The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green

by Laura Kemp

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ she shouted into his ear, feeling the physical connection between them and fighting her heart to press herself against him, her husband. She needed to get out of here.

  ‘Stay!’ he said, their cheeks touching. He was wearing aftershave, she realized, which threw her. Usually he smelled citrusy from his shower gel and deodorant but tonight he had put on something special, something new. It must be for her, she thought, he had wanted to make an impression. She felt herself hover and if he had pulled her in right then she wouldn’t have put up a fight. So she moved before he had the chance and kissed him, picked up her bolero and bag from one of the tables and dashed through the house to the front door. She could flag a cab down as she went.

  ‘Frankie!’ came his voice behind her as she walked down the drive. ‘It’s only quarter to eleven!’

  ‘I’ve got a bridal fair first thing,’ she lied, stopping briefly to face him when she reached the pavement. ‘Say bye to your mum and dad for me.’

  ‘Let me get you a taxi,’ he said, running up towards her. ‘Or I’ll walk you back.’

  ‘No, it’s fine, go back in, it’s your mum’s party!’ The idea of him coming to their marital home was too terrifying: if she was on shaky ground here, it would be worse there. She had to be strict – she couldn’t put herself in such a precarious position, not until she’d finished her course.

  ‘You look stunning tonight, Tink,’ he said, undoing his dicky bow and unbuttoning his collar. Oh God, he looked even more handsome, Frankie thought, and he had a light layer of sweat on his temples which glistened in the moonlight. His hair was longer, no doubt because she wasn’t around to cut it, and she could see the slightest wave forming. It would only be a few weeks and his baby curls would unfurl and he would have exactly the same style as when she first set eyes on him. She was paralysed, knowing she should go but mesmerized by him and their shared history.

  ‘I need to tell you something,’ he said, ‘so we can try to sort this out… you see, I’m missing you. Badly.’

  Her ears filled with the thud of her heart as he wiped a tear from his cheek. Was this the moment when he asked her back? Was this when everything she wanted became true?

  ‘I’ve slept with someone else,’ he said, his voice cracking.

  Oh, no. No, no, NO. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. What about all the attention he’d shown her tonight and the unmistakeable bond between them? She felt a nausea rise and the urge for fight or flight.

  ‘What do you mean? With who? When?’

  ‘No one you know. The other week. I wanted to be honest, not being straight is what got us here in the first place and…’

  The cheek of him giving her a lecture on bloody morals. And what a fool she’d been, to think he’d meant it when he said he’d missed and mourned her. His tears were out of guilt, nothing more! She put her hands over her ears – she didn’t want to hear any more. The image of that surfer chick appeared before her. She couldn’t say anything because she didn’t want to show she’d been snooping about on Facebook. She had to go. Now.

  Adrenalin racing, Frankie kicked off her heels and picked them up in one hand and with the other, she took the hem of her gown.

  ‘I had to tell you in case you found out from someone else,’ he said urgently as he realized she was preparing to go.

  He was a bastard. Floyd was right, she thought, beginning to run, her bare feet smacking the tarmac. Images from the night flashed before her then became blurred as tears fell. He had charmed her out of guilt and to soften the inevitable blow when he made his confession. And his plea for her to stay was merely a way of putting off the moment.

  ‘It didn’t mean anything. I promise,’ he shouted as she turned the corner.

  Tuesday Afternoon

  Em

  This week, Em said to herself, your baby is the size of half a banana. Or what’s left of this Danish pastry, she thought, examining her late-afternoon snack beneath the stark strip lighting in her office. Really, she should be treating her body better than a rubbish bin, but she wanted – no, she needed – sugar. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by the older women on the checkouts, who predicted she was having a girl. Apparently, they said, if you craved savouries, it meant you were having a boy. She was dreading it when her bump became public property and she would be subjected to the analysis of how she was carrying: neat for a boy, spread all around for a girl. People were already asking her what flavour she wanted! As if she had a say in the matter, she would think. All she cared about was that her baby was healthy.

  That was the annoying thing about being pregnant, Em thought, everyone felt they had the right to comment based on old wives’ tales. Leave it to medical science, she had wanted to scream at Paula on checkout number seven.

  But she was being unfair. Not that she would admit this to anyone, but the magic of procreation had begun to creep up on her. It wasn’t just a biological process which combined the genetic material of two organisms! How her body knew what to do, to divert all the nutrients to nourish her baby, was miraculous.

  Here we are, in week fourteen, Em thought, and baby already has its own fingerprints. It’s learning to use its facial muscles too through squinting and grimacing. Like mother, like baby, she thought, reflecting on today’s meetings. The morning ones had been fine but after lunch, her head had been fuzzy. Was this the famous baby brain that Paula had warned of when she bought her Danish pastry?

  As much as Em wanted to poo-poo this damaging and hysterical notion that pregnant women couldn’t think straight, she had found herself scrabbling for words and drifting off in the midst of sentences. What if this happens at the interview? Perhaps that’s what distracted her, she tried to convince herself as she finished her cake in one large gulp. She had only learned of the date of her interview – in a fortnight’s time – at lunchtime. The format was a presentation before a panel in the morning, followed by an observation in-store by an area manager in the afternoon. Sly had let it slip that Simon Brown was to be interviewed on the exact same day but in reverse. It was a clear sign that they were considered the strongest candidates; it gave the decision-makers the chance to compare them like-for-like.

  How was she going to be able to keep herself together? And by then, she would be two weeks more pregnant and even more scatty. She had clearly lost her ability to compartmentalize her mind: in truth, her thoughts hadn’t been on the interview during the meeting – she’d been thinking about going shopping for maternity bras because her pancake boobs had turned into cupcakes.

  Em felt as though she’d lost her edge and a thought sidled up to her: what if she withdrew from the interview? What if she counted her blessings? She could remain deputy manager on a decent wage with no surprises. It was going to be hard enough being a single mum without the added stress of going on maternity, then returning to a job she’d barely got her teeth into. Pride was all well and good but her number one priority had to be her child. If Simon Brown became manager and it was too difficult working for him, she could always apply elsewhere or get a transfer.

  Just then an email arrived from him, with the subject entitled ‘Work In Progress – suggestions?’.

  Em felt a surge of anger that he thought he could ask for her advice. I’m not bloody helping him, she thought. Was this how it was going to be from now on? Would she always feel cross towards him and be unable to bear how oblivious he was to her feelings?

  Scanning down the message, her chest began to quickly rise and fall as she absorbed his words.

  Dear Em, How are you doing? It was good to see you the other day. I’ve been thinking a lot about the baby and I really want to play my part. Obviously, it’s entirely up to you how we do things but I have an idea. Do you know anything about co-parenting? It’s when parents are equally responsible for a child, splitting financial, emotional and practical care right down the middle.

  Well, that makes sense, she thought, although their working hours would dictate who had the baby. Until
she got to the next bit: he was floating something so ridiculous that she smacked the desk with her palm.

  I could move in for the first few months, because the early days can be tough. I can take paternity leave as soon as the baby is born. I’d go in the spare room, obviously!

  She was so astounded, Em found herself mouthing the word ‘obviously’ into space with a grimace.

  I’d be around to cook, wash, change nappies, help with feeds, depending on what you decide. It’s not just for you, I wouldn’t want to miss out on those precious moments which I had with my daughter.

  And, just to clarify, he would pay rent. Nice, Em thought, tasting something bitter in her mouth. He was going to too much trouble to emphasize they were ‘co-bloody-parents’ and it hurt. How dare he send this jolly little note on the day they found out they were going head-to-head at work? Damn right it was going to be difficult in the first few weeks of being a mum, so why would she want him there to see her at her very worst? How could they live together and share the most magical moment of her life when she was in love with him? She would manage by herself, even if she wasn’t sure right this minute that she could. And she’d fight every inch of the way for the job.

  Thursday Night

  Letty

  ‘Why are you in your “personal trainer” vest? I’m not paying for this, you do realize!’ Letty said as they limbered up in the hallway for a run.

  ‘It’s just advertising, beaut,’ Lance said, shrugging, ‘If anyone asks, just say we’re on a PT session. It’s good for people to see the magic I’ve worked on you!’

  ‘Cheek!’ But she lapped up his compliment because she was as contoured as a Kardashian’s cheekbones.

  Lance made her dizzy with a kiss on the mouth. Then he set his GPS watch and gave them a 3-2-1 countdown.

  ‘Go!’ Letty said as she shot off out of the door and into the warm evening. She squealed at the sound of his feet catching up and they settled into an easy jog as they crossed the road to follow the river path through the acres of Llandaff Fields.

  Letty had to work hard to stop herself inhaling a cloud of midges, such was the size of the indecent grin on her face. Life with Lance was wonderful – he’d only been here a few days but she knew this was it. Just as they ran in sync, everything else they did shared a rhythm.

  Their bodies were knitted together in sleep and their wake-up calls were slow, intense acts of love made in that blissful place between dreams and consciousness. Breakfast had used to be a solitary rush but now it was filled with sunshine as they sat eating muesli and drinking healthy smoothies. He would run her into work, meet her for lunch then be waiting at home with something cooking and a glass of red so she could unwind and tell him about her day. It was bum-clenchingly smug – in the past, if anyone was describing this set-up to her she would’ve cringed and pretended to poke two fingers down her throat. Yet now it was happening to her she understood how love made the mundane magical: a cup of coffee on her dressing table waiting for her when she got out of the shower was proof he was here in her life at every level. There’d been no changes at work and she still owed thousands, but Letty was too caught up in her personal life to worry about that at the moment. All in good time.

  There was something she was a bit apprehensive about though: playing stepmum. She hadn’t realized Lance’s son would be staying over every other weekend, possibly a night in the week too. When it came to children, they were as foreign to her as a savings account. But Lance was sure she’d love Eddy when she got to know him. How could she not? His father was amazing! The way he spoke about Eddy, he was so proud. And she had thought Eddy looked dead cute in the photos he’d shown her. Most of all she was excited to see him ‘being dad’ – the thought of it made her feel all squishy.

  Then again, he made her feel squishy most of the time.

  Anywhere and everywhere, she found herself bringing him up in conversation, ‘Lance thinks such-and-such about that’ or ‘Well, Lance and I, we did this, that, the other’. It was mortifying how dull she had become – but it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. And it was about time she introduced him to the girls. They’d been surprised at how swiftly things had gone, with Lance moving in, but fair play to them, they took it as a sign that it was love. And luckily for Letty, Frankie’s sex education was proving more sensational, more attention-grabbing: Em was more agitated by that than Letty’s descent into domestic bliss. Frankie had refused point blank to say who he was: only that he was a friend who was helping her out. How funny that it was Frankie who was making the headlines and not her!

  ‘Hey, Lance,’ she said, when her breathing had settled down enough to talk, ‘I want you to meet Em and Frankie, now you’ve made an honest woman of me.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ Lance said, easily, ‘I’d love to. We can all go for a slap-up meal, eh, what do you reckon? A classy place, nice wine, fancy menu…’

  ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘What are you on about? It’ll knock their socks off!’

  ‘I don’t want them impressed or amazed – save that for my mam.’

  ‘Now I’m confused.’

  Letty pulled up to make her point. ‘These are my best friends, Lance, I want them to see you as you are, the person I fell for, a decent bloke, not some flashy bastard. They’re the most important people in my whole life!’

  But Lance was having a blond moment – he didn’t seem to get it judging by the way he was scratching his chin.

  ‘Don’t you have anyone in your life whose opinion matters?’ she tried again.

  ‘You?’ he said, hopefully.

  She sighed with exasperation.

  ‘I think this is Sheila stuff, if I’m honest,’ he said.

  It was time to change tack. ‘So who helps you out when the shit hits the fan? Who’s there for you when you most need someone? For support?’

  Lance shrugged. ‘Me, I guess. I just get on with it. Keep going.’

  Letty crossed her arms and ground her foot into the floor carpeted with dead twigs and leaves, unsatisfied with his answer. ‘But the people you left behind in Australia, your family, your mates, don’t you miss them?’

  ‘I left a long time ago, people move on. There’s nothing there for me. I’ll never go back, Letty. Why would I? I’ve got you and Eddy here,’ he said.

  She couldn’t believe he could be so matter-of-fact. Things were so simple to him. Her life had been full of twists, turns and dead ends. But maybe he was showing her it didn’t have to be like that from now on. To learn to trust herself, that she would find a way. Perhaps all she had to do was ‘go straight to go’.

  ‘So what were you thinking then, about the girls?’ Lance asked.

  ‘Something cosy. Next week. What night suits you?’ she said, setting off again towards the sun set.

  ‘Letty, I can’t do nights, you know that, my schedule is chocka,’ he said.

  ‘But we’re out now, doing this, you’ll have some evenings won’t you?’ she said in hope.

  ‘I cleared my diary this week to spend time with you, to settle in. From next week, it’s back to the hard yakka, I’m afraid. The bulk of my work is done at night-time, it’s just the nature of the beast.’

  Letty was silent, she felt winded because she wanted to spend every available minute with him. The crunch of their feet hitting gravel made her think of a clock ticking, as if she was listening to a countdown of the honeymoon period.

  ‘Come on, Letty, it’s not that bad,’ he said, elbowing her as they ran. ‘We can do lunch. What’s a few evenings when we’ve got the rest of our lives?’

  He was right, she realized. This relationship wasn’t going to be conducted along the same lines as those preceding it, when insecurity and fear made her erratic and paranoid. No, her and Lance were for the long haul.

  A surge of happiness and positivity filled her. So she picked up the pace, knowing he wouldn’t leave her side.

  ‘Race you home!’ she shouted into the breeze.


  Meanwhile… Lesson Three

  Frankie

  ‘Well, he-llo there, sexy!’ Floyd said as Frankie opened the door in stained joggers and a baggy T-shirt. She’d been doing some gardening and hadn’t bothered to get changed: it was a sign of the deep malaise she’d felt ever since she’d found out Jason had been unfaithful.

  ‘Ready for spanky bot-bots?

  She sniffed, turned her back on him and walked off into the lounge where she collapsed on the sofa.

  ‘I’m not in the mood. I should’ve cancelled. I’ve been caught up in a few things. Forgot you were coming actually.’

  ‘Oh, shit, what’s up?’ Floyd said at the doorway. ‘Or… I can go if you want?’

  Frankie let out a long sigh. She felt like a saggy balloon letting out its last breath. ‘You’re here now. You may as well have a cuppa,’ she said, bracing herself for one of his ‘hilarious’ quips.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he said, going into the kitchen, from where he shouted. ‘Who said, ‘I’d rather have a cup of tea than sex?’’

  She rolled her eyes at Leonardo, who had just pounced on her lap for some attention. Floyd was so predictable. ‘I don’t know,’ she answered in a monotone voice, the one people used when presented with a bad gag, ‘who said, “I’d rather have a cup of tea than sex?”’

  ‘It’s not a joke. I was thinking aloud. It was Boy George.’

  A minute later she had a mug in her hand.