The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green (15 page)

Hi Em, how are you? I'm good, busy here at the branch but I'm doing all the bits and pieces you taught me!

Get on with it, she thought, what do you want?

I'm not sure if this is the right forum to discuss this but I didn't want to put you on the spot in a phone call.

He knew her so well, she thought, which made her feel warm – then flushed because it just emphasized how right they would've been together.

What was coming? What was he going to say? Oh, don't even think of asking me for interview tips, she thought.

I might be way off here, and I sincerely apologize if I'm wrong, but I've done some calculations and I'm wondering if we need to talk.

Em shut her eyes. She didn't want to read on. She'd dotted the i's and crossed the t's and put everything away very neatly into a box. But when she read his next sentence, the box flew open.

Is the baby mine?

Em reeled, stood up, sat back down again and re-read his note. She sat there, biting her lip, realizing she was an idiot, thinking she could iron out life's creases. She was going to have to tell him the truth.

She rubbed her eyes and sighed, feeling dread at the prospect of all the mess. He would support her, of course he would, Simon Brown was the most responsible human being she'd ever met. But to hear him tell her he'd be there for the baby but not her was going to be like slow torture. They'd be connected forever through this child and she would have to watch him make a life for himself with someone else, and it was going to hurt her every time she handed the baby over. There'd be split Christmases and birthdays and awkward parents' evenings, and what if he got married and their child was a bridesmaid or a page boy? It was unbearable and— Shit. It was a minute past eleven, she realized, leaping up from her chair and running down the corridor. She was late. She was never late. And she wondered if this was how it was going to be from now on, chasing the pack, on the back foot and forever behind?

Once again, Frankie was standing in a pile of clothes, trying to work out what to wear.

In the days leading up to tonight and Jason's visit, she'd spent hours poring over her situation with Letty, who had impressed upon her the need for dignity, whether it was a dumping situation or not.

‘Play it cool, let him do the talking, and do not cry. Not until he's gone,' she'd said, ‘because running mascara is a bit of a bunny-boiler look and that's not cool.'

The bottom line was this: Frankie needed to blow Jason's socks off.

The first layer was easy; her pink lacy Wonderbra and matching pants gave her something to hold onto, a sort of brace to keep her upright. There was also the fact he was a boobs man. But did she go for tight top and mini shorts? No, too obvious and too much like her mother. One of her summer dresses? That was the ‘old' her – and she wanted to present an up-to-date version of herself which said she was all new and improved. So she found her cerise polka dot playsuit which she normally wore on the beach, but what the hell, her legs and shoulders were tanned from the weather, and it showed off her new slimline body. A bit of lip gloss, a fluff of her pre-curled hair and she actually looked pretty good. When she stroked him, Leonardo gave her a purr of approval – it was as close as she'd get to a thumbs up.

Downstairs, she set up a few props to show she hadn't spent the entire day obsessing about Jason's visit. The plates stacked in the drainer showed she wasn't the fuss-pot who'd insisted they had to be immediately dried and put away, and the pile of long-haul holiday brochures she'd picked up at lunchtime screamed a more adventurous spirit.

It was all designed to tell Jason she was no longer that girl who arranged the cushions every night before bed. She was more spontaneous, more self-assured and less bothered by playing house. Which, actually, when she'd finished and surveyed her work, was a tiny bit true: she was less Kate Middleton since they'd last come face to face. The door went and she blew out of her cheeks to calm herself – this was it.

Frankie told herself to act blasé – Letty's orders. But, oh my, that was easier said than done when she saw him. All the familiar traits were there – the same beautiful big brown eyes, the deliciously dark pinprick mole above his even deep red lips and the slow flutter of his thick eyelashes every time he blinked, which she knew so well. But they seemed sweeter and more intense. His hair had grown and was streaked from the sun. Her mind then wandered to the girl on the beach – was his fresh look a result of her? No, she soothed herself, he was always like this in the summer. Working outdoors gave him faint crinkles around his eyes and bulging arms which stood out so keenly against his white T-shirt. He was beautiful, completely and utterly breathtakingly handsome.

‘Hi,' he said, smiling shyly, not moving from the doorstep, ‘it's great to see you, Tink.' She felt sixteen again, wanting to cross her eyes and make a fainting joke to Letty and Em, just as she had when she told them he'd asked her out. Her senses were going wild but she had to sit on them.

‘Hi,' she said, breezily.

Then boom. ‘You look amazing,' he said, ‘really amazing. Wow.'

Frankie's body tingled all over from her scalp to her toes. There was no doubt about it. The connection with him was still there, she was certain he could feel it too.

He moved towards her and kissed her on the cheek, just missing her mouth. She had to give it to him, it was entirely appropriate. Intimate but not overly so – an austere peck by her ear would've been too stiff. A snog, well, she couldn't even go there or she'd have a hot flush.

She wanted time to stop, so she could breathe him in and save his touch for when he was gone. But remembering Letty's advice, she pulled away so he could follow her in. ‘I've made some lemonade,' she said, walking to the kitchen, desperate for a cold drink to reduce her soaring temperature.

The ice cubes jiggled as they fell into two glasses, new ones she'd bought because all the others had been from their wedding list.

‘Do you want to sit in the garden?' she asked, leading the way, wanting to show some initiative. She was grateful for sunglasses too so she could hide her eyes, which were drinking him in.

‘How you doing then?' he said, settling down onto the other beanbag she'd ‘casually' thrown outside before he arrived.

‘Great, loads of work on, lots happening,' she said, churning out a line she'd prepared earlier. ‘You?' she asked, as aloofly as she could.

‘Same here, mad busy. I'll be glad when autumn comes and work slows down. Although I can't complain really. Business is booming.'

‘How are things at your brother's?' she said, stirring her drink with her straw to make herself look not bothered. Inside though she was, thinking of him sleeping on the couch in the minging student area of Cathays where his brother lived.

‘Jimmy's Jimmy, you know what he's like. Works hard, plays hard, doesn't clear up much. In fact, at all. I didn't know this, but Mum comes to clean at his, and the cheeky bastard doesn't even pay her. So I'm getting her a day at the races, a ladies' day thing, to say thanks.'

‘That's sweet but bet she loves it, having her two boys together,' she said, making sure she kept it about him.

‘Course she does! She can keep an eye on us,' he said, pausing, then, ‘She says hi, she misses you.'

What was Frankie to make of this? Was it a kick in the shin or, dare she believe it, a reminder she was still considered family?

‘I keep meaning to ring her but I'm so busy,' she said, which was partly true. She stuffed more clients into her day now because there was no one to go home to. And the sound of her mother-in-law's voice would make her go over how much she was missing being part of the family.

‘She'd love that. She really would. In fact,' he said, with another pause, ‘that's why I'm here. It's her 60th next week, and I don't know how you feel about it, but we're having a surprise party at the house if you're free?'

Blimey O'Reilly! This was
so
not what she'd expected! She raised her eyebrows because she couldn't trust herself not to let out a whoop.

‘There's about forty coming. We've a DJ, a hog roast and we're putting a marquee up the night before, when she's away with Aunty Liza for a girly thing. I don't know if you feel funny about it, what with us, you know, and it'll mean questions and stuff but…' he said, his voice trailing off, awaiting some kind of sign about how she felt.

Never mind the questions, she thought, this was a brilliant opportunity to find out how he was doing without her. His mother would get tipsy and spill the beans. He definitely didn't have a new woman on the go – if he had she would be going not her. Oh my God, it was all too much! Still, she kept a straight face and ignored his probing. ‘I think it's okay but I'll check my diary and let you know,' she said, already planning a shopping trip to get herself a new outfit.

‘Nice one,' he said, before asking if she needed anything doing because he had his tools in the back.

‘No, I'm on top of it all,' she said, smugly.

‘You're doing really well,' he said. ‘I thought you might be…'

‘A mess?' she said, knowing now was the time to show a smidgeon of vulnerability. ‘Things are better than they were, definitely, and I'm finding my way, but there are still some days when I'm a bit down.'

‘Me too,' he said. ‘It's weird being on your own after years of what we had, some days I think I've made a mistake…'

Bloody bingo, Frankie thought, memorizing his words to relay to the girls later. He wasn't saying he wanted her back, but there was obviously a seed. She knew she needed to be very careful, so she stayed silent.

‘I don't expect any sympathy from you, just so you know. I just wanted to tell you how things are. With me.'

She could feel her spine straightening as she took in his words. But she had to keep her cards close to her chest.

As instructed by Letty to cut things short, she looked at her watch.

‘Sorry, you've got things to do,' he said, standing up. She offered him a smile which said ‘sorry, yes' but of course, there was nothing on the horizon – apart from bouncing on the sofa with glee once he'd gone.

Right on cue, Leonardo walked in with his ears flat against his head. Frankie called him over and as he meowed in her face, she told him: ‘You're not going to believe this, Leonardo, but I have just played an absolute blinder.' Then she grabbed her phone to text Letty that she was a total genius – and to message Floyd to arrange lesson number two. She wanted to perfect the sixty-nine for when Jason pleaded with her to take him back.

‘What we are about to do is sample one of the most erotic experiences on the sexual smorgasmbord,' Floyd said, taking off his trousers and joining Frankie in bed with a bounce.

Erotic? she thought, pulling the duvet up to her chin, what on earth is erotic about putting your mouth anywhere near the bits and pieces which use the loo?

‘You don't look convinced,' he said, examining her in the twilight of her bedroom.

‘There's no eye contact,' she said, ‘you're closer to someone's feet than their head. It's hardly romantic.'

‘Ah, but the sixty-nine is about trust, which I would say is the most important element of romance.'

Frankie stole a glance at Floyd; he had the sweetest look of sincerity on his face. She couldn't equate his expression with the situation: for her, it was as if she was about to sit an exam. On his face.

‘You could even say it's more intimate than sex. It has a seedy image problem, that's all. But when you do it, it's the total opposite of that. It's intense, you're feeding off the other person while they're feeding on you. It's emotional.'

Frankie hummed her disagreement in spite of the warmth and safety of his voice. He loved a gag but there was not a trace of humour; he seemed entirely comfortable and genuine.

‘Why don't you tell me about the time you did it? What happened?' Floyd said, turning on his side to look at her.

‘Promise you won't laugh?' she said, still clutching the covers.

‘I do the jokes, not you. It'll help, perhaps I can work out what it is that's holding you back.'

So she clamped her eyes shut and relived the afternoon on her single bed at Dad's six months into her and Jason's relationship when a fumble had become oral. She'd felt awkward from the off, bewildered by what was expected, embarrassed when he was down there, and clumsy when she'd had a go. She'd ended up detaching herself from her lower half and pretended to come quickly so she could devote herself to his needs. After that, when she found herself in the position again, she'd manouevre herself out of it, suggesting she only wanted to please him.

‘Why did you remove yourself from the situation? Is it because you think it's dirty?' he said gently, willing her to open up with his kind eyes.

‘Not at all, we were both meticulous about cleanliness. He was always showering because of all of the dust and sweat from scaffolding. He smelled lovely. I was just frightened, I suppose.'

‘Of what?'

‘I don't know. To enjoy it? But I couldn't, not when I had Dad's tea to make.'

‘Would you say you had a childhood?'

‘Not really,' she admitted. ‘But what's that got to do with me squirming over the sixty-nine?'

‘I wonder if it's because you didn't feel letting go was compatible with your self-image as having had to grow up a bit too quickly?'

Frankie heard bells ringing in the distance but she turned the volume to mute. This wasn't a sex lesson – it was interrogation! Thinking about the past wasn't going to get her anywhere. And why was he being so serious? Where were his one-liners about ‘le soixante-neuf' – the least she'd expected was a quip about wearing onions and a beret. ‘Look, I appreciate this analysis but can we move on? Like doing what we're supposed to be doing.'