The Little Flower Shop by the Sea (14 page)

So I bite my lip. ‘Yes, of course, that’s what I was hoping to do. But it’s so difficult to find people that want to supply you. Most of them want money up front, and we’ve used most of our budget on doing the shop up.’

‘When do you open?’ Belle asks, putting down her paintbrush and wiping her hands on a cloth.

‘Saturday first of May.’

‘That’s just over a week away!’ she exclaims.

I pull a face. ‘Yes, I know, but I have been trying. Amber is doing all the real flower stuff, she’s been really good liaising with Jake about supplying us the way he used to my grandmother.’ I notice her eyelashes flicker when I mention Jake’s name.

‘Jake’s involved in your shop?’ she asks innocently.

‘He’s supplying us with flowers – yes.’

Belle nods. ‘I see…’ She stands up and wanders over to the shop window. She’s so willowy and graceful as she stands there silhouetted against the sunlight streaming in through the glass. In her tight white vest, long blue skirt and bejewelled sandals, she makes me feel very dark and heavy standing in a corner of her shop in my usual attire of black on black. I have mixed it up a little today, I’m wearing dungarees – black, obviously – with bottle-green DM boots and a black-and-grey-striped long-sleeved top.

‘I think I might be able to help you,’ she offers, like a queen offering her subject a pardon.

‘Really?’

‘Yes. How about I ask my students at evening class if they can produce some flower-related items for you to sell in the shop? Before you say no,’ she adds, seeing me about to say just that, ‘I’m only talking about my top class. They’re very good, and it would be such an honour for them to have work for sale in a real shop.’

‘It’s very kind of you to offer, Belle,’ I begin. I’m not sure a local evening class is quite what we’re looking for. ‘But —’

‘And I’ll do you some pieces myself,’ she continues, looking around her. ‘I usually work with the sea as inspiration, but flowers… hmm. Yes, I could go with that. It would be a challenge, especially with the timescale involved. That’s sorted then. Problem solved!’

I have no choice but to smile politely, thank her, and promise to pop along in a few days to see how she’s getting along.

I walk back to the flower shop and Amber feeling as if I’ve just been ambushed. I’d thought these artistic, spiritual types were supposed to be relaxed, easygoing people, but both Belle and Amber have turned out to have more drive, tenacity and determination than I have black leggings.

As Amber and I put a few last-minute finishing touches to the shop ahead of our grand opening at 10 a.m., I’m surprised at how nervous I feel.

I’m not sure if it’s the thought of the shop opening to real people that’s freaking me out, or the fact that the whitewashed cabinets lining the sea-blue walls are now filled to the brim with brightly coloured fresh flowers and the assortment of flower-inspired knick-knacks – some of which are stunning, but some of which are somewhat…
unconventional
, to put it politely – provided by Belle and her students.

‘What’s wrong?’ Amber asks as she expertly winds floristry wire around some delicate pinks and gypsophila, turning them into the little posies we’re to give away to our first customers. ‘You’re very jumpy this morning. Are you nervous about the shop? Let me give you my amethyst pendant to wear, that will help calm you.’ She puts the flowers down and begins to reach around her neck.

‘No, really!’ I protest, waving my hand at her. ‘I’m fine, honestly.’ I manage a nervous smile. ‘But thanks for the offer, Amber.’

While Amber rests the amethyst back on her chest, my eyes dart anxiously towards the flowers for about the hundredth time. Did we have to get so many types of roses in for today? There were pink ones, yellow, deep blood-red…

I swallow hard.

Amber notices.

‘What is it with you and flowers?’ she asks as she pops yet another posy into a small trough of water to join the others. ‘You’ve been on edge since Jake brought them in this morning.’

‘Nothing. There’s just a lot of them, that’s all. I didn’t realise there’d be quite so many.’

Amber laughs. ‘This is a florist’s, Poppy, what did you expect?’

I shake my head. ‘It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.’

‘No,’ Amber says, leaving the desk to come over to me. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed. What’s wrong, tell me.’

‘Morning, ladies!’ Harriet cheerily bangs on the shop window. ‘How are we feeling? All ready for the off?’

Amber goes to the door and unlocks it, and Harriet, wearing a floral dress and green wellingtons, is suddenly upon us. ‘Well, it’s all looking marvellous,’ she says, surveying the premises. ‘You’ve done a splendid job. I’m sure today will go swimmingly for you. I can’t stop – far too much to do, as always. We’ve a huge cub and scout jamboree at the church hall later today. Will you be able to pop along for a few minutes in between customers to support us? We’ve lots of stalls along with all the fun!’

‘We’ll have to see how it goes, Harriet,’ I reply cautiously. ‘If we’re busy, there’ll need to be more than one of us serving in the shop.’

‘Of course, of course. I understand!’ She salutes. ‘Right, that’s me off. Toodle pip and good luck!’

As Harriet leaves, Woody arrives. They exchange pleasantries outside, and then Woody appears in the doorway.

‘Good morning, ladies,’ he says, removing his hat and tucking it under his arm. ‘How are we today?’

‘Good thanks, Woody,’ I reply, as Amber returns to her flowers. ‘How are you, busy as always?’

Woody is rarely busy. St Felix isn’t exactly a hotbed of crime. The most he’s had to handle since I arrived was a mix-up over two neighbours’ recycling bins.

‘I’m very well, thank you, Poppy,’ he says, puffing his chest out. ‘A policeman’s work is never done. You never know when there might be a need for authority.’

Amber and I glance at each other, but decide to humour him.

‘Of course,’ Amber says, wandering over to Woody with a tiny white flower in her hand. ‘I’m sure your presence would make any criminal think twice.’ She smiles at him and deftly tucks the flower into his lapel. Woody flushes red, all the way from his neck up to his curly hair.

‘Yes… well,’ he stutters. ‘Luckily I’m not often needed to exert my authority, but —’

‘If you were, we’d feel safe knowing you’re there to protect us,’ I finish for him. ‘Wouldn’t we, Amber?’

‘Oh yes.’ She nods. ‘If I
was
to be arrested here in St Felix, I’d definitely want it to be by you, Woody.’

I grin at Amber – assuming she’s winding Woody up. But instead she virtually flutters her eyelashes as she looks coyly up at him.

‘Right, well – let’s hope I won’t be required to do that,’ says Woody, trying for brusque, but it comes out as a squeak. He clears his throat and continues, his voice softer now: ‘However, if I was to arrest you, Amber –’ he takes the flower from his lapel and offers it back to her – ‘I’d be very gentle about it.’

‘I have no doubt you would be, Woody,’ Amber says in the same tone, taking the flower gently from his hand.

‘Ahem!’ I say, grinning at the two of them. This, I hadn’t seen coming.

‘Yes, well, I must be off,’ Woody says, straightening up. ‘Ladies.’ He nods at us and puts his hat back on. ‘I’ll be back later, for your grand opening – crowd control, you know.’

I very much doubt we’d be in need of that. We’ll be lucky to get any sort of a crowd, let alone an unruly one, but I play along with him. ‘Yes, of course, Woody,’ I say. ‘See you later.’

Woody leaves and I look at Amber as she bolts the door behind him.

‘What?’ she asks, trying to look innocent.

‘Are you serious, Amber?’

‘About…?’

‘About Woody.’

‘He’s nice – I like him,’ she says coyly, pretending to rearrange some irises in a long vase as she passes.

‘I
like
him,’ I say, ‘but not like that.’

‘Well, we all have different tastes in men, and Woody isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met before. He’s kind and gentle – I’m not used to that.’

I watch Amber return to the desk and furiously begin rewinding pink ribbon on to one of the many multicoloured rolls we have stashed under the desk. I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t.

I’m about to come right out and ask what she means when Ant and Dec appear outside with the tray of cupcakes I’ve ordered to give away to our customers this morning along with the posies.

So we open the door for a third time.

‘Well, doesn’t she scrub up well!’ Ant says, looking around him as Dec carries the cakes through to the back with Amber. ‘You two have done a fabulous job. It’s so bright and breezy! Not at all like the old place. Oh, no offence,’ he says, slapping a hand over his mouth.

‘None taken,’ I say, smiling. ‘It was a bit dull in here before, you’re right. But my grandmother was getting on a bit; I guess the décor of the shop wasn’t her main priority.’

‘And neither should it have been,’ Dec says, emerging from the back of the shop. ‘She was a wonderful woman, Poppy, and she had a magical touch with flowers; everyone who came in here knew that. They weren’t bothered about what colour the walls were.’

‘Did you two ever buy flowers from here?’ I ask.

They look at each other. ‘Of course, all the time,’ Dec says.

‘Any particular occasions you’d like to share with us?’

They both look shiftily about the shop.

‘Wow, look at that!’ Ant says, exclaiming with delight over an abstract ceramic coaster in the shape of a tulip head. ‘That’s…
interesting
.’

‘It’s by one of the students from Belle’s art class,’ Amber explains. ‘Some of their work is really diverse and unusual.’

‘Mmm, that’s one way to describe it,’ Dec says, peeping over Ant’s shoulder. ‘
Unusual
.’

‘So, about this time you bought flowers,’ I prompt. ‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know what you mean, Poppy,’ Ant says. ‘Like I said, we bought flowers here all the time.’

‘You know my grandmother kept records of all her
special
transactions,’ I tell them. ‘Amber and I have found notebooks dating back years and years…’

Since the first box had turned up, we’d discovered more boxes in my grandmother’s cottage with records going back over a hundred years. The magical goings-on at the Daisy Chain had started long before my grandmother took over the shop. It seemed to have been providing help to anyone who needed it for well over a century.

Dec looks at Ant. ‘Go on,’ Ant says. ‘We have nothing to hide. You may as well tell her.’

‘I think you’d better put the kettle on, Poppy,’ Dec says, ‘this is a long story.’

We’re all perched on wooden stools in the back room of the shop clutching large white mugs, each with a different flower on – one of Amber’s ideas for the shop. I have a Poppy of course, Amber has a sunflower, Ant has a daisy, and Dec a pansy.

‘Right then,’ Dec begins, ‘I’ll try and keep this as brief as I can.’ He glances at Ant, who nods his encouragement. ‘When I first inherited my uncle’s bakery here in St Felix, I was a bit of a lost soul. I’d been blissfully living the gay scene down in Brighton to its absolute extreme. And when I say living it to the extreme, I don’t think I need to explain what that means, do I?’

We all shake our heads.

‘I had money, far too much money, from a lottery win – and boy did I know how to spend it. I’m not proud of how I behaved back then. But I was young and living the high life for the first time, and enjoying every debauched, decadent minute of it.’

He takes a moment, to gather himself, and Ant lays a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

‘I thought I had friends,’ Dec continues, ‘but of course they weren’t real friends, they were only interested in my money and what it could buy them. In the end all it bought
me
was danger. I had a couple of very nasty experiences that… well, let’s just say they knocked the wind out of my sails.’

Again he looks to Ant, who comfortingly squeezes his shoulder.

I glance at Amber, but she just takes a long drink of her coffee.

‘So I gambled all my money away, and as a consequence lost all my so-called friends. I was literally on the brink of suicide – and that’s no exaggeration,’ he assures us, ‘when my uncle died.’ He smiles. ‘You would think
that
on top of everything else would have pushed me over the edge, but it didn’t. When I found out he’d left me – his favourite nephew, apparently – his business, it gave me new hope. Something to look forward to.’

He looks at us all sipping our drinks, listening intently to him.

‘I know I’m sounding like some godawful candidate for Jeremy Kyle here with my tales of woe and redemption. But this is a true story, I promise you.’

‘Nothing truer than real life,’ Amber says sympathetically. ‘You’d be a lot more shocked if I told you some of my stories.’ We all look at her with interest, but she just winks at Dec. ‘Go on, what happened when you got here to St Felix?’

‘When I arrived at the bakery and found all my uncle’s secret recipes, some of which had been handed down through the generations, something changed, I began baking and people began buying and telling me they liked what I baked. It was odd, but I just felt special. Like I belonged.’