The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green (24 page)

‘Not yet. She'll love it though. Sarah, her mum, she knows and she wanted to leave it up to you and me.'

Em was taken aback that her body had been discussed in her absence. ‘You get on then, with Sarah?' Or did it rankle that he had brought up his former wife?

‘Just because we aren't together doesn't mean we can't be grown-ups,' he said, gently. ‘We never had a bitter break-up, we just weren't right for one another. Some people treat their kids like pawns when they split up – we would never have done that with Meg. And Sarah's bloke is on board with it, he's as much a father figure as I am.'

‘What? Aren't you perturbed by your daughter being brought up by someone else?' To her, it was clear cut: children had a mother and a father and that was that.

‘He's a great guy. Meggy adores him. No kids of his own so they're really close. Meg's being brought up by all of us. What kind of message would we be giving her if we were having petty fights about access? As Meg sees it, she's got three parents who love her rather than two or, worse, one.'

Em found herself nodding even though she had never considered this before.

‘We even spend Christmas together. Not the whole day but we're all there for dinner. It's important.'

‘But how does it work?' Because perhaps it might work for her too.

‘Meg comes first, always. Whatever decision we make, it's in her best interests. For example, they're buying the house off me and he'll move in when it's gone through. They thought about a new place but it's her home.'

‘So where will you live?' Em asked, wondering where he fitted in.

‘I'll stay at Mum's for a while. I don't want to rush into anything. I need to be near Meg plus there's the baby. And work. It'll sort itself out.'

He made it all sound so easy.

‘Anyway how are you and the Work In Progress?'

Em failed to control a burp which came up without warning. She was mortified in the face of his composure.

‘Full of indigestion?' he said, trying not to laugh.

‘Yes and I need to wee all the time too. I can't remember the last time I slept a whole night without having to get up for the loo. The afternoons are hard; I get so sleepy.' She'd intended to keep it formal but as ever, in his company she became quite natural.

‘I was going to say to you, about the job interview next week, if you wanted to swap your observation to the morning so your legs are fresh, you know, take my slot, I'd happily do it.'

‘‘Why would you do that?' she said, narrowing her eyes, because that part of the interview was by far more challenging. After all, she wouldn't give a rival the edge. Although at this moment he was as threatening as a piece of cotton wool.

‘Because it makes no odds to me. You deserve the best chance. It's your job, I'm just going for it for interview practice. I don't think for a second I'll get it.'

‘Seriously? I think you could pip me at the post. I'm not taking anything for granted.'

‘That's why you'll get it.'

Em was astounded: he wasn't out to ruin her at all. He wanted to be friends and, while she wanted more, it was better than being her enemy. The way he simplified things and made her believe it. No one else could make her feel able to take a risk apart from him; that's how they had ended up here. Would it be the height of stupidity to take one again?

For the second time in his company, she stepped into the unknown. ‘I was coming here to tell you I wasn't interested in your offer to stay with me, us, after the birth,' she said, laying her hand on her stomach. ‘There's something too unconventional and odd about it.'

He nodded slowly as if he'd been expecting it and she saw his mouth turn down.

‘But hearing how you manage with Sarah…'

‘Really?' he said, his face brightening.

‘I'm unconventional and odd so I think it might be appropriate,' Em said, aware that again she was so open with him.

‘They say it takes a village to raise a child.'

The saying struck her – it was one of Mum's favourites but it had meant nothing before now. Yet Em saw how it applied to her situation: this baby would be cared for and loved by an extended family. Yes, it meant letting Simon Brown into her life, but it was for the greater good: to pull together not apart. Maybe compartmentalizing life made things harder? Perhaps consolidation was the answer. It would need flexibility, but as she rolled the word on her tongue, she realized she quite liked the taste of it. ‘I'll take your slot too, if that's okay?'

‘We'll make this work,' he said as a blur of colour, energy and happiness landed on his lap and announced she was starving.

‘It won't be long,' Em said, imagining her hand rocking a compact buggy by her side. ‘It'll be even better when it comes.'

‘I was thinking, we'll do your usual set but why don't we go for a bigger curl?' Frankie said as she combed through Phyllis' wet hair.

‘As long as you don't make me look like Maggie Thatcher, couldn't stand that woman, what she did to those miners.'

‘I promise! It'll be a softer look, more glam. It's nice to try something new every now and again.' Frankie felt the words roll off her tongue as if she had always been so adventurous.

‘I'm only going to the Harvester!' Phyllis laughed, then she waved her hand and told her to go for it – she was meeting Norman's daughter for the first time and she didn't want to look fuddy-duddy.

‘Ooh, so you're being introduced to the family, sounds serious!'

‘He only wants us to get a double unit so we can live together.'

‘Never!' It seemed quite daring seeing as they hadn't been dating or ‘courting' long – but then time wasn't on their side. It was rather romantic actually.

Phyllis pointed to a photo on top of the TV which showed her and a silver-haired man both in whites holding a trophy. ‘That's him there, it was taken when we won the bowls last week. Norman had it framed. You can see he would've been a looker in his day.'

‘What are you going to do?'

‘Stay put! I'm not doing another man's smalls! No, I'm happy as I am, thank you very much. I'm very fond of him and he can stay over as often as he likes, but that's as far as it goes.'

‘He stays over?' Surely she didn't mean they slept together?

‘Of course he does! You don't stop wanting a cuddle just because you're old.'

‘Oh, right, yes! For a second I thought you meant—'

‘I do,' Phyllis said. Frankie had to put her hands on her client's shoulders to steady herself.

‘I thought that sort of thing… dried up when you…' She fought the urge to pull a face because the image of them at it, doing the things her and Floyd did, well, it was a bit urgh.

‘God, no, desire never fades, it's the glue that holds a relationship together, otherwise it'd be a friendship. It's true all your life, although you might have to take it more slowly when you're getting on. Going to bed isn't something to be ashamed of or embarrassed about, it's an act of love, respect and trust between two people; you bare your soul when you bare your bum!'

Frankie nodded at every single word Phyll said. That was exactly it. She'd discovered this for herself. The act of letting go was liberating because when you were letting someone inside your body, you were letting them touch your heart too. Not that Floyd had done that, of course.

‘It's weird because I've only just sort of realized that,' Frankie said before she understood what her confession meant. But that couldn't mean she liked Floyd more than she knew… could it?

‘Ah, has Jason come to his senses then? Are you back together?'

‘No,' she whispered, before clearing her throat. ‘Jason wasn't the one who taught me all that.'

‘Oh, it's like that is it!'

‘Not exactly,' she said, truthfully because how could Floyd be that ‘someone else', ‘it's complicated.'

Phyll raised her left hand to her shoulder and put it on Frankie's. ‘Let me tell you this: if you don't know what your true feelings are, then sit on them. Ignore them, bury them. That's how you'll know what they are, because one day they'll out.'

Frankie wasn't sure what she meant, but she squeezed her hand anyway because she was a treasure. Then Frankie noticed Phyll's modest gold band which she'd worn for 50 years was gone. ‘Where's your wedding ring? You haven't lost it?'

‘I've taken it off, it didn't seem right when I'm with Norman. It'll be buried with me, I've made sure of that. Life moves on and while I love Dai and always will, I felt I was living in the past.'

The old lady's honesty struck Frankie then and all the way on the drive to Dad's, where she dropped half of Phyll's home-made Welsh cakes. He wasn't in but he must've guessed she'd call by because there was one of his notes, which he always left her if he was going out on the off-chance she'd visit.
Gone to the butchers xxx
, it said. It made her sad to think she was so much in his thoughts: of course, it was lovely to be loved, she was very lucky, but how she wished he had someone special in his life.

Back at hers, she unwrapped her half with Phyll's words ringing in her ears. ‘They're nothing fancy, not showy. But they're made from the heart and perfect with a cuppa,' Phyll had said, so Frankie made a brew and gave Leonardo a fuss.

He swished his tail though when she announced she had to get her laptop because she wanted to email Jason to explain her wall of silence had been because he'd slept with someone else. Keeping the communication going was essential if she was going to get inside his head again.

She opened her emails and scanned through the offers of hair product discounts and messages from customers; she'd deal with them first so she could devote herself to Jase. There was one from Floyd, which was strange, he normally texted. She knew she should get on with her work but the subject line of ‘Lessons Five and Six' was too intriguing. ‘Dear student,' it began.

As you know, we previously agreed to combine lessons five and six. I would like to take you on a field trip on Saturday night to educate you about Dressing Up and Erotica. There is a link beneath my signature to a website from which you should choose an outfit. Please confirm your attendance ASAP. Kind regards, your teacher.'

She smiled at his silly tone and wrinkled her nose at the thrill of a night out. Clicking on the URL, which was www.frenchfancies.com, she wondered what the heck cakes had to do with it. Absolutely nothing, it turned out as the screen went black then flickered into life.

A short film showed a series of women who were apparently getting ready for a glamorous evening. But instead of getting dressed, they were peeling off their clothes to reveal some of the most breathtaking underwear Frankie had ever – or more aptly, never – seen. Extravagant but tasteful, erotic but elegant, the luxurious lingerie hit her right between the thighs.

These women weren't size-zero clothes horses; they were all shapes and sizes. Voluptuous dark-skinned beauties, petite pale redheads and boyish blondes were posed artistically, opposite to the straining chests and bulging booties that you couldn't avoid on billboards, in magazines, online and on TV.

Her breathing quickened as she scrolled through peephole bras, panelled surprise knickers, barely there playsuits, sheer baby-dolls, boned basques, elbow-length gloves, sequinned masks, diamanté paddles, old-fashioned stockings, ornate suspenders and stern hold-ups.

Teasingly shot, you might think you could see a nipple or two, but it was the design of the underwear playing tricks on you. This was all about what you didn't see; it was about the power of suggestion, the art of conceal and reveal. Floyd had understood what would appeal to her. The pouting vamps and showgirls were as far from her tacky and synthetic ‘let's play naughty nursie' nightmare as you could get.

But what to buy? Frankie decided to let her body decide: whatever aroused her, she would go for.

Clicking through the images, she went deeper and deeper inside herself, seeking a fit for her desire.

When her legs squeezed together she knew she'd found the right pair of knickers. Low-slung and black, they were see-through at the sides with a fan of lacy embroidery over the crotch and the backside was dotted with miniature feathers. The throbbing grew when she saw a waspie, a delicate ribbon-tied black corset which began below the bust and sat on the hips, giving the illusion of a dramatic hourglass shape. Frankie picked a strapless sheer scallop-edged peek-a-boo black bra which made her mouth go dry. She thought she was done – until she spied something so beguiling, she had the urge to touch herself. Called pasties, two circles of fabric covered just the nipples, giving a false sense of modesty. What's more they gave a lift to the breast's silhouette in a nod to old-fashioned glamour.

There were tassled ones, heart-shaped ones and sequinned ones, but the pair she fell head over heels with were more delicate: simple on first sight, when she zoomed in she could see an ornate lace trim centred with a tiny ribboned bow. What she loved about pasties was their surprise element: you might think that once the bra was off, that would be it. But no, the illusion remained with another unexpected layer of torment.

Aroused and pulsing, she exhaled as she closed her laptop; she couldn't possibly do her work now, she needed a lie-down. As she did, she realized this had been a lesson all by itself. The act of blending into one person with another wasn't an act of confinement to the boundaries she'd always lived by; those of seeking approval and taking care of others' needs. She was discovering a sensuality of her own.

I do not fucking believe this, Letty said through gritted teeth, as the state-of-the-art buggy jammed yet again.