The Little Flower Shop by the Sea (6 page)

BOOK: The Little Flower Shop by the Sea
3.02Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

‘Yes, that’s lovely,’ I say, paying him. I pick up my parcel. ‘Thanks for these.’

‘No worries, my love.’ He looks at me quizzically. ‘Have I seen you before around here? You look very familiar.’

‘Not for a while,’ I say truthfully. ‘I’m just back in town on some business.’

Mickey seems pleased with this explanation. ‘Never forget a face, me,’ he says, winking.

‘Bye for now!’ I call as I leave the shop. ‘I’m sure I’ll be back again while I’m here.’

I close the door behind me, pull up my hood, and I’m about to run back to the cottage with my food when I see a white van parked down by the harbour.

Painted in red on the side it says
Jake Asher
– Flowers
.

I pause for a moment to think, then before I can chicken out, I purposefully change direction and head down towards the harbour and the van…

Knocking on the driver’s side window I see that Jake is hungrily tucking into his fish and chips, lying in their paper on his lap.

He looks up and sees me staring through the window at him, the rain pelting down on my industrial-strength mackintosh. His eyes narrow as he tries to see who it is under the huge hood, disturbing his dinner.

When he realises it’s me, he winds down the window.

‘Yes?’

I hadn’t expected this. I’d thought he’d immediately invite me into the dry and warmth of his van.

‘I… I wanted to talk to you,’ I stutter.

‘About what?’ Jake asks, looking up at me, expressionless.

‘About earlier… in the pub. I’m sorry.’

‘That’s OK,’ he says. ‘Apology accepted.’ And he begins to wind the window back up.

‘No, wait!’ I call.

Jake stops the window halfway up and looks expectantly at me.

I think fast. ‘I wanted to talk to you… about flowers… for the shop.’

Jake considers this. ‘OK then, I guess you’d better come in.’

He moves some papers off the passenger seat as I rush around to the other side of the van.

I climb in and try to remove my sodden mac, but I get caught up in the confined space while trying to balance my dinner on my lap. So Jake has to help free my arms from the coat.

I notice as he leans near to me the very pleasant aroma of a good quality aftershave mixed with something much sweeter, which I realise a few seconds later is the scent of freshly cut flowers.

‘Better?’ he asks, when I’m finally free of the coat.

‘Yes, thanks. It’s not mine,’ I hurriedly tell him. ‘It was in my grandmother’s cottage.’

Jake smiles. ‘I didn’t think it was quite your style.’

I’m about to demand, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ but I take a deep breath instead, and seeing the half-eaten fish supper on his lap say, ‘Please, carry on eating – don’t stop on my behalf.’

Jake looks oddly at me. ‘All right – on two conditions.’

‘Which are?’ I ask warily.

‘One, you eat your dinner too, before it gets cold. And two, you tell me why you’re being nice and polite all of a sudden. It’s not like you.’

 

We eat our fish suppers companionably in Jake’s van.

‘So, you wanted to ask me about flowers?’ Jake says, when we’ve exhausted the polite topics of the weather, St Felix, and Mickey’s fish and chips. And when I say exhausted, I mean it; polite conversation has never been one of my strong points.

‘You’ve changed your mind and decided to stay on and run the shop?’ Jake asks, looking quizzically at me when I don’t answer.

‘Er… yes… well, I’m considering it.’

‘Great, what’s changed your mind?’

‘OK, OK, I can’t do it!’ I cry, running my hand through my damp hair – probably not one of my best ideas when I’ve just been eating fish and chips with them.

Jake looks puzzled. ‘You can’t do what?’

‘I can’t sit here and have idle chitchat, then tell you a pack of lies about me wanting to keep the shop. It’s not me.’

‘So why did you force yourself into my van then?’ Jake asks, the tiniest hint of amusement on his face. ‘If not for my flower knowledge – extensive and fascinating though that is.’

‘I didn’t force myself into your van, you invited me in!’ I say, my voice rising, as my usual defence mechanism kicks in.

‘I could hardly leave you standing in the rain, could I?’ Jake grins. ‘What sort of man do you think I am?’

Every time I start to get wound up, Jake manages to defuse my rage – how does he do that so easily?

‘I told you, I wanted to apologise,’ I say in a calmer voice.

‘But you did that outside. So what changed? You were adamant I was some sort of adulterous perv earlier.’

‘I never said that.’ I notice his hand resting on the steering wheel. ‘It was your ring. I assumed you were married.’

‘Ah, my ring,’ Jake says, looking at it thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I suppose that is a pretty obvious sign.’

He looks at me, his earlier amusement now gone as his voice takes on a more sombre note. ‘The truth is, I was married, for quite some time. But my wife, she…’ he swallows, and immediately I feel his pain. ‘She died.’

‘I’m really sorry to hear that.’

He half smiles, in that way people do when it’s the last thing they feel like doing. ‘It’s one of those things, isn’t it? Happens every day to hundreds – no, make that thousands of people. The thing is, you never think it’s going to happen to you.’

I want to reach out and take his hand, tell him I know exactly how he feels. But I don’t. I sit very still in my seat and wait for him to continue.

Jake faces forward and stares at the rain falling on the windscreen.

‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,’ I tell him.

He shrugs. ‘You may as well know. Someone will fill you in at some point if you’re thinking of spending any time here in St Felix; I’d rather you heard it from me.’ He pauses for a moment. ‘Felicity – that was my wife – she had a rare heart condition. We never knew anything was wrong with her. One day she was here, and the next… she was gone.’ He looks at me again, his face now full of pain and anguish. ‘She was out jogging when it happened. Jogging – it’s supposed to be good for you. That’s what they tell you, don’t they?’

He seems to require an answer, so I nod.

‘They say it could have happened at any time – the fact she was running was probably not a factor. But you know, whenever I see someone jogging, I want to rush up and tell them: “Don’t do it. You could be on borrowed time.”’ He smiles wryly again. ‘Do you think I’m mad?’

I shake my head.

‘That’s something, I guess. A lot of people did for a while after. But it’s just the way I dealt with it. That’s how come I ended up with Miley.’

Suddenly I remember.

‘Oh, where is she?’ I ask, looking around, expecting her to pop up in the back of the van.

‘Do you really want to know?’ Jake asks, a genuine smile returning to his lips.

I nod.

‘Put your seat belt on then, and I’ll show you.’

I hesitate.

‘Sorry, I forgot about the perv thing.’ He pulls a silly face and crosses his eyes.

‘OK, stop with that now; I said I’m sorry, didn’t I?’ But I’m pleased to see him return to his normal self. I’m not very good at dealing with other people’s emotions.

Jake grins. ‘Yes, you did. Sorry, couldn’t resist.’

‘So… where is Miley?’

‘Seat belt first!’ Jake instructs. ‘And then we’ll be on our way…’

 

We drive out of the main town, up a hill and pull up outside a secondary school.

Jake gets out, so I follow him.

‘Where are we going?’ I ask, scuttling along to keep up with his long confident strides.

‘You’ll see,’ he says as we enter through the main school doors. ‘It’s just down here.’

We walk down the main corridor and through into an art block. There are examples of the students’ work framed and hung carefully on the walls we pass, some of which are really very good. We stop by a glass cabinet before we enter one of the classrooms. ‘That’s my daughter’s work,’ Jake says proudly, indicating a piece of pottery in the case. ‘She did that last year.’

‘Wow, that’s amazing,’ I say, looking at the intricate turquoise papier mâché pot. ‘It’s like something from a gallery.’

‘I know,’ Jake says. ‘She’s very talented. She was only fourteen when she did that. She paints, too.’

‘Really? Does she get her artistic abilities from you?’

Jake shakes his head. ‘No, her mother was the arty one. I’m more hands-on practical, you know?’

I nod.

Jake pushes open the door of the classroom, and we find ourselves standing on the edge of an art class in full flow. There are about a dozen full-length easels dotted about the room with adults standing and sitting at them, painting and sketching. Some are using pastels, some charcoal, some pencils, but what all the pictures have in common is the subject.

A monkey.

There are pictures of a single Miley, multiple Mileys in different positions, abstract Mileys that look nothing like a monkey but more like a treble clef, and, sitting in amongst all this, high up on a shelf nibbling on a slice of banana – but by the look of some of the paintings it would appear she’s been in many places tonight – is the real thing.

She sees Jake at the door, squeals with delight, then makes her way over towards him, first by climbing the shelves, then by scuttling along the floor into his arms.

‘Perfect timing!’ calls a slender young woman with long blonde hair, who I guess is the tutor. ‘I think you’ll all agree it’s been a challenging, but very rewarding class tonight. I should like to thank Miley for allowing us to capture her – she’s been an absolute star.’

The class applauds, and Miley, now sitting on Jake’s shoulder, gives a tiny bow.

The students begin packing their kit up and the tutor wanders over towards us.

She smiles at me, then speaks to Jake.

‘Thank you so much as always, Jake,’ she says touching his arm. ‘Miley was wonderful to work with, so animated and interesting to sketch.’

‘I’d have thought you would have preferred something more static,’ Jake replies. ‘Be a lot easier to draw.’

‘But that’s the challenge!’ she exclaims, leaning in towards him, laughing.

‘Oh, let me introduce you two. Poppy, this is Belle, our resident artist here in St Felix. Belle, meet Poppy, she’s…’ he hesitates. ‘She’s new to St Felix.’

‘Hi,’ Belle says, looking me up and down, clearly deciding very quickly I pose no threat to her quite obvious interest in Jake. An interest Jake appears completely unaware of. ‘And what brings you to St Felix, Poppy?’

‘I’ve inherited the florist’s on Harbour Street,’ I tell her, deciding it’s not worth trying to keep it quiet any longer, considering so many people know.

‘Really? How fabulous,’ Belle says, sounding like she means it. ‘You’re not far away from me. I have the studio a few doors down from you.’

‘Oh, yes, I saw it earlier today.’

‘So, what are we all up to now?’ Belle asks, already losing interest in this thread of conversation. ‘Can I take you for a quick pint down the Mermaid to thank you for lending us Miley, Jake? You too of course, Poppy,’ she adds as an afterthought.

Jake hesitates. ‘Actually, I was in there earlier, Belle.’

‘Really?’ She seems surprised. ‘That’s early for you. Feel like popping back in again?’ She leans in towards both of us and whispers: ‘Just between the three of us, I can
always
do with a quick drink after teaching this class! Yes, goodnight, Bob!’ She waves at a man carrying an easel and box of paints. ‘See you next week.’

‘Poppy?’ Jake asks. ‘Would you like to attempt another drink at the Mermaid?’

‘Goodnight, June!’ Belle turns away from us for a moment to speak to a woman making her way past us. ‘Great work tonight, those charcoal sketches you did were amazing.’

‘Promise it won’t be a date this time,’ Jake whispers in my ear. ‘Belle can be our chaperone.’

‘Well, if you put it like that…’ I whisper back. ‘I guess a drink with you would be perfectly acceptable.’

But as we wait for the rest of Belle’s class to file past us carrying easels, brushes, and pictures of Miley, a tiny part of me wishes it
was
just going to be the two of us again.

When we arrive back down at the harbour, the Merry Mermaid is busier than it was earlier, but far from packed out, so we easily manage to find ourselves a space at the end of the bar.

‘What are you girls having?’ Jake asks, while Miley takes up her spot from earlier with a fresh pile of beer mats.

‘Dry white wine, please, Jake,’ Belle says. ‘Gosh, it’s busy in here for a Monday evening.’

This is busy?
 

‘Women’s Guild,’ Jake says, leaning over the bar to see where Rita and Richie are. ‘A lot of them come in here after their monthly meetings.’ He lifts an imaginary glass and pretends to empty it a few times into his mouth.

Belle laughs a bit too loudly for the strength of Jake’s joke.

BOOK: The Little Flower Shop by the Sea
3.02Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

The Confessions of X by Suzanne M. Wolfe
Face in the Frame by Heather Atkinson
Only for Her by Cristin Harber
Requiem by Ken Scholes
As an Earl Desires by Lorraine Heath
Up The Tower by J.P. Lantern
Minaret: A Novel by Leila Aboulela
Frankie's Back in Town by Jeanie London
A Dream Rides By by Tania Anne Crosse
The Silver Bough by Lisa Tuttle