The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green

by Laura Kemp

  ‘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.

  Thursday, Lesson Two

  Frankie

  ‘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.
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  ‘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.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Floyd said evenly. ‘It’s completely up to you. If you want direction, here goes. To avoid a mechanical sixty-nine, you need to relax, take it slow, listen to your body and mine, think of it like making a circle and our job is to keep it whole.’

  ‘Right, good,’ she said, keenly, because she was glad he’d dropped the psychiatrist act. Then it hit her: they were going to have to touch each other. Nerves sprinted up her spine at the looming prospect of having prolonged skin to skin contact: her bottom half had to be bare but she could at least take comfort in keeping her top half covered. The confidence she’d had from last week’s session shrivelled. It had been a soft introduction, she realized, one that now seemed silly. Even so she had to do this if she was going to execute her plan to get Jason back. If she didn’t at least try, then she could forget even having a stab at saving her marriage. It was time to be brave.

  ‘Cool. Any questions?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said with forced boldness, cringing at what she was about to ask. ‘What do I do when your tongue is down there?’

  ‘Just feel it. So, shall we give it a go?’ he said softly.

  She gulped and gave the smallest of nods. ‘Can I keep my T-shirt on though?’

  At the Same Time…

  Em

  Early, as ever, Em took a walk on the Cardiff Bay Barrage to kill time. She had a spare fifteen-and-three-quarter minutes which she knew would give her the chance to complete a loop of the blowy strip of land which separated the waterfront from the sea.

  Starting at the cafe kiosk, she’d go past the play area up to the locks and back again, all beneath a vast blue sky. By then, Simon Brown would be there and she would have to break it to him. But now, she would seize the dying seconds of his fading ignorance.

  After hours breathing in air con under artificial lighting at work, she felt her chest expand with the scent of salt and the sound of seagulls as the evening sun scorched the path. Day to day, this was her special place, the stand-in for the hills and sweeping landscape she ran to when she was on annual leave. It stretched in a straight line for more than a mile – the linear design soothed her. And it had a purpose: to prevent the city flooding. What wasn’t to like about it? Em could think here, which was why she suggested it to Simon Brown as a rendezvous point. Her home made her feel too vulnerable: it would be a reminder of his one and only visit there. The barrage was only ten minutes away, and she considered it the back garden she didn’t have. The kiosk also did a mean hot chocolate, not one of those fancy artisan fair-trade ones, just a simple blob of squirty cream on top, which she equated with the normal childhood she had always craved. There had been no Cadbury’s at their house, only bitter rainforest cocoa powder, from whichever South American country Mum was currently championing.

  The thought that always came to her here was that when she was a mum, this would be their playground. There would be a wholesome father teaching the kids how to ride their bikes while she supervised the outdoor gym area, followed by lunch boxes of cheese sandwiches and crisps at the picnic tables.

  Fat chance of that now, she thought as a dog galloped past, its tongue hanging out in ecstasy. But who needed a man anyway?

  Squinting her eyes, she saw a jogger up ahead and moved to the right of the path to make way. She was comforted by there being another person on their own like her. Very much like her. Her mouth went dry when she realized it was Simon Brown. Of course it would be him. The reflex of joy she always felt from seeing him was now tarnished by the thought he would be in her life forever now, not out of choice but compulsion. He hadn’t seen her yet so she stopped to wait for him to recognize her. He was on the attractive side of sweaty, she thought. And he was wearing exactly the same outfit as her; trainers, beige walking trousers, minus the zip-off legs, and a base layer T-shirt. It was lucky she didn’t believe in fate, she told herself, wiping her palms on her shorts.

  ‘Em!’ he said, sliding to a halt in a puff of gravel.

  ‘Hi. I was just—’

  ‘Doing a loop because you were early,’ he stated.

  ‘Yep. You too, eh.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Do you want to get a hot chocolate or…’

  ‘Let’s walk for a bit,’ she said, because then she didn’t have to look him in the eye.

  ‘Shall we head back? I’m parked up there and it’s on your way too,’ he said but he swayed back and forth to show he didn’t mind.

  ‘How far have you run?’ she asked, spinning around and setting off.

  ‘Five point eight kilometres.’

  ‘Three point six miles,’ they said in unison.

  Once, this chorus of geekery would’ve made Em laugh but now it filled her with sadness. They were in tune and they thought the same way. How was it they weren’t together? Em wondered. And how terrible it was going to be because she’d always be reminded of it for the rest of her days.

  ‘There’s a bench up there,’ she said, making her way to it and sitting down where she kept her eyes straight ahead, watching the birds and boats in the freshwater lake.

  ‘So,’ he said, settling down beside her. ‘How are you?’

  She was sick of the preamble: she wanted to get it over with. Then they could work out what happened next. ‘It’s yours,’ she said, watching a bird gliding on a thermal way up high. She listened for his reaction. But there was no sharp intake of breath or gasp. Not even an extended silence for him to digest the news.

  ‘I know,’ he said. His voice didn’t quiver – it remained normal, light and soft. Em turned to him then to make sure he’d heard her properly. His eyes were honest and true and she knew he had. ‘When I worked out the dates… it was quite interesting actually because I used a pregnancy calculator predictor which I found online. You just put in the date of conception and…’

  He was rambling and they both knew it.

  ‘I’m due February the—’

  ‘Fourteenth. Or so I believe.’ How suited they were, she thought again, feeling the tragedy anew.

  ‘Given the situation we’re in, it could be viewed as wryly amusing,’ Em said, with zero amusement and omitting Floyd’s suggestion of naming the baby Valentine or ‘Valentino if it’s a dude’.

  ‘You’ve decided to keep it,’ Simon said, evenly. This was the problem with someone as rational as him – there was no reading between the lines and no way of knowing what he really thought.

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t explain straight away. I was-’

  ‘Shocked. I understand.’ The way he had finished her sentence added more pain. ‘I wouldn’t have pressured you, either way. It was your decision to make.’

  He was a gentleman. A frustratingly nice gentleman, Em thought, wishing for once for a show of… something resembling emotion. But she’d been through this with him already, and in her head countless times. He had already turned her down once and he would only do it again. A baby would not bring them together in the way she wanted
. It would be a battle to remain friends, she suspected, because of her feelings. The optimum she could hope for was a relationship without strain; a civil, friendly exchange which put the baby first. Romantic notions would only bring more anguish. But how could they get there? This was what she had to work out.

  ‘I’ll do my bit, obviously, like I do with—’ he added, not even bringing himself to name his daughter.

  ‘I know,’ she said, resigned to the fact he would be a father but not her partner. Even though she knew happy endings only happened in fairy tales, it didn’t stop her feeling disappointed.

  She’d had enough: she didn’t want to discuss this anymore. ‘We can talk again when we need to make some practical arrangements,’ she concluded. ‘And what with your experience, feel free to, you know, make suggestions.’

  ‘Well, I’d like to come to the next scan. If that is okay with you?’

  ‘Of course. You’re the father,’ she said. She expected nothing less from this man who spoke of duty rather than desire.

  ‘Are you taking folic acid?’ he said.

  She rolled her eyes at him. ‘And the rest – no alcohol, soft cheese or caffeine.’

  For the first time he laughed. ‘Obviously. It’s going to be a textbook baby!’

  Em shrugged. She severely doubted it – there was nothing textbook about this situation.

  She chose to read his flippant comment as an acute misjudgement. It was unfair of her as she knew he was only trying to be nice. Even so, if he could be so trite, maybe he wasn’t her soulmate after all. That was how she was going to have to think of him to stop herself loving him. I mean, he’d shown another, harder, ruthless side to himself by being prepared to snatch the store manager’s job from her. This would be the approach she needed to survive.

  A family came into view: the mother was pushing a pram while the father had a laughing toddler on his shoulders. Em had to get away because she couldn’t stand the sight of what she had hoped for.