Chapter 11
‘I know I’m probably the last person you wanted to see,’ Ed said to Frankie by way of greeting.
‘But I just wanted to nip over and apologise for scaring you last night.’ He thrust the bouquet of roses he’d picked up in Port Petroc towards her.
‘I’ve brought you these as a peace offering and I was hoping we could start again. ’
While he hadn’t expected her to welcome him with open arms, Ed wasn’t sure he deserved such a look of abject horror either.
He took in her cute checked pyjamas, slicked-back hair and face devoid of make-up.
It was clear she wasn’t expecting any visitors and he cursed himself for acting impulsively.
‘I’m sorry, I should’ve called.’ When she still didn’t say anything, Ed reached into his pocket and pulled out his shiny new phone.
‘I managed to get a replacement sorted out.’ He shrugged and tucked it away again.
‘Not that I suppose it makes any difference to you, as I doubt you’ll be asking me for my number,’ he offered with a grin. Still nothing.
Well, wasn’t this awkward as hell? Both Harry and Kat had assured him Frankie wasn’t any the worse for wear, but maybe she’d only been putting a brave face on things, because the way she was glaring at him told Ed she was definitely not ready to put the previous night behind her.
‘Anyway, I just wanted to say sorry, again, and now I’ll go away and leave you in peace. ’ Ed offered her the flowers again.
‘Is this some kind of joke?’ Frankie demanded, finding her voice at last.
‘No, no joke,’ he replied, thoroughly confused. ‘I was going to the florist anyway to pick out a Christmas basket for my mum and I didn’t want to turn up here empty-handed…’
‘And you expect me to believe you randomly chose red roses? What kind of a sicko are you?’ She raised her hand, flung a full glass of wine in his face and slammed the door.
Ed stood there, wine dripping off the end of his nose, the magnificent bouquet dangling from one hand, unable to process what had just happened.
Regardless of what Kat and Harry said about her, there had to be something fundamentally wrong with Frankie to behave in such an extreme manner.
No wonder she had a reputation for being the word he’d promised Kat he wouldn’t say.
Didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking it.
He was about to head back to the flat and get changed when a sound came from the other side of the door.
Ed stepped closer and strained his ears.
There it was again, a sort of coughing, spluttering sound.
Was… was she crying? Crouching down, he tentatively raised the letterbox cover and the sound of sobbing intensified.
He was the one with wine still dripping down his face – what did she have to cry about?
The flash of irritation dissolved at the sound of another heart-wrenching sob.
‘Frankie?’
‘G-go ’way,’ she choked out around her tears.
There was zero chance of that. He had no idea what he’d done to trigger her outburst, but there was no denying he was the cause of Frankie’s distress.
Crouching wasn’t comfortable for a man of his height, even without a damaged leg to contend with, and he shifted on the step, trying to ease the ache starting in his knee.
‘Whatever it is I’ve done to upset you, I swear it wasn’t on purpose.
’ Ed’s gaze dropped to the flowers still clutched in one hand.
What had she said – something about her not believing the red roses were a random choice?
‘Is it the roses?’ She sobbed harder and her palpable anguish gripped at his heart like a vice.
Both the cold metal of the letterbox and holding it open against the stiff spring mechanism were making his fingers hurt.
Ed lowered it quietly and placed the bouquet in his other hand down on the step before straightening up.
He pulled his brand-new phone out of his pocket and typed ‘Frankie Webber Red Roses’ into the search engine.
Dozens of hits popped up – a mix of lurid tabloid headlines, social media posts and YouTube hits.
‘Frankie Freaks Out!’ ‘Frankie Fan’s Floral Fail!
’ ‘Frankie Webber is an evil cow’ and on and on.
He clicked on the first return that had an embedded video clip and began to watch it.
Frankie was sitting in a crowded carriage on what he recognised as the London Underground from the garish seat covers as much as the distinctive coloured line map on the wall above her.
She had a hat pulled down over her hair and her nose buried in a book, and it was clear from the odd angle that whoever was filming her was doing so covertly.
That was creepy enough – imagine not being able to go about your business without someone shoving a camera in your face for a selfie or, worse, secretly recording your every move – but the woman behind the camera was also providing a whispered running commentary.
‘Guys, look who it is! Oh my God, oh my God.’
The video continued to focus on Frankie and the people around her, who seemed oblivious to her presence, either lost in the phone screens raised in front of their faces or the music pumping into their ears through oversized headphones.
‘She’s so amazing. I love her as Georgiana Sinclair and I can’t wait for the next season of Ton!’ the excited, whispering commentary continued.
The woman sitting next to Frankie stood and shifted out of frame and a few other people passed in front of the camera, then disappeared.
The train was likely approaching a station and they were preparing to exit.
A man dropped into the seat beside Frankie, and Ed’s gut twisted into a tight knot at the red roses clutched in the man’s hand.
Every nerve end alert, Ed shifted his attention to the wild, wide-eyed expression on the man’s face.
The next thing, the man was leaning over and saying something to Frankie.
‘Oh, oh, I think she’s got a fan!’ the mystery commentator said with a giggle. ‘This is too funny!’
Frankie glanced up from her book with a polite smile and a nod, as though acknowledging that, yes, she was who the man thought she was.
He muttered something else then shoved the flowers at her.
Frankie leapt out of her seat, the book tumbling to the ground.
She moved so fast the covert camera person lost her from shot and the image blurred and wavered until it focused on Frankie once more.
She was white-faced and screaming, ‘Leave me alone, leave me alone!’
The man lunged out of his seat, his body blocking the camera but he could be heard saying, ‘I love you, I love you, why are you doing this to us?’ The image panned past him and Ed could see Frankie trying to push her way past people towards the other end of the carriage, pleading with someone to help her.
To his disgust, no one stepped in, and, even worse, at least half a dozen were also pointing their phones at her.
Ed paused the video. He was curious to know what happened next but was uncomfortably aware he was almost as bad as the people filming Frankie.
She’d clearly been terrified by the man and he felt grubby at being a witness to her distress.
He glanced down at the flowers sitting on the step and shuddered.
He should’ve thought about the implication of red roses – they were the kind of thing a lover gifted, or someone who hoped to be a lover.
Romance had been the last thing on Ed’s mind when he’d chosen them.
He’d simply thought they looked festive and Christmassy with a few gold-sprayed pine cones and berries scattered amongst the velvety roses.
He glanced back at his phone and the endless list of hits for the incident on the Tube then quickly stuffed it away in his pocket.
With a grunt of annoyance at his own ignorance, Ed snatched up the bouquet and tossed it down the path, where it was swallowed up by the dark.
He’d take them away when he left but he didn’t want to risk upsetting Frankie again when she opened the door.
If he could persuade her to open the door.
Ignoring the pain in his knee, Ed knelt on the step and placed both hands on the letterbox and raised it again.
It was quieter now, just the odd sniffle.
‘Frankie,’ he said, keeping his voice soft and gentle.
‘I am so, so sorry, I had no idea about the roses, I swear, and I feel like such an idiot for upsetting you like this. Please open the door and let me check on you and then I’ll go away and leave you alone. ’
‘I’m fine, you can go.’ Her voice was stronger now, but still carried more than a hint of a wobble.
‘I can’t though,’ Ed said, with a rueful laugh.
‘Do you know what Kat will do to me if I go back to the flat and tell her I left you in tears? She’s already on the warpath for the way I scared you last night.
And after she’s finished with me then Issy, Chloe and Anya will be lining up to rip chunks out of me.
No, the only thing for it is either for you to open the door or I’ll just sit here and freeze to death because that’ll be an easier fate. ’
Frankie gave a half-snort, half-laugh. ‘You’re an idiot.’
‘I am, it’s true.’
Her laugh was a little stronger this time and Ed let a little glimmer of hope rise in him. The cold and damp were soaking through his jeans where he knelt on the step, but he ignored them. ‘Please, Frankie.’
The letterbox on the other side popped opened and he found himself staring into a pair of blue eyes, their beauty only slightly marred by the bloodshot veins he’d caused. ‘You’re not going to go away, are you?’ she asked.
‘I will as soon as I know you’re okay,’ he promised.