The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green (16 page)

‘Fair enough,' Floyd said evenly. ‘It's completely up to you. If you want direction, here goes. To avoid a mechanical sixty-nine, you need to relax, take it slow, listen to your body and mine, think of it like making a circle and our job is to keep it whole.'

‘Right, good,' she said, keenly, because she was glad he'd dropped the psychiatrist act. Then it hit her: they were going to have to touch each other. Nerves sprinted up her spine at the looming prospect of having prolonged skin to skin contact: her bottom half had to be bare but she could at least take comfort in keeping her top half covered. The confidence she'd had from last week's session shrivelled. It had been a soft introduction, she realized, one that now seemed silly. Even so she had to do this if she was going to execute her plan to get Jason back. If she didn't at least try, then she could forget even having a stab at saving her marriage. It was time to be brave.

‘Cool. Any questions?'

‘Yes,' she said with forced boldness, cringing at what she was about to ask. ‘What do I do when your tongue is down there?'

‘Just feel it. So, shall we give it a go?' he said softly.

She gulped and gave the smallest of nods. ‘Can I keep my T-shirt on though?'

Early, as ever, Em took a walk on the Cardiff Bay Barrage to kill time. She had a spare fifteen-and-three-quarter minutes which she knew would give her the chance to complete a loop of the blowy strip of land which separated the waterfront from the sea.

Starting at the cafe kiosk, she'd go past the play area up to the locks and back again, all beneath a vast blue sky. By then, Simon Brown would be there and she would have to break it to him. But now, she would seize the dying seconds of his fading ignorance.

After hours breathing in air con under artificial lighting at work, she felt her chest expand with the scent of salt and the sound of seagulls as the evening sun scorched the path. Day to day, this was her special place, the stand-in for the hills and sweeping landscape she ran to when she was on annual leave. It stretched in a straight line for more than a mile – the linear design soothed her. And it had a purpose: to prevent the city flooding. What wasn't to like about it? Em could think here, which was why she suggested it to Simon Brown as a rendezvous point. Her home made her feel too vulnerable: it would be a reminder of his one and only visit there. The barrage was only ten minutes away, and she considered it the back garden she didn't have. The kiosk also did a mean hot chocolate, not one of those fancy artisan fair-trade ones, just a simple blob of squirty cream on top, which she equated with the normal childhood she had always craved. There had been no Cadbury's at their house, only bitter rainforest cocoa powder, from whichever South American country Mum was currently championing.

The thought that always came to her here was that when she was a mum, this would be their playground. There would be a wholesome father teaching the kids how to ride their bikes while she supervised the outdoor gym area, followed by lunch boxes of cheese sandwiches and crisps at the picnic tables.

Fat chance of that now, she thought as a dog galloped past, its tongue hanging out in ecstasy. But who needed a man anyway?

Squinting her eyes, she saw a jogger up ahead and moved to the right of the path to make way. She was comforted by there being another person on their own like her. Very much like her. Her mouth went dry when she realized it was Simon Brown. Of course it would be him. The reflex of joy she always felt from seeing him was now tarnished by the thought he would be in her life forever now, not out of choice but compulsion. He hadn't seen her yet so she stopped to wait for him to recognize her. He was on the attractive side of sweaty, she thought. And he was wearing exactly the same outfit as her; trainers, beige walking trousers, minus the zip-off legs, and a base layer T-shirt. It was lucky she didn't believe in fate, she told herself, wiping her palms on her shorts.

‘Em!' he said, sliding to a halt in a puff of gravel.

‘Hi. I was just—'

‘Doing a loop because you were early,' he stated.

‘Yep. You too, eh.'

He nodded slowly. ‘Do you want to get a hot chocolate or…'

‘Let's walk for a bit,' she said, because then she didn't have to look him in the eye.

‘Shall we head back? I'm parked up there and it's on your way too,' he said but he swayed back and forth to show he didn't mind.

‘How far have you run?' she asked, spinning around and setting off.

‘Five point eight kilometres.'

‘Three point six miles,' they said in unison.

Once, this chorus of geekery would've made Em laugh but now it filled her with sadness. They were in tune and they thought the same way. How was it they weren't together? Em wondered. And how terrible it was going to be because she'd always be reminded of it for the rest of her days.

‘There's a bench up there,' she said, making her way to it and sitting down where she kept her eyes straight ahead, watching the birds and boats in the freshwater lake.

‘So,' he said, settling down beside her. ‘How are you?'

She was sick of the preamble: she wanted to get it over with. Then they could work out what happened next. ‘It's yours,' she said, watching a bird gliding on a thermal way up high. She listened for his reaction. But there was no sharp intake of breath or gasp. Not even an extended silence for him to digest the news.

‘I know,' he said. His voice didn't quiver – it remained normal, light and soft. Em turned to him then to make sure he'd heard her properly. His eyes were honest and true and she knew he had. ‘When I worked out the dates… it was quite interesting actually because I used a pregnancy calculator predictor which I found online. You just put in the date of conception and…'

He was rambling and they both knew it.

‘I'm due February the—'

‘Fourteenth. Or so I believe.' How suited they were, she thought again, feeling the tragedy anew.

‘Given the situation we're in, it could be viewed as wryly amusing,' Em said, with zero amusement and omitting Floyd's suggestion of naming the baby Valentine or ‘Valentino if it's a dude'.

‘You've decided to keep it,' Simon said, evenly. This was the problem with someone as rational as him – there was no reading between the lines and no way of knowing what he really thought.

‘Yes. I'm sorry I didn't explain straight away. I was-'

‘Shocked. I understand.' The way he had finished her sentence added more pain. ‘I wouldn't have pressured you, either way. It was your decision to make.'

He was a gentleman. A frustratingly nice gentleman, Em thought, wishing for once for a show of… something resembling emotion. But she'd been through this with him already, and in her head countless times. He had already turned her down once and he would only do it again. A baby would not bring them together in the way she wanted. It would be a battle to remain friends, she suspected, because of her feelings. The optimum she could hope for was a relationship without strain; a civil, friendly exchange which put the baby first. Romantic notions would only bring more anguish. But how could they get there? This was what she had to work out.

‘I'll do my bit, obviously, like I do with—' he added, not even bringing himself to name his daughter.

‘I know,' she said, resigned to the fact he would be a father but not her partner. Even though she knew happy endings only happened in fairy tales, it didn't stop her feeling disappointed.

She'd had enough: she didn't want to discuss this anymore. ‘We can talk again when we need to make some practical arrangements,' she concluded. ‘And what with your experience, feel free to, you know, make suggestions.'

‘Well, I'd like to come to the next scan. If that is okay with you?'

‘Of course. You're the father,' she said. She expected nothing less from this man who spoke of duty rather than desire.

‘Are you taking folic acid?' he said.

She rolled her eyes at him. ‘And the rest – no alcohol, soft cheese or caffeine.'

For the first time he laughed. ‘Obviously. It's going to be a textbook baby!'

Em shrugged. She severely doubted it – there was nothing textbook about this situation.

She chose to read his flippant comment as an acute misjudgement. It was unfair of her as she knew he was only trying to be nice. Even so, if he could be so trite, maybe he wasn't her soulmate after all. That was how she was going to have to think of him to stop herself loving him. I mean, he'd shown another, harder, ruthless side to himself by being prepared to snatch the store manager's job from her. This would be the approach she needed to survive.

A family came into view: the mother was pushing a pram while the father had a laughing toddler on his shoulders. Em had to get away because she couldn't stand the sight of what she had hoped for.

Standing up, she convinced herself it was clear Simon Brown was intending to treat this baby as he had done with his first; play his part when required and fulfil his responsibilities. Nothing more.

‘Do you need anything?' he asked, innocently.

A list popped up in her head: she needed him to love her, to tell her he had been wrong about not being able to commit to her and to be by her side so they did this together. This is not helping, Em, she said sternly to herself. Opening up to him had only caused trouble.

‘Nothing, thank you,' she said in a clipped voice. ‘I'll email you when I see the midwife next.'

Simon Brown nodded and went to say something. ‘Take care,' he said, smiling his lopsided little smile which had always made her heart swell and her stomach contract. Now all she felt was devastation.

Quickly, she walked off and managed to contain her tears until she was out of earshot and the sound of her crying would be swallowed by the wind.

Frankie could feel Floyd's hot breath on her inner thigh.

Rigid and fearful, she felt herself retreat, imagining she was on the dentist's chair. ‘I'd actually prefer to be having a filling right now', she thought, as she focused away from his boxers and on his left calf which was resting beside her head. She began a game of dot-to-dot in the galaxy of his freckles hoping to find an exit sign somewhere near his ankle.

‘I can hear you thinking,' Floyd whispered into her crotch. ‘Stop thinking. Remember what I said, this is about making a circle, that's all there is to it.' Ignoring him, she realized they hadn't even kissed and yet here he was about to start smooching her twinkle. For her kissing was the closest she got to heaven. Face to face, mouth to mouth, the sweep of eye lashes, taking in someone else's breath – now that was erotic. This, on the other hand, felt impersonal, anonymous. She could be here with anyone. And then it clicked, if she pretended Jason was down there, well, her tummy responded with a backflip.

‘Okay, I'm going to take my knickers off now,' she said, shuffling them down her legs.

‘Excellent,' Floyd murmured. ‘Me too.'

Once they'd done that, she shifted her body so her eyes – squeezed tight shut until the evil moment – were level with Floyd's privates. Jason's privates, she corrected herself.

‘I'm ready,' she said.

‘Me too,' came a voice from below.

Dear God, he's not wrong, Frankie thought, opening her eyes, at the sight of his generously-sized thing. No wonder he couldn't wear Speedos!

‘Do you want to… commence proceedings?'

She hummed a hesitant ‘yes', then blew out of her cheeks.

‘Go with the flow, we can stop at any time, just relax.'

Her heart pounding, she inched her way towards him. He smelled lovely, thankfully, of clean laundry, and he had a sweet dark mole like a beauty spot to the right beneath his belly button. She closed her eyes, thinking of her husband, and pressed her lips against his stomach. Smooth and clean, his skin was warm and, when she imagined it to be the love of her life, inviting. Closer now, she moved her mouth towards him: and then she was there, on him, and she heard a murmur, which reassured her. He rocked against her lightly to help her set a rhythm and then she braced herself for the feel of his beard against her – it was going to feel like a Brillo pad, she just knew it.

What's the point of this, she thought, I'll never come, I'm a freak, go on give it your all, it won't make any differ… oh God, oh God, oh God, OH GOD.

When his touch came, all there was was softness. She was swirling, first through the sea, deep underwater, then flying, soaring as colours exploded on the back of her eyelids. It was as if she was hypnotized, no longer nervous, no longer scared, he had flicked a switch and all she could feel was a rich, heavy, luxurious pleasure. But, shit, her mind flashed back to her and Jason doing exactly this position in her childhood bedroom. How she'd tried to go with it but had ended up staring at her abandoned boot-cut jeans on the floor and the stack of Charles Worthington hair products on her bedside table. To take her mind off what they were doing.

Distracted, she realized she'd pulled away from Floyd. The memory had stopped her from getting lost in the moment. She fumbled and groped and felt a panic rise at losing the plot. Here was all the evidence she needed to know she was out of her depth. The semi-darkness was disorienting and yet out of it came his hands, grounding her, pulling her back to anchor.

‘I'm here,' he said, ‘you've just resurfaced, that's all, you're doing really well. You can do this.'

How could he be so sure? She was at a cross-roads: retreat from her fear or believe in herself the way Floyd did. His hand was on her thigh and it felt solid, secure. She felt a well of determination then. She recalled the softness she'd felt before her mind had led her to the past. And so with a deep breath, she sank back down and took him again in her mouth as they began to rock. Slowly, slowly, she found her groove. Yes, yes, she could do this!