Free The Late Blossoming of Frankie Green by Laura Kemp Page B

glitter. Letty, now out of her work stuff and in tight green joggers and a vest, even managed to make dressing down look good.
    â€˜That’s okay, babes,’ Letty said, she never stayed cross for long. ‘Want some dinner? Pasta’s ready.’
    â€˜Yes, please. I’m starving.’ In fact, when wasn’t she? Her appetite had always been healthy but now it was Olympian. Porridge with blueberries and honey on toast for breakfast, oat cakes for elevenses, jacket potato with everything at lunch and then the nosedive into doughnuts on her afternoon break followed by a big dinner. Then cheese and biscuits before bed. With pickled onions, big craving handfuls of them, which before this baby, she had never liked.
    â€˜Good, plenty here,’ she said, jumping from the hob to the fridge, ‘Will be two minutes. Hey, would you do me a favour, by the way?’
    â€˜Of course. What is it?’
    â€˜I’ve got this idea that I want to talk to my boss about,’ Letty said, her eyes firing with enthusiasm. ‘A social media thing for the company. I need your eyes on it. Would you have a look for me?’
    â€˜I’d be honoured. I love a presentation.’ And Em dearly wanted Letty to be recognized as someone who had brains not just breasts.
    â€˜Fab! Cheers, babes. I’ll email it to you. Right, this is just about ready,’ Letty said, dishing up.
    Em shovelled in a big twisted forkful of creamy spaghetti. ‘It’s gorgeous. What is it?’
    â€˜A little something I learned from an ex,’ Letty replied, winking. ‘He was a shit but at least I picked this up! It’s carbonara with blue cheese added right at the end with the egg.’
    Em’s mouth seized up, recalling the advice she’d read about foods to avoid in pregnancy. Soft cheese was fine as long as it had been cooked through. But it didn’t taste hot. And the egg was still virtually just cracked.
    â€˜Bit of wine in it too, just to make it… What’s the matter?’ Letty looked at her, confused.
    Em gulped and lay down her fork. ‘I’m just not all that hungry,’ she said quietly.
    Letty nodded slowly with hurt in her eyes, then carried on eating in silence.
    It was no good, Em realized. Not shouting about her private life was one thing but offending her friend was unacceptable. Letty didn’t deserve this. She launched into it – there was no other way.
    â€˜I’m having a baby. It’s Simon Brown’s.’ She didn’t dare stop. ‘I haven’t told him yet. I feel a complete fool, not least because of the lectures I’ve given you in the past about being careful. But there we are. So, now you know,’ she said, awaiting a quite justifiable performance of dramatics by Letty. Who surprised her actually with an outpouring of sympathy.
    â€˜Oh, you poor love,’ she said, getting up to give her a cwtch .
    â€˜Feel free to tell me off,’ Em said into her hair.
    Letty pulled away, gripped her by the shoulders and spoke firmly. She would never do that, she said, everyone’s human and there for the grace of God went she. ‘What’s important is that you’re okay. Are you feeling okay?’
    â€˜Well, no. And yes,’ she said, explaining how she felt constipated, sick, knackered and weepy. But weirdly, she’d never had a single doubt about what she was going to do. ‘I’ve always wanted kids. Always. They’re just so… straightforward. I also realize I’m thirty-one, I have a dreadful romantic track record and I’m an oddball.’
    Letty leapt in to protest. But Em was adamant.
    â€˜I’m not like you or Frankie or anyone. This might be my only chance to have a baby. By the time I meet someone, I might be menopausal. And I’ve worked it all out: I can afford to take nine months off and if Mum and Dad can’t help then I can dip into my savings. Go on, you can tell me