The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green (35 page)

Frankie's eyes filled with tears at the way she had always sided with Dad.

‘I'm very sorry we didn't say anything sooner. I thought you might perhaps have guessed, not many straight men name their dogs after Judy Garland, do they? But it's not all bad...'

She looked up quickly. ‘What do you mean?' Because if there was any good to have come out of it, she was so sad she needed to hear it.

‘Well, I have a friend.'

Frankie's jaw nearly fell on to her lap. To hell with the years of not knowing, Dad had a boyfriend! So thrilled he wasn't lonely, Frankie bear-hugged him.

‘That's why you didn't want me to bang on about online dating!' she crowed, clapping her hands. ‘So who is he?'

‘Well, believe it or not, it's… Gareth.'

Frankie swooned at the sweet sight of her dad's bashful blush as he'd said his name. ‘Gareth? The painter and decorator? This is classic. I thought you were just mates!'

‘No. Well, we are but it's more than that. We're coming up to our five-year anniversary.' He was brimming with pleasure and pride.

‘Five years!' Her parrot impression was coming on very nicely, she realized.

‘He's got his own key. He lives with his mam, she's not too good so he's her carer, but he stays over twice a week and he can come and go as he pleases. It suits us very well. One day, he'll move in I'm sure, but not yet. We all need to get used to the knowing.'

Frankie hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. The complete opposite of what she'd first thought, it all made sense – all of it. Dad was a messy so-and-so yet the house was always spick and span thanks to Gareth. Dad had no style yet the new kitchen was tasteful. That was Gareth's influence. And the notes Dad left when he went out weren't for her, they were for Gareth. It was just like any other established relationship, yet by the looks of Dad they still had a spark.

‘Does Mum know?' she asked.

‘Yes, love, she does. And she's very happy for me, for us. You see, your mother and I, we know we've made a mess of it but, believe me, we only ever had you in mind. That's why we meet up, to talk about you, we'll always be tied together in that way. Your mother will forgive you, she's a wonderful lady.'

‘I need to see her,' Frankie said, bursting from her seat, kissing Dad and racing to the car. The ten-minute drive to Mum's was usually one she did reluctantly, but now she was pressing down on the accelerator, desperate to see her, nipping left and right on the fly-over to Penarth Marina.

She screeched to a halt outside her townhouse and beat the door with the palm of her hands. Mum's face appeared, she looked bashful.

‘Did Dad ring?' Frankie breathed.

‘Yes, love...I... We should've said.'

‘It's okay,' Frankie said, hesitating before making a move then throwing herself into the arms of the woman who'd been Dad's rock, who'd stayed put when she could've turned him into a freak show. To the woman who'd suffered depression and humiliation to keep her in a family unit. To the woman who struggled to be maternal but who was still her mum. She wasn't a model parent, far from it, but she was stoic and selfless, had put everyone else's needs above her own for years – without once making profit from it when she had every right to slap Frankie down when she gave her a mouthful.

Her mum's body was bony and stiff, as if she didn't know what to do. Then, as Frankie hung on, she felt her mother slowly relax.

‘I'm sorry, Mum, I really am,' Frankie said, feeling the deepest sorrow for taking sides. Had she been told, she might have behaved differently but then, even worse, she might've blamed Dad.

As she sobbed into her mum's hair, Frankie realized she'd run to her mother for the first time in her life.

Em felt like a dried prune after four hours of talking in the windowless, air-conditioned training room.

As part of the indoctrination of new recruits, the sessions were always conducted within these four white walls, complete with deliveries of polystyrene coffee and biscuits. There was so much to get through and if they were ‘released' for anything more than loo breaks, someone would always get lost. The intensity of it helped bond the staff and Em got to identify those who showed promise.

Afterwards, she always wanted some air. Shuffling papers and shutting down her presentation software, she promised herself – and the baby – a lunchtime walk. She felt a little flutter in her tummy, which she took as a high five; the prawn was going to love the outdoors, just like her.

‘Sorry, not just yet,' she said to her bump, ‘I've got to drop this lot back in my office first. Then we'll be free!'

‘Talking to yourself is a sign of madness,' said a voice behind her.

Her heart skipped at the same time as her insides recoiled.

Em looked over her shoulder to see Simon Brown grinning at her from the doorway, resting on it with his arms crossed, looking very pleased with himself. What was he doing here?

‘I was talking to the baby,' she said, coldly. ‘Research says it helps with bonding.'

Then she got on with her tidying-up, willing him to go. It was infuriating how the sight of him made her feel things. It was a domino run of emotion starting with the instinctive tumble of attraction and love, which knocked into disappointment at herself, then battered into the mental turmoil of his betrayal. But at least now, she told herself, she had a new ending: bitterness may be in the place of hope, but she was working on going forward to build a life for her and the baby. If only he would let her get on with it and stop texting.

‘Aren't you going to congratulate me?' he almost sang. ‘I've got the job.'

Em felt herself plummet as if she was in a broken lift going down, down, down: there was no pleasure in knowing she'd been right about him. She shut her eyes and counted to ten. The email from head office about the manager's post must've landed while she had been training. Why couldn't they have given her a heads-up? It was a sign of how little they thought of her. But worse than that was that she'd lost out to Simon Brown. No, not lost, been played by him. He'd taken what was hers: she wanted to crumple down onto her knees and cry. But he was the father of her child and her new boss.

Digging deep for dignity, Em swivelled round, straightened her neck vertebrae and met his excited eyes to give him a contained ‘very well deserved'.

Surely he could find a shred of decency to accept her words and leave?

But no, his smug mouth was twitching with mirth. She wished she had never set her eyes on him. Then to her absolute disgust, Simon Brown burst out laughing. Grotesque convulsions made their way from his Joker face to his shaking shoulders, past his swinging tie, into his hands which slapped his legs and made him bend double. It ignited the rage that had been building ever since the interview.

‘How dare you, Simon Brown,' she roared. ‘How dare you befriend me then use me?'

Simon Brown quivered as if her words had tasered him.

‘How dare you use our baby against me in the interview for your own benefit? How dare you even bring it up without consulting me?'

He was cowering now and she felt the satisfaction of getting everything off her chest.

‘You have shown your true colours and I'm very sorry indeed that you are the father of this beautiful, innocent life growing inside me. How dare you, Simon Brown!'

The rush of release meant she didn't care that she'd broken her vow to keep things civil. A man like him needed to be told that she would not be pushed about.

‘And I wish to inform you,
boss
,' she said with her nose held high in defiance, ‘that I will be requesting a transfer. Now, if you will excuse me.' Em picked up her things then marched towards him.

‘Em!' he said in a very unbecoming high-pitched voice.

‘What?' Em hissed, coming to a halt inches from his panic.

‘Haven't you seen the email?' he said, his eyes wide. ‘I didn't mean I got THE job. I meant I've got YOUR job – I'm going to be deputy manager. You've got the actual JOB JOB, the manager's position.'

Panting from his gabble, his arched eyebrows pleaded for a sign she understood. He was crouching in such a manner that Em wondered if he was on the verge of wetting himself. And then it hit her.

One hand went to her open mouth, the other went to her bump. Her files scattered all over the floor and her legs felt as wobbly as a newborn giraffe's.

‘You. Have. Got. The. Job. Do you read me?' he said, nodding fast and furiously at her.

‘Nooo!' she whispered, feeling her nostrils stretch with her disbelief.

‘Yes!' he said, staggering back to standing as the surge of fight or flight finally passed. They both took a second to recover. Then tears sprang to Em's eyes.

‘I've done it!' she said. ‘I'm crying. I don't normally cry.'

She buried her face in her hands and saw herself as the sixth-former on the check-outs, the student on the deli and the employee on the payroll. Walking all of those miles in store, getting up before the crack of dawn, getting home in the pitch-black – it had all paid off. She began to compose herself, after all, she was the gaffer now! But, oh dear, she remembered in ghastly surround sound what she had said to Simon Brown just minutes before.

If she had the job, then his plan had back-fired. And he didn't seem disappointed. Or was it possible that she had got the wrong end of the stick? It wouldn't be the first time. Please, no, she thought, what if I've read it incorrectly? What if Simon Brown isn't the menace she thought he was, and now she was going to have to see him day-in day-out and be reminded of her screeching idiocy, until he or she left. Or he might make a complaint to HR. She might be disciplined or, more likely, sacked. Quick, she thought, she had to find out right now what had happened in his interview.

‘Why did you tell the panel about the baby?' she asked. She didn't have time to beat around the bush.

‘Because I wanted to notify them that whatever happened I'd be looking at taking extended paternity leave – I wanted to give them notice of my intention of being there for the baby.'

Simon Brown appeared to be telling the truth.

‘And why would you have wanted to do that?' she said, narrowing her eyes. She needed to sort this out for once and for all.

‘So that you could go back to work, after a few months off with the baby, if you wanted to. If you didn't want to have the entire responsibility. We'd talked about co-parenting, hadn't we?' He spoke slowly and clearly as if he knew he had one chance to explain.

‘Yes, we had but you could have done me the courtesy of giving me notice that you'd bring it up instead of wading in like that.'

Could she trust him, she wondered? Hold tight, she told herself, not yet.

‘I was trying to do the right thing. Honestly.'

‘And why would you have wanted to do that?' she asked, again. Spell it out to me, she wanted to cry, daring to wonder if there was a greater reason.

‘I only ever wanted the deputy job. I told them that. And that you were the best person for THE job.'

‘And why would you have wanted to do that?'

Her heart was racing as she drew closer to the truth.

‘Because… oh, Em…'

There was something about his flushed cheeks and shy eyes which made her wonder if he was about to say something momentous. She waited, willing him to throw off his reserve.

‘Because… you're going to be a fantastic boss.'

‘A fantastic boss,' she said, weakly, feeling her heart wither. Despite everything, she still had feelings for him and she'd hoped he'd felt the same. How could she have even thought he would say anything else?

He produced a hand to shake and she took it; this would have to do and once her hormones had settled, she would be able to cope.

This moment, at the very least, marked the outbreak of peace – and what more could she wish for for her baby? She had the job, he had hers, and their child would be blessed with security and love.

‘And you are going to be a fantastic deputy, Simon Brown,' she said as if it was an olive branch. ‘We'll make a great team.'

His lovely plain face, one that most people wouldn't be able to pick out of a crowd, lit up like a lighthouse. He would always be special to her, that was a fact and she just had to accept it. It would be a strange path to navigate as friends, colleagues and parents. But being realistic, knowing who she was, she couldn't expect anything else.

Then it all turned a bit weird.

His lovely plain face sort of melted as if he was a triangle of wilting Brie that had been left out for too long. And still he kept hold of her hand. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and his pupils were the size of those cappuccino saucers they had in the homeware aisle.

‘What is it?' she asked him, unnerved. ‘Is there something wrong?'

She touched her nose to check for bogies but it was clear.

‘Nothing,' he said, his eyes watering. ‘Nothing's wrong at all.'

‘Right,' she said. He'd gone a bit cross-eyed. Was it his allergies? It was dusty in here.

‘If you need to get your inhaler, that's fine,' she said as her hand slipped from his sweaty palm.

‘I do feel a bit…' he said, patting his chest.

‘Well, I'm a trained first aider so—' She tried to manoeuvre him to sit down but he began to protest.

‘Em! I'm fine! Look, for God's sake…' he said, making her start with this out of character display of emotion. ‘I mean, what I'm trying to get at… is this… I can't hold it in anymore… I love you. I always have done, since the first day we met by the world cheese display.'

No, no, no, no. He was wrong, she thought. ‘It was the Cheddar section. I remember distinctly we were beside the mature, medium and mild lines when we were introduced.'