The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green (32 page)

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?'

‘Hi, I'm really sorry to disturb you…' a woman said, with a sheepish smile. She looked vaguely familiar and Letty tried to place her. She was small – a petite size, Letty guessed, because only tiny women could pull off mini dungaree dresses – and good-looking with long dark straight hair and big blue eyes. And there was a trace of an accent – where was she from? Letty needed more clues. Then she followed the woman's head which turned anxiously to a car parked outside. She was checking something. There was a movement in the back of the old banger and then she saw a mop of blond hair. Eddy was waving, which meant this could only be Helen, whose face she now placed from a photo on Lance's phone. This was a fucking disaster. Her body, which had been ready for pleasure, now turned on itself with fear, panic and guilt.

‘Oh, hi,' Letty said in a much softer voice, feeling very uneasy. Quickly, she tried to assess what Helen was doing here. Had she come to punch her lights out? To have a slanging match?

In a way, Letty wished Helen would go for her – she deserved it.

But it was unlikely, seeing as Helen had apologized when she'd first spoken.

‘It won't take long. Eddy's okay in the car,' Helen said humbly in a lighter version of Lance's fair dinkum, looking back to make sure her boy was safe. There was no point in making an introduction; they both knew who they were. ‘He used to be in a routine until…' Helen stopped. She placed her hand on her forehead, and her eyes communicated a million apologies for putting her foot in it.

Cringing inside, Letty shook her head – there was no need to express remorse.

Helen started again: ‘I wouldn't just turn up, you know, if it wasn't important. I've been trying to get hold of Lance all week.'

Her face was tortured at the inconvenience. Letty wished she'd been smacked in the chops instead because Helen's dignity was making her feel terrible.

‘Oh, right, okay,' Letty said, wanting to explain how busy he was and how little time he had between clients. But Helen would've known that herself from when they were together. ‘Can I help?' Letty gulped at her own arse-aching stupidity then; here she was, the other woman giving a trite offer of assistance.

Helen hesitated. Then she cleared her throat and looked downwards for a split second, which revealed a chink of hurt. Letty couldn't bear it. Her dignity and reserve were nothing like the woman Lance had made her seem.

‘It's okay, you don't have to tell me, I'll just tell him you want to speak to him,' she said.

‘No, no. You'll know all about it anyway so…' Helen said, nodding to show she understood they were a couple and couples shared everything. ‘It's about me going back to Australia. With Eddy. Lance isn't very happy about it, as you'll know, but my mum, she's not well, it's cancer, and I need to go back. Sooner rather than later, before Eddy starts school.'

It wasn't the punch Letty had been expecting – it was far worse than that. Lance hadn't told her about any of this. That had to be why he'd been so absent.

She couldn't speak; she could only nod.

‘I want to do it properly, with his backing. But he won't talk to me about it. He says he'll go to court to stop me. That's the last thing we all need.'

It dawned on her then that Helen might have called round to see if Letty could persuade Lance. Which would make her very desperate. Letty felt exhausted then ashamed of all the times she'd judged Helen – from cheating on Lance before Letty came on the scene, to criticising her parenting. It was clear she was just an ordinary woman who was trying to do her best for her son, and spend as much time with her mother before it was too late. Letty had a chance to atone for it.

‘Of course, I'll talk to him, I promise.'

‘Thanks so much,' Helen said, putting her hand over her heart. ‘I'd really appreciate it. I don't think Mum's got much time left.'

Letty stood motionless as she watched Helen walk back to the car, waving at Eddy, before she got in and pulled away.

Doing the right thing, trying your best to be a good person – that's what Floyd had said when they'd met in the bar the other night.

Floyd had given her the opportunity of a new future. Her heart bloomed not with the pump of the high she was familiar with, but in a slow release of warmth which went on and on, offering sustenance and hope. She knew what she had to do.

Striding back inside, Letty went to find a pair of scissors. Then, once she'd switched off her laptop, she took her credit card and cut it into dozens of tiny pieces.

Jason let out the most enormous groan then stared up at her with heavy eyes.

No, please God, no, she thought. He hadn't, had he?

A woozy smile spread across his lips – it could only mean he had.

‘That was amazing, Tink,' he sighed in ecstasy.

‘But I'd only just started!'

It was a crushing disappointment for Frankie whose game of ‘let's pretend we're not married' had worked wonders in the restaurant. They'd played a Q&A that she'd revised from a dating tips website: What would you do on your last day on earth? He'd skydive over the Monaco Grand Prix, eat steak in New York, surf in South Africa then finish up with one of his mum's roasts. She'd do Victoria Beckham's hair, lunch with Princess Diana then watch a show –
Grease
– on Broadway. Perhaps we could meet up the Empire State Building, he'd asked, which had made her giddy.

There was not a single mention of kitchen tiles. Gradually, they had become closer, physically and emotionally, blocking everyone else out, and flirtatious fingers on the arm lingered longer every time.

When the waiters began to cough, Jason had posed the last question: ‘Can I take you home?' He hadn't dropped her hand as they hailed a cab. She was certain they had reconnected on a new level of understanding; that things would be different. They had shared a charged silence on the drive back, only swapping long heated glances; there was no need to speak when their eyes and touching thighs were doing the talking.

Even right up to when she'd let them into the house, he'd gone along with it, asking if she'd lived there long.

So when she'd led him upstairs, she had no nerves: she'd done all the homework and she'd just wanted to do the job. At the door of the bedroom, Frankie had pulled his waist to her body: a surge of arousal, so basic, so innate, had hit her in the stomach. Swept along, she placed her mouth on his, setting off bursts of bliss as his longing mirrored hers.

Then it had been time: her routine, which wouldn't be rigid but fluid, began with a slow striptease to reveal the waspie which sculpted her midriff and trophied the arc of her bare breasts. She turned him upside down to make a circle then reached for the silk ties from Floyd's gift bag. This was what he'd craved and she'd denied: she was going to turn the pain into pleasure.

Once she'd restrained him on the bed, she climbed on top of him. The heart-stopping sensation of their reconciliation, which felt familiar yet audaciously indecent, was compounded by a mental rush of pride and affirmation: she was doing it and she was doing it well.

But then within a few seconds, Jason had gone from nought to sixty.

His face now was like a marshmallow, all pink and fluffy.

‘Wow,' he said, panting.

‘But I hadn't finished! I had so much more to do. Like, I was going to change position, spank you, talk dirty and orgasm,' she said, ticking the items off on her fingers.

‘What?' Jason came to with a splutter. He'd gone cross-eyed with the effort of thinking in his fog of euphoria.

‘Still, I suppose we did the sixty-nine, dressing up and bondage,' she continued. ‘That's not bad.'

‘Not bad?' Jason's eyes bulged. ‘We've just done something… we've never… I've never… you're acting weird. What's going on?'

Frankie didn't want to keep anything from him: their marriage would only survive on honesty and communication. ‘So when you dumped me—' she began.

‘When we separated.' His correction annoyed her and betrayed the reality.

‘Whatever. I decided to broaden my horizons to show you I wasn't a dead loss, and you'd be so impressed we'd get back together. I had a few lessons.'

Jason turned puce. ‘You mean you've shagged someone else?'

‘That's a horrible way of putting it. I took some advice, that's all.'

‘Jesus, Frankie, you could've told me.' He sounded hurt and humiliated.

‘Oh, come on, Jason, don't be like this,' she said, rolling off him. ‘You enjoyed yourself didn't you?'

Jason sniffed as his deflated penis retracted like a snail. She had the urge to laugh out loud – this was ridiculous! ‘You slept with someone before I did!' she said, holding her arms out in protest.

‘Who was he, anyway?' Jason asked. ‘This Mr Lover-Lover.'

Frankie stopped for a second at the thought of Floyd, the one who'd turned her life around. It felt wrong to have him here in the room with them so she pushed him out of her mind as she stood up. ‘No one you know,' she said. It was the first time she'd lied to Jason, and surprisingly it had been easy: but then it wasn't to deceive him, it was to prevent a bomb going off. Floyd and Jason knew one another; not well, but enough for Jason to confront him if he had had one too many and came face to face with him. It just wasn't worth the risk. Besides, it was her business: a very special kind of business, for which she felt warmth and protection. If it got out, it would seem dirty and ruin the memory. ‘He was in the same boat as me.'

‘Sounds weird to me.' Jason's eyes seared into her like hot coals.

‘Well, it might look like that but we'd both been dumped,' she said with an accusatory chin, ‘and he was very kind to me actually.'

‘Sounds like you have feelings for him.'

‘He's a friend, that's all,' she said softly, remembering Floyd's freckles and the way he ruffled his hair, and how he made her unafraid. ‘I've never imagined he was anything else.' They had been there for each other for a reason, not because Cupid had shot them with arrows. It had been practical not romantic – it wasn't the kind of love story you told your grandchildren, after all.

Jason raised his eyebrows. His scorn knifed her composure.

‘You were the one who wanted some space! Not me! You were the one who said I was boring in bed,' she said, pointing at him, her voice reaching a crescendo. Weeks of pressure began to escape – and it felt good. Very good. ‘I only did this for you. For us. Talk about double standards! I have tried to better myself, to discover that the part of me which I thought never existed was just suppressed. I've blossomed, Jason! Can't you see? I'm happier than ever – I feel liberated. How could you not have noticed? For God's sake, couldn't you tell by my hair?'

Shaking her now messed-up mane for dramatic effect, she felt better for letting it out. Better than she had all night.

‘Yeah, well, I preferred your hair longer actually,' Jason pouted.

Frankie waited for the hurt – but it didn't come. She found that she didn't give a damn.

‘And some of that stuff you wanted to do,' he added, ‘well, it's verging on kinky.'

‘Kinky? KINKY? It's not glory holes and dressing up in babygros!'

Jason eyed her with alarm now. ‘What's happened to you?'

She was outraged by his accusatory tone, but she resisted the urge to inform him of the X-rated details.

‘Look, all I want is a nice life. I don't need all of this,' he said, rattling his wrists against the bedpost.

Frankie went to untie him. ‘But you said…'

‘I know I did. I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. I got it wrong. I slept with someone because I was a fool. I was looking for what we used to have, that excitement when we first got together. I thought I'd get it with—'

‘That surfer chick?' Frankie said, snapping because all of this could've been avoided had he simply talked to her; they could've worked it out. Now he was putting it all on her as if she was the one who had messed up.