The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green (6 page)

‘I'm fine,' Em said, returning to the coleslaw, she didn't need anyone's help, thank you very much.

Ten minutes before the barbecue was about to start and Frankie's Mum appeared with a bowl of coronation chicken.

‘Hiya, love!' she said, handing over the tepid dish which turned Frankie's already churning stomach to curd. Mum marched into the kitchen and began rearranging the nibbles to make room, pride of place, of course, for her contribution.

This was just typical of her mother, Frankie thought. Poor timing not to mention turning up uninvited. But then Frankie only had herself to blame – she should never have told her she was having a party. She was nervous enough as it was, hosting a do for the first time minus Jason.

Thank God Dad had already been and gone, setting up trestle tables borrowed from his painter and decorator friend Gareth in the garden. Frankie always died inside when her parents came face to face. They were very good at pretending to be friends but she worried Dad felt his loneliness even more keenly when he had to make small talk with his successor, a Lego-haired car salesman who loved Jeremy Clarkson and Top Gear.

‘Colin's just parking up,' Mum said, flicking her brassy and dated weathergirl hair. She'd tried to persuade her to update it – it was a terrible advert for Frankie's hairdressing skills – but Mum knew best. As she'd always done. ‘Any drinks going? How are you? Excited? Gorgeous weather for it. I'm sure lots of people will turn up, don't worry, they always do if there's free booze!'

‘Thanks for the support, Mum.' Frankie pointed to the gin on the side. ‘I'll have one too,' she said, needing a confidence boost. Not only had her mothers just identified Frankie's key worry that no one would come, she had managed to point out that her guests wouldn't be there for her scintillating company but whatever they could get.

Luckily, her mum had been proved entirely wrong and by midnight, Frankie was in a camping chair, drunk on Floyd's Banging BBQ cocktail and her devoted friends' company. Yes, it had been a success, way beyond her limited expectations when she'd simply hoped not to trip over her maxi dress or cry into her hot dog.

Sadly though, it was time to start thinking about calling it a night, she thought, taking a moment to admire Letty's arrangement of candles and fairy lights.

The summery soundtrack was long gone: a chill-out playlist on low accompanied the murmur of voices of a handful of people outside on bean bags and cushions. Em had gone hours ago with a headache, poor thing. Letty was still there, slapping her bum and asking if anyone wanted a lap dance. She was doing well, Frankie thought, considering how upset she had been earlier, wishing she was in a normal relationship and could bring her man with her. Frankie hoped she'd come to her senses soon and get herself out of that no-win situation. But she would never lecture her friend. Then there was Leonardo, up on the fence on his haunches, sniffing the air as part of his night-time inspection.

Frankie considered getting out of her seat and clearing up. Yet she was made of cement and mesmerized by the glow of the barbecue which was now burning bits of wood. Shift your bum, she told herself. For two seconds she was upright but a bat flying low made her dizzy and she landed with a thump on her backside.

‘All right, Frankie?' came a deep, melodious voice.

Her eyes searched the semi-darkness and she found Floyd holding two kebab sticks and a bag of marshmallows. ‘I need to go to bed,' she said, smiling at his friendly face, ‘that's all.'

‘Me too,' he said, settling down on the decking at her feet. ‘I miss my bed.'

‘It's not far!' she laughed.

‘I meant my own bed. It's in mum and dad's garage, I'm in Em's spare room, yeah, and the mattress is too soft for me.'

‘How is the flat hunting going?'

‘Crap,' he said, ‘I just can't seem to find anywhere. I feel stuck. Like I can't move on.'

Frankie nodded and stifled a yawn. It wasn't that she didn't want to talk, it was just she was so tired. ‘I better get tidying,' she said, pushing herself up by the armrests. She had to start dropping hints to tell the stragglers it was over.

‘I know what you're going through,' he said, which made her briefly stop. Then she waved away the temptation to have yet another conversation about her relationship. She'd spent the night not talking about it, as in trapping anyone who'd listen to the woes of wanting her husband back.

‘Right. Do you want me to call you a cab?' She looked up at him, making it obvious it was closing time. But he completely ignored her question.

‘It is completely shit loving someone when they're having time out. I've had this for a year now and I know we weren't married, like you, and that's far worse, but I just wanted you to know I know how it is. A bit of solidarity.'

Wow, breaking news – she never knew he was nursing a broken heart. In fact, he acted the total opposite. ‘But I thought you were young, free and single?' she said.

‘I am. Sort of. Remember Sasha?' he said, stretching his arms out to toast the treats.

‘Who can forget her?' Frankie said, recalling the stunning six-foot photographer who could've been modelling on the other side of the camera.

‘Total love of my life,' he said, blowing out a flaming marshmallow. ‘Best two years ever. Then, you know, when I proposed she said she wasn't ready and she wanted to “find herself'” travelling. She told me to ask her again to marry me when she came back but she'd understand if I didn't wait for her. I've tried not to. But there's no one like her, and never will be.'

‘Oh, Floyd,' she said, ‘I just assumed it was water under the bridge. You hide it well.'

‘I can't keep going on about it, can I?' he said, turning to Frankie with a shrug. ‘Em has no idea, she was pretty cut up too when she went because they were like sisters.'

Frankie felt really sorry for him – in all likelihood, Sasha was gone, not just as in miles away. But couldn't the same be said for Jason? Floyd deserved sympathy, not some scathing wake-up call. ‘Hey, I'm the same with Jason. It still feels wrong. People might think we settled down too young and they do the whole ‘there's so much out there' lecture but when you meet the right person, you just know.'

‘Yep,' he said, sighing, then missing his mouth so the marshmallow stained his beard and one of his silly hi-top trainers a gooey white. ‘What a pair of losers we are.'

‘But you're a very nice loser,' she said, laughing easily at his funny ways and from too much alcohol.

‘And so are you, Frankie,' he said, pulling her in for a cuddle. Out of nowhere, his touch gave her a shiver. It had been so long since she'd had any contact with a bloke. But there was no denying they had a special relationship, seeing as she was one of his sister's closest friends. And once upon a time, before Jason, she had fancied him in a best friend's big brother kind of way. They'd come close to a snog once, at Debbie Yates' fifteenth in the village hall, but Em had caught them and stuck her fingers down her throat to show her disapproval. She wondered if he remembered. Probably not, he'd had so many such moments. But if you'd had as few as her then you didn't forget.

‘I just want him back,' she said, pulling away, and peering up at the stars. ‘You know, he's still in contact. We speak regularly and I know he still cares about me. It's as if he needs to get something out of his system.'

‘Well, that's pretty normal,' Floyd said. ‘Even though it hurts, I can see why Sasha wanted to get out of here too. I'd done all that in my gap year. And it must be the same for Jase.'

Maybe it was the drink or maybe it was because Floyd was such a good listener, but before she knew what she was doing, Frankie was pouring her heart out. For ages.

‘What you need is some fun,' he concluded after a while, ‘to take your mind off things.'

‘I'm not very good at fun,' she said, the words catching in her throat as Leonardo wound round her legs, seeking a stroke.

‘Oh, come on,' he said, picking up the cat and tickling him under the chin. Frankie was amazed the cat had allowed him to touch him – Jason had to only walk in the room and Leonardo would hiss at him. ‘This party has been brilliant and… well… um…'

‘See? And tonight's not exactly been what you'd call “banging”, has it? I'm just so dull. I'm trying to fight it but I have to face it. I'm of no interest to anyone.'

Floyd's eyebrows shot up. Leonardo shot off. He'd seen a moth by a candle. Unless it was an excuse because he'd sensed what was coming.

‘What?' she asked, defensively, genuinely wondering how he could assert otherwise.

‘If you're so dull,' he said, with a smile on his lips, ‘why have you written “The sex education of Frankie Green” on your wall?'

She gasped – she'd forgotten to rub it off. Everyone must have seen it, going in and out for drinks from the fridge. ‘I think I'm going to die,' she said, covering her face with her hands. Then she did her best to explain and quickly. It was all just a silly joke.

‘Yeah, course. It is a pretty left-field self-improvement plan. And why would you need sex ed? You're married – not a virgin.'

Frankie grimaced then.

‘Oh, bollocks. Don't tell me you're a virgin. Please don't tell me you're a virgin. Though it's absolutely fine, I cast no judgement.'

‘I might as well be,' Frankie said, staring into the fire. She was beyond caring because nothing could ever be as embarrassing as the knowledge that people had read her sign on the chalkboard.

‘What? Don't you do it on a trapeze three times a night like everyone else?' Floyd said with a straight face.

Frankie sighed. His kindness was a small consolation when it was now public knowledge she was crap in bed. Losing Jason was bad enough, but now she felt exposed. She began talking then, not to Floyd but into the darkness, about her broken self-esteem, her fear of change and her angst if she ever dared to try sex again. Soothed by her out-pouring, she finished with a shrug and told Floyd, ‘So that's that.'

‘Oh, come on, don't be sad,' he said, lightly punching her arm. ‘You won't always feel like this, time is a great healer. And sex is subjective, you know, there's no industry Kitemark or qualification to say whether you're good or bad. Although, obviously, I do have a PhD in Loving, so I'm told,' he said, mocking himself. ‘Relationship sex can suffer if there are other things going on too, it isn't a separate entity, it's an indicator of loads of things. And like anything else in life, you aren't born forever useless – you can learn.'

‘Do you think?' Frankie asked, looking up into his eyes, desperate to believe she wasn't destined to be miserable without Jason for the rest of her days.

‘Yes, of course! Maybe you do need a teacher. God, that'd be a great job!' Floyd said, snickering at his own joke and launching into a stand-up routine. ‘Imagine that, applying for it. “Dear madam, I wish to apply for the position of lots of positions”…' he said, clearly enjoying himself.

‘Yes, thank you.'

‘… “I am very experienced, with many happy clients who can provide references—”'

‘Floyd—' she said, feeling fed up now.

‘“Testimonials include ‘what a whopper!' and ‘very hands on'. I am very giving, offer complete confidentiality and a nice hug after—”'

‘Seriously, Floyd,' her voice warned, and she held up her hands to show she meant it.

‘I am serious, Frankie,' he said, suddenly composed.

‘Sorry?' she said, her palms frozen in mid-air.

‘Well, why not? I'm a man of the world. Not Russell Brand or anything, but I know a bit and I'm, cough, careful.'

‘Come again?'

‘Steady on, Frankie, we haven't even got to first base yet,' he said, pretending to look appalled.

Frankie couldn't help it – she began laughing at the situation. He was actually offering to teach her! ‘You are hilarious!' she said, slapping her thigh, thinking how stupid, how really, really stupid, this all was! He was a friend! A single friend. A trustworthy one. In the same boat as her, still in love with an ex, hoping they'd come back. A friend she got on really well with. And still sort of fancied. Her heart began galloping as it dawned on her that, actually, he was the most suitable candidate in the world, and what if he did help her? What if he taught her how to be an amazing lover and she could seduce Jason and… It was craziness. But she was desperate. She took a breath – and another large gulp of wine, and then the plunge.

‘Okay, Floyd, I'm going to call your bluff, you're on,' she challenged, peering out of the corner of her eyes waiting for his face to fall and the panic to register, at which point she would of course back off. But Floyd's face didn't fall, in fact he just scratched his beard then asked about the pay. She burst out laughing. ‘I can offer biscuits, and double-biscuits on bank holidays, if that's okay?' she said, relieved to be able to join in with the goofiness.

‘Custard creams?' he asked, putting his hand out to shake on the deal.

She looked at him, still not at all sure if this was just a game. Then she put her hand in his and shook, gaining confidence.

‘Does this mean I'm hired, Lord Sugar?' he asked.

‘Er, I suppose you are!' she said, tentatively, for the first time daring to believe this was actually going to happen. And why not, she thought to herself, bolstered by whatever Floyd had put in his ‘top secret' cocktail. Her heart soared at the prospect of having the chance to find out just why she'd lost Jason, because if she could work that out then she could try to correct it. And therein lay her happiness. But there were so many practical issues to sort out.