The Little Flower Shop by the Sea (4 page)

Jake smiles. ‘She’s picky about food, but not that picky. It’s a little too big for her to handle.’

‘Oh! Oh right, of course.’ I hurriedly look around me for something to cut the apple with. ‘Wait right there,’ I say, heading out to the back room where my grandmother used to arrange her flowers into the exquisite and often exotic bouquets that would bring a huge smile to the lucky recipient’s face.

It’s as if I’ve stepped back in time: the room has hardly changed. If anything, it’s tidier – probably thanks to the local Women’s Guild or whoever’s been looking after the shop.

On a shelf I find a pot with an assortment of florist’s tools, and the very thing I’m looking for – a knife. My grandmother kept it for slicing the ends of flowers off at a sharp angle, so they could take up their water faster. It’s funny what you remember, I think, picking up the knife and a wooden board and heading back into the shop.

‘You don’t need to go to all this trouble,’ Jake says. ‘She’s had a nut, she’ll be happy for a while.’

‘It’s fine, really. I’ve offered her the apple now, so it wouldn’t be fair to go back on a promise. I never do that.’

Jake watches me while I chop the apple into small pieces. ‘There, what should I do now?’

‘Just hold it out to her. If she wants it, she’ll come to you. But I warn you, Miley doesn’t usually like strange— oh…’

Miley is already sitting on the desk in front of me taking a slice of apple in her tiny paws.

‘… but she obviously likes
you
,’ Jake finishes.

We watch in silence for a few moments as Miley nibbles delicately on her apple.

‘Why did my mother call you?’ I blurt out at the same time Jake asks, ‘So what are you going to do with the shop?’

‘Ladies first,’ Jake says. ‘She called me because I supply the shop with flowers, and she wanted to let me know you’d be in charge from now on. I don’t know if you realised, but some ladies from the town have been looking after the place since your grandmother went into hospital. They do their best, but their ideas on flowers aren’t quite what St Felix is used to.’

A flower is a flower, isn’t it?
I think of Woody
. Why did the people here seem to think otherwise?

‘It’s good of them to do it though.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Jake agrees. ‘Your grandmother was well loved around here. A few people went up to London for her funeral.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘So you need to answer my question now,’ he prompts. ‘By the way, don’t let Miley have all that apple, will you. She gets terrible gas and bloating if she eats too much.’

I stifle a giggle. ‘The answer is I don’t know what I’m going to do with the place.’ I look around the shop again. ‘Flowers and me… well,’ I gesture down at my clothes – today a pair of skinny black jeans, my favourite burgundy Doc Marten boots, and a baggy long black sweater – ‘we don’t really go together all that well.’

‘I didn’t think so,’ Jake says matter-of-factly. ‘I could tell when I first saw you that you weren’t the floral type.’

I should feel pleased at hearing that. But for some reason I’m insulted by his assumption.

‘You’d probably be best selling the shop then,’ he continues. ‘Take the cash and jet off to a hot climate to sun yourself. You look like you could do with a bit.’

‘Cash or sun?’ I demand, folding my arms.

Jake pulls a wry face. ‘Ah… I’m in trouble there, whatever I say… I meant sun: you look a bit pale.’

‘This is my natural colour!’ I protest. ‘Just because I don’t plaster myself in fake tan like some Barbie doll!’

Miley flinches at my raised voice.

‘Sorry, fella,’ I say in a gentle voice. ‘I mean girl… lady… oh, how do you address a female monkey?’ I ask Jake.

‘Just use her name, that usually works.’

‘Sorry, Miley,’ I say quietly. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’

Like two plump raisins buried in a furry head, her tiny eyes look up knowingly at me, as if she’s reading my mind. Then solemnly she holds out her paw.

‘She wants to make friends,’ Jake instructs. ‘Hold out your hand.’

So I do.

But instead of Miley shaking my hand as I expect her to, she carefully places the pips of the apple into my palm. Then she darts off back to Jake’s shoulder.

‘Sorry,’ Jake says, ‘she can be a tad erratic sometimes, to put it mildly.’

‘It’s OK,’ I say, looking at the pips. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve carried someone else’s trash, and I doubt it’ll be the last. It’s usually all people trust me with.’

Jake looks quizzically at me, but I don’t enlighten him.

‘Drink?’ he asks. ‘There’s a pub down the road. You look like you could do with one – sorry,’ he hurriedly apologises. ‘I’m making assumptions again.’

I study him for a moment. He looks harmless enough, and it seems unlikely that a guy who goes around with a monkey on his shoulder will turn out to be a serial killer.

I nod. ‘
That,
Jake Asher, is the first sensible thing you’ve said since you walked into this shop.’

The Merry Mermaid must have been carved from the same piece of rock St Felix originally grew from. This pub hotel has stood on the harbour front for as long as I can recall, and even though I haven’t been back to St Felix for over fifteen years it’s still exactly as I remember.

The décor and the owners may have changed over time, but the ambience inside remains the same – warm and welcoming to friends old and new, visitors and tourists alike.

‘What can I get you?’ Jake asks as we wait by the bar.

I think for a moment. I haven’t got to drive; I’m supposed to be staying in my grandmother’s old cottage while I’m here.

‘A pint, please.’

Jake looks surprised.

‘Never seen a girl drink a pint before?’ I ask, raising my eyebrows.

‘Yes of course I have,’ he says brusquely. ‘I assume you mean a pint of beer though… not spirits?’ Jake’s eyebrows rise to match mine – but beneath them his eyes twinkle.

I have to smile. ‘Yes… a pint of
beer
will be fine, thank you.’

‘Two pints of my usual, please, Rita.’ Jake turns towards the lady behind the bar, who is wearing the most fabulous fifties-style floral dress. Her bright red hair, which is piled up into a beehive, adds to the retro effect.

‘Of course, lovey,’ Rita says. ‘Anything for Miley?’ She waves at Jake’s monkey.

‘She’s good at the moment, thanks, Rita.’

Miley is currently sitting on the bar, playing with the beer mats.

‘Righty-ho!’ Rita looks at me with interest as she reaches for two pint glasses. ‘Have we met before?’ she asks. ‘I feel I might know you.’

‘This is Poppy,’ Jake explains before I can answer. ‘She’s Rose’s granddaughter.’

Rita’s face lights up. ‘Oh my love, I knew I recognised you – you are the spit of your grandmother!’ Then her face falls and she takes on a more sombre expression. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ she says. ‘Rose was well loved around here. How are you bearing up?’

I open my mouth to reply.

‘Silly question!’ Rita says, shaking her head. ‘Of course, you’re still in mourning, aren’t you? I should have known by your clothes. Richie!’ she shrieks, making me jump, as a man appears at the other end of the bar. ‘Come see who it is.’

Richie finishes serving his customer and ambles along behind the bar. He’s wearing blue jeans and a brightly patterned floral shirt. He nods at me.

‘It’s only Rose’s granddaughter,’ Rita gushes.

‘Yes, I can see that.’ Richie holds out his hand. ‘Very pleased to meet you. Poppy, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but how do you know?’

‘Your mother called yesterday, said to expect you.’

Is there anyone in St Felix my mother hasn’t called?

‘I see you’ve already met Jake,’ he says. ‘And Miley.’

Miley has given up her game of trying to balance the beer mats into a tower and is now busy shredding them into as many pieces as she can.

‘I have, yes. Jake popped into the shop earlier.’

‘Oh, are you going to take over the florist’s?’ Rita asks excitedly. ‘How wonderful!’ She looks with relief at Richie. He nods.

‘Poppy is probably going to sell the shop,’ Jake tells them before I can speak.

I glare at him, but he carries on calmly sipping at his beer.

I smile awkwardly at Rita and Richie. ‘The truth is, I haven’t decided yet.’

Jake’s statement seems to have temporarily silenced them both. But it’s Richie who speaks first: ‘I see. Well, it would be a real shame if you did, young lady. But it’s your decision, and if that’s what you want, I can only wish you a speedy and profitable sale.’

Rita has turned a shade of red that is on its way to matching her hair.

‘You can’t sell the shop!’ she suddenly explodes. ‘Sorry, Richie, I know the customer is always right and everything, but she can’t sell that shop – Rose loved it. It’s special is that place.
You
know it is.’ She gives him a meaningful look.

A few people in the bar turn around to see what Rita is venting about.

‘Rita!’ Richie warns. ‘We’ve talked about keeping your opinions in check behind the bar. Sorry, Poppy,’ he apologises.

‘It’s fine,’ I say, surprised by Rita’s passion for the shop. ‘I like people who say what they think, and Rita is entitled to her opinion. Like I said before –’ it’s my turn to give Jake a meaningful look – ‘I haven’t decided what I’m doing with the shop yet. I’ll know in a few days, I guess.’

‘You have to try and persuade her otherwise,’ Rita says grabbing Jake’s hand. ‘Tell her how important that shop is to this town.’

Jake squeezes Rita’s hand then puts it gently down on the bar.

‘Poppy will make up her own mind, Rita,’ he says. ‘She’s a grown woman, with her own opinions.’

Rita huffs.

‘I won’t do anything rash, I promise,’ I say, trying to appease her.

Rita gives me a terse nod. ‘Good. Well, that’s something, I suppose.’

‘We’ll leave you with your drinks,’ Richie says. ‘Let us know if you’d like food. I’ve a cracker of a spag bol on the menu tonight, and –’ he looks around him at the near empty pub – ‘unless it picks up a bit later, me and Rita’ll be eating it for the rest of the week. No, the drinks are on us,’ he says when Jake holds out a note to pay for our beer. ‘In memory of Rose.’

Richie leads Rita away in search of thirsty customers.

I take a sip of my beer.

‘Is that why you brought me in here?’ I ask Jake. ‘Because you knew they’d react like that and try and persuade me not to sell.’

Jake shrugs. ‘Not at all. I brought you in here because it’s the only pub in St Felix and I wanted a beer.’

I eye him over my pint glass.

‘Honestly. It makes no difference to me whether you sell the shop or not.’

‘Yes it does,’ I say, following him as he gestures for us to sit at a table that’s become free by the window. ‘If I sell the shop to someone who doesn’t intend to run it as a flower shop, then you’ll be out of business.’

Jake laughs.

‘What? What’s so funny?’

‘As lovely as your grandmother was, her shop’s not my only source of income. I supply flowers to shops all over Cornwall.’

‘Oh, I didn’t know that.’

‘Do you know anything about flowers at all?’ Jake asks, putting his pint down on the table. ‘I thought it was the family business.’

‘No, not a lot,’ I admit. ‘I’ve always steered away from getting involved.’

‘Why?’

I shrug. ‘Dunno, flowers just aren’t my thing.’

‘What is
your
thing
then?’

I think about this. ‘I don’t think I’ve found it yet, to be honest.’

Jake watches me as he drinks from his pint glass.

‘What?’ I demand. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘Nothing, guv, honest!’ he says holding up his free hand. ‘Tetchy, aren’t you?’

‘No, I’m not. Just because I haven’t gone into my family business, it doesn’t mean I have a problem!’

‘I never said you did.’ Jake shakes his head. ‘I think I’ll just sit here in silence and drink my pint. It’ll be easier.’

We both pick up our glasses and drink, looking anywhere apart from at each other. I watch Miley playing over the other side of the bar; Rita has given her some monkey nuts – appropriately. She’s carefully breaking open each nut one by one, then neatly brushing the shells under a beer towel before she greedily eats the inside.

‘Sorry,’ I say after a bit, looking back at Jake. ‘For snapping at you before. It’s a bad habit of mine.’

‘Not a problem,’ Jake says, shrugging amiably.

‘It’s only I’ve heard it all a hundred times before,’ I continue, wanting to explain. ‘How I should go into the family business with everyone else. How I’m odd because I can’t settle into anything in life.’

‘I never said you were odd,’ Jake says, looking at me differently. ‘Do you think you are then?’

‘Now you sound like one of my therapists,’ I reply, rolling my eyes. ‘Turning my words around on me like that.’

‘You’ve had counselling?’ Jake asks, sounding very interested. He sits forward in his chair.