The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green

by Laura Kemp

  ‘Not to worry about the commune,’ she’d said, ‘we’ll have our own one now! Maybe we can go on a month-long cruise before February.’ Who’d have thought they were capable of doing something so normal? For all their quirks, they knew the importance of family.

  With Floyd and Sasha out buying a ring, Em had the flat to herself – well, almost, what with the baby kicking along to the tempo of her chopping and slicing.

  She’d feared Sasha’s presence would be overbearing on top of Floyd’s giganticness, but she fitted right in. Sasha talked of her travels but not too much, allowing her spectacular photos of deserted beaches, crowded cities and the obligatory selfies to tell the tale of her year out. Instead, she was an eager ear to Em’s situation, listening attentively while she caught up on twelve months of gossip. Floyd wasn’t quite himself, he seemed quieter than usual, he was more thoughtful rather than troubled, but Em presumed it was because he was metamorphosizing into an adult and deliberating his future with Sasha. Or Aunty Sasha as she called herself now ‘to practise for when the baby comes’. Sasha hadn’t mentioned job-hunting yet, but there was no rush with Floyd’s decent salary, and Em suspected, with quite unexpected sadness now that it was on the horizon, that it wouldn’t be long before they moved out together.

  Everything, finally, was slowly slotting into place. The job would be the icing on the cake. But, as Sasha had said, life was better lived in a mindful state of mind. Enjoy the now, Em said aloud, holding tight to the doughy feel of breadcrumbs between her fingers.

  Her telephone rang and she craned her neck to see whose name flashed up. Simon Brown.

  Yet again.

  Since she had mentally backed off, he had begun to pursue her, no doubt out of guilt and shame that he’d used underhand tactics at the job interview. At first, he’d left voice messages asking for her to ring, which she’d ignored, then a couple more stating he hoped her interview had gone well. Still she resisted, even though his friendly voice still set off goose bumps.

  He was simply proving all that Em thought of him now: his ego couldn’t stand her radio silence. And he wasn’t genuinely concerned about her, he was only trying to begin the damage-limitation strategy to justify his loose mouth about the baby before the panel. As her phone fell silent, she vowed she would only communicate with him when it suited her; and then there’d be no chit-chat and no pleasantries. He deserved nothing more – what had he ever done for her?

  She had better things to do, she knew now. Like getting on with the important matter of making smoked haddock Scotch eggs, mini New York cheesecakes and Thai chicken skewers.

  Later

  Frankie

  Frankie put a hand on the metal pole of the glass door and paused when she saw herself. Her chunky shoulder-length bob framed silver powdered heavily black-lashed eyes, sun-kissed cheekbones and a slick of lip gloss. A slim chained choker glistened above her bronzed collarbone, beneath which scooped the neckline of her sleeveless black dress. Smooth, soft and bare knees and legs fluted down into heeled sandals which had a simple strap across her pink toes. And there in her hand, she carried a green clutch bag – and months’ worth of hope.

  She dropped a shoulder and twisted slightly to get a quick flash of her naked back so she could give herself a thrill at daring to go without a bra. Without being big-headed, she knew this was the very best she’d ever looked. Flawless and composed but with a hint of sexy was how she seemed on the outside. Inside, it wasn’t quite as neat; she’d barely eaten all day, save for a sensible cheese sandwich and a mug of tea before she left the house. Her heart was going like the clappers and her mind was even faster, trying to control random panicky thoughts – such as what if he doesn’t turn up, and what if he says he wants a divorce? – with mantras of calm, ‘you can do this’ and ‘stop sweating or your make-up will slide off’.

  When Frankie was hatching this plan, she had intended on asking Letty for some last-minute advice, but she felt confident enough to play this her own way now. Not to mention the fact she was lying low after spying Letty with Floyd. Frankie had reprogrammed herself to think that whatever she’d seen was their business. Okay, she felt very uncomfortable about seeing their heads together, but getting stressed over what may or may not be going on was a distraction; and if anything was, then the overriding feeling she had about it, she told herself, was that of the disappointment and hurt of being left out. And that just highlighted what she really did want: to be reunited with Jason. It was a sign that her and Jason were meant to be.

  She simply had to play it cool, to hint at how she had changed.

  Her hair was a clue, obviously, as were her clothes; conversation would show the substance of her transformation, but the starting point was here at this door which belonged to a champagne and oyster bar in a swanky five-star hotel in town. The kind of bar she’d have once found intimidating.

  As her eyes adjusted to the candlelit restaurant, she scanned all of the heads for Jason, who was always on time. Excitement sprinted up her spine as she prepared herself for the lurch which would come when she saw him.

  But after a circuit of the floor filled with New York-style metallic high stools and tables she realized he wasn’t there. With a dry throat, she checked her phone to see if he’d rung. Nothing. She could feel her whole body wilting at the thought she’d been stood up. Then there was a light touch on her shoulder and she span around to see his irresistible smile. Jason! He was here! Her heart swelled at the sight of him: his dark hair had grown into baby curls, his wide brown eyes were sparkling and he had perfectly trimmed manly stubble which made his full lips seem even more red. Dazzled by his new look and thrown by his sudden arrival, Frankie felt her legs go weak.

  A black V-necked T-shirt emphasized the bulge of his even more muscular arms and hinted at his hairy chest and six-pack beneath, while expensive jeans kissed his hips. The carefully manicured poise she’d spent months cultivating deserted her, and she virtually threw herself at him in adoration – and gratitude that he’d shown up.

  It was the worst possible start.

  ‘Hi!’ she squeaked.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said with feeling. ‘Work.’

  ‘On a Saturday?’

  ‘Paperwork and a contract to finish off.’ Her heart raced at how easily the business jargon fell off his tongue. ‘Anyway, that’s not important. Shall we get a table?’

  She nodded, like a lovesick sap, and felt all floaty. He weaved off and Frankie trotted behind him like a faithful dog.

  Frankie was vaguely aware of something she had to be doing, but all she knew right now was the way his broad shoulders tapered into a strapping back which curved into his strong and athletic bum.

  ‘This place is a bit posh!’ he said as he pulled out a seat for her. A helpless damsel, she took his arm – a million fireworks going off at his touch – and hopped up and grabbed onto the circular table edges to steady herself. Her eyelashes batted in agreement and he waved at the waiter to order drinks. This meant she’d have to talk. The jolt was like being attached to a pair of jump leads; she was going to have to form some words into a coherent sentence without stuttering or drooling.

  ‘Are we doing champagne and oysters then?’ Jason said, picking up the menu. He looked around and she followed his gaze to see flutes of bubbles and plates of grand orange crustacean, with claws and people using pliers to crack through their shells! What the hell had she been thinking, coming in here like she was some sort of sophisticate? She hadn’t managed to try octopus at the tapas bar with the girls, so why did she think she was up to this?

  Think, Frankie, think, she told herself, remember why you’re here. Everything hinged on how she reacted now – if she regressed to her former self, she would never be able to return.

  But if you go for it, if you go with the flow and open up, then you can go forward. And if you show who you have become, then you will have Jason by your side. She knew what she had to do. ‘I’ve never had oysters, but I’d really like to try
,’ she said clearly and tremor-free. ‘Why not?’

  Jason laughed and gave her an impressed smile. Hot damn! She’d done it – she’d cleared the hurdle with ease and he’d recognized it. What’s more, judging by his encouraging face, he was going to join her – she anticipated the thrill of them trying something new together…

  ‘Christ, no. You won’t catch me having oysters,’ he said. ‘I’ve always thought it was a bit weird, you know, swallowing them without having a good chew. Winkles. I’ll have winkles. I like them.’

  ‘Winkles?’ she said, incredulous. He was the adventurous one, not her!

  ‘Yeah, you know where you are with winkles.’

  Jason pointed at exactly what he wanted to the waiter, and ordered two glasses of the house prosecco.

  Prosecco? Frankie hadn’t come here for prosecco! She could have that any day of the week. ‘Actually,’ she said boldly to the waiter, ‘we’ll have a bottle of this champagne, here, the cheapest one, and I’ll have six oysters in pickled ginger, spring onion and soy sauce. Thank you very much.’

  Jason waited until they were alone again to raise an eyebrow at her.

  ‘What?’ she said, lightly, neither wanting to show nor acknowledge the hint of indignation she had felt at Jason taking over.

  ‘Nothing. I just assumed you’d want the prosecco, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, I would normally but not tonight. I just fancied a change.’

  She grinned at him as he nodded slowly.

  ‘You look great, Frankie, by the way, really great. Your hair…’

  ‘Yes, I had it done the other day. I just—’

  ‘Fancied a change?’ he said, smiling.

  She laughed and held up her hands. ‘Yes, exactly!’

  When the champers arrived, she savoured the bubbles tickling her nose and throat – it was like the feeling she’d got when Floyd had kissed her. No. She stopped herself. It was like the feeling of the high she had from taking control of her life.

  ‘What are we drinking to then, Frankie?’

  She wanted to say ‘to us, to you coming home with me, to love’. Instead, she came up with ‘To fancying a change.’

  As the alcohol sank in, she began to focus on the now: to soak up her surroundings with each of her five senses. It was as if Floyd was on her shoulder, giving her direction, in a mindful masterclass of zen.

  Then came the oysters. This was a test of her daring and with Jason’s eyes on her, she went for it, forking one in its shell. The nerves had gone: she felt decadent. With a one-two-three, she swallowed it whole. Whether it was the aphrodisiac effect or the buzz of stepping into the unknown she wasn’t sure, but Frankie felt divine. Sliding down her throat, it had tasted silky, elegant, salty and spicy – it was the most sensuous eating experience of her life.

  She took another and presented it to Jason’s mouth. ‘I dare you,’ she said, feeling flirty and fantastic.

  He looked at her and appeared to be sizing up what this offer meant. Of course, it meant everything: from the childish laying down of a gauntlet and letting her take charge, to the intimate invitation to follow her down a path and to give in to pleasure. ‘Frank, there’s something I need to say before…’ She lowered her hand. ‘…about me sleeping with someone else. It was meaningless. I just wanted you to know. I wish I’d never bothered.’

  Frankie waited for the pain to hit her again. But it didn’t come and neither did any jealousy: instead she felt sorrow and a disappointment on his behalf that he hadn’t had the journey she’d had. ‘It’s okay,’ she said, really meaning it, ‘I’ve learned a lot too.’ But that was as far as she wanted to go; she wanted to feel the now not the past.

  ‘I just don’t want you to think I ever stopped loving you because I haven’t. And I never will.’

  Having Jason’s undivided attention was like having the sunshine all to herself.

  ‘If you give me the chance, I’ll make it up to you, Tink,’ he said.

  Her heart soared as she considered just how wonderful it could all be. ‘You don’t need to explain,’ she said softly. ‘Tonight’s all about fun. Let’s just forget we’re husband and wife; let’s pretend we’re on a date and get to know each other all over again.’ Then Jason closed his eyes and opened his mouth to receive the oyster.

  Meanwhile…

  Letty

  Letty’s eyes went round and round, following the tray in the microwave in a circle going nowhere.

  Just like me, she thought, yawning, as she leaned her head on the machine’s glass door, waiting for the ping to make her jump and prove she was still alive. She felt anything but at the moment, for she was trapped in a flatlining malaise of boredom.

  Saturday night and she was alone, reheating a meal for one. It wasn’t meant to be like this, she thought. Or was this sluggish can’t-be-arsed a common taboo of coupledom that no one talked about? No fucking wonder, she thought, who’d confess that?

  Lance was due back late after a PT course to learn some new technique or other. He had told her what, but Letty hadn’t been listening. He’d said for her to go out and not to wait in for him, but she didn’t want to see anyone or go anywhere. There was nothing on telly, she couldn’t find a book to read on her Kindle, and she had no energy for a run. She felt vacant and empty. Lonely too, even though she was living with someone. It just didn’t make sense.

  PING! Sighing at the prospect of eating a crap lasagne, she took out the black tray with her fingertips, examined its plastic melted cheese surface and chucked it straight in the bin. Food wasn’t the answer. What she needed was to feel something other than this drab is-this-it? Something that would get her adrenalin going and her pulse pumping – to make her cheeks pink and her chest flushed. With a burst of longing, Letty knew exactly what would do all of those things. But she couldn’t; she was in enough trouble as it was.

  Her hands twitched and she stuffed them into the back pockets of her skinny jeans. Dampen down the urge, wait for the desire to pass. But oh, how she yearned the thrill of the chase, closing down on a target and seizing it whole. The acquisition was the perfect moment, before you had the chance to see its flaws; it represented the thing you most desired in the world and it made your life complete.

  ‘Now look at that, Letty,’ she said out loud, ‘one mention and you feel alive again. How can it be harmful if it makes you feel so much better?’ Just one go, she told herself, as a treat because you did take back those Vivienne Westwoods. She went to the drawer where she kept her important bits and pieces. She rifled slowly through batteries and screwdrivers, lighters and paperclips, but there was no sign of it. It was an envelope she was looking for, had it slipped out the end? Feeling irritated, she opened the cupboard beneath to check: nope, not there. Back into the drawer, her fingers now busy and fast. Cross as she caught herself on a drawing pin. Where the fuck was it? I need it. For FUCK’S SAKE. Hang on, was this it? She got down to eye level to assist her search and there, at the back, was the slightly raised envelope, the one she hid just in case. Her breathing sharp and quick, she threw anything in the way out onto the floor in a shower of Ikea pencils, fake nails and blobs of Blu-Tack.

  Scissored between her fingers, she grabbed it and held it up triumphantly. ‘Ta-da!’ she sang, ripping the envelope open to get her hands on the emergency credit card, and she raced into the lounge for her laptop. Just a few taps and she was on the ascent. Scanning her favourite designers’ websites, she began the search for the thing that would make everything right. It might be a pair of shoes or a dress; whatever it was, she’d know as soon as she saw it. Click, click, click, her eyes flicked quickly from image to image, waiting for the explosion in her brain.

  And then, boom, there it was, a beautiful camel-coloured soft woven leather handbag, reduced from £900 to £500. It was expensive but then it was suede-lined and hand-stitched. She could smell the luxury, touch it even – and she saw herself in a crowd of people, all eyes on her as she held everyone’s attention; not because of the bag
itself, which she wore across her body, but because it was a garnish, signalling she was complete and happy. On top of its beauty, it was actually a bargain if you calculated cost per wear. It would last for years! She could make a few savings here and there to cover it – take a sandwich for lunch rather than buy one, give up her morning latte, ditch the gym membership – she had Lance now after all! And even if it was a bit too much in one go to pay off, she’d have no problem meeting the minimum payment.

  Add to basket, the screen told her, which she obeyed submissively, unable and unwilling to turn back.

  As she went to sign into her account, remembering her username and password like old friends, she countered the guilt and the shame with feel-good affirmations: I deserve nice things, I work hard, they make me feel good…

  ‘Enter credit card details’ popped up. She inhaled deeply – this was the bit that hurt, every time, it made it seem dirty. They’re just numbers, she said, hitting the buttons with force. Then her address, which brought her back on track – the bag will be mine, all mine! Confirm purchase… she closed her eyes and felt them roll back, ready to reach the peak. Her fingers hovered on the mouse pad; her head filled with noise as the demons of doubt – and debt – fought with her desire. The banging got louder and louder.

  Shit. That was someone’s knuckles. Fuck, she said through gritted teeth, who the hell was that? She had been on the verge of a shopping orgasm, and now she was angry and frustrated.

  Throwing open the door, she shouted: ‘Yes?’