The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green (25 page)

State of the art? she thought, trying not to ram it so hard over a bump in the pavement that Eddy would be bouncing about. Like bollocks it was: the pushchair seemed to jar at the hint of a bird fart.

‘It's a running buggy,' Lance had said when he wheeled it in to the flat. It was the size of a tank and stupidly heavy. It wouldn't do to leave it in the communal hallway, oh no. ‘I'm worried it'll get nicked,' he'd said. By whom? she'd asked, the British Army? But Helen would go mad, he had pleaded, and, as Letty was learning, What Helen Wanted, Helen Got. Whenever her name was mentioned, Lance seemed weaker and less of his own man. It broke Letty's heart every time. This woman wasn't an earth mother, she was a sergeant bloody major, not just in charge of Lance, but now her too.

How apt it was that Helen ran a fitness class for new mums. Letty could just imagine her bellowing at ‘Buggy Body', which invited poor victims to bring their babies along in their prams. The clever thing about it, Lance had said, was that not only did the little ones get some fresh air but the mums could use the weight of their buggies as part of their training. Letty though couldn't understand why new mums couldn't just enjoy tea and cake for a while rather than have to get their bodies back. What was the rush and the obsession with that? Why couldn't people just let them be?

And how exactly had she ended up spending her Saturday afternoon looking after Eddy by herself? she wondered, as she made her way to the kids' play area up the road from her flat.

She stomped the rest of the way, harrumphing with every step, until a little hand appeared, dangling a chewed-up bunny. Stopping to check Eddy was okay, Letty squatted down at the front of the pushchair and was rewarded with a smile.

‘Hello, little fella,' she said, softly nipping his nose with her fingers because he was a lush little thing, ‘we're nearly there, it's not far.'

The adorable little cherub, who had his dad's eyes and mouth, began jabbering at her and then pulled at the straps holding him steady. ‘Up! Up!'

‘We'll be there very soon, babes, don't you worry.'

The interruption gave her a pause for thought: she'd been spitting venom because she was tired. She felt bad for her damning stream of consciousness just a few minutes before – she hadn't even met Helen so how could she say she was an ogre? And Lance was just trying to do his best. Give everyone a fair go, she thought.

Lance was working so hard, that was why she was in charge now. Weekend PT sessions were a fact of life: he'd told her this would be how it was, and she'd taken him on knowing it.

And it wasn't as if he didn't make her feel appreciated – he bought her flowers and chocolates and paid for everything when they went out.

This afternoon was a chance to get to know Eddy – a good job because it hadn't started off well. Even before she'd set eyes on him she hadn't felt reassured by Lance that it would go well. He was touchy as if he was preparing to welcome Prince George. In the week leading up to his visit, Lance had become obsessed with getting everything ready. Disinfecting everything within reach, moving ‘dangerous' things out of harm's way. Plug sockets were sealed, cupboards were screwed with locks, corners were cushioned with foam guards, and the doors had bumpers to stop fingers getting trapped. He'd put up baby gates and put together a kiddy workbench and a kitchen – because Helen didn't like gender-specific toys – both of which took over the lounge. Baby-proofing, he called it, but it seemed more than that: like he wanted to make up for leaving him. She had tried to tell him that love was all Eddy needed, but he would always answer her with the undeniable fact that ‘how could she know seeing as she wasn't a parent'.

Something had altered in their relationship, she could see that now. The intimacy had disappeared. Her cup of coffee was still waiting for her when she got out of the shower, but he never was. They hadn't had sex for a week – she'd tried to initiate it, to tell him it would bust his stress but he'd given her the line ‘is that all you think about?' She'd been hurt because that wasn't it at all – sex was how they soothed and supported one another, there was nothing wrong with that.

So when Eddy turned up, Letty was hopeful that it would mark the end of Lance's worry: his son would be here, right, the wait was over, therefore he'd relax. But that was when Letty discovered how unprepared she'd been.

Stupidly, she'd rushed to the door and been too in his face when he'd arrived last night. She'd only wanted to make a good impression, but it had backfired with Eddy bawling.

Had she left it there, it might have improved. But no: she waved toys at Eddy like a moron and tried to pick him up before he was ready. Cue more screaming.

Fair do's, Lance was brilliant, understanding that in spite of reason, she was taking it personally. ‘He's just a bit unsure,' he had said gently, over his shoulder so she was out of Eddy's eyeline, because for fifteen minutes just the sight of her made him cry. The plan had been to settle him in, put him to bed at 7 p.m. then for Letty and Lance to share a bottle of red over paella. But it took two hours of children's telly – ‘Don't tell Helen, it goes off at 4 p.m. at hers,' Lance had said – for Eddy to chill out. Thankfully, he went out like a light by 9.30 p.m. – she didn't care by this point that he was in their bed she was so tired – so they reheated their tea, wolfed it down then called it a night by 10 p.m. A cuddle, of course, was out of the question.

Eddy was up twice in the night, and by 3 a.m. Letty decided to sleep on the sofa. Then she was awoken by a pudgy finger in the eye three hours later, which on a weekend was practically still the middle of the night for Letty. Maybe it was because she was sloth-like and didn't leap up for him, but he went up to her face and gave her a big sloppy kiss. She had felt as if she had been forgiven, that things would be okay. Thank you, God, she'd thought, as he pulled her out of the duvet and spoke mumbo-jumbo, which Lance translated as him wanting to play hide-and-seek.

Over and over, he'd hidden in the exact same spot, behind the floor-length curtains and laughed hysterically each time she found him, the cherub. There was a minor altercation when he didn't want to go in his high chair, but when he finally relented he ate up all of his breakfast. Although, by the taste of the spoonful of organic sawdust posing as porridge he shoved in her mouth, she wouldn't have blamed him if he'd chucked it on the floor.

She got a chance to tidy up and recover when Lance took Eddy swimming for a couple of hours. They had lunch, Eddy had a nap and then, as Lance left for work, he strapped Eddy into the tank so Letty could take him to the swings.

And that was where she found herself now, in the sunshine with a rabble of other knackered-looking mums and dads pushing their poppets.

Eddy's little legs kicked with excitement as she got him out of his pushchair. Immediately he ran towards the rising and falling legs of children who were going as high as possible. She almost had a heart attack and rushed to get him. He had a meltdown when she scooped him up – luckily she had some chocolate buttons in her bag for bribery purposes. Undisclosed chocolate buttons, that is, because Lance would've gone nuts if he'd known. ‘We don't reward bad behaviour,' he'd said yesterday, ‘we believe in positive reinforcement of good behaviour.' Whatever the hell that meant.

In to the swing seat he went and she began to relax. At least he was caged in there and couldn't come to any harm. The responsibility of looking after a child was all-consuming, Letty thought, God knows how Mum had managed with two of them by herself. And Em had this all to come.

Eddy was shouting out in happiness now, and she accompanied every shove with a ‘weeee!'. It made her feel less useless.

Once he'd had enough, they went for a snack. But only after he'd gone rigid when she'd tried to crowbar him back into the buggy. So they walked to the cafe hand-in-hand.

Inside, his little face beamed when the waitress brought chocolate cake.

‘I'm sorry, this isn't for you, babes,' she said, looking through the enormous changing bag that contained nappies, wipes, cuddly toys and probably the cure for the common cold if she looked hard enough. ‘Daddy has packed something for you.'

Finally, she found it – an organic gingerbread sweetened with grape juice. What a disappointment for Eddy. His bottom lip quivered as he threw the biscuit on the floor. I'd do the same if I was you, fella, she thought.

‘Dat!' he said, angry and sad and covetous all at the same time, as he pointed at her double chocolate fudge cake brownie.

Letty sized it up. She knew she shouldn't let him have any. But she didn't want a scene, seeing as she'd never know how to stop the screaming. And she wanted to make him happy. She broke off a bit of her brownie and handed it to him. His watery eyes lit up and he beamed his sunbeam smile at her. Then he proceeded to wipe most of it over his face.

‘Jesus H Christ, little man,' she said, ‘try not to get it on your shoes, will you?'

He giggled then and slapped the table with a mucky hand, clearly on a sugar high. But this would have to do – these would have to be the building blocks of their relationship. She couldn't become a stepmum overnight. This seemed a much more attractive and instinctual option than being a role model. And it was pretty much guaranteed he'd like her more for it than if she stuck to Lance and Helen's boring rules. So she handed him a bit more of her deliciously squidgy cake.

‘We friends now, fella?' she said, as he answered her with a chocolately grin. For that was the best she could hope for.

Frankie had been surprisingly pleased at the way she looked in her underwear. She'd felt like a different person: an exotic and erotic creature as her body naturally fell into coquettish poses in the mirror. The pasties were suggestive beneath her peek-a-boo bra, her waist was cinched in by the waspie and her knickers were oh-so tempting.

But the idea of herself as a sensual woman had given way to the fear of being ridiculous as she walked to meet Floyd. What if she was run over? What if she was trollied into A&E in a neck brace and decorative boobs? How would she explain it?

So she was initially relieved to arrive at the designated meeting place, at the end of an alleyway in the city centre that she'd walked past a million times on the way to a club or the shops. Not that she'd thought there'd be anything there; she'd assumed it was a starting point for their adventure. But as she peered down the dank and dark narrow passageway, she saw a red lightbulb above a door halfway up, which cast a glow on the people going in. Frankie couldn't see any faces but she could make out very high heels, feathers and headgear. What a bunch of weirdos! What was this place? The sooner Floyd got here, the sooner they could move on to the venue he had in mind.

Then the terrible thought struck her – what if Floyd was taking her there? What if it was a fetish club? Oh my days, Letty had once been to one with an ex. She'd worn a crotchless PVC cattleman suit and the place had had a dungeon ruled by a dominatrix. Even Let had found it disturbing. Where was it? Feeling uneasy, she clutched the neck of her denim jacket with one hand and tried to pull down the hemline of her little black dress with the other. She wracked her mind for a titbit of a memory. It was definitely in the city centre, hidden away behind a normal-looking door. And that door up there looked normal. Dear God, she was going to be eaten alive. And where the heck was Floyd?

Trying to douse the panic, she reasoned that Floyd knew her well enough now. But what if it had all been a ruse to induct her into some kind of warped and depraved—

‘Miss Frankie Divine, I take it?'

She swivelled round on her scrappy silver heels and saw a bowler hat, a cravat and a waxed beard.

‘I'm not going anywhere where there's whips or nipple clamps or chains,' she hissed at Floyd.

‘And good evening to you too,' he said, his eyes wide at her distress. ‘What are you talking about?'

‘That place up there,' she said, gesticulating with her elbow because she daren't drop her guard. ‘If you think for one minute I'm into that sort of thing…'

‘Calm down, calm down,' he said. ‘It's not Kinky!'

Kinky. That was the name of the place Letty had been to. ‘Promise? Because I'll never talk to you again.'

‘Of course it isn't! Would I be chapped up like this if it was? They'd never let me in. I'm in brogues, for starters.'

Frankie took a moment to check he was telling the truth. Yes, indeed, his footwear matched his description and he didn't appear to be carrying any instruments of torture. Relief flooded through her and she began to shake with laughter.

‘I was so scared!' she said, gasping for air, bending double and slapping her thighs. ‘Soooo terrified. I was going to pretend to go along with it then run off!'

‘As if I'd take you somewhere like that.' He shook his head and smiled.

‘Anyway, you look brilliant!' she said, admiring his skin-tight jeans and styled moustache.

‘This is what they call “chapping up”,' he said, lifting his hat. ‘It's a movement in which followers decry the vulgarity of the twenty-first century and pine for the days when men were gentlemen. Think Oscar Wilde and dandies.'

She clapped her hands together in delight, still feeling the buzz of having got it completely wrong.

This version of dressing up didn't feel shameful or fake or stupid or sleazy: it felt fun, thrilling and on the right side of sexy.

‘Shall we?' he said, presenting the crook of his arm through which she threaded her wrist.

Then she realized she was still in the dark. ‘If this isn't a dungeon, what the heck is it?' she asked.

They crossed the threshold into a small and entirely black room where a tattooed and pierced rockabilly girl was sat in a peephole taking the money.