The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green (23 page)

Then she turned her attention to Floyd's carrier and began rifling through it. ‘Pesto, beef burgers and a Tex-Mex sauce? Interesting combo.'

‘It's a, um, a fusion cuisine sort of thing,' he snapped, before swiping it off his sister and heading to the kitchen.

Frankie was grateful for the hair towel so she could hide beneath it and breathe. The pride she felt at nailing the lesson in risk was gone; now she felt guilty that she was doing this behind Em's back. It's just that she wouldn't understand, Frankie truly believed that. But it still felt a betrayal of sorts.

As she resurfaced through a tangle of curls, she heard Floyd saying: ‘You look hot!'

Whirling round to confront his indiscretion, Frankie smiled at the thought of whipping him with her towel. But he hadn't been talking to her. He was grinning into the screen of his phone. She felt a stab of jealousy that he had been talking to… who?

‘It's 3 a.m. and it's still 30 degrees,' said a familiar girly voice.

Oh, right, he meant she looked ‘hot' hot. Frankie's envy stood down – but then she corrected herself: her reaction had been out of raging hormones, nothing more.

‘Why are you up so late?'

‘I've just got in from a beach party, it was the most amazing thing with fire-eaters and a UV bar – you'd have loved it. It was sort of a leaving do for me, well, one of them!'

Sasha. She was definitely on her way.

‘This makes a change from the canteen!' Em said, her fingers itching to dive in as she eyed up slim crustless sandwiches, scones, custard tarts, eclairs and mini chocolate muffins piled high on cake stands on the table.

‘It's SO posh!' Frankie squeaked, pouring Earl Grey into the most beautiful mismatched china cups and saucers.

‘Letty said you'd like it,' Lance said. ‘It's on me too so tuck in, ladies!'

Letty allowed herself a self-satisfied smile as she surveyed the scene: here before her were the most precious people in her life. She was so proud of Lance for making exactly the right impression on the girls here in The St David's Hotel; it hadn't been her idea as he'd implied. He'd come up with afternoon tea himself – so very British, Pommie perfect, he'd called it. And it was – it felt special but not over-the-top. They'd even dressed up for it, the total babes: like Letty, Frankie was in a tea dress and heels, and Em had worn her best suit to work so she could look the part when she nipped out for lunch.

An hour was just long enough to introduce him, and Letty hoped with all her heart they'd like him. How could they not! He looked mind-blowingly gorgeous in his navy blue suit which sat just right on his Herculean shoulders.

‘So, Lance, how's it going sharing a house with Little Miss Tidy?' Em asked, already on her second egg and cress sandwich.

‘Yeah, she
is
a bit of a neat freak,' he laughed.

For a forty-year-old who was brought up Down Under, he still had the most amazing skin, Letty simpered, before changing her expression to a fake-frown when she realized they were taking the piss. Look at yourself, she thought, you big wet fart!

Lance continued: ‘God knows what she's going to be like when my son comes over, she doesn't realize how destructive little tykes are.'

‘Ooh, any news on that front?' Letty said, squeezing his hand beneath the table. She didn't want to rub it in that they were basically Completely In Love.

‘Yes!' Lance said, punching the air. ‘She messaged on my way here. We're having him next weekend!'

He was overjoyed. ‘Oh, amazing,' Letty said.

‘There's nice,' Frankie said. ‘What's his name?'

‘Eddy, he's twenty-one-months. He's coming Friday and then I take him back Sunday. I can't wait.'

‘You better think of some things to do then, Letty,' Em said, selecting a miniature beef and horseradish brioche.

‘Well, funny you should say that. I've already started clearing the box room for his travel cot and I thought we could go to MacDonald's, the cinema, you know, the stuff kids love.' Letty nodded satisfactorily to show she was on the ball.

Lance guffawed. ‘You reckon?'

‘Why not? I used to love that shit.'

‘I'm a personal trainer, I can't feed him junk! It's organic all the way for him. And he needs to be outdoors! Have you ever tried to get a pre-schooler to sit still for longer than five minutes? It's impossible. Besides, Helen would kill me, she's a bit of an earth mother.'

‘But we want him to have fun, don't we?' Letty said, pulling a face to cover up her hurt. Even though she knew he wasn't trying to make her feel bad, she felt stung.

‘Kids need routine, Letty,' he said gently, realizing something was up. ‘We need him to feel comfortable first, that's all.'

Letty felt a complete twat and she could see the girls had noticed it. Fuck, she'd been so desperate for it to go smoothly too.

‘You'll be a great stepmum,' he added, ‘trust me.'

‘With any luck, he'll be asleep in his room by 7 p.m.,' Em said, ‘then you'll have the evening to recover.'

‘Yeah, that's another thing,' Lance said, looking apologetic, ‘he'll have to come in with us in case he gets scared, waking up in a strange place.'

Dear God, this was getting worse, Letty thought. She really hadn't understood what parenting entailed. But she had to regain her poise. ‘Of course,' she said, ‘there's plenty of room for the cot in our room.'

‘No, I meant he'll be in between us. He co-sleeps with Helen, it's something she insisted on and it's really worked. He had terrible colic when he was small and it was something we looked into and it calmed him down, so we stuck with it.'

Jesus Christ, what the hell? The prospect of playing ‘mum and dad' suddenly didn't appeal to Letty: the pair of them were insane! They were like those idiot parents you heard about who treated their kids like little buddhas. In her mind, there was little people's time and adults' time.

‘I might go in the spare room, then,' she said, making light of it but praying someone would change the subject.

Luckily, Lance needed the ‘dunny'.

As soon as he was gone, Letty asked what they thought of him. If they didn't like him, she would be gutted. None of her boyfriends had ever made the effort with her mates like this before.

‘So?' Letty said, her eyes wide.

‘He's lovely!' Frankie said, refilling their cups. ‘Like James Bond!'

‘I like him too,' Em said. ‘Although strange parenting ideas. This one,' she said, pointing to her tummy, ‘will be highly trained. I've done the research and it all points to routine. Self-expression and exploration is very important for their development of resilience and independence but I will never share my bed with a baby.'

Letty shuddered at the bonkers of Lance expecting his son to sleep in with them. The boundaries were non-existent: it seemed as if he sacrificed his own sense of self so the child would rule the roost.

‘By the way,' Em continued, ‘I've been thinking about your boss. You should take legal advice. Talk to someone.'

‘Yes, I've been thinking the exact same thing, babes,' Letty said, having so far devised half a plan.

‘Because say you felt you had to resign, because you'd been overlooked, forced out, there could be a case for constructive dismissal. Or discrimination.'

‘It won't come to that, I promise.' She tapped her nose – if only she was so sure. The revenge she had planned was taking up her evenings but it would be worth it – her gut had been right: Letty hadn't been the only one at work who'd been seen as fair game for Ross's unwanted affections. He'd sent dirty texts to Jools and felt up Sal in the stationery cupboard. While the first stage of any complaint was to report to human resources, Gittings PR didn't have one – it was a perfect arrangement which gave him free rein to harass whomever he chose. But not for much longer if her plan came off.

Luckily, Dylan was so clueless that he'd given her control of the mechanics of the social media project: she knew every password and log-in. Plus, Ross had put her in charge of arranging the technical side of the charity dinner: he wanted to present the social media launch in a flash video in front of his guests. Not once had he brought up security or the prevention of hacking – well, more fool him.

‘If it was up to me, I'd cut off his balls and feed them to a crocodile,' Lance said, returning to the table. ‘I wish I could take her away from all of this.'

Frankie and Em gawped at him.

‘I hope you're not plotting to move to Australia with Letty?' Frankie said, suspiciously.

‘Of course not! My son's here, my life. Letty.'

He gave her a look of love which melted Letty's heart – and with it, made her forget her cynicism over his walkover parenting style.

‘I saw a programme the other day on the Great Barrier Reef. I'd quite like to go, I must admit,' Frankie said out of nowhere with a gooey look on her face.

Really? Letty thought, the farthest she'd been was Spain. But hang on, there'd been other little changes in Frankie which Letty had noticed too – her clothes were a tad more out-going and there was a sway to her hips too.

‘It is beautiful,' Lance said, misty-eyed. ‘Bright shoals of fish weaving in and out of pink coral…'

‘Hmm. Sounds nice,' Em said, picking a piece of bread from her front teeth. ‘But the trouble with that is, you might come face to face with a shark.'

Em slipped out of the house at 9 a.m. in sensible footwear and a rucksack. She was just as prepared on the inside too with what she was going to say to Simon Brown. The heat of the city was closing in on her. The heat of carrying another human being was getting to her too, and she needed some air and a view.

In Floyd's Cortina, she took the scenic route, there was no rush, and twenty minutes later she was standing in the shadow of Penarth Pier, looking out to sea.

The morning chill had gone and now a faint breeze played with her hair and flapped the edge of her shorts. The overlapping hills wouldn't have been enough today; she'd wanted a horizon that went on and on.

Breathing in deeply, she could smell seaweed, wet stones and bacon. Her favourite cafe in the world was on the prom where runners and dog walkers were the only traffic.

Down the coast was the brash kiss-me-quick of Barry Island, but here was quieter and calmer. She looked at her watch, turned and crunched up the stones to pick a blue wooden table and chairs at The Beach Shack.

‘Ready for a coffee?' the waitress asked, tying up her blonde hair to show she meant business.

‘Decaf latte, please, and I'll order food in a sec when my friend gets here.' Friend. The word still cut her to the core.

‘Cool, coming right up.'

She shut her eyes and held her face to the sun – now and late evening were the only times of day she dared to expose her pale skin. Seagulls squawked and knives and forks chimed on plates. A girl's high-pitched voice squealed ‘Daddy!', he'd obviously done something funny, and Em smiled at the unfettered delight in her voice. She felt okay, she realized, capable even. She could do this alone.

‘Sorry… you look so peaceful there.'

She opened her eyes: it was him. Simon Brown. With a child.

‘This is Megan, say hi,' he said, looking down at the girl who was holding his hand. ‘Mum's poorly, isn't she, Meg, so Meg's been staying with me and Grandma. I hope you don't mind…'

His daughter, he'd brought his daughter, and instantly Em saw it. Curious eyes, the same brown as his of course, ditto the hair, although hers was down past her shoulders with sandy streaks, and she had the rosiest cheeks, just like him. Her joining them actually made things seem less complicated.

‘Hi, Meg, I'm Em. They do the best breakfasts here, do you like milkshake?'

‘Strawberry but not chocolate, it makes me feel sick,' the little girl said, nipping onto a chair beside her.

‘What have you got in your backpack?'

‘Pens, smelly ones. A notebook. My iPad Mini,' she said, unpacking the contents onto the table.

‘You never go anywhere without your iPad Mini, do you?' Simon Brown said, smiling as he sat down.

‘Is this your girlfriend, Daddy?'

‘Meg! You can't say things like that! It's rude.'

‘No, I'm not, we're friends,' Em said, happy to get things straight. Children needed answers in black and white.

‘I'm six,' she said, obviously content with the answer, and moving on without a worry. ‘How old are you?'

‘Thirty-and-a third,' Em said.

‘Not ancient like me, Meg,' Simon Brown said.

She hopped off her seat and gave her dad a hug. ‘Don't worry, Daddy, I'll look after you when you're old.' Then she twirled round and pretended to be an elderly person hobbling with a stick. ‘That's grandma, she's really old. She's seventy-two.'

Em felt herself soften in this little girl's company: seeing Simon Brown as a father made her a mess of tenderness and regret. She had to pinch her nose to stop a sniff.

‘Right, now we all know how old everyone is,' he said, in captive amusement at his daughter, ‘can we order?'

Several minutes passed as they argued about what constituted a sensible breakfast. Meg wanted cake and sausages in that order but got bartered down to a waffle with fruit and whatever she fancied off her dad's plate, a full English, while Em went for poached eggs on toast, wholemeal, with a side of mushrooms and tomatoes. It was all so hard to watch – she wouldn't witness him like this with their child because she wouldn't be there when he had access.

While they waited, Meg scampered down to the water's edge, to throw stones.

‘She's full of life. Does she know she's going to be a big sister?' Em asked.