The room goes quieter than I’d expected. I press on.
‘Margot,’ says Frankie in a tight voice, her face reddening. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Our beautiful daughter has decided that she no longer wants to be identified by the sex she was born,’ I tell everyone, ‘which of course Nicu and I completely respect.’
I catch a quick glimpse of Liv, obviously uncomfortable that I’m the one who has everyone’s attention and not her. Then I remove a safety pin from my pocket, unhook it and use it to pop the balloon. Frankie is showered in yellow, white, purple and black confetti.
She’s perplexed.
‘It’s your flag!’ I enthuse. ‘Yellow is for people who identify outside the gender binary, white is for those who identify as all genders, purple is for male and female genders, and black is for agender. See?’
I smile broadly, but it’s only when the camera illuminates Frankie’s face that I see light reflected in her tears.
Have I done something wrong?
Chapter 32
Liv
Oh. My. God.
What has Margot done? The room goes as quiet as a wake. But Margot is persisting like the band that played as theTitanicsank. Champagne flutes are reluctantly raised as she leads a toast to Frankie.
‘To our Frankie,’ she says, and the guests echo her words, although with more murmurs than celebratory tones.
‘Is it me, or has she misjudged this very badly?’ Brandon whispers to me.
I grimace. ‘Very, very badly.’
I must hand it to Frankie, they are being very brave. They wipe their eyes with the sleeve of their T-shirt, paint on a smile, and allow the photographer to tell them where to stand and how to pose. After ten agonising minutes, it’s over. Frankie says nothing to their family and pushes their way through their friends and out of the lounge door, swiftly followed by Nicu, while Tommy locates his pals in the garden.
Nobody quite knows what to do or say as Margot remains alone, posing for the camera as the photographer takes close-ups.She’s still holding the safety pin. I think it must also have burst her own bubble, because she’s lost the Cheshire cat grin she’s been wearing all day. Now her smile is strained.
I catch conversations others are having. Some guests are unsure what it means to be non-binary and ask their phone’s operating system to explain it. Others are debating how they might respond if it was their child. All are united in agreeing on one thing: a gender reveal party is up there with Downing Street’s bring-a-bottle party during lockdown andGame of Thrones’ Red Wedding reception as one of the most ill-advised celebrations of all time.
Margot’s attention keeps being drawn to the door as if waiting for her family to return. Only they don’t. I don’t know why, but I’m overtaken by an urge to step in.
So I take her arm and gently lead her into the kitchen where it’s quieter.
‘I don’t get it,’ she says, genuinely bewildered. ‘I thought she’d love this.’
The way Margot continues to refer to Frankie as ‘she’ suggests that, despite today’s circus, she still doesn’t get it. That this was all more for Margot’s benefit than her child’s.
I approach her with caution. Injured animals can still bite.
‘I think an announcement of this kind was for Frankie to decide, not anyone else,’ I say gently. ‘You’ve outed them without their permission.’
‘But she’s already out!’ Margot protests. ‘Her friends already know. She even told you, for God’s sake.’
I take a deep breath.
‘Frankie telling people in their own time is different to you telling the world through the pages of a celebrity magazine,’ I counter. ‘Look, I know what you’ve done is with the best of intentions.’ I might not actually believe that. ‘But now you need to convince them of that.’
Margot looks at me like a dog trying to understand a new command.
‘Okay,’ she says, and exits the room.
I really hope she can sort this mess out and not make it any worse. But I wouldn’t count on it.
