The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green by Laura Kemp

‘I just don’t want to get hurt, Lance,’ she said, trying to back off. She needed to put some distance between them because being this close to him made her dizzy.
    He held onto her, his eyes searching hers for an explanation. ‘Have I done something wrong? You know how I feel about you. I—’
    The door swung open, Letty leapt away from Lance as the blonde appeared. The timing was actually perfect or she would’ve been drawn in, unable to leave. It made her see things in a different light. Was this just infatuation on her part? And perhaps the girls had been right that he was only after one thing. That he’d played her all along. If he really loved her then he’d sort out his own mess first. It wasn’t an ultimatum: it was for her survival.
    â€˜Come back to me when you’ve sorted things out. At home.’
    Lance went to speak but the blonde was calling his name.
    Letty couldn’t bear to watch him leave her so she walked out of the gym and out of his life.

Monday Morning
Em
    Em’s phone buzzed on her way up to the meeting.
    She squirmed when she read Letty’s message:
    Have you thought any more about telling Simon? X
    Only constantly, Em sighed, switching off her phone to make sure she wouldn’t be side-tracked. Today she had banned herself from thinking about him because she needed to be sharp.
    The manager’s PA, Sly, had tipped her off that Mr Roberts was going to announce his retirement in the boardroom and had invited a select few to hear it first. She wanted the job – and she knew she deserved it. She’d run the place when he’d had his heart bypass operation, and done it very well too.
    The certainty she felt about her career made her reflect then on the unpredictability she was inviting into her life with this baby. But now was not the time to dwell on it. She left her baggage at the door as she strode in. The first to arrive, as usual; time-keeping was one of her life tenets. Even when she was a check-out girl, she was the only one not rushing in late with a hangover on a Saturday morning.
    The room was windowless and one of the fluorescent strip lights was flickering. That was bound to be a distraction, so she’d make sure she sat with her back to it. It was a tiny thing but details like this gave her an edge.
    A booming voice called her name. ‘Emerald!’
    It was Mr Roberts. Old-school, greying and like a headmaster, there were no chummy chats with him. He liked boundaries and respect. That’s why he was on his way out. The rumour was he’d jumped before he got pushed because he didn’t match the modern management style. He was a bit of a dinosaur – not quite triassic as he was still returning good results. But he was certainly one of the last of his breed. Whilst she liked his forthright ways, she knew he was compromised by his distrust of technology and delegation. She went over and shook hands. ‘Mr Roberts,’ she said, waiting for him to speak because she’d learned he thought more of a person who could contain themselves rather than blather on to fill a silence.
    He took out his comb and brushed his thinning hair back over his bald bit. ‘The trolley boys have asked for sun cream,’ he said, ‘wouldn’t have happened twenty years ago. That’s health and safety for you.’
    We have a duty to protect our staff, Em thought, but she’d never say that to him. Instead, she said: ‘Well, I hope you’ve given them own brand rather than the expensive stuff.’
    He laughed. She’d pitched it perfectly. ‘Always thinking of the business, Emerald, you’ll go far!’
    That, she thought, is the plan.
    A waft of perfume signalled Sly’s arrival.
    â€˜Em, my darling, how are you?’ she asked, peering over her half-crescent glasses, which sat between immaculate silver styled short hair and a sleek M&S trouser suit.
    â€˜Great, thanks. Any