The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green Read online

  Two toots of the whistle, the first short and the second long, indicated it was time for a drinks break. She had to go. Now. Slip out and that would be that.

  Letty picked up her towel and strolled casually to the water fountain, which was right next to the door to the changing rooms. She filled a plastic cup, downed it and then quickly disappeared.

  Normally, she’d hang about until everyone was gone so she could be alone with Lance. But she wasted no time in opening her locker, grabbing her bag and heading for the exit. She was back to square one. Again. Destined to return home to nothing more than a pile of ‘Sorry, we missed you’ postcards, which were the product of late-night online drunk-clicking.

  Just then, she felt a hand on her arm. Turning round, he was there, his eyes full of concern.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked, glancing behind him then giving her a kiss on the lips, which melted on her mouth. ‘Where are you off to? I thought we were going back to yours?’

  She wanted to erupt, but blowing her top would show she was jealous and she was better than that. Yet shrugging him off with a breezy ‘let’s just be friends’ betrayed how she felt, and she knew she’d end up being eaten up by a bitter resentment. Instead, she chose honesty. To a point. ‘I just don’t want to get hurt, Lance,’ she said, trying to back off. She needed to put some distance between them because being this close to him made her dizzy.

  He held onto her, his eyes searching hers for an explanation. ‘Have I done something wrong? You know how I feel about you. I—’

  The door swung open, Letty leapt away from Lance as the blonde appeared. The timing was actually perfect or she would’ve been drawn in, unable to leave. It made her see things in a different light. Was this just infatuation on her part? And perhaps the girls had been right that he was only after one thing. That he’d played her all along. If he really loved her then he’d sort out his own mess first. It wasn’t an ultimatum: it was for her survival.

  ‘Come back to me when you’ve sorted things out. At home.’

  Lance went to speak but the blonde was calling his name.

  Letty couldn’t bear to watch him leave her so she walked out of the gym and out of his life.

  Monday Morning

  Em

  Em’s phone buzzed on her way up to the meeting.

  She squirmed when she read Letty’s message:

  Have you thought any more about telling Simon? X

  Only constantly, Em sighed, switching off her phone to make sure she wouldn’t be side-tracked. Today she had banned herself from thinking about him because she needed to be sharp.

  The manager’s PA, Sly, had tipped her off that Mr Roberts was going to announce his retirement in the boardroom and had invited a select few to hear it first. She wanted the job – and she knew she deserved it. She’d run the place when he’d had his heart bypass operation, and done it very well too.

  The certainty she felt about her career made her reflect then on the unpredictability she was inviting into her life with this baby. But now was not the time to dwell on it. She left her baggage at the door as she strode in. The first to arrive, as usual; time-keeping was one of her life tenets. Even when she was a check-out girl, she was the only one not rushing in late with a hangover on a Saturday morning.

  The room was windowless and one of the fluorescent strip lights was flickering. That was bound to be a distraction, so she’d make sure she sat with her back to it. It was a tiny thing but details like this gave her an edge.

  A booming voice called her name. ‘Emerald!’

  It was Mr Roberts. Old-school, greying and like a headmaster, there were no chummy chats with him. He liked boundaries and respect. That’s why he was on his way out. The rumour was he’d jumped before he got pushed because he didn’t match the modern management style. He was a bit of a dinosaur – not quite triassic as he was still returning good results. But he was certainly one of the last of his breed. Whilst she liked his forthright ways, she knew he was compromised by his distrust of technology and delegation. She went over and shook hands. ‘Mr Roberts,’ she said, waiting for him to speak because she’d learned he thought more of a person who could contain themselves rather than blather on to fill a silence.

  He took out his comb and brushed his thinning hair back over his bald bit. ‘The trolley boys have asked for sun cream,’ he said, ‘wouldn’t have happened twenty years ago. That’s health and safety for you.’

  We have a duty to protect our staff, Em thought, but she’d never say that to him. Instead, she said: ‘Well, I hope you’ve given them own brand rather than the expensive stuff.’

  He laughed. She’d pitched it perfectly. ‘Always thinking of the business, Emerald, you’ll go far!’

  That, she thought, is the plan.

  A waft of perfume signalled Sly’s arrival.

  ‘Em, my darling, how are you?’ she asked, peering over her half-crescent glasses, which sat between immaculate silver styled short hair and a sleek M&S trouser suit.

  ‘Great, thanks. Any coffee coming? I’m gasping.’

  ‘Chef is sending some from the cafe. Along with some biscuits,’ she said, winking at Em as she busied away on the tablet she carried everywhere.

  What Mr Roberts lacked in warmth, Sly made up for in spades, letting her chosen ones know she held them in high regard. And it was Sly who’d told her at the Christmas do that the boss would be recommending Em for his post when the time came. There’d be a shortlist, obviously, that’s the way they had to do things, but she wasn’t to worry.

  ‘So, who else is coming to the meeting then?’ Em asked, fishing for a heads-up.

  ‘You’ll see,’ Sly said, welcoming Sally from the cafe who wheeled in a trolley of refreshments.

  Whoever it was, Em wasn’t worried – she knew this industry like the back of her hand. No one could come close to her.

  Apart from Simon Brown… who walked in at that very moment.

  A kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttered inside her as she saw his fresh face and boyish, twinkling eyes. Stop it, she told herself – there is nothing exciting or handsome about his looks. He is completely unremarkable to look at with his inquisitive chestnut brown eyes and short nondescript brown hair. But that made things worse! That meant he was perfect!

  What on earth was he doing here anyway?

  ‘So glad you could make it, Simon!’ Mr Roberts said. ‘You’re a bit of a late entry to all of this – we’re going through interesting times.’

  Oh my word, Em realized, finally. She felt betrayed as it all clicked into place. He’s in the running for the job after I trained him up. I never took him for a snake, Em thought.

  She might be the best here in this branch and she might be more senior than Simon Brown but he was clearly a rising star. And she’d helped him on his way! The floor began to shake as the reality set in: he’s here to steal my job. The man who makes my heart soar is swooping in to ruin everything, even more than he already has.

  Smile, woman, she ordered herself, just as he noticed her.

  ‘Em!’ he said, beaming. ‘Great to see you!’

  Her inner Richter Scale went off the graph in the earthquake of emotion she felt. Disgust at his duplicitousness, revulsion at his cheek and, most terrible of all, complete enchantment at being in his company. She could only nod back or she feared she’d crumble all over the carpet.

  Fortunately, just then Mr Roberts pulled a chair from under the table, indicating he was ready to start. Three more people, assorted deputies and heads, had entered the room but Em hadn’t even seen them arrive, she was too distracted by his presence and the fact he was the competition. She took a gulp of coffee and waited just a moment to see where Simon Brown was going to sit and then picked the chair furthest away from him. The words ‘I’m carrying your baby and you don’t even know it’ circled in her mind as she tried to fix her gaze on the manager.

  ‘As you are all aware… retiring… awaiting confirmation of my leaving date… interview process will
begin’ was all she could take in as nausea crept up on her. How cruel nature was to inflict nervous sickness on top of morning sickness! Ginger biscuits, that’s what she needed, her eyes scanning the plate to see if there were any. She reached out, grabbed two and began nibbling. But it was too late. Em could feel her palms going clammy as wooziness took hold. Now of all times, when she needed to be composed.

  Out of the corner of her eyes, the light was flickering. She had to get out, she was going to be sick. So she stood up, apologizing to Mr Roberts as she supported herself with her hands on the table, explaining she felt unwell. Em heard voices, ‘are you OK?’ and ‘she’s awfully pale’, then she felt her legs go. She collapsed on the floor and everything went black.

  Something cold was soothing her banging forehead when she came to. There was a smell of damp paper towel mixed in with a familiar calming scent. Oh no, it was all coming back to her – it was Simon Brown’s aftershave. She opened her eyes and two faces were peering at her. Sly and Simon Brown, who’d laid his suit jacket under her head. Their faces seemed to have the most enormous features, as though she was seeing them in the back of a spoon. She had dreamed of being close to him again – why did it have to be when she was splayed out and helpless?

  ‘The ambulance is on its way,’ Sly said, mopping her brow, ‘you fainted, got quite a bang to the head on the table as you went down. There’s a bit of blood but you’re okay, darling, we’re here.’

  ‘I’ll go with her,’ Simon Brown said to Sly as Em announced she was fine, tried to get up and got as far as lifting her neck before a bolt of pain shot through her temples. Brilliant, this is truly brilliant, she thought to herself, feeling completely humiliated.

  ‘No running off now, an ambulance is coming,’ Sly said.

  ‘Is that really necessary?’ Em groaned.

  ‘Health and safety, health and safety,’ Simon Brown said, smiling, which made her tummy flip all over again.

  Honestly, she thought, disgusted at her body’s betrayal by reacting like that when she was in no fit state.

  ‘I’m going to be sick,’ she said, which saw Sly fly off for a metal bin and return just in time. This just can’t get any worse, Em thought, as she wiped her mouth on the wet paper towel.

  Two pairs of boots appeared by her head as Simon Brown and Sly moved back to allow the paramedics some space.

  ‘My name’s Lucy,’ two feet declared. ‘Can you tell me yours?’

  ‘Emera— Em. I’m fine, I just felt dizzy.’

  ‘Well, you’ve had a bump to the head and it’d be best all round if you come with us so we can get you checked out.’

  ‘Really. There’s no need. I just need a lie down.’ In a dark room. After a cold shower. Miles away from Simon Brown.

  ‘You were unconscious, you feel sleepy and you’ve vomited. We’re on our way back to the hospital so we’ll take you,’ Lucy insisted as her cohort nodded and helped her up.

  There was no point protesting, Em knew, and so she stepped forward but her legs wobbled. Before she could complain, Simon Brown bent down and picked her up, one arm cradling her head and the other under her knees. As he walked towards the door, he looked down at her and said: ‘Sorry, Whitney. Kevin Costner wasn’t available so you’ll have to do with me instead.’

  Lying there floppy, on the edge of unconsciousness, with her face against his chest, she realized all those times when she’d begged a higher being to answer her wish that he’d turn up and carry her off to bed, that she should’ve specified ‘not a hospital trolley’.

  Later

  Letitia

  ‘So, what are you having?’ Ross ‘The Boss’ Gittings said as they waited at the bar. He was smaller than Letty but she’d never really noticed: he was one of those charismatic types who seemed larger than life. Or at least his 5 foot 5 inches.

  ‘Vodka slimline tonic, please,’ Letty said, knowing a large glass of wine on an empty stomach would turn her into a howling drunk within five minutes which was not the image she wanted to project. ‘Shall I get a table?’

  ‘There’s one at the back,’ he said, pointing with his phone. ‘It’s nice and private.’ Great, she thought, all the better for not being disturbed, so I can dazzle him with my idea. This diversion was exactly what she needed after the inevitable split with Lance last night.

  He hadn’t contacted her last night nor today. It was clearly over – it was a good job she hadn’t fallen for him properly, she kept telling herself when tears forced her into the ladies’. But she wanted to prove herself in her job if she couldn’t do it in her love life. That was the trigger she needed to ask Ross for five minutes after work. He’d promised her ‘all the time in the world after work’, provided, he’d insisted, he’d get the drinks in.

  Letty was thrilled – she was finally being treated like one of the boys: the suits disappeared after hours all the time to talk deals and contracts over a pint. Now it was her turn! And she looked the part in a very tailored cream suit jacket and pencil skirt teamed with a sheer black armless pussy-bow shirt and patent spikes.

  They’d gone over the road from their swanky city centre office to The Vine, a wine bar where Ross held fundraisers for a children’s hospice. He was so well-connected, he’d have the place heaving with at least one celeb guest such as a footballer or rugby player, which guaranteed coverage in the local press. And Letty had plans to increase his exposure – as well as her own talents. To be able to achieve at work would help her get over Lance and find some much-needed self-worth.

  ‘So, how’s things?’ he asked as he got to the table with their drinks. He smiled as he undid the top button of his crisp white shirt and loosened his expensive purple tie.

  ‘Great, thanks,’ she said, answering his cheers with a clink of her glass. ‘Christ, this is strong!’ she said, holding her throat as the vodka burned her tonsils.

  ‘You said a double, didn’t you?’ he grinned, blue eyes winking as he took a long swig of his lager.

  ‘I so didn’t! I need my head straight!’

  ‘Boring!’ he said, running his hands over his bronzed head, which he shaved to hide the fact he was balding. ‘Work’s over.’

  ‘Well, it isn’t for me,’ she said, laughing. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’

  ‘Oh, go on then,’ he said with a fake huff. ‘I was hoping you wanted a drink because of my rapier wit and good looks. Confess your undying love, that sort of thing!’

  Inside, Letty chalked up his comment as inappropriate – he’d never have said that to a male employee. Then again, maybe it was just a bad attempt at a joke. He was late forties, divorced and spent all of his time in the company of blokes: perhaps this was just the way it was.

  ‘I think we, you, us, as in Gittings PR, needs a social media presence. As in Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, that kind of thing.’ Ross raised his eyebrows, indicating she could continue. ‘I’d like to volunteer to do it. I’m on top of my work, and I’m not saying I need more to do but I’d really like the chance to show what I’m made of. Develop this myself, push our brand, make us look up-to-date with hashtags and campaigns and… I’ll show you now.’

  She pulled her work tablet out of her bag and began to scroll through the presentation – tweaked only slightly by Em, to Letty’s joy – which indicated how interaction with customers online made a business look human. There was a list with examples of successful corporate accounts and it also gave an opportunity to show the company’s moral compass with its charitable work.

  ‘Do you know what,’ Ross said, ‘that is a very interesting idea. I’m impressed. Email it to me and to Nick and we’ll have a look.’

  Nick was his deputy: a new arrival from a rival agency who appeared to be a decent guy.

  ‘Done!’ she said, forwarding the presentation on her phone with a tap of her fingers. She really was buzzing at how well he’d received her idea: this feeling was dynamite when it came to her confidence. So she went on. ‘You know, I’d really like the chance to
do more… if there are any openings coming up, say, if you were looking for a new account executive? Not that I’m unhappy with what I do. I’m just really keen to get on.’

  That, and earn some more money. Because she was on her last credit card – she owed around £3,000 which sent her into a panic every time she thought of it.

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ he said.

  ‘Great! And perhaps you could revisit my application for the course that I want to do? It really would benefit the company,’ she said, draining her drink. ‘Oops, that went down quickly!’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard that about you,’ Ross said, deadpan. ‘Fancy a go?’

  Letty stopped, that was two inappropriate comments now. ‘What?’ she asked, feeling her excitement drain away and replaced by anger as he showed how low she was in his regard.

  Quick as a flash, he was holding up his hands and apologizing. ‘Sorry! It was just a joke!’

  But she wasn’t laughing. Letty considered whether it was worth telling him he had made her feel uncomfortable. If he’d been a random slimebollock in the pub, she’d have given him what for. So what was the difference? He was her boss, that’s what, with power over her. Yet if she made it clear now then he would see she meant business: that she wanted to progress, that she wasn’t a walkover. And Christ, after Lance, she felt nothing but.

  Terrified but needing to show she had a backbone after all, Letty went for it. ‘Ross, I’m all for a bit of banter but not that, all right?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said, his eyes darting around the bar.

  ‘The innuendo. It’s not on. Let’s keep it professional.’

  He blew out his cheeks and rubbed an eye: classic signs of discomfort after being rumbled. And she was relieved too because she couldn’t do without her job. She was paid well above her level, was included in bonuses and she got six weeks’ holiday.