Chapter 1
“Franky! Franky! You’re late. Come on.”
Franky heard a soft resistant grunt and realised it came from herself. Outside it was cold and dark. She wriggled deeper into the bunched-up doona, closed her eyes in a squint against the dim glimmers of winter light.
“Up, Franky.”
Bridget smelt of body wash. She was tucking her well-tailored shirt into her fitted slacks. Another day. It’s the little habits rather than the big decisions that make you into a real couple. You drift into routines, inhabit complementary domestic roles without deciding to. Bridget and Franky had become the world trivia experts on each other. Franky knew that Bridget liked more milk in coffee than in tea, Bridget knew that Franky liked a drop of milk in coffee and none at all in tea. Franky could locate the hard knot that formed hear Bridget’s left shoulder-blade after long days at work. Franky didn’t put fruit in salads because of Bridget and Bridget didn’t put cheese in salads because of Franky. They had shaken down into a real couple.
Franky had never lived with a woman before - well technically she had lived with many women, but none with whom she was having a proper relationship - and she found the experience of assuming household roles interesting. Bridget was not surprised to discover that Franky was quite the tradesman and was limitlessly capable with all the wires and pipes being the walls and under the floors. Bridget changed the sheets on the bed and emptied the sliding-bin in the kitchen. Franky fixed the vacuum cleaner but Bridget used it. Bridget cleaned the bathroom and shower.
One odd thing was that Franky did all the ironing. Bridget assumed that Franky would not want to go near anything laundry-related after her myriad negative experiences in the laundry at Wentworth, but Franky found ironing shirts therapeutic. Bridget would have insisted she do her own shirts but it’s hard to argue with someone as you lie watching TV with a drink while they do the ironing. Bridget bought the paper and Franky read it over her shoulder which Bridget found irritating but endearing. They both shopped, although Bridget always took a list and ticked everything off, while Franky was more haphazard. Franky defrosted the freezer. Bridget watered the plants. And she brought Franky a cup of coffee in bed every morning.
“You’re late,” Bridget said. “Here’s your coffee and I’m leaving in exactly there minutes.”
“I hate August,” Franky said.
“You said that about July.”
“August is like July. But colder.”
But Bridget had left the room. Franky showered hurriedly and put on a trouser suit, along with a coat that came down to her knees to combat the cold weather. She brushed her hair and tied it into a ponytail.
“You look smart” said Bridget, as Franky came into the kitchen. “Is that coat new?”
“Yeah, bought it the other day,” Franky said casually, pouring herself another cup of coffee.
They walked to the train station together, sharing an umbrella and dodging puddles. Franky kissed Bridget at the turnstile and put the umbrella under her arm.
“Goodbye, darling,” Bridget said, and Franky thought at that moment, she wants us to be married. She wants us to be a married couple. With her mind on that arresting idea, Franky forgot to say anything back. Bridget didn’t notice and strode confidently toward her train. She didn’t look back. It was almost if they were married already.
Franky didn’t want to go to work. She felt physically incapable of it. The previous evening she’d been out late with Bridget for a meal. They hadn’t got in until after midnight and hadn’t got to bed until one and then hadn’t actually got to sleep until maybe two thirty. It had been an anniversary - their fifth. They had decided on what date would be considered their anniversary in a roundabout way. Both of them knew if they tried they could work out the date that they first met, but given it was at Wentworth during a very difficult time in Franky’s life it didn’t seem appropriate to celebrate it. They could use the first time they slept together, which was the day Franky was released, but Bridget thought that should be a time for celebrating Franky’s freedom above anything else. Eventually they had decided on the day that they moved in together.
Upon her release from Wentworth, Franky insisted on renting her own place. Nevertheless, she stayed at Bridget’s regularly. Bridget allocated Franky a drawer for knickers and bras. Then there was the odd shirt. Franky started leaving conditioner and eyeliner pencils in the bathroom. After a few weeks of that Franky noticed one day that she had purchased over half the items in Bridget’s pantry and fridge, courtesy of having cooked her girlfriend dinner so many times.
One day Bridget asked Franky if there was any point in her paying rent at her place, since she was never there. Franky hemmed and hawed, worried, and didn’t come to any firm decision. Then one day in August - it was a cool Sunday afternoon and they were keeping themselves warm drinking whiskey in a pub in Richmond - Franky thought to herself that she never wanted to spend another night alone in her rented flat. Bridget’s house is where she wanted to live. So she told Bridget she was moving in and that day became their anniversary.
But after the celebration, there was the reckoning. If you don’t want to go to work but you want to do yourself justice or at least avoid having injustice done to you, make sure you look good and get there on time. These are not exactly the lawyers’ ten commandments, but on that dark morning when she couldn’t face anything but coffee, they seemed like a survival strategy.
Franky was completing her articles of clerkship with Louise Flintoff at Jones and Flintoff, a midsize law firm situated in Collins St in the heart of Melbourne’s CBD. When Franky arrived at the office she went straight into a meeting with Louise and the other articled clerks at the firm. She deliberately sat with her back to the door so she could look out of the window which had a great view of Southbank and the Yarra River. She sat up straight, fixed an alert expression on her face and picked up a pen. The meeting began with references to recently settled cases and various droning routine matters. Franky doodled on her legal pad, then tried a sketch of Louise’s face. Then she tuned out and looked at a rowing crew that was making its way down the river. She wonder why the rowers weren’t at work or school.
“And Franky…” Franky suddenly became aware of her surroundings, as if she had suddenly been disturbed from sleep. Louise had directed her attention to her and everybody had turned in her direction. “Great job on your brief for the Cartwright trial, your work was invaluable.”
“Thanks, Lou” Franky said with a slight sigh of relief that she didn’t have to actually answer a serious question. Franky winked cockily at another of the articled clerks, Julie, who was sitting beside her and looking upon her with envy. Julie and Franky were friends and both understood that the wink was meant teasingly rather than arrogantly.
By the close of the meeting Franky and not been assigned any urgent tasks and this allowed her the rest of the day to sit at her desk back at the office and do not very much. She spent an important half an hour clothes shopping online, buying a pair of neat ankle boots and a linen shirt. She also looked at the websites of various tattoo artists around Melbourne to see if anything interested her, even though she had not contemplated a new tattoo in a long time.
Her reverie was interrupted by Julie suggesting they go for a drink after work at a nearby bar named The Vine. There were a few others also going, so Franky rang Bridget on her mobile and suggested she come to The Vine as well. No. She had a late session with a client. Franky's day was nearly done.
Julie was already there when Franky arrived, at a corner table with Sylvie and Clive, who also worked at Flintoff and Jones. Behind them were some wall plants. There was a vine motif at The Vine.
“Looking good, Franky,” Sylvie said with a laugh. “Hangover?”
“Yep,” Franky said loudly. “But I could do hangover cure anyway.” Franky poured herself a glass of red wine from the bottle that was sitting in the middle of the table.
Clive was talking about a woman he had met at Legal Aid Fundraiser the night before.
“She’s a very interesting woman,” Clive said.
“What does she look like?” Franky didn’t mince words.
“What do you mean?”
“What does she look like?” Franky insisted.
Clive took a sip of his drink. “She was about the same height as you,” he said. “She has blonde hair, about shoulder length. She’s good looking, great legs, she had these amazing blue eyes.”
“No wonder you thought she was interesting. Did you ask her out?”
Clive looked indignant but a bit shifty as well. He loosened his tie. “Of course I didn’t.”
“You obviously wanted to.”
“You can’t just ask a girl out like that.”
“Of course you can,” Sylvie interrupted. “Ring her up. She sounds desirable to me.”
“Obviously she was attractive, But i can’t do that sort of thing. I need an excuse.”
“Do you know her name?” Franky asked.
“Her name’s Erica. Erica Davidson.”
Franky felt like her heart had stopped in her chest. That was not the name she was expecting to hear. In many ways she had hoped she would never hear it again. She had not thought of Erica for years, had blocked her out of her conscious as soon as she had found Bridget and with her, love and hope for a happy future. Franky had no interest in analysing why hearing Erica’s name had such a physical effect her. She sipped her Bloody Mary, hoping to maintain a cool demeanour. She immediately decided not to reveal that the object of Clive’s affections was someone she was already very familiar with.
“Call her up.” Julie suggested.
A look of alarm passed comically over Clive’s features. “What would I say?”
“It doesn’t matter what you say. If she liked you, then she’ll go out with you almost whatever you say. If she didn’t, then she won’t go out with you whatever you say.” Clive looked confused. Franky’s curiosity got the better of her.
“Are you sure she’s single?” she asked.
“Pretty sure. She didn’t have a date and there was no ring on her finger.”
Franky’s mind flashed back to all those years ago when she was stuck in the slot. The first time she had seen Erica’s engagement ring. Hearing that it was no longer on Erica’s finger did not surprise her but it did not lessen the pain she still felt when she thought about that moment. Again she re-focused on keeping her cool in front of her friends.
“Well just give her a call,” she said.
Clive looked aghast. “Just like that?”
“Shit yeah.”
“What should I ask her to?”
Franky laughed. “What do you want me to do? Fix you up with a room as well?”
Franky got up to get another bottle of wine. When she returned, the subject had changed to Sylvie’s latest trial win. Franky only half listened to her. She began thinking again about Erica, the thoughts she had not allowed herself to think for years. Where was she living? Where was she working? Did she know Franky had been released? Had she tried to make contact? The questions were endless.
Franky lingered over the last of her drink, feeling fuzzy round the edges. She looked briefly at each of the friends she was sitting with. She felt lucky to have them. People she enjoyed spending time with and she knew would look out for her. Not only that, she had met them working at a law firm. Something that never would have happened without Erica’s encouragement.
Eventually her mind wandered to Bridget. Her partner. Her rock. Her saviour. The only person she had ever fully trusted. She would be lost without her. Franky was hit with the sudden urge to be back at home in their house. She made her excuses and hailed a taxi from the street. On the drive home she resolved to block Erica from her mind once again. If Clive somehow managed to procure a date with the blonde and Franky had to hear about it she would deal with that if and when it happened. For now, she would concentrate on herself and her home.
When Franky got back to the house, Bridget opened the door as she put her key in the lock. She was already changed into jeans and a checked shirt.
“I thought you’d be late,” Franky said.
“The client cancelled,” Bridget said. “I’ve made dinner.”
Franky looked on the table. Spiced chicken. Taramasalata. Pita bread. A self-saucing pudding. A carton of cream. A bottle of wine. A DVD.
“Looks perfect,” Franky said as she wrapped her arms around Bridget’s waist and kissed her.
“But you can forget the DVD, ‘cuz as soon as we’ve eaten I’m taking you upstairs and fucking you for the entire night.”
“What, again?” Bridget grinned and kissed her partner again. “I think I can handle that.”