Read Online Frankie by Shivaun Plozza - Free Book Online Page A

Retired secretary, divorced, small dog. She spies on her neighbours. Hasn’t spoken to her only daughter for twenty years. Bitch.
    A guy walks past. Late thirties, green-rimmed glasses, carrying a giant bag of almonds. I don’t even bother because it’s just too easy.
    The stallholder opposite is arguing with a woman who wants to pay a third of the marked price for spring onions. I reckon he’s married to a woman who wears floral dresses. Puts onion in everything he cooks because he needs an excuse to cry. Has a total disappointment of a son. A son who still lives at home even though he’s forty and collects science-fiction toys and never – never – takes them out of the packaging.
    â€˜Frankie?’
    Vinnie is holding out a bag of cucumbers; she shakes the bag at me until I grab them.
    â€˜Are we planning a girls’ night in? Face masks, cucumbers on the eyes. I’ll let you braid my hair.’
    â€˜I’ll braid your tongue,’ she says.
    I stuff the cucumbers into the bottom of the trolley. When I look up, the stallholder opposite is throwing his hands up in exasperation and I wonder how long he’s been doing this job.
    I read somewhere that the average person has seven jobs in their lifetime. Vinnie used to be a secretary for an accountant; that’s how she met husband number two. After he got done for fraud and the firm went bust, Vinnie burnt their wedding photos in the backyard and went to work as a cleaner. After that she was a barmaid, then a cleaner again and then an Avon lady. When Uncle Terry went to jail, she started making kebabs.
    But what if this is it for me? What if I get stuck sweating it up at Terry’s Kebab Emporium for the rest of my life? If I make kebabs for long enough will I start smelling of garlic sauce?
    The woman walks away from the stall shaking her head. The guy gives her the finger and swears in whatever language he speaks.
    My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out but I don’t know the number flashing on the screen. Maybe Xavier calling from home?
    Vinnie shoots me a look.
    â€˜What? It’s Cara,’ I say.
    â€˜Thought she wasn’t supposed to talk to you.’
    â€˜I’ll tell her.’ I move away, holding the phone to my ear.
    â€˜Are you Frankie?’ It’s a guy’s voice. Gruff like Marzoli’s but deeper.
    â€˜Who are you?’
    He laughs. ‘So you inherited your mother’s charm. Real polite.’
    â€˜Do I know you?’
    â€˜Where’s Xavier?’
    I push past a hugging couple. She’s standing on tippy-toes to kiss him and the stallholder is waving them aside, trying to let paying customers in.
    â€˜Tell me who you are or I hang up.’
    â€˜Bill. Bill Green.’
    Ah.
    I don’t know much about Xavier’s dad – only what Xavier’s told me, which is that he’s an arsehole. If Juliet hooked up with him, that’s a given.
    â€˜Why are you asking me where he is? You’re his dad.’
    Bill laughs like a smoker coughs. ‘Guess you don’t know Xavier very well.’
    Down hackles, down.
    â€˜I’ve only met him twice, Bill. Pity you’re not my dad. Then I could have inherited my charm from Juliet and my intelligence from you.’
    â€˜Well, if I know your mother then I’ve got as much a chance of being your father as the rest of Collingwood.’
    I stand in the centre of the walkway with my teeth clenched and my hand balled into a fist by my side. People push past; I push back.
    â€˜Just tell that shithead brother of yours to get his worthless arse home,’ says Bill. ‘The prick owes me money.’
    The line goes dead before I can tell him to fuck the fuck off.
    It takes me a minute to get my breathing under control. I grip the phone tight, staring at the cracked screen. I wait for the red blots to clear.
    I remember the first time I felt like this. Not long after I moved into Vinnie’s