The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green (30 page)

It was Floyd!

‘OKAY,' Em shouted to him, flapping her hands. Then she whispered to Sasha, ‘Go on, you do it!'

Sasha pulled an ‘aargh' face, crossed her fingers and then nipped to the door as Em hovered behind her. He was going to collapse, Em knew it. And by the way Sasha had been talking, he might even die of happiness! All his waiting had paid off, all of his mooning about and funny moods. The popcorn turned to fireworks in her stomach when Sasha flung open the door and threw her arms up in the air.

‘Misery Guts from upstairs buzzed me in,' Floyd said, looking down at his phone, before mimicking Rhys, the killjoy civil servant who lived in the flat above. “Do it again and I'll report you to the residents' committEEEEEE…” Jeez, Sash!'

Floyd stepped back in a double-take. He had actually forgotten Sasha would be here, Em could tell by his eyes, which were bulging out of his head. What a moron!

Sasha leapt off the floor and jumped up to cuddle him with her arms and legs. He was actually speechless!

But before he could say anything, Sasha had let go of him and was on the floor. On bended knee.

No! Em couldn't believe it – was Sasha about to do what Em thought she was going to do?

‘Floyd Good-Fellow…' Sasha began.

Her brother froze, open-mouthed. Em held her breath.

‘Would you do me the pleasure of becoming my husband?' she asked sincerely. ‘I love you, Floyd. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives. And hurry up because my knee is starting to hurt.'

‘Well, when you put it like that…' Floyd said, pulling her up into his arms. He looked solemn, which must have meant he was deeply touched, Em thought. So she cheered and she was bundled into a group hug which turned into a jig.

But it made Em want to belch, she'd been struggling with a gassy feeling on and off all day, so she stepped away to still herself. But even though she was motionless, something inside of her was still moving. Oh, please don't let it be a fart, she thought, clenching her bum cheeks.

Then a few seconds later it dawned on her and she gasped and held a hand over her tummy. Floyd had seen her.

‘What is it? Everything okay?' he said, peering with concern over his specs into her face, holding her arm to check.

Em nodded, stunned. Talk about timing.

‘I thought it was trapped wind. But it's the baby. I can feel it kicking!'

‘Anything in particular you fancy, love?' the stylist said to Frankie's reflection as she gowned her up and combed through her long, tired-looking locks. Oh, not much, just something that will match the wow when I save my marriage!

‘I'm a hairdresser, so, I'm not going to ask you to make me look like Taylor Swift.'

‘Why do they do that? “Tammy,” my clients say to me, “you couldn't trim off three stone and perform a face lift too, could you?” We're not miracle workers, are we?'

‘I just want a change. Something a bit less boring, more sophisticated, you know?'

‘I do, love, I do. You've got the right texture for it.'

‘A bit like yours actually. In fact, exactly like yours,' Frankie said, pointing her fingers at Tammy's long choppy bob.

‘Easy!' she said, taking her to the sinks for a wash.

The hot water soothed away the day, which she'd spent dashing round South Wales to fit in eight clients plus a warehouse run. Then she'd come into town to find The Dress to knock out Jason – a black silky tunic which covered her front entirely but revealed a bare back all the way down to her waist, a style she'd never have dared worn a few months ago. She hadn't had a minute to ring him yet but she was building up to it; only when she could see the woman she'd become would she dare.

She had plenty of mates who could've done her cut but they'd have given her the same old thing. In here, in this cool city centre salon with dark walls and ethereal lighting, she was anonymous.

As the sweet scent of shampoo then conditioner reached her nose, she knew what she desired – a new chapter after the biggest adventure of her life. And it started now, with the most tingliest of scalp massages. Frankie responded by pointing her toes in delight; she realized she was reacting to another person's touch with a deeper level of awareness. It was a reminder that this was the first Thursday night she'd been without Floyd in weeks; she had a pang for him then, just like the one she'd had on her way into town when Em messaged to say Floyd was getting married to Sasha. It had been the most unsettling feeling – a great sadness that he wasn't part of her life anymore, combined with a soaring happiness for him having his wish granted. What would they be doing now? Probably in bed. Floyd relieved to have an equal rather than a trainee to play with.

As wet chunks of hair fell this way and that, she concentrated on her reinvention instead. From shy and frightened to confident and brimming with self-belief.

Once the blow-dryer had done its thing, Frankie knew it was time to call Jason, for there before her was a sassy lady with the most gorgeous of swishy bobs.

She had to seize the moment – but where should she go to call him? What would a sassy lady with the most gorgeous of swishy bobs do, she wondered, and then she knew. She would go into a bar all by herself – for the first time ever – and order a posh cocktail!

So she set off down Queen Street, swinging her shopping bag, and found the perfect place for a balmy evening; a rooftop terrace playing sundowner beats, containing grand leather wingback chairs, and tables of railway sleepers bordered by potted palm trees and Mediterranean grasses. Feeling a tad self-conscious but doing it anyway, she found a spot and perused the menu, settling for a Sour Cosmopolitan, and waited until she had had half of it for luck before daring to pick up her mobile. This was it, the moment she'd been working towards since her barbecue. Eight weeks had passed since then and in that time she'd put everything into exorcising the ghost of being boring in bed. She'd confronted embarrassment and humiliation and, to her surprise, she'd found out she wasn't frigid or useless; she knew what turned her on now. She was all woman. She tapped on Jason's name and waited, holding her breath. Please don't go to answerphone, she prayed, because she couldn't ask him out like that. It had to be done directly, in the way she'd learned to speak with Floyd.

It rang once, twice, three times – where was he? He usually picked up straight away – four, five – he was avoiding her, she knew it, oh God – six, seven – all of this for nothing – eight… ‘Frankie!' He sounded pleased to hear from her, but he also sounded breathless. Her mind began to accuse him of doing all sorts of things. Quick, say something!

‘Hi! Yeah, it's me. Okay?'

‘Yeah, great! I'm in the gym, doing some weights.' Phew. ‘You?'

‘Good. Um, I was wondering if you were free on Saturday night?'

Was there a slight pause? ‘Yeah, I've got nothing on.' Her stomach fell all the way down to her knickers as she thought of him naked.

‘Cool. I thought we could get a bite to eat.' This was going amazingly well! ‘Shall I message you where? I'll have a think, we could try somewhere new.' To show she was different.

‘Nice one, can't wait.'

She'd done it! Her heart thumping, she threw her phone into her handbag, knocked back the rest of her drink and skipped her way down the stairs. She was going to think of nothing else for the next two days! How she was going to concentrate, she had no idea. There was so much to do – leg-shaving, moisturising, exfoliating, fake-tanning, nail-painting, eyebrow-plucking. And so many decisions to take. Should she get a Brazilian or was that too much? A new perfume or her old one? Earrings or a choker – she had to figure out what would work when she was naked. Then there were the shoes, which ones would go with her dress? No more the sweet innocent wife but a self-assured lover.

Her dress… She'd only left the bloody bag in the bar. Racing back, she burst through the doors and up the steps to where she had sat. But the bag was gone – oh no! She'd spent hours looking for the right thing to wear and it had been the last one in her size in the shop. Frankie went up to the bar to ask if it had been handed in. The barman, who was serving, caught her eye and indicated he had what she was after. Hallelujah! Frankie felt her shoulders relax as she caught her breath and she looked around at the dimmed faces wanting to explain to someone, anyone, in a British reflex of embarrassment why she had dashed in like that. Just then she saw a very familiar someone over in the far corner, obscured by the pointed leaves of a yucca plant. It was Letty! What a lovely surprise; she'd love to share her good news about Jason. Once she'd got her bag – she didn't want to forget it again – but… hang on… she was with a man… a man who wasn't Lance! Their heads were close together, she was touching him on the knee and they were laughing, looking very comfortable. Oh, Letty, she thought, what had happened to the woman last night who'd declared she'd do something for herself? That she wouldn't depend on a man for self-esteem?

Frankie felt disappointed and sad that Letty had been on the cusp of a discovery yet hadn't had the courage to go through with it. So who was he? She strained her eyes to get a glimpse as a breeze jostled the leaves. And then her heart stopped at the sight of his profile and the way he was ruffling his sticky-up hair. Letty was with Floyd. And they looked intimate and involved, deep in conversation, oblivious to anyone else. What was going on?

Frankie had to get out of there. Not waiting for the barman to act, she stood on the foot rail and leaned over the bar to find the bag for herself. Then she fled.

Making canapés was right up there on Em's Top 5 Things To Do List, she calculated as she mashed up the ingredients for pea and feta toasts.

Not that she'd admit it to anyone because they'd laugh. Theirs were brimming with clothes shopping, eating out at posh restaurants, competitive exercise, wild holidays and getting drunk; all of which were about extravagant behaviour, which she just didn't get.

Hers were simpler, more self-sufficient, and she was glad of it. Number five was going to work for fulfilment and satisfaction reasons, number four was geeky telly – whether watching it or living it at the Doctor Who Experience in Cardiff Bay, which she'd visited nine times. At three were crosswords, sudoku and jigsaws. But it was tough to choose a number one and two out of walking and cooking. Walking had its obvious health and head-clearing benefits, while cooking was good for her soul and she liked eating very much. Could she cope with a tie? She mulled it over, weighing up the pros and cons, then thought ‘oh, to hell with it', it was her list so yes, she could!

Em breathed in the sunshine; today was so clear she could see the Severn Bridge shimmering in the distance. In the lounge, she'd flung open the doors of her little balcony, and the muted buzz of people enjoying drinks in the Bay would occasionally come in on the wind. Em sighed with happiness.

She wouldn't be anywhere else in the world right now, she thought, as she prepared amuse-bouches for the gathering she was hosting tomorrow in a joint celebration of Floyd and Sasha's engagement and her pregnancy. Sasha had been the one to persuade her to double up – she'd known Em would never go for a baby shower nearer the due date when all eyes would be on her. ‘But don't you just want your own special moment,' Em had asked. Sasha, so thoughtfully, had said she wanted to share it.

It had also given Em the shove she'd needed to tell Mum and Dad they were going to be grandparents. Although she'd have preferred to do it over the phone – it would be less dramatic – it had rung out. This wasn't unusual – they had an unreliable old-fashioned phone which made two plastic cups and a piece of string look sophisticated. You could forget about any mobile service out there too. Fancying a drive, she'd gone up there and faced the mad music of delight and tears and hugs. What had she always said, she'd laughed, that Mum would've been proud of her for doing something out of character for once! Mum had denied this, obviously. But in a glimpse of the depth of the love that Em knew she would feel for her child, her parents had cancelled their trip to Spain – they wouldn't want to miss the baby for the world. And of course Mum would stay for the first fortnight. It was such a relief to know she wouldn't be alone.

‘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.