The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green (12 page)

Bethan caught her open-mouthed gaze and smiled. ‘If you look at the screen then you'll see baby any second…'

Em turned her head towards the monitor.

‘…now! There! Safe as houses. And that's a lovely strong pulse.'

A tiny thing was bouncing around on the screen. Even though it was a grainy image, Em could make out a skull and some little blobs for arms and legs. How was this even possible? That there was a person jigging about inside of her yet she couldn't feel a thing.

‘I'd say eleven weeks, eleven plus one actually… and, I'm just double-double-checking everything, but baby is absolutely fine. So… congratulations!'

Em was so overwhelmed she began spouting from her Googling. ‘At eleven weeks, it measures four centimetres long. The bones of the face are formed now. The eyelids are closed, and won't open for a few months yet. The earbuds look more like ears as they grow,' she said, as tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘It is no longer an embryo but a foetus,' she said, mopping her belly with a tissue and getting off the bed. ‘The major organs are formed and its tail has gone.'

‘Wow, you have been reading up!' the sonographer said. ‘Baby must have been very much wanted.'

‘Actually, it wasn't,' she said, floating with happiness knowing now she wanted this baby more than anything, that she'd bring Frankie up to speed and make a start on feathering her nest, ‘but it is now.'

‘Frankie? Where are you?' Floyd said out of the darkness.

There was a patting which she presumed was him searching for her on the bed with his hands.

‘I'm just making sure no light can get in,' she said, scanning the room for the slightest chink. For about the millionth time in her rigorous preparation, which she wasn't about to mention. It wasn't just for her own benefit – she didn't want Leonardo to creep in and see anything either.

‘But it's like the dark side of the moon in here!' he said. She could hear the humour in his voice, but this was important.

‘I'm just making sure. The last thing I want is for the blanket on the rail to drop off.'

‘Good point. Then there would only be a pair of thick curtains plus a pulled-down blind to protect you from daylight. This might be a good time to tell me if you're a vampire.'

He was right. She was being a bit obsessive. But she couldn't help it. The darkness was a cover for her inexperience; if she couldn't make him out, then he wouldn't notice her face of fear or her pathetic boobs or her whatsit, which by now she was convinced was abnormal. ‘I don't want you to see me, that's all.'

She heard a deep sigh from the direction of the mattress, which she approached millimetre by millimetre so she didn't trip up. What a great start that would be if she fell face-first on his thing.

‘Don't roll your eyes at me!' she said. ‘Are you rolling your eyes at me?'

‘Jesus Christ, are you wearing night-vision goggles or something? This reminds me of the Blair Witch Project.'

If she wasn't in this situation, she would have laughed at that, she thought. But she was and it was so not funny. Far from it, the complete opposite in fact. It had been from his arrival. A warm-up cuppa, as he'd put it, didn't calm her down at all. He seemed to be taking it all in his stride, which was lucky, because if he hadn't said they should drink it upstairs ‘to get in the mood' then they'd still be chatting in the kitchen. Feeling around for the duvet, she finally found it and sat on the edge, at the opposite end to Floyd. ‘I'm on the bed now,' she announced, staring blindly into the black.

‘Excellent. That's a good start. What with both of us being on the bed.'

‘I'd really appreciate it if you were a bit more understanding.'

‘Sorry. I'm just trying to put you at ease.'

‘Oh, I see. Right. Okay.'

‘So, how do you want to do this then? Because we can just go at your speed or I can start things or whatever…'

This was the bit she'd been dreading. The seconds before they actually touched. It was the most excruciating, bum-clenching, toe-curlingly awkward moment of her entire life. Her heart was going like the clappers and she had sat on her hands to stop them trembling. ‘Um, I dunno. Oh God. Well, I've got three positions in my head and I don't know whether to tell you what they are or to just get on with it.'

‘It's up to you.'

Frankie gulped. ‘Right, well, I'll just do them then.'

‘Okeydokes.'

There was a silence. She could hear his breathing and then the muted sound of the duvet rustling.

‘Can I just ask a question, Floyd?'

‘Sure!'

‘When shall we take our clothes off?'

She heard air shoot out of his nostrils in three bursts.

‘Are you laughing at me?'

‘Yes,' he said, ‘totally. I thought we could take our clothes off after we've had sex.'

Thank God he couldn't see her blush. This was utterly mortifying. She cleared her throat and tried to pull herself together. ‘Okay, okay, I know I'm being ridiculous,' she said, taking a deep breath, ‘I'm sorry. Right, I'm, er, coming over now.'

Frankie edged towards him, reciting in her head the order of her moves: on top, turn around then on all fours. Sit, twist, bend. That's all she had to remember. Her fingers slowly slid across the cover as she sought him out. She was getting closer, she could sense him, so she began to grope the air. She came into contact with something wet and immediately recoiled.

‘Ow!' he said. ‘You've just poked me in the eye!'

‘Oh, shingles, sorry, are you okay?' she whispered. ‘Oh God, this isn't going very well.' She stood up and fumbled blindly over to the wall and switched on the light. Leonardo was sat absolutely still like an Old Bailey judge on her dressing table – oh no, he'd witnessed the whole shambles.

‘Argh!' Floyd shouted, covering his eyes. ‘You could've warned me you were so ugly.'

Frankie had had enough. ‘Look, the point of this is that you teach me. There doesn't seem to be much of that going on. All you do is crack jokes.'

Floyd pulled an offended face then turned his mouth down as he scratched his beard. ‘Do you know something? You're absolutely right. I'm not being very instructive, am I?'

He thought for a minute while Frankie crossed her arms, waiting for him to take charge. And then an idea came to him. He leapt up, pointed both forefingers at her and announced: ‘By jove, I've got it!'

‘Finally!' she said, irritably tapping her right foot. Because she was approaching the point of throwing in the towel.

‘So the plan is this: you are freaking out about this, maybe we don't have to actually have the sex? How about we perform these positions with our clothes on – just think of it as a game of Twister.'

Frankie couldn't believe the relief that overcame her at this apparent solution. She beamed and nodded frantically: what a brilliant approach! It was entirely educational and she didn't have to strip off.

‘Perfect!' she said, clapping her hands.

‘Oh. Right. No offence taken,' Floyd said, looking disappointed.

What a bonkers week it's been, Letty thought, as she left work and made a beeline for some therapy of the retail kind. Click-clacking her way through town to Cardiff's mammoth St David's shopping centre, she needed a hit to help her get to grips with it.

For, everything she'd known about her friends and herself had been turned on its head in a matter of days.

Take Em, who was the queen of self-control and hard work. Now she was not only up the duff, but on bed-rest.

Then there was Frankie: the only woman in the world who could make the Virgin Mary blush had got herself a sex teacher.

And as for Letty, well, she'd gone from being a mistress to a sister doing it for herself. All of it, it was so unlikely. Things were changing and she swung from feeling empowered to uncertain.

Nothing more had been said by Ross at work about his behaviour: he was acting as normal, yet he still hadn't signed off her day-release course. And Lance, well, what a surprise, he'd dropped her like he apparently dropped his flies. She knew because she'd checked every possible social media channel he was on – from his Facebook page to his Instagram work-out shots – and their ever-so-chummy updates showed he was alive and well. He was deliberately not contacting her.

She needed a fix of happiness: only shoes could do that.

And she knew exactly which ones – a pair of sandals on sale at Vivienne Westwood.

As she entered the resplendent store, beneath its regal golden sign, Letty felt majestic by association. She went straight to a punky assistant, in bondage trousers of course, and asked to try on her heart's desire.

A minute later and she was on the catwalk of the polished wooden floor, parading up and down, feeling completely kick-arse. The size fives were sublime: from the front, four brass-tone buckles on black calf leather fastening straps exposed just enough skin and toe. From behind, the flash of the signature orb on each twelve-centimetre heel.

Versatile, they were businesslike by day but gave a hint of dominatrix by night. It was as if these shoes had been made for her. Timeless. A work of flaming art. The mark of a new start.

And when they did all of that, they were a snip at £275, reduced from £550. She needed them: if she was going to progress in work and love then she had to project the person she was going to be. Strong, self-assured and confident.

Handing over her credit card, the one which hadn't maxed out, she fought the urge to pay her respects with a curtsey to the overhanging pink neon sign which spelled out Vivienne Westwood's name.

The buzz of the buy and its life-changing meaning lasted all the way home on the number twenty-five bus, right up to her doorstep. Her excited fingers fumbled with the keys, which fell from her hand. She leant down to retrieve them; she was going to get changed, go for a run and then have a healthy tea.

At least she was until she saw two black swooshy trainers walk up behind her.

And then all of her intentions and projections dropped like a stage curtain because it was Lance. The person she had no feelings for whatsoever. In opposite land. Suddenly, the ache she'd anaesthetized returned harder and deeper than before: telling yourself you were doing the right thing was like two paracetamol every four hours. It only masked how much she missed him.

Letty got up and looked around, her heart reaching towards him, trying to claw back her happy.

‘I've done it,' he said, simply. ‘We can be together.'

She tried to take it in: he was smiling and he had a holdall with him.

‘Thought I could stay over, if that's okay?'

She felt her gob drop and her bottom lip quiver and she was only bloody speechless. She hadn't actually believed he'd do it. He wasn't serious about her. That's how she'd dealt with losing him. Except he bloody well was. Now it was all topsy-turvy because apparently he was handing to her what she'd always wanted.

‘Letty?' he said, his face becoming anxious. ‘Say something? Please?'

A huge guffaw, out of shock and disbelief, came from inside her. ‘You better come in then,' she said, still reeling, opening the front door, through the hall, then her door, not daring to look in case he wasn't following her.

But he was there and they both had wet eyes and then their mouths were on each other and they kissed their way to her bedroom, where the dam holding back her emotions broke.

Dreamlike, they were making love, as far from sex as possible.

Afterwards, spooning naked, feeling his breath on her neck, hearing him say he'd never been happier. That Helen had agreed it wasn't working. How he loved Letty. And she finally confessed she felt the same.

In the twilight, she savoured the truth that they could remain together when they'd have parted before. But she held on tight, not wanting to take any chances, not wanting to break the spell.

Finally, it had happened, she thought, only just allowing herself to conceive it. She'd found him: her Mr Too Bloody Right.

Why hadn't they thought of this before? It's genius! Frankie mused as she tightened her ponytail and adjusted the waistband of her jeans to prepare for her first practical. She was excited rather than nervous; the same feeling she'd felt at the start of college when she sat in the lecture room with a new pen and pad, poised to take down everything the tutor said. That's how she had to think of this, that's all it was! But just in case, she'd shooed out Leonardo and shut the door.

Floyd cleared his throat to announce he was ready to begin. ‘Welcome students, er, student, to the School of Sex Education,' he said in a deep posh voice.

She beamed to show she was paying attention.

‘Your time here is for your benefit,' he said gravely, ‘so no pricking about, you at the back!'

She looked over her shoulder and tutted at an imaginary pupil – she was enjoying this game!

‘In this classroom you will learn a set of skills which will equip you to go out into the world… and win back your man.'

Frankie applauded and waited for his words of wisdom.

‘Now, let us begin!' he boomed. Then he inhaled deeply and roared his exhale before huffing on his specs and giving them a wipe on his T-shirt. Popping them back on, he said: ‘So, assume we've done the foreplay bit, snog snog, grope grope, etcetera, what's the first position on your list?'

‘Me on top, sat up,' Frankie said, relishing the lack of pressure.

‘Okay, a nice easy one to start with,' he said, lying down on his back on the bed. ‘You need to kneel with your legs either side of me and sit on my… er, here,' he said as she manoeuvred herself square on his groin.