The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green (27 page)

Em slammed the door of her locker. That was that. There was no more she could do but wait to hear if she'd done enough to get the job.

Interview day, and the first day of week sixteen of her pregnancy hadn't started well: her stomach had popped overnight into a proper bump, so she couldn't do up her trousers. She'd scrambled through her wardrobe for something looser, but she'd been the same stick insect all her life. She could hardly turn up in her stretchy waistband tartan pyjama bottoms. So she had crafted a loop through the eye of the buttonhole of her trousers using a hairband and curled it over the button. For the first time in her professional life, she noted, her shirt had been untucked and her suit jacket undone. Before, she knew, this would've thrown her. But having dealt with all that had happened with the baby and Simon Brown, even with her Mum and Dad's decision to go away to Spain, she had felt at ease. Spanners in the works and upsets were still an inconvenience, yet she had learned to go round them. Her heart had still jumped when Simon Brown had wished her good luck, but instead of shutting it down she allowed its warmth to flow into her hand when she shook his. She must've covered miles on the shop floor under the observation part of her interview.

Her task had been to roll out the Back To School range – September was only round the corner. It wasn't just a case of putting out uniform in the clothing section: Back To School was a state of mind for the entire store, from signage in fresh fruit for break-time snacking and stacks of lunch boxes in household, to new lines in stationery and frozen meal deals for busy parents. Through this, she had been problem-solving, project-managing, leading and developing her team as well as directing shoppers to the cat food aisle. It was a typical day and she had felt so at ease that she had forgotten the area manager was watching.

She had been glad to put her feet up for the afternoon with her presentation before the panel. It was on introducing ‘smart shelves' which suggested how to surmount the challenges facing the walk-in retail sector in the light of growing online sales. The market was changing; supermarkets would soon be depots dedicated to deliveries. That meant customers needed a reason to go in-store – and other than smart tech, she also recommended ‘artisan products' and grab-and-go counters. The presentation had been on PowerPoint, so she had had prompts to help her tired brain, and the panel of two men and a woman had nodded and smiled at all the right places.

The last but one question had asked where she saw herself in two years. It had been a dilemma whether to bring up the baby. It wasn't a secret but, by law, she knew they couldn't ask. And she was pretty sure Simon Brown wouldn't have considered that fatherhood had any impact on his ability to do the job.

That's what had convinced her to keep quiet. ‘I have my sights on area manager,' she had said, ‘but my focus would be becoming the very best store manager I could be.'

Finally, they had asked what she would do if someone junior to her got the job. It had been a reference to Simon Brown and she'd expected it. She'd trotted out the line of respecting the decision and wanting to do what's best for the company, but the truth was she didn't know how she'd react: disappointment would be in there, yet it might give way to acceptance or a determination to find another role.

Now, with her interview day over, she was feeling drained. Em sat down on the bench in the ladies' changing rooms to swap her heels for trainers.

‘Em, my darling,' Sly said, as she appeared from the loos and washed her hands. ‘You did well, I hear, very well.'

‘I did my best,' she said, shrugging. ‘What about Simon Brown?'

‘Very strong too. Hey, by the way, did you agree beforehand to tell the panel about the baby?'

Em span around. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Apparently he raised it because, even though there's no policy regarding staff relationships, he wanted it out in the open. And he was brimming with joy, so they said.'

Her head exploded that he'd told them that he was the father. What a bastard. ‘But I didn't mention it! Simon Brown and I, we never discussed it beforehand. I need to explain,' she said, grabbing her stuff and getting up.

‘I'm afraid they've gone, darling,' Sly said. Then she began to backtrack: ‘I'm sure it won't make a blind bit of difference.'

As she left, Sly gave her a compensatory smile as she left. Em threw her a sceptical look.

The door swung shut and Em sat down, alone with her thoughts. How bad she had felt the other night when she'd questioned his kindness. Even Letty, who had more reason to doubt men, had thought Simon Brown wouldn't be capable of such deviousness.

But it was clear now: crystal clear. Counting the ways he'd betrayed her, she began with his oh-so innocent explanation why he couldn't get involved with her. His heart-felt confession that he had a responsibility to Megan, she saw now was just an excuse. The offer to co-parent was a way to appear considerate and supportive, which made him look the caring gentleman. When he left her holding the baby, he would be able to justify to himself and everyone else that he'd been there.

The reality was he would flit in and out of her life, just as he did with Megan's mum. Not once had he said he'd be there for her emotionally; practical help was all he had to give. He knew she loved him and he was toying with her to knock her off balance.

Then by getting her to swap her observation with him so he could go first before the panel gave him the upper hand. He had brought up their baby to spoil her chances – it made him seem accountable, trustworthy and touchy-feely. He would've known she was too private and too professional to have raised it at interview. The panel could read whatever they liked into his disclosure and her concealment; she feared his supposed warmth would make her appear detached, which was just what a manager shouldn't be.

Em imagined Simon Brown ruthlessly rubbing his hands together right now: he'd leached all of her know-how during his secondment and he was almost there. He would get the job.

She had been played good and proper by a wolf in sheep's clothing. Em shook her head at this schoolgirl error: she had allowed her emotions to get in the way. Well, never again. Never. There could be no going back.

How could she trust him? She realized then that she didn't really know anything substantial about him. Em had never been to his house – or his mother's, to be exact. Was it even true that he lived there? Perhaps he'd stayed there when Meg had come over because he could shirk his duties and let grandma take the strain. For all she knew, he might have a bachelor pad with the latest everything.

Em leant down and finished off tying her laces. Or at least she tried to, but her tummy, although it was small, was protruding enough to get in the way. ‘Budge up, prawn!' she said, without even thinking, ‘I can't reach my feet!' Then she stopped.

It was like the sun suddenly coming out after a rain storm, when the earth sighed with happiness. Her brain whirred as it computed what she was feeling. There was a refreshing certainty now after weeks of confusion, which was always a relief. But more than that, Em realized she had reached a depth of understanding she'd never had before. She had dissected her emotions without anyone else's help. This awareness – that's what Letty calls it, she thought, scrunching her brow – meant that she was going to be okay.

She would survive no matter what happened with the job. I've been looking for love all this time, she thought, and it's already here, inside me in this baby. Simon Brown would be permitted his paternal rights without a hint of drama. But she was done with someone who didn't want her.

She nodded once to show that business was taken care of. Then she moved on and started a new list in her head, titled The Baby.

As she began her journey home, Em smiled with pleasure at the prospect of drawing up a lovely spreadsheet with sub-sections such as Things To Buy and Hospital Bag. She had come so far, but there was always room for a list.

Frankie was breathless and slobbed out on the sofa, recovering from an attempt at a run. Flicking through channels, there was absolutely nothing on – the evening ahead would be empty so she might as well fill it doing her accounts.

Just then a scrunched-up face appeared at the window. Floyd's! One hand shielded his eyes from the light and the other waved madly.

Frankie cracked up at the sight of him and she returned the wave like an idiot. Her bruised ego from Saturday night's rejection had faded from purple to beige: but now it was concealed all together by the flush of her belly laugh.

No matter what had happened between them, they had survived it: there was no rollover of negativity, no embarrassed hangover. And let's face it, there had been plenty of opportunity. He'd been true to his word and helped her get through a bad time: they'd had an experience and they'd come out of it as mates. Floyd was just a lovely guy: what she had for him was a soft spot, a platonic affection which burst like a fountain when she saw him.

She jumped up and opened the door.

‘Sorry if I'm a bit sweaty. I've been working out!'

‘Why on earth would you do that?' he said, grimacing.

‘To tone up,' Frankie said loudly and slowly because she was speaking the obvious. ‘Got to look my best for Jason!'

‘You're mad,' Floyd roared. ‘You've got a lovely—'

Then he stopped. He was blinking rapidly and rubbing his neck. Oh my word, he was only flapping!

‘…lounge. You've got a lovely lounge,' he said, looking everywhere but at her. ‘It's all cosy and welcoming, but that makes it sound like it's a bit mumsy and I don't mean that.'

He was blushing now – it was the first time she'd ever seen him flummoxed. Frankie felt a smirk on her lips – how she wanted to tease him! But that'd be cruel and he was suffering enough. It was hardly a crime to pay someone a compliment, and secretly she was thrilled; who didn't like to be flattered?

Then he stared straight at her, knowing he was rumbled. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. ‘You have lovely furnishings,' he said, putting finger guns up to his head to show his embarrassment.

She wanted him to know she was fine with it: that she hadn't thought he'd overstepped the mark or she'd read anything into it. Here she was, after all, with a red face and a shiny topknot; she would hardly think he had the actual hots for her. So she wrinkled her nose and thanked him in code. ‘Once, Jason said he'd pay if I wanted a pair of larger cushions. He didn't mean it nastily. I'd been complaining about the size of mine and he'd offered, as a present. But you know, looking back, I think I'd have preferred it if he'd said my cushions were perfect as they were. So I really appreciate what you said.'

‘What an idiot. Larger cushions would look ridiculous on a sofa that size,' he said, incredulously. Then he remembered why he was there and held up a plastic bag. ‘So, anyway, I've brought you something,' he said, dumping it on the carpet and sitting down, ‘sort of a good luck present. Now that the lessons are over.'

‘Oh, thanks! That's nice of you. Shall I open it now?' He really was a sweetie, Frankie thought, and she had nothing for him. Not even an apple.

‘Nah. Wait ‘til I've gone. I won't be long… Yeah, so, I just wanted to, you know, make sure we were good.'

‘Yes, of course.'

Floyd rubbed the thighs of his jeans, adjusted his T-shirt and then began huffing on his specs to give them a clean. He was faffing for some reason. Ah! Now she got it. He was waiting for her to notice!

‘Your beard! It's gone!' Frankie had the urge to touch his face then, which was so silly – it'd feel as smooth as any other shaved face, like Jason's, so why bother? Besides, she couldn't just touch him anymore – their arrangement was finished. She waited for him to make some kind of ‘back, sack and crack' joke – this was pure Floyd territory. How did he put it? ‘You set ‘em up, I'll knock ‘em in' complete with a header action. But he only rubbed his chin with his knuckles.

‘I decided it was time. A new beginning and everything.'

‘It suits you!' Frankie said, noticing that while he looked younger he seemed older, more serious.

‘Thanks. I hope Sasha likes it. She's back tomorrow,' he said, watching himself pick at a nail.

Frankie's insides lurched. This was the moment she'd been training for. It marked the end point of their journey, and her start line to fly solo without an instructor.

‘It's meant to be a surprise but Em told me. She wanted to give me some notice. Breaking news: Em has insight into human emotions.'

He gave a snort through his nostrils. Then he looked up and his big brown eyes seemed clouded, fearful even.

‘Don't be scared,' she said, softly. ‘It's natural to be nervous but it's not as if she's a stranger. You're getting her back! Be happy!'

He nodded deeply then clapped his hands in preparation to leave. They shared ‘right then, better get on' smiles. But he didn't move.

‘So time to say goodbye,' she said, wanting to liberate him from being on loan. He probably felt a responsibility towards her. That's how lovely he was. So she added ‘go!' for emphasis.

‘Yes, I… er… so… this is it! Bye! Shall we, er…' Floyd stuck out a hand to shake. She felt her shoulders sink with disappointment as she produced hers. Professional to the last; begrudgingly, she admitted, it made him even nicer. But as she went to take his palm, he pulled it away and stuck his thumb on his nose and wiggled his fingers.

‘Got you! As if I'd say goodbye like that,' he said, smiling, stretching an arm out to pull her in. ‘Come here, you silly sausage!'

She felt herself fall into his broad chest.