The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green

by Laura Kemp

  ‘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.

  Wednesday Night

  Frankie

  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.

  Their to-do list was daunting: Something Risky, Dressing Up, Erotica, Talking Dirty, Orgasms, Sex Toys and Bondage.

  But Frankie was sure her sex education would mean she would be unafraid when she got her chance to sleep with Jason.

  How lucky she was to have a counsellor for a teacher! Not only was she starting to feel more equipped between the sheets, but in her head too. And Floyd said he was getting something out of it too; it was a distraction from Sasha, who he was missing very much, even more so because she’d gone AWOL this past week with no phone calls, emails or messages.

  It was strange to think she hadn’t had actual sex with Floyd yet. In fact, and she wasn’t entirely sure why, everything they’d done so far had felt more intimate than what she remembered the physical act of sex to involve. But then, there had been times when she had slept with Jason when she ha
dn’t really felt in the mood, out of a sense of what a wife’s duty was. Perhaps it was because it was all new, not just the topics they covered, but Floyd himself.

  Looking back to the spanking, she saw how sex could’ve followed on quite naturally. During that lesson, she and Floyd had ended up kissing – she still felt a rush of something when she thought about it. But then he’d put a stop to it, explaining it was unprofessional and he’d apologized profusely for ‘unplanned snoggage’.

  ‘These things happen,’ Frankie had said, to soothe him, but she had felt less inhibited around him then. Yes, she was glad to have kissed him. Really glad because he’d been an amazing snog, actually, not that she liked to dwell on the deep, slow seduction of his lips. It had been different to pashing with Jason. They didn’t tend to snog much; she supposed it was because they had been together for so long, and it had had less of an important role in their love-making as the years passed.

  At Em’s door, she knocked and waited for her friend. She was grateful Floyd wasn’t in tonight; Wednesday was football night.

  It’d be too weird to be in the same room as both Em and Floyd – once the lessons were over she would be able to pack away the secret forever and forget about it. It still felt wrong withholding information from Em, but Frankie didn’t want to upset her; if she knew, it would only make things awkward. And it would mean the premature end of this arrangement, just as she was getting somewhere.

  ‘Ready for your mum-to-be pampering evening, Em?’ Frankie chirped when she stepped inside her flat. Em looked relaxed for the first time in her pregnancy; she was rosy-cheeked and her edges seemed rounded.

  ‘I think so! I don’t really do girly stuff, do I?’ Em laughed, letting her in.

  ‘Being pregnant is probably the ultimate in girly, I’m afraid,’ Frankie said. And my, how she was blooming! Frankie still found it unfathomable that Em was pregnant when she was definitely ‘the one least likely to’ of the three of them. Her own broodiness had gone – it felt so far from being a possibility in her world now. Em’s circumstances weren’t ideal, but she seemed to have overcome that mental block. All credit to her, Frankie thought, taking in her friend’s glow.

  In the lounge, Letty had done a beautiful job warming up Em’s functional and sparse living space. Where the surfaces were usually free from papers and cups and wrappers, Letty had arranged lighted candles, fluffy towels and scented oils. The curtains remained open, because it was dark and brooding enough outside thanks to an approaching summer storm, and it gave the room an elemental feeling.

  ‘Does it say “spa” enough to you?’ Letty asked from the sofa, where she lay with slices of cucumber on her eyes. She spoke through ventriloquist’s teeth because she’d already applied a face mask of avocado, coconut oil, peanut butter and an egg white which she declared ‘bogging!’.

  ‘The room looks perfect!’ Frankie said, setting up her table of nail varnishes and hair products.

  ‘What are you going to do to me?’ Em asked nervously, sitting formally on the armchair she never let Floyd use because she was frightened he’d drop food all over it.

  ‘I’ll do a head, neck and shoulder massage, Letty will do nails and then we’re going to eat cake. All right with you?’

  ‘Not really, apart from the cake bit,’ Em said, with a grimace. ‘You know I don’t like people touching me.’

  Letty and Frankie swapped eye-rolls, pointing out she was going to have to get used to it with all that poking and prodding she was going to get at the birth. Then they got to work.

  These make-over sessions – usually at Frankie’s because with Dad being a bloke, he’d kept out of the way and left them to it – had been a constant since the threesome had met; only their problems and worries had changed. In the early days, they’d shrieked about boys while they’d tested each other’s Rimmel lipsticks, tried out different hairstyles and practised French kissing on the backs of their hands. As they became women, they’d discuss men and work over waxing strips and eyebrow plucking.

  Now they were each going through something different, yet they were still there for each other.

  Letty was, in her words, ‘farting rainbows’, she was that happy with Lance. She was having a rough time of it at work, but she’d pledged to sort out her creep of a boss. Em was coping with the prospect of motherhood and Frankie was discovering things about herself that she’d never known she was capable of.

  And it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  ‘You look better than you have in ages,’ Em said, licking the last bits of chocolate ginger cake off her fingers as Frankie trimmed her red bob, which was glossy and full from her pregnancy.

  ‘Yeah, I feel it,’ Frankie said, truthfully.

  ‘Must be that sex teacher!’ Letty sang.

  ‘Oh, please, I’ve just got over morning sickness. Please don’t make me feel sick all over again,’ Em said.

  ‘It’s going well. I won’t go into details, for Em’s sake, but it’s helping.’

  ‘Are you ever going to tell us who he is? Your teacher?’ Letty pleaded.

  Em held up her hands. ‘I don’t want to know.’

  Not on your nelly, she was about to say when a crack of lightning accompanied a rumble of thunder. The front door slammed and all three of them jumped. The hall echoed with what sounded like the clip-clop of heels.

  Em murmured: ‘Floyd.’

  ‘Sounds like he’s got stilettos on! The reprobate!’ Letty whispered.

  Frankie froze at the thought that perhaps he’d brought someone home with him. She had a desperate urge to hide or leave.

  ‘Take your studs off! They’ll mark the floor!’ Em shouted.

  ‘Football was bastard cancelled,’ came his voice.

  Exhaling slowly, Frankie relaxed and scolded herself for jumping to conclusions.

  Em leaned forward conspiratorially and told them he was in a funny mood: Sasha had rung the other night, very late because she’d forgotten the time difference, to announce she was coming home. Frankie’s heart pounded. She knew Sasha would be coming back at some point; Floyd had always been open about it.

  Sasha had only asked if she could stay when she got back, here in her house, Em said.

  Drawing a sharp breath in sympathy, Letty asked: ‘Never! What did you say about that?’

  ‘What could I say? He pays rent and he’s allowed to have guests. I’m not running some old-fashioned B&B! But the strange thing is, Floyd isn’t exactly jumping for joy,’ Em divulged.

  Frankie took some deep breaths; it was the shock, that was all. She had something at stake with Floyd, something good and she wasn’t ready to give it up. There were six lessons still to go and if Sasha suddenly appeared, it would all have to stop. And of course Floyd would run straight back to her, Frankie thought feeling more than a pang of sadness, he’d only been helping her and it wasn’t as if he was going to turn down regular sex with his girlfriend.

  ‘Maybe he’s just nervous,’ Letty said, through a mouthful of lemon drizzle cake. ‘He hasn’t seen her for ages and he’s probably built her up to be even more amazing than she is. Although I’m not sure how much more perfect she could be.’

  The door handle rattled as Floyd barged in wearing a neon pink football kit. His entrance sparked off a series of crazy feelings in Frankie. Her tummy flipping, she wanted to laugh out loud at the sight of him. Next, she begged for the ground to swallow her up so she didn’t have to fight the deep blush which was rising from her collarbone as she remembered how intimate they’d been.

  ‘How’s my favourite sister?’ Floyd said, before icing up when he saw she had company. ‘Jesus, what’s that green stuff on your face?’

  Letty poked her tongue out. ‘You don’t look too hot yourself!’ she said, taking in his bright shirt, shorts and knee-high socks

  ‘I’m very comfortable in cerise, actually,’ he said.

  Frankie was willing Floyd not to look at her. But when he didn’t, she found herself thinking ‘at least say hello’.
>
  ‘I play for a gay side. The captain is a mate, his brother runs a gay bar which sponsors us. I’m the equal opportunities player, you know, their one token straight person. And I happen to think the kit brings out the colour of my eyes.’

  ‘Why was it cancelled?’ Em said.

  ‘Most of them have gone to see a Dolly Parton tribute act, I think she’s called Dolly Hard-On. I did know, I just forgot. Anyway, everyone all right?’ he asked the room. Em and Letty sang a joint ‘yep’ while Frankie could only nod mechanically. Their eyes met and she pulled a smile which she hoped said ‘oh, hi, I’m very cool with this’.

  Was she imagining things or did his eyes flicker with amusement? They were warm, as usual, but there was something else there too. Was it a secret sign acknowledging that this was indeed an awkward situation in light of their arrangement? Was it mirth at her squirming?

  Breathe in, breathe out, Frankie thought, but the air was hot and she needed to get out. But first, agonizingly, she had to speak because she couldn’t just dash out. ‘I’m just going to pop to the shop, for some chocolate for Em,’ she said, flapping her top.

  ‘Ooh, great, a Cadbury’s Caramel, please,’ Em said.

  She’d got away with it, Frankie heaved, as she escaped into the hall. She lay her back against the wall to cool down. But the reddening all over didn’t stop. She was out of danger so why was she the colour of… of his flushed lips when they’d kissed?

  Her answer came when he appeared by her side as she let herself out of the flat. He’d go with her, he said, to get something for his tea. Holy sheep. It was his physical presence that was making her feel hot.

  Meanwhile…

  Letty

  ‘So, what’s happening with Simon?’ Letty asked Em, once they were alone. She pretended to be preoccupied with the task of painting her nails bright coral, knowing this was her best chance of getting Em to talk. If she was too eager for information, Em would shut down.