Wildflowers (11 page)

I don’t quite know how to explain the incredible feeling I came away with.  I can still feel the remnants of it now, like a big, warm hug deep inside me.  It’s anything but what I expected.  Quite simply, to an outsider, it’s like the essence of what life is, concentrated.

‘Are you alright?’ my sister asks that evening.  ‘Only you’re extremely quiet for you…’

‘Just thinking,’ I say.  ‘Only I went
to Briarwood today with Lulubelle.  Cosmo’s in there for a few days.’

‘Nightmare,’ says Alice.  ‘It must be so awful…’

‘Actually, it’s not at all how you’d expect,’ I tell her.  ‘In fact, it’s brilliant, Al.  Kind of like a camp for sick kids.’ 

But Alice
clearly doesn’t want to talk about it.  She swiftly changes the subject.

‘Seen Greg?’

‘No, thank God.’  I mean it too.  ‘I met quite a nice policeman though, when one of my weddings got sabotaged…’

‘What do you mean –
sabotaged
… Honestly Frankie, who in their right mind sabotages a wedding?’

‘Oh you’d be surprised,’ I tell her, warming to my subject.  ‘
Not only must I keep a vigilant eye out for mothers in law, mothers of the bride, not to mention bridezillas themselves, now it seems there are vengeful ex-boyfriends on the loose…  I wonder sometimes why anyone bothers getting married.  I mean, it brings out the worst in all of them…’

‘You watch far too much television,’ she tells me.  ‘
And I meant to ask you… Only have you met Maria yet?  And Frankie, I do hope you’ve been keeping it quiet…’

‘Oh yes – she’s really nice actually.  Someone did kind of get wind of it.  He’s a journalist – works for one of those trashy magazines…’

‘Oh God,’ she says in horror.  ‘You have to be careful, Frankie.  If it gets out and it’s your fault, Maria might sue…’

Holy shit
.  I’ve read about this happening.  The thought fills me with panic. 

‘Oh, it’s fine,’ I say, far more calmly than I’m feeling.  ‘I’m onto him.  He really fancies himself but I tell you, he’s a loser.  Or he will be by the time I’ve finished with him.  You know…
qui audit adipitiscur…
’

‘What
are
you talking about?’  Alice frowns at me.  ‘Here, have one of these.’

She passes me her homemade cheese straws, which are yummy. 
‘She who dares, wins, Al… And he hasn’t an inkling of what’s coming.’

Talking of policemen, when I open the shop on Tuesday, I find a box outside the door.  It’s my vase - and rolled up inside it, there’s a note.

Sorry to have missed you, but thought you might
be needing this.  Hope you haven’t had any more psychotic exes to deal with.

Alex

Oh.  A wave of disappointment washes through me.  I’d been
so
hoping to see him again.  And there’d been a flicker of interest on his part too which I’m sure I didn’t imagine.  Oh well, maybe I read it wrong.

And when I check the phone, there are several messages – from Maria, from Mrs Culleton, and the usual tedious sales calls.

I call Maria first and she’s not happy.

‘Oh Frankie, I’m having such trouble…’

I pin back my ears and listen.  You see, florists are like hairdressers.  Part time agony aunts, the lot of us – you wouldn’t believe what people tell us.

‘
…Only it’s Pete’s family.  They think I’m a gold digger, Frankie and they won’t come to the wedding.  He’s dead upset... And it’s so unfair, nothing could be further from the truth.  I really love him… How could anyone not?’

Plenty - like his ex-wife for starters.  And actually, a
wrinkly, decrepit old rocker doesn’t quite do it for me either, but I can’t possibly tell her that.

‘Give them time,’ I say wisely.  ‘Once they know you’re genuine, they’ll come round…’

‘But that could be years,’ she wails.  ‘Oh Frankie, it’ll ruin everything…what am I going to do?’

Mrs Culleton’s
somewhat less emotional, as I expected. 

‘I’m
really not sure we shouldn’t look elsewhere,’ she tells me bluntly when I call her.  ‘It’s only that you come highly recommended.  Abigail knows exactly what she wants.  And it’s her special day.  It’s not your job to talk her out of it.’

‘All I’m trying to do is offer you the benefit of my experience
, Mrs Culleton. 
That
is my job.  It’s entirely up to you what you do.’

She ignores me. 
‘Abigail and Roland can come and see you again this Friday.  I’m busy I’m afraid.  Two o’clock?’

I pencil it in the diary. 
Thank God the old bat is busy.  As no-one’s told me who Roland is, I’m assuming he must be the groom.  And Friday’s not a good day at all because I’ve got a wedding on Saturday that’s full of sweet peas and garden roses, which can’t be arranged until the last minute. So I could really do without a meeting.

But then I have an idea… I need to show her precisely what I have in mind for
Abigail’s wedding, because clients like Mrs Culleton have no imagination.  And so I start to make a posy.  I’ve just a few stems of a delicate ivory rose, so I add lavender for luck and ivy for fidelity.  While Mr Crowley isn’t looking, I sneak over the road to pick a sprig of olive from the bush outside Demelza’s as a peace offering, and tuck in a few sweet peas and freesia - and of course the hazel twigs as a conciliatory gesture.  Then I find a few fronds of fern that I’d forgotten I had, and as I entwine them around the edge, something funny happens.  Not only do I not hate Mrs Culleton, I’m not even finding her irritating.  It’s revelationary.  I glance over at Skye.

‘Skye!
  Think of someone you hate!  Or really,
really
don’t like…’

She looks across at me as though I’m mad.  ‘What the
fuck are you on about?’

‘Just try
it,’ I persist.  ‘Please… Only it’s an experiment…’

Skye thinks for a moment.  ‘Okay. 
There’s this geezer down the pub, who like really fancies himself and pinches my arse and shit…’

‘Okay,’ I interrupt.  ‘That’s perfect, Skye.  Only I want you to focus on just how much you really don’t like him for a
whole minute….’

I cast my eye at my watch
and wait.  ‘Okay… now have this.’  I thrust my posy into her hands.

She stares into it,
then sniffs it.  ‘Bit rustic-like, inn’t it?’

‘How do you feel about
the annoying geezer now?’

Her face crinkles up, puzzled.  ‘Who you talking about, Frankie?’

Not exactly conclusive, but promising, I decide, then wrap said posy in crunchy paper and send Skye round to deliver it to Mrs Culleton.  Needless to say, I hear nothing.

Friday comes and after working hard on the flowers all morning, I’m moaning and complaining about yet another meeting with Culletons.

‘Honestly,’ I say to Skye, w
ondering if you could get as high on scented roses as on Pompeii lilies.  ‘Don’t some people just make life difficult?  Here they are, about to pay me for superior wisdom which they don’t want to hear.  I ask you…’  I shrug, then notice a warning look on Skye’s face.  I open my mouth to continue but she shakes her head, nodding pointedly over my shoulder.

They’re early.  Fuck.  They must have heard me
.

With a sinking heart,
I breeze out, smiling sweetly at them.  ‘Abigail. And you must be Roland, how absolutely lovely to see you both.  Sorry – it’s been a bit of a morning.  I had a rather difficult customer…’ 

As I glance anxiously from one to the other, I realise that actually, I don’t need to worry. 
Far from being a bride from hell, I don’t think Abigail’s brain works too quickly. Roland doesn’t look too sure of himself either.  Suddenly I feel sorry for them.  Having a mother like Mrs Culleton must be a nightmare.  I think about suggesting they elope, just to get away from her.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I ask them.
  They both shake their heads.  ‘Come and sit down.’ I lead them over to the sofa.  ‘And let’s see if we can sort out your flowers.’

It’s a long meeting but at the end,
dare I say it, Abbie, as she likes to be called, even looks happy.

‘So you think I can have calla lilies then?’ she says hopefully.

‘You can have whatever you like,’ I tell her firmly.  ‘As long as the design elements in the different areas are cohesive…’  They stare blankly at me.

‘As long as it all
goes
, calla lilies will be just gorgeous,’ I drop the bullshit and smile triumphantly.  ‘Honestly, guys - it’s going to look sensational.’

‘I almost forgot,’ says
Abbie, as they leave.  ‘Only Mummy got your flowers.’

‘And?’

‘Well, it was strange.  I think she liked them – at least, she must have, because she didn’t say.  In fact, she didn’t say much at all…’

Again, not conclusive, but most interesting.
 

By the time Abigail’s gone, Skye has finished
tomorrow’s centrepieces and looks so spaced out, I think my theory about scented flowers is correct.  So I send her home - until sparrow’s fart tomorrow, we’re done.  Then I fiddle around putting things away, until Mrs Orange walks in.

‘That fat girl, my lovely,’ she starts.  ‘That one that came in earlier with short bloke… What’s she having?’

‘Calla lilies, Mrs Orange,’ I tell her.  ‘With meadow flowers and roses on the tables.  Country style, but not too informal.  They’re going in stemmed glass bowls.’

She nods wisely. 
‘Colours?’

‘Crystal blush callas, ivory roses, cornflowers, daisies, cow parsley…’

To my amazement she doesn’t say anything, just lets a broad smile stretch across her weathered face.

‘What?’ I ask her
, nonplussed.

‘I see you’re finally
learnin’, ducks,’ is all she says, before shuffling out again.

As I tidy up, singing along to the radio,
I don’t hear the car that pulls up and with my back to the sink, as I’m most elegantly scrubbing buckets, a voice makes me leap out of my skin.

‘
Frankie? 
Frankie
…’

I turn round and feel a smile plaster itself across my face.
  It’s him.  The policeman.  Alex, in plain clothes which means he’s obviously on some top secret mission.

‘Hello…
You on surveillance or something?  Staking out Dexter’s Green for lunatic ex-boyfriends or something?’  I grin at his clothes.

He looks puzzled,
then frowns.  ‘Oh – off duty.  Actually being a policeman is mostly about standing with a mobile speed camera or filling out paperwork – not half as exciting as you seem to think… I – er – came to make sure you found your vase…’

Ha. 
Right.  Of course.  As if there were any doubt, what with it being left in a box labelled to Frankie, at Valentine’s Flowers, placed in the middle of my door step.

‘I did, thank you
so much.  It was very kind of you to drop it back.  Would you like a cup of tea?’  Now he’s finally here, I can’t let him get away
too
easily.

‘Thanks.’  He looks around.  ‘Actually…’

He pauses – and then I realise.  He’s just being polite and is thinking of an excuse so that for a swift getaway.

‘Or coffee?’
  I say quickly.  ‘Or I think there’s juice in the fridge…’ Sounding ever so slightly mad again.

‘Actually,’ he looks at me.  ‘If you’re finished in here, do you fancy going for a proper drink – not that there’s anything wrong with tea…’ he adds quickly.  ‘
But I meant at the pub.  Maybe get some food?’

I breathe a sigh of relief.  ‘That would be lovely.’

But after a hectic day, I really do need to change so I persuade him to call by mine first.

‘I won’t be long,’ I tell him, hoping he’ll say he’ll wait in his car.  It’s a mess up there because I overslept this morning and everything is strewn where I left it.  ‘It’s very tiny…’ I glance at his head.  ‘With low doorways…’

But he isn’t put off.  ‘Don’t worry,’ he says.  ‘I’ll be careful... Unless
you’d rather I didn’t, of course.’

‘Oh. 
No – of course not.’ 
God
.  Now he thinks I’m hiding something.  He’s a policeman, I have to remember that.  Naturally suspicious and watchful, not like Greg.  Come to think of it, not remotely like Greg at all.  ‘Follow me.’

I step inside
ahead of him and after grabbing handfuls of clothes off the floor and shuffling magazines into a neat pile, it’s not as bad as I’d imagined.

‘Welcome to my humble abode.’

‘I see what you mean.’  Alex ducks his head on the way into my tiny sitting room.  ‘But it’s cute, Frankie.’  He wanders over to the window.  ‘Great views.’