The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green (20 page)

‘Yeah,' he said, absentmindedly, and that was that.

She tried to engage him with some chit-chat. Had he tried the new bar in Cardiff Bay? ‘Nope.' Did he know Letty was loved up? ‘Nice.' What about Frankie getting a sex teacher to win back Jason? He'd nearly crashed the car then – apparently just as Em had said that, a pheasant had run out into the roads.

He was the same over dinner too, which Mum took as a sign that his chakras were all out. Em noticed he didn't even take the piss when she said that; it was all very strange.

‘This curry is lovely, Dad,' Em said.

‘It's a veggie saag,' he said, then with triumph, ‘featuring our very own spinach no less! The aloo gobi is made from home-grown potatoes and cauliflower too.'

‘Amazing!'

Jingling with her arms of silver bracelets, Mum returned from the kitchen with warm naan bread. ‘And this is from… the supermarket!' she laughed, holding it aloft like a trophy. ‘I haven't quite got round to working the bread maker yet. Hey kids, listen, me and Dad have an announcement to make.'

Em looked at Floyd to see if he was going to chip in with something. This was the perfect moment for him to have a laugh: ‘Are you pregnant, Mum?' ‘Are you a lesbian, Dad?' But the only sign he'd heard Mum was he'd stopped mid-chew.

‘Go on, Alb,' Mum said, looking mischievous, her ice-blue eyes dancing to a beat set by her hips which shook her hennaed shoulder-length waves and dangly ethnic earrings.

‘You say it, Sue,' Dad said, his smile reaching up along his wrinkles to his still dark head of hair. ‘It was your idea.'

They were like a double act, playing off one another, still clearly very much in love. In a world of their own, actually, and what the heck were they going to drop now?

‘Right, well, here goes: we're going to spend three months living in a commune in Spain!'

Em was not in the slightest bit shocked. She sighed with acceptance. This was typical of them.

Floyd though just asked a blunt: ‘Are you serious?'

‘Albie,' Mum said, patting his arm as a sign to ignore Floyd.

‘Well, we love living off the land here so much that we wanted to see what it was like doing it with other people, sort of in a community. Only for an extended holiday. There are some interesting techniques I'd like to learn which I can bring back here.' They'd bought a van, which they were picking up in the week and they'd booked their tickets. Mum beamed – it was really sweet the way she still had such an enthusiasm for things.

‘When do you go?' Floyd said, with uncharacteristic sharpness.

‘February the first…'

Two weeks before her baby was due.

‘…So we've got ages. We'll be here for Christmas and back in time for summer before it gets too roasting there.'

Floyd inhaled dramatically through his nostrils and looked at Em with purpose. She was trying to hold it together. After all these adult years of finding Mum a bit of a pain, the one time she was going to need her, really need her, she wouldn't be here.

‘Come on, you two,' Mum said, sensing the atmosphere. ‘You don't need us like you used to, when you were small, you haven't done for years.'

Em didn't want to crush them with her sadness so she told them how happy she was and she'd help with whatever they needed to buy – sun cream and supplies – with her ten per cent discount at work.

Floyd suddenly stood up and his chair tipped back onto the floor. ‘This is a… bloody… fucking… folly!' he said in a voice which strained with anger. The table went quiet because this wasn't the Floyd they knew and loved. ‘You two need to grow up, you're forever messing about and I just can't believe you're going when Em needs…'

Em shot Floyd a look of warning – don't you dare spoil this for them, it said, and don't even think about breaking my news.

Dad didn't lose his temper very often. But when he did…

‘SIT. DOWN,' he yelled at Floyd.

Floyd did as he was told, realizing he'd overstepped the mark. But his face remained like thunder.

‘We have never stopped you two from doing what you've wanted to do. Never,' Dad spat. ‘We have always let you go your own way, encouraged you to do it, in fact. We've been deliberately hands-off to allow you to make your own choices. And we'd appreciate the same courtesy.'

Floyd pushed his plate away and put his heads in his hands.

‘And apologise to your mother.'

Floyd hesitated as Em prayed he would say sorry. She just didn't understand where his tantrum had come from. Why did he care so much? It was so unlike him. Dad was absolutely right that they'd given her and Floyd plenty of freedom. They believed strict parenting gave teenagers something to rebel against. Neither Floyd nor her had had any need to do anything extreme – mainly because Mum and Dad would have liked it. There was the time Floyd was caught smoking a spliff out of his bedroom window when he was seventeen, but Dad had only told him off for not sharing it. That had put both of them off the idea that drugs were ‘cool'. Their hands-off approach had taught Floyd and Em that only they themselves could do the hard work. And she never doubted her parents' love; Mum and Dad's worst crime was being a bit embarrassing in their sandals and hippy gear.

‘Sorry, Mum. Sorry, Dad,' he said, getting up.

Em breathed a sigh of relief as Mum disappeared in a six-foot-something sandwich of a hug. His last comment, the bit where he almost said she would need Mum and Dad, had been forgotten. There was no rush to tell them; she'd do it in the week, when things had settled down. What would Mum miss in the first three months of her baby's life? She'd be back for the good stuff like walking and talking.

That night though, she lay awake trying to calculate how she was going to work through Mum's absence. Sure, Floyd was showing he wanted to be involved but he wouldn't be off work, neither would he have the experience she needed to guide her through the long days and nights she'd been told to expect.

It meant she'd have to reconsider her options, throw herself into mum-and-baby groups, which frightened the life out of her. She didn't mind being alone – she minded not having an instruction manual.

Round and round she went but, begrudgingly, Simon Brown's offer of moving in when the baby was born seemed increasingly to be her only real practical prospect.

‘Attention, everyone!' Ross called as he went to Letty's desk, parking his backside next to her keyboard to make his announcement.

Her workspace was positioned at the top of the room, next to Ross' office, and looked out onto the rest of the team. So she rolled her chair to one side to see his audience, who were twenty-strong.

‘Two things,' he said, rubbing his hands together. ‘First, in three weeks' time we'll be going on a bonding day.'

He paused before adding: ‘I said bonding, not bondage!'

A ripple of amusement went round the office. Letty noticed everyone laughed apart from her, Jools, the head of PR, and Sal, an account director. Ross really did do the sad middle-aged man act very well. Luckily though he had seemed to get the message and he'd not tried it on with her again.

‘It's all happening at The Oaks, the splendid hotel in the Vale of Glamorgan we represent – special rates of course! We'll start off doing an assault course, crawling on our hands and knees through mud, that type of thing. Then we'll have a working lunch, a bit of role play – fnar, fnar – and blue-sky thinking. The afternoon will be free for some time in the spa, before we host a charity dinner in the evening.'

A mixture of oohs and aahs went up. It was typical Ross: flamboyant, generous, and all for a good cause.

‘Letty, here, will send out the details later when I get the itinerary through from the hotel. All you need to remember is to bring joggers, bathers, your glad rags and a load of ideas.'

He crossed his arms and soaked up the smiles around the room.

‘Second, the bonding day will coincide with the launch of our social media presence.'

Oh my God!

Letty exploded inside – she'd managed to impress him after all! Just this morning she'd been wondering if he'd read any of her post-presentation emails – sending him links to masterful customer service and punchy campaigns online. Clearly, he had! Fucking hell, she wanted to do a lap of honour round the office.

She turned to him and waited for his smile. He was still looking straight ahead. She toned down her face a little because it might come across as a bit smug: he needed to explain it first.

‘We'll be on all platforms – Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, YouTube, Periscope, Vine.' Yes, he'd definitely read her email, Letty thought. ‘If it talks, we talk. This is a really important step for us and something that's going to take us to the next level. It's going to take an extraordinary type of person to manage it. I'm restructuring to reflect that to create a special position for that person to co-ordinate what we do, who we represent and how we get our message across.'

Letty stared at her lap: she was blinking dying here! Finally, everyone was going to see that she had ideas and she could execute them. This was the most cracking feeling ever: the anticipation of recognition that had eluded her made her heart race. And to think he was doing this in front of everyone – he could've had a quiet word in her ear but no, he obviously wanted to give her the credit she was due.

‘So it is with great pleasure that I would like to present to you…'

Her feet twitched, her thighs were primed – she was all ready to stand up and take the applause! What should she say, she wondered quickly, her mind going crazy with buzzwords of brand-building, engagement and accessibility. And as soon as she got her first new and improved wage packet, she'd consolidate her debts and start paying them back properly.

‘…our new social media lead… Dylan Gates.'

What?! Dylan Gates? Dylan fucking Gates? The scene accelerated away from her as though someone had pushed the wheels of her chair out of the way.

Dylan was walking up to the front now and shaking hands with Ross, sucking up the sound of clapping. How had this happened? It had been her project: she'd done all the work on it and it had landed in his flaming lap. Letty looked at Nick, Ross' deputy, who had tilted his head to one side. Through his minimalist rimless glasses, he was studying his boss with cool eyes. He had to be as shocked as she was – Nick had already complimented her on her presentation and would be backing her for the project. So what was going on?

The penny dropped. Dylan was the son of one of Ross' big clients, who had failed to bring in any business in the three months he'd been here. Rather than lose face and a cash cow by giving him the heave-ho, which was no less than he deserved but which wouldn't be favourably looked upon by his father, Ross had promoted him – and completely shafted her. Stolen her project and given it to Dylan, who was stood there in a fat tie and a wide-boy suit with all the gear but no idea.

‘Cheers, boss,' he said, smoothing his footballer haircut. ‘I'm mega happy about this. I'm gonna make sure we make a big entrance come launch day. Everyone will get their own accounts so we can all help drive the traffic. Letty will do the technicals for me. She doesn't know that yet but she does now!' He actually had the gall to give her a wink.

Being his monkey made it even worse, she thought, her eyes blurring with indignity. Just then she caught Ross staring at her: she could make out a vein in his neck which always stood out if he was getting a PR hard-on. It dawned on her then in searchlights: he'd done this on purpose. She thought she'd made stand, had shown him that she was professional and determined but obviously he'd taken very differently to her turning him down. His eyes were smirking: this was his revenge for her not playing the game. For reprimanding him for his casual sexism. For frustrating the hell out of his, probably tiny. willy.

She gulped and looked down at her hands, which were now shaking fists in her lap.

‘Thanks everyone,' Ross said. ‘Any questions? No? Okay, thank you.' Then he disappeared into his office with Dylan and shut the door.

Her head banging with outrage, she slid back behind her monitor and held her face. Think, Letty, think! She toyed with the idea of walking out. Of handing in her notice right then and there. But she'd have no way of paying off the interest on her credit cards, which she was behind on already. He had her over a barrel.

Lance couldn't bail her out – he was paying for his mortgage and maintenance. She'd never ask her friends or family. What the hell could she do?

With a stab to her heart, she realized those unworn Vivienne Westwoods were going to have to go back. Chucking money at stuff had never worked, she knew now. It was time to rein in her spending. If she could.

But that wasn't going to sort out Ross. Then it came to her.

What was it they said? When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.

If she was clever enough, if her instinct was right that she wasn't the only female to have been on his hit list, then she could make bacon out of her pig of a boss.

Taking two steps at a time, Frankie felt as if she was flying up the stairs to Em's flat. Last week's session with Floyd had given her her wings – if only Jason could see her now, she thought, he'd say she had actually turned into Tinkerbell! The lessons weren't just practical in their value; Floyd was her sounding board and he had a way of putting things which gave her insight into her situation.

She ran through the lessons in a mental list to reflect the project so far, which was going well, on the whole. Not The Missionary had taught her the importance of touch and tempo. The Sixty-Nine advice of relax, take it slow and make a circle had worked. Spanking had been liberating, helping move on from the pain of Jason's infidelity.