’ He waited. ‘Frankie?’

‘If I – if I.’ She caught sight of herself reflected back from the window, changed her focus to look out over the lawn to the hedge and the Mawbys’ fields beyond. A beautiful day. ‘If I could make it to London, tomorrow, could we have any time?’

‘I would like nothing more. I need to cancel something, rearrange something else. Can I call you back?’

‘Of course you can call me back.’

And, behind the silence, they could hear each other grinning.

Frankie arrived at Annabel’s school later that afternoon a full half-hour before the bell went. She wasn’t worried about being late, she just needed to know that she could sit in the car and have the time to phone her sister and not rush.

‘Peta? It’s me.’

‘I know – it says so. How was London? Did the kids cope with The Mother?’

‘Yes – they did. She cleaned the clean fridge and reorganized the contents.’

‘You know she changes the sheets on my spare-room bed as soon as she arrives here – even though I lay them fresh for her?’

‘I know.’

‘And Alice?’

‘I don’t want to jinx it – but we had a little progress today.’

‘Good for you, Frankie.’

‘How was your book club?’