‘At St Michael’s,’ Julie replied, nodding. ‘Yes. Yes, he told me. So was my sister, just a few years ago. I know first-hand how tough it is trying to rebuild your life after something like that, and I’m glad that at least I can give you a leg up on the first rung of the ladder. After all, if we women can’t look out for each other, then who can?’
‘Thank you,’ Emily said, tearing up a little with gratitude. ‘I hope your sister is OK now?’
‘She’s doing amazingly well, thanks,’ Julie said. ‘And I know you will too. Good luck, Emily. And remember, my door is always open.’
*
Emily began to work harder than she’d ever done in her life before. She started the very next morning and was particularly touched to see a little Post-it note left for her in the upstairs bathroom she shared with Francesca.
Best of luck in your new job! Now, remember to be punctual and don’t go via Pearce Street, as Google Maps is saying there’s a nine-minute delay due to an earlier accident. Just go in there, babes, give ’em hell and knock ’em dead!
Huge love and luck on your very first day. F xxxxx
Emily smiled and thanked her lucky stars for such a gem of a housemate.
When she got to Flynn’s flagship store on George’s Street, right in the heart of town, she was quickly inducted by her line manager, then put straight to work on the shop floor – and left to sink or swim. As it happened though, she spent a surprisingly enjoyable shift chatting and helping customers, and if she didn’t know the answer to anything, just saying, ‘Sorry, bear with me, this is my very first day.’
At the end of her shift, her line manager thanked her and told her to keep up the good work, and that from now on, she was officially one of the ‘Flynn’s Stores Team’.
Emily walked home, as it wasn’t far from the department store to Primrose Square. On the way there, her mobile rang. Leon, she guessed, fishing the phone from the bottom of her bag, doubtless ringing to see how she got on.
But it wasn’t. To her astonishment, it was Alec. Ex-husband Alec. Who practically called the cops the last time she’d attempted to contact him.
‘Alec, is that really you?’ Emily said, wondering if he had butt-dialled her number by accident.
‘Emily, yeah, it’s me, hi,’ he said wearily, to the sound of a baby gurgling and beginning to cry in the background. ‘Sorry to disturb, it’s just . . .’
‘Just what?’ Emily said, genuinely baffled and half wondering if he was calling to threaten her with a barring order this time.
‘The thing is,’ he said, raising his voice to be heard over the baby, ‘I felt really shit after the last time we spoke. You were only trying to say sorry and I was a complete bastard to you.’
‘You were entitled to be,’ Emily replied. ‘Given everything that had gone down between us.’
‘So I just wanted to say that I’m sorry too, Em. I’m sorry for being a bollocks of a husband and I’m particularly sorry for cheating. I was a total arse to you back then and you deserved better.’
Wow, Emily thought. She almost had to double-check her phone to make sure this really was Alec, and not some crank caller taking the piss. Alec famously never apologised, ever, for anything.
‘You deserved better than me too,’ was all she could find words to say.
There was a long, awkward pause as the baby’s cries grew louder in the background. Alec hushed and shushed the baby down, and that seemed to work, for a moment at least.
‘So,’ he said. ‘All I really want to say is that I hope you and me are cool. That’s all.’
‘Of course,’ she said, still stunned. ‘Absolutely.’
‘I mean, you’re just trying to pick up the pieces of your life. I get it. And I’m in a happy place now, what with my new family and everything. So good luck with it all, Emily, and if there’s ever anything that I can do . . .’
‘Right back at you,’ she said, surprising herself by actually smiling. ‘And if you ever want to avail of my babysitting services . . .’
‘Don’t even joke about something like that,’ he sighed wearily, as the baby’s cries rose to a crescendo. ‘I may just take you up on it.’
*
When Emily finally put her key in the lock of number eighty-one, she was greeted by the most delicious smell of garlic and cumin wafting towards her from the kitchen. Following her nose, she tripped down the stairs that led to the basement and there was Francesca . . . or should she say Frank . . . with a frilly apron tied around his good work suit, standing over by the oven with about five different saucepans all on the go at once, expertly juggling them all.
Strange to think of him as Francesca, Emily thought, when Frank in all his Frank gear, and she still wasn’t quite certain how he’d prefer to be thought of when he was transitioning. I’ll ask him, she decided. But only when the time felt right. Emily was the least judgemental person alive and all she really wanted for her housemate was to be happy.
‘Well, there you are!’ Frank said, coming over to give her a warm hug as he saw her standing there. ‘Thought you’d never get home.’
‘What’s all this?’ Emily asked, as she peeled off her jacket, intrigued.
‘Well, honey, it’s not every day that you start a new job, now is it? So I thought we’d celebrate. Just you, me and Violet. Three housemates together, enjoying a convivial evening meal. What’s not to like?’
Was Emily imagining it, or was Frank starting to sound more and more like Francesca? Even when dressed like Frank? His voice was certainly more high-pitched, that was for certain. And his mannerisms were a lot more Francesca-like. Emily said nothing, though, just smiled and was very, very glad for him.
‘Anyway,’ Frank went on, ‘I made an Indian korma, with garlic naan bread and basmati rice on the side. Not too spicy, mind you, because I know anything too strong gives Violet terrible wind. Or so she’s always saying, anyway.’
‘Wow,’ Emily said, staggered. ‘This is such a treat – thank you! I’m bloody starving and korma sounds great to me.’
‘Fab-u-lous, darling,’ Frank said, again sounding so like Francesca that Emily grinned.
‘What are you smirking at?’ Frank asked her, but then Frank missed absolutely nothing.
‘You, dearest,’ Emily said.
‘What about me?’ said Frank, turning to face her with a tea towel in one hand and a spatula in the other.
‘Well, I was just thinking how wonderful it is, that you can look like Frank, but sound so like Francesca.’
‘Well, thank you, sweetie. I do aim to please.’
‘Although . . . can I ask you something?’ Emily said tentatively.
‘Anything.’
‘You never dress as Francesca at home,’ Emily said. ‘I mean, I’ve seen Francesca up in your bedroom, but never when there’s other people around. Bloody hell, that makes you like an Irish Clark Kent that morphs into Superman. You’ll be fighting crime next.’
Frank patted her playfully with the spatula and put his hand on his hip.
‘Because . . . because of lots of reasons,’ he said.
‘Is it that you don’t feel comfortable as Francesca?’ Emily probed, wondering if she was pushing things a bit too far, but dying to know all the same.
‘Are you kidding me?’ said Frank. ‘If anything, I feel far too comfortable as Francesca. When I’m dressed like this,’ he said, waving his hands up and down over the sensible black work trousers he was wearing with a shirt and tie, ‘it feels fake to me. But when I’m Francesca, what can I say? It’s like my second skin. Of course I’m bursting to dress that way when I’m out and about, and in work too.’
‘So why don’t you?’ Emily asked.
‘Because my family come first, second and last with me,’ Frank said firmly. ‘And they know me as Frank, not Francesca. That’s what they know, that’s their normality. So until my kids are happy and at peace with me as . . . if that day ever comes, that is .
. .’ But he broke off there, unable to say more.
‘I get it,’ Emily said, instinctively standing up to give him a warm hug. ‘You don’t need to say another word.’
‘Thank you,’ Frank said. ‘Really, thank you.’
‘Are we done with the PDAs now? ’Cause I’m bloody starving and that grub smells divine.’
‘In that case,’ said Frank, ‘will you call our esteemed landlady and tell her dinner is served? I haven’t seen her since I came in, so I’m guessing she’s up in her room.’
Emily did as she was told, even though a sizeable part of her would have infinitely preferred it if it had just been her and Frank for dinner on their own. She checked the drawing room, where Violet was often to be found in front of the TV, but no sign of her. Then she padded upstairs and knocked on the heavy oak door that led to her bedroom. Or boudoir, as Violet probably referred to it.
‘Violet?’ she said quietly, rapping again on the door. ‘You awake?’
Nothing. Not a single sound.
‘Frank’s made us some dinner,’ Emily said. ‘Do you fancy eating with us?’
Again, nothing.
‘If I promise not to curse and swear too much, would you come downstairs?’ Emily said coaxingly. ‘Come on, it’s free food, Violet. We both know you love free food.’
Not a single sound from the other side of the door.
‘I’ll use your good royal family china if you don’t come out,’ Emily said, really testing the water. ‘The ones that the Queen Mother probably farted on.’
If Violet was awake, there was no way in hell she’d have let Emily get away with a remark like that. So Emily gave it up as a bad job and came back downstairs to Frank and the warmth of the kitchen.
‘No answer?’ Frank said, as he carried over a bowl of creamy curry to the table.
‘Not a peep.’
‘She’s probably napping, then,’ Frank said. ‘Best not to disturb her.’
‘Definitely best to let sleeping dogs lie.’
Gracie
The previous Saturday had been unexpectedly enjoyable, Gracie thought, as she strode down Wicklow Street in the city centre, hot and sticky even in the light summery dress she was wearing. Just seeing Frank with Amber, and remembering how their little girl’s face had been lit from within to see her parents getting on so well, did her heart good.
‘I’m so happy the three of us are together again!’ Amber kept saying. ‘All we need is for Ben to join us, and then we’re all back to normal. Aren’t we?’
Neither Gracie nor Frank had the guts to answer that one – at least, not just yet. Instead, they allowed Amber to dictate the day, which she did with gusto. That was the one thing about Amber: no matter what was going on she never failed to know her own mind.
‘Zip lining!’ she yelled, when Frank asked her where she wanted to go. ‘There’s a zip line place not far from here and all my friends have already been and they say it’s really cool!’
So the three of them trooped off to Grand Canal Dock, beside the CHQ museum, just across the Rosie Hackett Bridge and only a twenty-minute stroll from Primrose Square. The sun was blazing and as they queued for their turn, Gracie freely lashed sunblock on herself and Amber, hesitating a bit when she came to Frank. The intimacy of the gesture gave her pause for thought, but in the end there was no need – he took the sunblock himself and lashed it on almost professionally, to the extent that Gracie had to smile. He even patted the thick, gloopy cream under his eyes, like trained beauticians were always saying you should do, to minimise fine lines. All deeply impressive, Gracie had to admit.
There were other tiny changes about Frank that she’d noticed too. His voice seemed to be on a higher register, for one thing. And was she imagining it, or was there something about his weight that seemed to be shifting slightly? As if some of his body fat was redistributing itself? His face looked a bit fuller and there was a definite curvature around the chest. Subtle, but still, there all the same.
Hormones, she knew were the root cause of it, yet it was surprising to see how quickly they were having an effect – albeit a very gentle, understated one. It wasn’t as if Frank was suddenly parading around with a full set of boobs and a hairless face. This transition was delicate and easy to get used to. Just like Beth had promised it would be.
After a half hour queuing, eventually it was Amber’s turn to zip line, and both her parents cheered and waved her off and took photos on their phones as she was harnessed into safety straps, then hoisted off for a few hours’ fun.
There was an outdoor coffee shop nearby, and Frank and Gracie found themselves drifting towards it. Gracie nabbed two free seats on a wooden bench, where they had a great view of Amber suspended a few feet away from them, as Frank went off to get an Americano for each of them. Meanwhile, Gracie sat back, enjoying the feel of the warm sunshine on her face, enjoying the day and particularly enjoying how happy Amber was.
‘It was so good of you to come with us today,’ Frank said, returning with the coffees and passing her one over. Just the way she liked it, too – extra hot, flat white, no sugar. He remembered – but then Frank forgot nothing.
‘It’s wonderful to see her back to her old self again, isn’t it?’ Gracie said, waving at Amber and taking yet more pictures on her phone. ‘I mean, she’s just so delighted to see you and me together on a fun day out. Not fighting or bickering or sniping at each other. Like a real, proper family, as she keeps on saying.’
‘But that’s exactly what I want too, Gracie, love,’ Frank said simply. ‘A real, proper family. I haven’t gone anywhere and I never will. I’ll always be here. I’m still here. Still me. I still love you and Ben and Amber more than I ever did, and that will never change.’
‘Could you imagine, though?’ Gracie said, after a thoughtful little pause. ‘Down the line, I mean. You and me sitting here watching Amber, except with you as Francesca and not Frank?’
‘I’m exactly the same person,’ Frank insisted. ‘I may be changing on the outside, but that’s it. Remember what we used to tell the kids when they were small? We used to say that at the end of the day, appearances don’t really matter. Isn’t it what’s inside that really counts?’
Another pause, as Gracie put on sunglasses and took a moment to really digest this. ‘You need to talk to Amber,’ she said. ‘You need to explain it to her in such a way that an eleven-year-old will understand.’
‘I know,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve been meaning to. I’m just waiting for the right time.’
‘No time like the present,’ Gracie suggested. A warm, sunny day like this, where Amber was so happy and secure, seeing her parents getting on well and being so cool with everything. Why not now? she thought.
‘If you think the time is right,’ Frank said, ‘then of course I will.’
Gracie paused to take stock for a moment.
‘This is pretty huge,’ she said, ‘because this is it. Once you talk to, Amber, there really is no taking it back. I don’t want her lying on psychiatrists’ couches in years to come recounting this as the moment her whole childhood ended.’
‘That’s the last thing I want too,’ said Frank. ‘But as Beth says, let’s be open and honest with her. If we act like it’s no big deal for us, then it’ll be no big deal for her either. And the thing is, Gracie love, it really is no big deal. I’ll look a bit different in the future, but that’s as far as it goes.’
‘I’ll be right here beside you,’ she said.
‘Thank you,’ said Frank sincerely. ‘You really have no idea how much that means to me.’
‘Course I may also be a tiny bit jealous,’ Gracie added wryly, ‘because Francesca has far better legs than I do.’
‘Your problem, baby; yours to deal with,’ said Frank with a wink.
This time, he sounded so utterly like Francesca that Gracie had to smile.
*
Now for the hard part, Gracie thought, spotting the restaurant she’d been looking for on the other side of
the busy street and crossing over. Then she reminded herself of her little pre-prepared speech and opened the door of Raw, the vegan bar on Wicklow Street, where all the cool, young hipster brigade were to be found day and night, around the clock, almost like it was their office.
‘I had a feeling you were going to ask me something like this,’ Ben said, as the two of them sat in a quiet little booth, well out of earshot. He was working the day shift at Raw and was wearing kitchen whites with an incongruous-looking hairnet that held his thick, tufty hair well off his face and made him look about twelve years of age.
Adorable, Gracie thought. Just like when he was a little boy.
‘I suppose there’s no chance you’re joking?’ he asked.
‘It’s not a joke, love,’ she said quietly.
‘I’d do anything for you and Amber, Mum, you know that,’ Ben said. ‘But for fuck’s sake, does it have to be now? Just when I’ve got this great job and I’ve left school and I’m beginning to get my own shit together?’
‘I know I’m asking a lot of you,’ Gracie replied. ‘But this is happening whether we like it or not. This way, it’s easier on us as a family, that’s all I’m saying.’
Ben sat back and folded his arms, looking like he was caught between a rock and a hard place.
‘I already ask so much of you,’ Gracie said, gently pressing her case. ‘I know that. And this is the biggest ask yet.’
‘And I’d . . . like . . . have to be there?’
‘Yes.’
‘And . . . like . . . act all normal and everything?’
‘You just be yourself, Ben. You’re amazing as you are.’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ he muttered, twitching at the hairnet in frustration.
‘Ben,’ Gracie said, leaning across the little plastic table towards him. ‘I’m not asking you to do this for me. I’m not even asking you to do this for your dad. I’m asking you to do this for Amber.’
The Women of Primrose Square Page 27