The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green by Laura Kemp Page B

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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Does this mean I’m hired, Lord Sugar?’ he asked.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜We’d have to have some rules,’ she said primly.
    â€˜Yep,’ he said, now serious. ‘Like Em never finding out or she’d kill us both and make one of her fancy hotpots out of our remains. Probably a sausage tagine, in my case.’
    A thought struck her then – what if he was only doing it out of pity? She started to bluster, telling him he could change his mind, right now if he wanted to. ‘I just don’t know what you’ll be getting out of it, really. It’s not as though I’m any good, is it?’
    â€˜What I’ll be getting out of it?’ he asked incredulously. ‘A young lady asks a saddo bloke to teach her how to do it. Does he a) bite her hand off, b) agree out of altruism or c) accept because he needs to get his ex out of his head? All three of the above, thank you very much.’
    â€˜Right. Okay then,’ she said, heartened. ‘This is all so very bizarre. I think I’m in shock!’
    Floyd held his glass in the air to make a toast. ‘Bottoms up?’ he said.
    Dear God, she thought, I hope he isn’t expecting that.

The Next Day
Em
    Em was crouched over the loo, willing herself to vomit quietly. So much for morning sickness, she thought; it was mid-afternoon.
    She flushed once more, then realized that was the fourth time, and Floyd would have to be an idiot not to think something was going on.
    â€˜Have you blocked the loo, you stinker?’ came his voice at the bathroom door.
    â€˜Go away!’ she said through gritted teeth. She was reminded of their childhood when this sort of exchange would spark off a lecture from Mum about using fewer sheets to save the environment. He wouldn’t get a telling off, he never did, because Mum believed in freedom of expression.
    She unlocked the door and swung it open to see Floyd’s grinning face – complete with one of her plastic pegs on his nose. ‘Bugger off!’ she said, pushing him out the way.
    â€˜Steady!’ he said, following her. Then he took in her white face. ‘Shit, Em, you look awful.’
    â€˜Why thank you, Prince Charming.’ She didn’t want him poking his nose in when she was yet to get her head around this situation.
    â€˜Are you all right?’ he said, leaning in with concern.
    â€˜Oh, I think I’m just hungover. Or it could’ve been a dodgy burger at the