Wildflowers (14 page)

And
so the next day, Honey actually goes - without a murmur, much to my astonishment and without the faintest idea she’s been set up.  Once she’s been safely whisked away from the shop by Charlie, Skye and I work much faster and the day’s flowers are delivered in double quick time.  Half marathon training has been somewhat side-lined this week, so after work, I whizz home to change and get out for a run, only just before I set off, Charlie delivers Honey home again.

She comes in wearing
faded boyfriend jeans and a short cardigan, looking a much softer, younger version of herself.  Better still, she’s smiling - and bless my soul if behind her, Charlie isn’t too.

‘
Wow!  Honey, you’re gorgeous!’ 

She blushes slightly but looks pleased.
  ‘Thank you!’ 

‘
Make yourselves at home, girls. I’m just off out for my run.’

‘Good for you,’ says Charlie
, settling herself on the sofa and kicking her shoes off.  ‘When is this marathon?’

‘Not for ages – and it’s only a half marathon, that’s all.’ 

This time my modesty isn’t false.  Knowing how hard it is, I’m in total awe of those super-humans who run the whole twenty six miles because I honestly think it would kill me. 

‘Actually, I’m raising funds for Briarwood – the children’s hospice – if you fancy making a contribution?’

‘Of course I will - but leave it with me,’ says Charlie.  ‘Only I know someone at work in the office – I might be able to persuade them to be quite generous...’

‘Oh, wow!  Thank you!’

‘I’ll sponsor you - have you a form?’ asks Honey, gentler in her new, un-bossy clothes.

‘On the side
over there.  I’ve got to go – otherwise I’ll change my mind…’

As I go outside,
leaving Charlie and Honey in my flat, I’m wondering if this might be the beginning of an unlikely but beautiful friendship.

It looks a distinct possibility, because an hour later, when I return, the flat’s empty and there’s a note saying they’ve gone to the pub.  And it’s just the two of them, because I know for a fact that Nina’s seeing Will tonight. I decide, just this once, not to join them.  It’ll be a good bonding exercise and anyway, I want to see Lulubelle.

Just as I leave, there’s a call from Julia, which I choose not to answer.  In a convoluted message, she tells me that it’s bad news about Giles and she’ll call me sometime soon.

I can’t help but wonder just how bad and almost call her back.  Of course I’m sorry about Giles, but the thing is it’s just typical of her, to draw everyone in when it suits her, then just disappear without a word.  Sometime I need to explain that I’d like
her
in
my
life for a change, not the other way round.

It’s early evening when I get to Lulubelle’s, knocking on the door twice before she answers.

‘Hi!  Sorry!  We were outside, reading.’  She holds the door open.

‘Are you busy?’  Now I’m here, I’m not sure why I’ve come, only that I wanted to be somewhere I could think.

‘No – come on in!  We’re
about to have tea in the garden – you’re more than welcome to join us.’

I
follow her in.  ‘You know, I am
so
in love with this house.  Your fireplace,’ I lean against it, caressing the worn bricks.  ‘And your pictures are so
cool,
Lulubelle.  I want pictures like that…’ 

It’s like I suddenly realise what I’m missing.  It’s a home.
I gaze around wistfully as we go through the double doors thrown open into the garden.

‘See?  Even your flowers are happy.’
It’s true.  Her lawn is edged with a mixture of bright, clashing flowers.

Lulubelle
looks at me, frowning.  ‘Are you okay, Frankie?’

I
nod, a little vacantly, watching Cosmo kicking a football around.

‘
Just having a funny day.  He’s looking better than he has in ages.’

‘He is, isn’t he?  It’s a good day.  H
is cheeks are fuller and his energy’s clearly coming back.

‘
Hi.  Want a goalie?’ I ask him.  ‘I know I’m not very good, but you could always train me…’

‘Yaaay…’  He throws his skinny arms in
the air and kicks the ball straight at me.  Luckily I catch it.

‘Hey, be kind,’
I tell him.  ‘At least let me get warmed up.’

For a skin
ny child, he has quite some power behind his kick. Time after time, he defeats me, until worn out, I surrender.

‘No more, please,’
I beg, as he hurls himself on top of me, just as in the house, the phone rings.

‘Can you watch him?’
Lulubelle asks, ‘while I get that?’

By the time
she comes back, we’re sitting on the rug, reading.   Suddenly I’m conscious how pale and tiny Cosmo’s limbs are, even for a child and I’m reminded yet again just how frail he is. Then as he tries to get up, he stumbles and falls back against me.  I wrap my arms round him, feeling his warm skin like paper against my own, his heart pumping away just beneath. 

It passes – and he’s fine again. 
Except I’m not.  The slightest thing, like that is positively terrifying.

‘Sorry
about that…’ Lulubelle comes over.  ‘That was a real coincidence actually.  It was one of the fundraisers from the hospice – asking if we’d like to meet them later for a drink.’

‘What about Cosmo?’
  I’m still cradling him, quite protectively.  ‘I think he’s tired out from all that football.’

‘I’m sure
Mum would come and look after him…What do you think, Cosmo?’

‘
Yaay!’ he manages to shriek.  ‘I want to see Grandma.’ 

‘Okay,
I’ll ask her, but this time, you’ll have to be good and go to bed.  Not like last time,’ she warns him, before looking at me.  ‘He was a monster.  So, are you doing anything tonight?’

‘
No.  Cool.  I’d love to.’

‘Okay, so we better get this boy
some tea and into bed.’

As we
wander inside, in the sitting room I go over to the wall where she’s hung her photographs.  One in particular catches my eye.  It’s Lulubelle, but much younger – with tangled hair and a reckless look in her eyes.  I lean forward, peering at it more closely.

‘Great photo
.’

‘That one?
  It’s an old one, Frankie.  From my other life… Come and have a cup of tea.’ 

With Cosmo finally settled in bed, and Lulubelle’s Mum up there reading to him, we drive to this pub a few winding miles of country lane away.  It’s a proper, out-in-the-sticks country pub with a small enclosure for tying horses up.

‘They’re a great bunch of guys – a bit mad when you get them away from work – but I know them quite well now.  Just watch out –
some of them don’t get out enough!’

I’m guessing
high jinks and shenanigans are more a reaction to working in the environment that they do.  When you’re constantly reminded of the transience of life, you need to let your hair down more than most.

As we go in
, she points them out.  Not that you can miss the noise they’re making.  ‘That’s them, over there.’

There’s about ten
of them in the group, spread over a couple of tables and after collecting drinks, we wander over to join them.  Lulubelle introduces me, and I end up sitting between Casey, one of the nurses and Jessie, who works in reception.  Both are running for Briarwood.

‘Is this your first half marathon?’ Casey
asks, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

‘It is.
’ Suddenly I’m worried.  ‘And please don’t tell me you’re one of those hardened runners who does this all the time…’

He roars with laughter.
  ‘You have to be kidding!  But Jess here, she’s another matter altogether.  Heard of ultra-marathons?’

I
shake my head, mystified.

‘Mega marathons in deserts and up mountains,’ he
says while Jessie pulls a face at him.  ‘Extreme temperatures, extreme mileage, extremely ugly feet…You should see them.’  He grimaces.

‘He’s exaggerating,’
says Jessie.  ‘Well, apart from the feet.  They are quite long races and sometimes in hot places, but it’s like any of them – you just get into your stride and keep going.  Your feet get really sore but it’s great for raising funds...’

I’m
awestruck.  ‘Sorry, but somehow I don’t believe it’s
quite
that easy…’ 

But then
Jessie waves at someone who’s just walking in, and my heart stops. It’s Alex.

I sit there, frozen,
wanting to be anywhere else, just not here, as he comes over and kisses first Jessie, then Lulubelle on the cheek.

Jessie tries to introduce us. 
‘Alex, this is Frankie.’

‘I know.’  His eyes
give away nothing.  ‘We’ve met.  What are you doing here?’

‘Oh, I came along with Lulubelle,’ I say casually
, because I don’t need to explain myself to him and against my will, feeling my heart flutter, then flip right over.  He may completely misunderstand me, but it doesn’t stop him being gorgeous. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘One of our team’s
injured,’ explains Jessie.  ‘So Alex’s kindly stepping in to take their place.’

I feel my poor hyperactive heart sink into my boots.  Does this mean I’ll have to train with him?

‘Shouldn’t be too much of a challenge for you,’ I say coolly.  ‘It’s just a half marathon after all… Sorry,’ I say to a mystified Lulubelle.  ‘But would you excuse me?  I just need to make a call.’

I can hear them
talking amongst themselves as I go and sit next to her and I can just imagine what he’s saying, about that flaky florist who’s shallow and self-interested and can’t think of anyone but herself.  Only I don’t have to sit there under his disapproving gaze.

Sadly, though, i
t looks as though I was right about him.  I’m not the girl he thought I was.  It clinches it.  This is serious.  Not only will I do this race, I’ll do it in a respectable time.

I’ll show him
, I think to myself. 
I’ll show them all..
.

After a lazy Sunday during which Honey continues to be much less bossy, the week gets off to a rip roaring start.  I spend the whole of Monday morning compiling orders for three wedding
s later in the week and then the phone starts ringing.  And ringing.

It’s not just my current season’s brides
either, but some calling about next year, which is fantastic for business, it’s just that calling in the middle of silly season means I don’t have time for long discussions about their vague ponderings on flowers.  Mrs Culleton calls again, which has become a weekly occurrence and will no doubt continue to be so until her beloved Abigail is finally despatched down the aisle and off her hands for good.  I’m a firm believer in details, but the nit-picking variety Mrs Culleton comes up with are completely ludicrous.  I really do not need to know the exact shade of white of the table linen.  Nor do I need a sample, thank you for asking.  Nor do I need to know the colour of the groom’s boxers… Well, slight exaggeration, but that, it seems, is what it’s coming to.

Then Milo throws
his bloody great spanner in the works.

‘
Them roses, darlin’… Them amnesia ones, you know the price is up, don’t you?’  And when he tells me how much by, I start to cry.

‘
Oh Milo
… it’s a disaster,’ I wail.  ‘What will I do?  All my profit will disappear if I pay that much…’

‘Blimey, Frankie
, mate.  Don’t stress – I’ll get you hypnose.  No-one will be able to tell the difference.’

But I will, that’s the trouble, because hypnose isn’t the same.  Almost, but
it’s a shade apart, which to my discerning designer’s eye is quite upsetting.  I settle for half and half and make a note to self to never base a wedding on amnesia roses ever, ever again.

Next time the phone rings, it’s Maria, wanting to arrange another meeting – this week –
but seeing as she’s paying me squillions, I stupidly agree to meet her on Thursday.  In the end, my workload gets so ridiculous, I call Honey.

‘Please.  Come and answer my phones.  I’ll even let you organise my diary, if you promise not to overdo it, only I’m desperate
, Honey…’

She arrives ten minutes later in elegantly crumpled linen trousers, a long sleeved t-shirt and polka dot pumps with a bow on the front.

‘Wow,’ I say, impressed.  ‘Very cool.  Quite the florist.  But you better wear an apron or you’ll ruin them.’

She
practically snatches the one I hand her, and underneath, just as I suspected, her long suppressed efficiency is bubbling up and raring to go. 

‘Right, let me have your diary, Frankie.  And while I’m here, I may as well get your books up to date too.’

‘Gosh.  Thanks.’  Meaning I’m free to focus on the flowers which is what I’m best at.

Amazingly, i
t works - and by mid-afternoon, Skye and I have all the vases for the weddings laid out, the buckets ready, foliage cut, floor swept and all my lovely lists pinned up on the wall, while Honey has taken all the calls, organised my diary and dealt with those annoying sales people that I find it so hard to get rid of.  She’s completely ruthless with them, telling them quite bluntly that if we require their services, we’ll be contacting them and not vice versa.  And in the meantime, to take us off their database and never to call us again.  Not ever. 

Impressive.
  Trouble is, she’s getting everything so ship-shape, she’s doing herself out of a job.

‘You are wonderful,’ I tell her admiringly.  ‘Tell you what, I’ll buy you a Chinese.’

‘Actually, I’ll buy you one,’ she says.  ‘I’ve been living off you since I got here and I shouldn’t be.’  And uncharacteristically she shuts up.

Then
the penny drops.  In getting my books up to date, she now knows what my turnover is.  It’s more than enough for me and Skye, but clearly nowhere near what a hotshot lawyer makes and it’s shocked her.

‘I’m not
exactly poor,’ I say tactfully.

‘No.  But considering how hard you work, you don’t
get paid enough either.  Ideally you’d up your prices by thirty per cent, Frankie.  That would be far more reasonable.’

‘
Thirty per cent
?’ I splutter at her.  ‘This is the real world, Honey.  If I did that, I wouldn’t have a business.’

‘Actually,’ she says slowly.  ‘I’ve been going through your notes.  And there are quite a
number of clients who seem to be spending a fortune on the venue and the dress – it’s all in your paperwork.  Well, not in so many words, but everyone knows how much Roselin Castle and Vera Wang dresses set you back – yet when it comes to flowers, they beat you down to nothing.  I was wondering…’

‘What?’  I’m curious.

‘Well, if you let me, I could single out the more expensive venues and set up some meetings.  See if they’d be interested in some exclusive kind of deal with you.  That way you’d be tapping into the top end of the market and you’d charge accordingly.  You’d make far more money.’

‘But I like the tiny simple weddings
, too,’ I protest.  ‘They’re easy – and fun.  The big ones can be a nightmare.’

‘Frankie, this isn’t a hobby, it’s your job.
And if they pay you enough, it’ll be worth it.’

I go to meet Maria at the church, parking on the lane behind her enormous shiny Toyota with the personalised number plate, before taking the narrow leafy path that meanders downhill through the woods, over a stream and up the other side to the churchyard.  Except for the birds and the gentle rustling of leaves, it’s blissfully quiet. Beneath the canopy of the trees, the ground is carpeted with wildflowers and every so often my arm brushes against the soft foliage growing up on either side.

It’s only a
s I walk across the grass towards the church, I notice Maria isn’t alone, she’s with Pete. 

My first thought is
oh my God I’m in the presence of rock royalty.
  I can’t help it.  My heart stops and my insides do a triple somersault.  In the flesh, he reminds me of Bill Nighy, only taller and with tanned, leathery skin.  His hair is spiky and he’s wearing faded jeans and cowboy boots.  Maria’s hand is entwined in his wrinkly one and as he pulls her towards him, they look utterly, sweetly in love.

I clear my throat diplomatically as I approach them and they both look
round.

‘Frankie!’ says Maria excitedly.  ‘You haven’t met Pete, have you? 
Sweetie, this is Frankie!  And she’s quite brilliant…’

And as I stand t
here smiling at them, I realise.  In that single sentence lies everything I’ve ever dreamed of.  I’m meeting two celebrities who are about to pay me a fortune to work on their high profile wedding and they think I’m brilliant. Only all of a sudden, I don’t see it like that.  They’re just a couple.  Like any other couple, except unlike some of my clients, these two look really, properly in love.

‘Hello, lovely to meet you.’  I offer my hand and Pete shakes it.  Here I am
, actually
touching
the mighty rock star himself – and nothing.  No frisson of excitement, no blood rushing to my cheeks, nothing.

‘Great to meet you
, Frankie,’ says Pete.  ‘Maria’s told me all about you.  But to tell you the truth, I’m going to sit out here and leave you girls to it.  Flowers aren’t really my bag.’  He gives me a saucy wink.

But t
he wink does it and this time my cheeks do blush pink.  ‘Oh.  Ok.’  I turn to Maria.  ‘Shall we take a look?’

The ancient wooden door creaks open
and we step inside.  It’s cool and musty, a blend of chalky white walls contrasting with stone.  This genuinely is a simple country church, with no adornments and no pretentions.  You can imagine a sheep or two blundering in and not looking at all out of place.  It’s my favourite church ever.

‘Shall we sit at the back?’ I suggest.  ‘And then tell me what you’ve been thinking.’

‘Oh, probably roses,’ she giggles, sitting on a dusty pew without appearing to notice.  ‘But apart from that… Oh I don’t know, Frankie.  You’re the expert.  What do you think?’

I
sit down next to her and gaze towards the front, trying to imagine it full of people as I dream up something fabulous.

‘Those
stone columns,’ I say, pointing to the ones either side at the front.  ‘Festooned in ivy and roses up to the ceiling.  They won’t get in anyone’s way but wow, will it look stunning…’

Maria starts to smile. 

‘And on all the windowsills, ivy and roses and hundreds of candles – it’ll be October, remember, late afternoon… It’ll look perfect.’

Her smile grows.

‘And a carpet of rose petals all the way up the aisle to the altar, which if your vicar will let us, we can also cover with more roses…’  I frown.  ‘You see, I’m thinking stunning, but not fussy.  What do you think?’

But she’s nodding happily.  ‘And the door, Frankie,
we can have an arch, can’t we?’

‘
Of course…’

Ok
ay, so maybe Pete isn’t that ordinary.  When we go outside again, he’s lounging on a bench under the yew tree with a fag in his mouth, strumming a chart-topping tune on an acoustic guitar.

‘Okay
, babe?’ he winks at Maria, then at me again.

‘It’s so exciting!’ She jumps up and down like a little girl.  ‘I can’t wait!’

Then it’s back
down to earth with a crunch, because I know there are all these flowers to do for the weekend and we’re running out of hours to do them in.

‘So sorry, Skye…’  I tear into the shop.  ‘How far have you got with tomorrow’s
wedding?’

‘Finished,’ she says calmly and my jaw drops open. 
‘Nearly done the second one too. You didn’t say about your friend, Frankie - she’s a bit of a natural.’

‘
You mean Honey?’  I’m incredulous.

‘Don’t look so shocked.  Like you always say, it’s hardly rocket science.  Anyway, she
like watched me do a couple of vases and had a go.  Finished them in the end – look.  Over there.  I bet you can’t tell which are hers and which are mine.’

I go over and look
at the vases, set neatly out.  They look perfect.  Skye’s right.  I can’t.  ‘Where is she now?’

‘Oh –
she like went out for something.  She didn’t say what… Want a cuppa?’

‘Um yes,’ I say distractedly, suddenly realising that Honey can be seriously useful now.  And actually, that would be great
, except I’ll have to pay her.

It’s mid-afternoon before she returns looking a little cagey
, clutching a wodge of papers under her arm which she tries to hide from me.

‘Where have you been?’ I ask her – suspiciously
.  After all, I know my friend.

‘Nowhere
, really,’ she shrugs.

Nowhere really
… What kind of an answer is that?  I fold my arms and glare at her.    ‘Honey, spill.’

‘Promise you won’t be annoyed?  That I didn’t run it by you first?’

‘That all depends....’ I’m not getting a good feeling here.  What has she been up to? 

‘
Well, I’ve signed up for a floristry course.’ 

I open my mouth to speak but she holds up a hand.  ‘Now, before you say anything Frankie, it’s only
one day a week so I’ll still be here to help you.  And I thought I’d be far more use if I had some training and I really enjoyed helping Skye while you were out…’

But it’s a step too far.  Out of the kindness of my heart, I’ve let her into my home, my shop and it’s beginning to feel like a takeover.  I’m beginning to understand what Johnny’s up against.

‘But you don’t understand,’ I cry.  ‘
I’m
the florist, not you.  You might have paid my deposit for this place and I’m really,
really
grateful to you, but this is mine, Honey.  I created it. You’re… you’re a lawyer…’

A
s I watch, her shoulders slump and her face turns ashen.  ‘I – I’ve done it again, haven’t I?’ she mumbles.  ‘I’ve gone bulldozing in without a thought for how you’d feel.  I’m so sorry, Frankie…’

‘No… no…’ I protest
, but I don’t sound convincing, even to me.  ‘It’s not like that.’

‘But it is, Frankie.  I
t’s what I always do… At least, that’s what Johnny says.  I’ll cancel the course, it’s not a problem.  You’re right, I’m a lawyer.  It was silly of me.’

Her
voice has gone flat and the defeated look is back.  As she turns to walk out of the shop, I give a heartfelt sigh, then go running after her and grab her arm.

‘Come back here
.’ I frogmarch her over to the bench to where the flowers she arranged are all neatly set out.  Then take a deep breath.  I never in a million years thought I’d be saying this, but you can’t learn to be creative.  She has a talent. 

‘Look at the
m.  They’re good aren’t they?  Really good, Honey.  And you’ve never tried to do it before.  You should do that course – as long as you realise that a day a week will teach you the basics, but there’s far, far more to it than that.  Things you only learn the hard way.  Like in here,’ I say pointedly.  ‘Working for me in this shop.  And we’re getting so busy, I’m going to be needing another florist, so…’  I swallow my pride and pin a smile on.  ‘The sooner you do that course, the better.’