Greatest Love Story of All Time (6 page)

‘Not sure about that one, Franny,’ Dave said doubtfully. He was sprawled across my sofa with Duke Ellington purring innocently on his lap, while Leonie removed the next outfit from its hanger. She glanced over, resplendent in an old vintage tea-dress, fiery red hair cascading down her back, and smiled her agreement, throwing me the next ensemble.

I felt a little snag of jealousy. Leonie would never have to call an emergency Gin Thursday: Outfit Special if
her
lover was returning from Kosovo. She’d just throw together some brilliant concoction (that on me would look like a jumble-sale find) and the lover would fall at her feet in an agony of desire. As much as I loved Leonie, I did rather wish that she wasn’t five foot nine, glorious, Highly Sexual and Extremely Cool.

But Michael was coming back for me, not Leonie. I felt a swell of pride and excitement. ‘Don’t look, Dave,’ I shouted, as I hopped into the kitchen to change. I’d done a lot of shouting this evening – mostly at times when talking would have sufficed – but I couldn’t help myself. It was only two days until Michael came back to London and I was jangling with nerves, anticipation and high-functioning madness.

‘Don’t worry about it, Frannyface. We’ll find the perfect outfit by the time the night’s out!’ Leonie called reassuringly.

I peeped round the corner of the kitchen cupboard just in time to see her and Dave exchange despairing glances.

‘Stop that!’ I shouted, wriggling into a pair of ribbed tights. ‘You pair of ballsacks have no idea how hard it is to be in first-time love aged twenty-eight! I need your support, not your condemnation!’

Dave patted Duke Ellington and took a sip from his can of Guinness. ‘Right you are, Fran,’ he said calmly.

‘You sure about being in love?’ Leonie asked, as
she rescued her gin from the clothes I was throwing back into the sitting room.

‘YES!’ I shouted. ‘This is my big love story! This is IT! Michael’s invaded my
soul
!’ I added dramatically.

‘Oh, Christ, Franny! Be careful. Just let him invade your lady garden for now and then we’ll see about letting him into your soul, OK? You don’t actually know him that well yet.’

I ignored her and showed them the next outfit. ‘Well? Good? Bad? Fat? Too young? Too … ? Arrgh!’

Dave got up. ‘Right, Fran, enough. You look great. Take this gin and tonic, sit down and shut up You’re being a wee psycho,’ he said, pushing me on to the only dining chair that wasn’t covered with clothes.

‘I completely agree,’ Stefania said, arriving through my kitchen door without knocking, as was her custom. ‘I found Francees vatching Michael’s broadcasts on ze Interweb yesterday,’ she added evilly.

Leonie started laughing. ‘Oh, Franny,’ she said, sitting down next to Dave. ‘You’re going to have to get this under control. Michael’s only a man! He might turn out to be a complete knob!’

Stefania picked up Duke Ellington and left without any further comment.

I felt a bit embarrassed. ‘Come on, Leonie, he’s moving back to London for me,’ I said. ‘It’s a big deal.’

‘I know, I know. I’m just saying be careful. Has he found a job yet?’

‘Yes! With the
Independent
! Isn’t he clever?’

Dave got up to get some more Guinness out of the fridge. ‘He doesn’t mind working in print rather than broadcast? That’s quite a change.’

I’d been wondering about that myself. What if he came back, realized he didn’t like me and then was stuck with a job he didn’t want? The idea scared me. A lot. ‘He
seems
really pleased about it,’ I said carefully. ‘And I think I believe him. I mean, he wouldn’t do it if he didn’t want to, right? He told me he was up for anything as long as he could be with me.’

Leonie shook her head. ‘God, you two are going to be disgusting, aren’t you? Attached at the mouth.’

I threw a pair of discarded tights at her. ‘Stop it. Be happy for me! You haven’t been in love before!’

‘No, I deal mostly in lust. And I’m very happy about that.
Look
at you! For fuck’s sake!’

‘Weren’t you like this when you met Freya?’ I asked Dave.

He thought about it. ‘Aye, I was pretty pleased,’ he said reflectively. ‘But I’m not as insane as you, Fran.’

‘Well, I bet
she
was in this state, even if you weren’t.’

‘I don’t think so. She’s pretty cool, Freya. Doesn’t get worked up that easily.’

I tried not to glower. Of course Freya had been as cool as a bloody cucumber when she met Dave. She was everything I wanted to be but wasn’t. Calm. Balanced. Long and wispy and Fairtrade.

Dave opened his can. ‘Who’s the latest shag?’ he asked Leonie.

She grinned in a slightly filthy manner. ‘Knut. He’s Swedish. He pledged fifty thousand pounds on the street last week.’

I gaped. ‘What the hell did you do to him?’

‘I just chatted to him, Fran,’ she replied fruitily.

I felt a little stab of envy. ‘How do I learn to be as sexy as you?’ I asked.

She twirled a strand of hair casually between her finger and thumb, evidently pleased. ‘
Having
sex is a good place to start,’ she said. ‘How long is it since you got some?’

I thought. ‘Um, a while.’ I felt a bit shy discussing my sex life in front of Dave but Leonie was having none of it.

‘When? Who?’

I felt more embarrassed still and started to blush. ‘Er, it was Johnny,’ I mumbled.

Leonie was clearly appalled. ‘Christ, Fran, he was
ages
ago!’

‘I’m not sure I know how to have sex any more,’ I said.

Dave put his hands over his ears.

‘Would you like some instructions?’ Leonie was beaming with excitement.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘No,’ Dave shouted, looking wild and afraid.

Leonie took off her cardigan and leaned in, glowing.
‘Oh, Fran, I have long awaited this day.’ She pulled a notepad out of her bag. ‘I think we should start off by getting you a sex toy.’

‘Are you mad?’ Dave said. ‘She’s Fran! You can’t leave her in charge of machinery – she’ll have his eye out!’

Leonie ignored him and started drawing a diagram of a penis. Dave got up and ran to the toilet.

‘Leonie, is there any chance of you writing some sort of manual for me?’ I asked, as she sketched in the testicles.

When Dave came back he ordered us to stop. We’d only got as far as ‘how to get his pants and socks off simultaneously’ and I was by no means done. But before she had a chance to reply, my phone started ringing and I jumped a million miles into the air.
Michael?

My heart sank when I saw it was Mum. I looked at the phone for a few seconds with a screwed-up face, then answered it, feeling guilty that I hadn’t been to see her for nearly two weeks.

‘Mum,’ I said, as enthusiastically as I could.

‘Good evening, Frances,’ she said grandly. She was speaking slowly, which meant she was drunk. ‘I take it you’re in the pub.’

‘No. Just having a couple at home with Leonie and Dave.’

‘I see. Well, Fran, watch your drinking, please. I don’t want you to end up with a problem.’

The cheek of it! ‘Sure thing, Mum. How are you? What’s going on?’

‘Well, Frances, in your absence, I’ve been having a rather trying time. The trouble with the gardening staff has continued apace and I’m afraid I had to let them go today.’ She paused dramatically, obviously delighted with her role as Lady of the Manor.

‘Eh? What do you mean “them”? How many do you have?’

‘I
had
four.’

‘But, Mum, it’s only March … I don’t understand. Why did you
have
gardeners in at this time of year?’ I got up and walked outside to sit on the steps.

‘Because, Frances, Cheam in Bloom starts in June and my garden needs to be in absolutely exquisite shape by then. I have held the winner’s cup in my front room for the last three years and I simply will
not
tolerate losing it to Laura. I’ve heard she has had the gardeners in since Christmas in her attempt to punish me.’

‘Right. So you sacked your gardeners why?’

When I returned to the sitting room twenty minutes later, trying hard not to give in to the gnawing sadness I felt every time I spoke to Mum, Leonie was on the phone to Knut in my bedroom, emitting filthy shrieks and shouting quite openly about her plans for his knuts. I slumped down next to Dave. He patted my shoulder. ‘You’re very good, taking care of your mum the way you do,’ he said. ‘You should be proud of yourself. She can be a right selfish shite at times.’

‘Don’t, Dave. I know you’re on my side but she’s not a bad mother. She’s just miserable and wrapped up in her own world. Can you imagine being someone’s mistress for seventeen years? Knowing he’ll never leave his wife? Knowing his wife detests you? I just wish she’d get rid of him.’

‘Did she ask you how you’re feeling about Michael’s return?’ he asked tentatively.

‘Nope.’ I tensed, afraid he’d say something horrid. In spite of everything, I couldn’t bear the thought of someone criticizing Mum. But Dave said nothing. He just nodded. ‘And how’s her drinking?’ he asked eventually.

‘Out of control,’ I said quietly. ‘I’ve said I’ll go down there tomorrow to see her. I’m going to try to talk to her about it.’

Dave winced. ‘That won’t be easy. Give me a bell if you need to, OK? And well done. You’re being a really good daughter.’

Leonie exploded from my bedroom with red cheeks and an unsettling dirty look in her eye. ‘You’d better not have been having phone sex in there,’ I told her.

She smoothed her hair, kissed me and Dave, then picked up her bag. ‘People, I have to go.’ She giggled. ‘There is a lot of rudeness to be had over at Knut’s hotel. Apologies.’ She hugged me as I let her out. ‘Good luck, darling. Stay calm at the airport and try not to be mental, OK?’ I watched fondly as she strode off across the yard, saluting Stefania’s shed.

Leonie and I had met in hospital shortly after she was born, when her mother had attended a class on how to bathe newborns led by Mum with me as her demonstration model. While the mums chatted afterwards in Kingston General, Leonie and I – me with a sort of wispy black Mohican and Leonie with a squashed little red face – were left in cots next to each other. According to Mum, Leonie had peered very seriously at me for a while, then stuck a tiny fist in my face. I had taken it on the chin.

We had been inseparable from that moment, living less than half a mile apart and going through playgroup, primary and secondary school together. We’d tried, half-heartedly, to stage a temporary separation by applying to different universities but in the end had admitted defeat and gone to Leeds together, where Leonie had set up what was effectively a knocking shop in her flat in Boddington Hall and I did slightly less well on the floor below.

We had emerged as two very different girls. While I became a career fiend, Leonie spent her days on the streets as a charity mugger, barely earning the minimum wage and living in a Stoke Newington bedsit smaller than my sitting room. A never-ending stream of men had flowed easily through her life; even under harsh interrogation I had failed to get her to admit that she wanted a real relationship.

But something was not quite right. The girl I had grown up with used to dream of being a poet with
long beads, a twenties haircut and a parrot, not to mention having a husband who was a member of the aristocracy. Her current lifestyle utterly baffled me.

As she disappeared through the tall wooden gates of my yard I resolved to help her find love. Love was good. I knew she’d like it.

January 2010

Sent
: Thur, 07 Jan 2010 09.08:46 GMT

From
: Customer Services [[email protected]]

To
: Frances O’Callaghan [[email protected]]

Subject
: DO NOT REPLY: Missing texts CALL REF O22965M4

Dear Miss O’Callaghan

Thank you for contacting Orange regarding missing text messages. I understand that you believe that you have been unable to receive incoming text messages, specifically from phone number 07009 704462. As discussed we have carried out a status check on the connection between this number and yours and have been unable to detect any faults. There is no record of this number having sent you an SMS since 23 December.

Best wishes,

Orange

On day sixteen of my post-dump incarceration, Leonie told me it was time to go back to work.

‘No chance,’ I said, appalled. ‘Are you mad? Although, while we’re on the subject, I’ve been wondering what you told ITN.’ I gnawed listlessly at a horrible polenta cake Stefania had put through my cat flap last night.

Leonie started giggling. ‘I told them you had gynaecological issues. It worked a treat.’ She added quickly, ‘They didn’t ask a thing! You could probably take six months off before they dared to probe any further.’

‘Well, thanks, Leonie. It’s always good to have your colleagues chatting in the staff kitchen about the state of your vagina.’

‘That’s the spirit, Franny! Knock ’em dead, my girl!’

I glowered at her. She held my gaze. ‘Fine, you can have the rest of the week off. But if you don’t go in on Monday I’m telling them you have a perfectly healthy minge. Perhaps you could start things off by coming to Gin Thursday tomorrow night? We could do it in a pub near here, maybe.’

A few hours later, my phone rang. I shot out of my coma like a (smelly) firework.
Let it be Michael let it be Michael, oh, PLEASE GOD, YOU TOTAL BASTARD, CAN YOU PLEASE DO SOMETHING DECENT AND MAKE THIS BE MICHAEL?

‘Oh, hello Dave,’ I said, disappointed, sounding deeply masculine. Sixteen days of joints and muteness had left me with a voice like Frank Butcher’s.

‘Er … Fran? Is that you?’

‘Yup. Sorry about the voice,’ I said croakily. ‘Just had a joint.’

‘Where the fuck are you, you wee skiver? What the fuck’s going on?’ Dave sounded quite concerned.

I wondered if he’d heard the vagina story. ‘Er, I’m just not too well,’ I said vaguely. I heard Dave drag at his cigarette.

‘Just tell me what the fuck’s going on,’ he said eventually.