Wildflowers (22 page)

So starts the busiest week of my life. 
No lazy Monday for me this week and by eight in the morning I’m in the shop to check there won’t be any problems with my flower order.

‘Chill,’ says Milo.  ‘Everyfing’s fine.  Even got that honeysuckle and what with it being October like…’

‘Thank you,’ I say, with relief.  ‘Very much.’

Across the road, Mr Crowley’s opening up and I nip over to buy myself some breakfast
. After all, to get through this week, I need to fuel myself.  Collecting a hot bacon roll and some fruit, when I go to pay, there’s a new girl sitting behind the till.

I wait while she finishes filing her
nails, then she fixes me with a hostile stare.

‘Got your own bags
today or are you carrying?’ she says with no pre-amble, daring me to give her the wrong answer.

‘Er, carrying
?’ I stutter, because she’s quite scary.  Knowing Mr Crowley, she’s probably on some reverse commission for every bag she doesn’t use.

Clutching at my apples and pears, I
stumble back to the shop and inside the door, drop them all just as Skye walks in.

‘Here –
like what you doing?’ she asks.

‘
There’s a bag-hitler,’ I say rattily, because my pears are already turning brown and my apples will be ruined too.  ‘Behind the till in Demelza’s, filing her nails to scratch your eyes out if you don’t
carry
, as she puts it.’

Skye
shakes her head.  ‘Sod that for a game of soldiers.  Want a cuppa?’

Honey comes in just after nine looking
all dreamy and far away, which irritates me.  What I need is hard work and efficiency.

‘Honey!’
I snap. ‘You’re late.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ she says.
‘What would you like me to do?’

‘Buckets,’ I tell her.  ‘Skye – can you unpack the candelabras?’

‘What are you doing?’ says Honey.  I know she’s fed up with doing buckets and I know she’s awfully clever, but she has to understand that it’s a rite of passage.  If she doesn’t do them until she’s dreaming about them, she can never, ever be a florist.

‘Lists,’ I say promptly.  ‘Okay? 
Any questions?  I think we should get to work…’

It’s only Monday, but a huge delivery of foliage and herbs arrives after lunch, from a local grower who sells to select florists
, like me.  And it’s grown in a proper garden instead of a glasshouse or a polytunnel, so it looks completely natural.

But a
s we unpack it, Honey stares in horror.

‘You can’t use that for a wedding,’ she tells me.  ‘
The leaves are different sizes.  And they’re messy.  Don’t you want ruscus or something a bit tidier?  Those have come off trees…’

She’s got more to learn than I realised. 

‘Today, Honey, in fact this whole week, we’re not on a floristry course,’ I tell her.  ‘Think of it like this.  You are going to be an artist, painting a scene with beautiful leaves and flowers – with a church and marquee as your canvas.  No rules, no neat posies and absolutely no wiring at all. 
Comprende
?’

But she still looks baffled.

‘Come with me,’ I tell her.  I pull out my huge Daniel Ost book which cost me a fortune and is one of my most treasured possessions.  I turn the pages to show her what I mean.  His work is pure genius – he sculpts and weaves and styles, and though I don’t have a fraction of his skill, I have a vision in my mind of what I’m trying to do and at last I find the picture.

‘See?’ I say triumphantly, as Honey peers more closely.  It’s a stunning vista, using moss, autumn leaves, twigs, acorns, berries – and just a few flowers, here and there.

‘See?’ I say again more loudly.  ‘They don’t teach you that in floristry school but you don’t need flowers at all.’

She’s quiet after that and does as she’s told, and with everything safely in buckets, we’re on target.  The next two days follow a similar pattern – the lull before the storm that is every big wedding, where suddenly there aren’t enough hours and you wonder what made you think you could ever do this.

On Thursday we assemble the table arrangements – big, metal urns overflowing with the riches of nature – little crab apples, dry fronds of bracken,
scented roses in shades of pink and orange, leaves starting to take on the hues of autumn… There are twenty of them in all – one for every table.

Then Friday – into the fray we go.  For the first time in my life, I thank God for inventing the work experience student, because this lot are really useful, though probably because they’re scared to death of Honey
.

‘
Juno!  Minty
!’ she positively bellows at them.  ‘Get a move on,’ which makes me cringe.

‘Excuse me,’ I remind her, ‘They may be your classmates, but I’m running the show, okay?  Now go and help them.’

It takes two hours of blood, sweat and toil to lug everything through the woods and into the church before we even start the decorating but many hands really do make light work and it’s like a speeded up film as before my eyes, our transformation takes shape. 

But not without interruptions, because no matter where you happen to be, if you’re arranging flowers, people always stop and talk to you – especially in churches. 
Especially when they’ve done flowers themselves.  And today is no exception. 

The first time it’s a bumptious black
labrador followed by a small noisy woman wearing tweeds.  The dog sniffs around and cocks its leg on one of the buckets. 

‘Jolly good thing that was empty,’ I point out to the owner, who looks quite unabashed.

‘Reminds of when I used to do flowers at All Hallows,’ she tells me rather knowingly. 
Here we go
…  ‘Had this ghastly bride who wanted all these fancy things.  I can never understand why they don’t make do with chrysanthemums…’

Only for once, I cut her short.
  I have to.  ‘Look, I’m awfully sorry but we have simply tons to do and I really must get on…’

It’s
back-breakingly, hard work - but when we’ve finished, it’s everything I’d hoped it would be, and in the rays of evening sun through the stain glass windows, it’s as if an enchanted forest has grown up inside, creeping up the walls and columns.  It looks wild and alive in there.  I can’t wait for Maria to see it.

As we finish clearing up, my mobile rings – Lulubelle.

‘Sorry Frankie, I expect you’re really busy…’

‘No – just tidying up actually. 
Everything okay?’

‘Yes – actually.
  I’ve made a decision though.’  I’ve no idea what she’s talking about.

‘About tomorrow…’ she adds, which doesn’t leave me any the wiser.

‘I’m going.  To Daddy’s wedding.’

Enlight
enment dawns on me.  ‘Ohhh… I see.  Well, good for you.  I think that’s… really good,’ I say, not wanting to sound too enthusiastic.  It’s early days, after all.

‘Only, I was wondering – would you come with me?  I was going to ask Matty, but then I thought I’d rather not – not until Daddy and I have properly talked – so I suddenly thought I’d ask you.  But you don’t have to,’ she says in a rush.

Not go?  Is she mad
?  Oh my giddy aunt.  Me, Frankie the humble florist going to Pete and Maria’s wedding?  I can’t believe it.

‘But won’t they mind?  I mean – I
’m their florist, Lulubelle…’

‘They said they’d love you to come
.  So would I.  So will you?’

I can feel a Cheshire cat smile plastering itself across my face.  ‘
Yes
!’ 

I wander back into the church in a daze.

‘Shit, Honey – I don’t have an outfit… What will I do?’

‘Don’t swear,’ she says.  ‘You’re in a church.  Wear the dress you wore to the dinner. It’s perfect – honestly, I can’t believe you wangled an invite.  I’m so jealous.’

‘I didn’t
wangle anything…’ I say indignantly.  ‘It was all Lulubelle’s doing –
but I’m so excited, I can’t wait!
’

I
t’s one of those restless nights where I awake every hour in a cold sweat at the thought of sleeping through my alarm clock.  Tossing and turning, at three o’clock I give up and get out of bed, deciding if I’m not going to sleep, I might as well go to work.

As if i
n a dream, I twist together Maria’s bouquet.  Sweetly fragrant roses in cerise pink and rusty orange are mixed with all these other wonderful things – little bits of red hydrangea, odd sprigs of lavender and rosemary with wild trails of honeysuckle and fern which give it an ethereal air.  There are weeds carefully picked from the roadside, berries from the hedges.  Just in case, I add a hazel twig.  And when I hold it up and look at it, something funny happens.  I don’t feel neurotic or anxious, nor am I fretting whether I’ve got it exactly right – I just know, deep inside me, it’s perfect for her.

I make
a further seven – yes, seven, for each of the bridesmaids, filled with the same inexplicable sense of calm.  Each one is different, each one made of herbs, berries and leaves, edged with little pieces of bracken.  They’re proper woodland posies – Honey will be horrified – but that’s irrelevant because I know Maria will love them.

I’m halfway through the buttonholes when
Honey and Skye arrive, followed minutes later by the floristry students, who are slightly shocked at what I’ve done and then we load up the van again and head for Roselin Castle.

No-one talks, we just work. 
And when we’ve finished swathing the teepee with ivy and scattering the tables with leaves and roses, I tiptoe away to take Maria her bouquet.

Hidden away up a twisting stone staircase, I find her room and knock.

‘Hello?  Maria?  It’s Frankie – with your flowers…’  In case she’s forgotten who I am.

The door creaks open and there she is, looking more like a little girl than ever in this massive room.

‘Your bouquets,’ I tell her,
then watch.

When you design a wedding bouquet, you’re working with the stuff of dreams.  And today,
though I’m almost a hundred per cent certain I’ve got this right – there’s still the tiniest of doubts – until I see Maria’s eyes widen and her mouth open with astonishment, then as I lift it out of the box, her entire face lights up.

‘Oh Frankie…’ she breathes.  ‘Bring it over to the dress…’

I do as she says, holding it up against her dress, which up close is extraordinary. 

‘It’s perfect,’ I say, which is usually what the bride says – but it is.  ‘D’you
think?’

‘I just knew you’d get it,’ she says, touching the spikes of rosemary and breathing in the scent of the roses.  ‘It’s
just gorgeous. Thank you so, so much…’

‘Thank
you,
’ I say, because with the bride happy, my job is done.

After a quick detour via the church to make sure that the flowers haven’t died, been stolen or eaten by rabbits, we all head back to the shop.

‘Guys.
  You have all been fabulous,’ I tell them.  ‘This truly wouldn’t have happened without you.’

‘It doesn’t feel real,’ says Honey.  ‘I mean, I can’t believe what we’ve done the last two days
but what I really can’t believe is, we’ve finished… I feel like I need to be doing something… Please, Frankie.  Give me something to do!’

‘Buckets?’
I say hopefully.  ‘It’s adrenaline, Honey.  Probably a bit like when you finish with a particularly trying court case – all of a sudden it’s over and you can’t believe it.  I usually go for a run.’

‘
I’ll try it,’ she says, looking dazed.

‘Thank you so much.’  I dish out some cash to the college students.  ‘I shall write glowing reports about you all.
  You’ll be fine florists.’

As they wander off, Honey glares at me.  ‘You’re not supposed to pay them.’

Behind her back Skye raises her eyebrows at me.

‘Well I have.  They deserved it and it wouldn’t have felt right, otherwise.
  Anyway, can I leave you two to finish up here?  Only I, my friends, have a wedding to go to…’

How very strange this is, walking away from the shop and leaving them to just get on with it, but actually, I’m rather liking it.  The first thing I do is make a pot of strong coffee, because already my lack of sleep is catching up with me.

It’s even stranger later, when Lulubelle comes to collect me
, very rock-princessy in a shimmering silver dress and high heeled boots, with hair and makeup that shouts instantly of Bella Mac.

‘Decided against going incognito I see
… I’m so glad!  You look incredible!’ I tell her.

‘Thanks – so do you!  You ready?’

‘Certainly am…’

But as I si
t in the front of her car, I’m still buzzing.

‘I saw Maria earlier,’ I tell her.  ‘I don’t think she slept a wink last night.’  Then I remember Lulubelle is still getting used to the idea.  ‘Sorry.
  I keep forgetting.’

‘No,’ she says
firmly.  ‘Actually, it’s okay.  Really.  I’ve talked to Mummy about it and she says she’s fine with it.  She’s only just told me but she’s met someone too, which I’m really pleased about.  And I can’t blame Maria – she and Daddy got together after the divorce came through so it’s not like she was the cause of it. I suppose in a way I’ve been selfish.’

‘How so?’
  I frown.  Lulubelle couldn’t be selfish if she tried.

‘Well,
no child likes their parents splitting up.  I really hated it – but they’ve both moved on and so I must too. And yes, it still feels funny, but I’m trying.’

‘
Good for you.’  I’m full of admiration.  ‘But you haven’t told me - how’s Cosmo?’

‘
He’s been fine.  Since that day I was really worried he’s been completely normal.’  A warmth comes into her voice.  ‘We haven’t been back to the hospital.  There didn’t seem any point.  I’m crossing my fingers that this time really is it.  That he’s beaten it.  Wouldn’t that be amazing?  For him to get better the same year as I patch things up with Daddy?’

‘It would,’ I agree.  ‘And if anyone deserves it, you and Cosmo do.  Hey, look at all these cars…’

We’ve arrived.  The road outside the church is packed with dozens of cars, from vintage jags to aston martins, but as it’s only narrow, the traffic is building up in either direction.

‘I’m going to pull in here,’ says Lulubelle, reversing up a bank.  ‘We’ll have to walk.’

We set off down the lane, as more guests pass us by.  Then as we get to the footpath through the woods, a police car pulls up and the window winds down and a voice calls out.

‘
Frankie
?’

I lean down.  ‘Good afternoon, officer… Oh,
hello!  It’s you!’

Alex grins
across from the driver’s seat.  ‘You’re not going to this shindig, are you?’

‘
No, I’m just going for a country walk in my posh frock,’ I tell him.  ‘Of course I am!  There isn’t any trouble, is there – you know, like vengeful exes?’

‘Not so far.  Better move – have a good time!’

I lift a hand as he drives off.  He was really friendly.  Just like at the beginning - and a teeny part of me wishes he was coming too...

Navigating through the woods in high heels is a new challenge for me, though Lulubelle does it like an old hand, but then I guess rock-princesses do lots of gallivanting in heels.  Ahead of us and behind are scores of glamorous looking guests.  It’s like a cross between a rock festival and Vogue magazine and the dress code is clearly anything goes, from hippy to Couture.  My excitement is building.  I feel like I’m on a film set. 

When the path opens out into the little churchyard, there’s a throng gathered outside – and then I realise, no way will
we all fit inside.  But as we get closer, I see someone’s set up a screen and giant speakers since this morning, and there are soft cushions spread all over the grass for everyone to sit on.

As we get to the door,
Lulubelle’s greeted by so many old friends who are thrilled to see her, and then we’re ushered inside to the front where we squeeze into a pew.

‘
Frankie!  It looks
incredible
in here,’ Lulubelle looks around at the flowers.

‘Thanks.’  I feel a glow of pride because
it’s just the effect I wanted, with the sense that part of the woods has somehow crept in with the wedding guests. It’s exactly how I wanted it.

The
n the glamorous looking woman in front of us turns round.

‘Bella!
  It
is
you!  Thank God you’re here!’

‘Auntie
Gloria!’

Auntie Gloria
leans over in a waft of perfume and gin, kissing her.  ‘I thought it was a joke when I heard it was in a church… I mean, your father of all people… I can’t imagine it’ll last.  Incapable of being faithful, isn’t he,’ she adds bluntly.  ‘Sees a bit of skirt, can’t help himself.’

Lulubelle glances at me.  ‘Well, I’ve a feeling this time might be different, Auntie.’

‘I give them six months,’ she crows, just as a guitar sounds and there’s a cheer from outside the church.  ‘Tell you what, dear.  We’ll run a book.  I’ll catch everyone on the way to the…’

‘Sshh, Auntie – it’s starting.’

Well, I suppose there was never any way Pete McNamara would have organ music at his wedding, not with a band like his, who it seems can turn their hand to anything, even Here Comes the Bride, though they can’t resist jigging it up a beat by the time Maria starts her walk down the aisle.

As she
draws level with Pete, there’s a collective
ooh
from the congregation and as I catch sight of her, I too am mesmerised – and not just by the bouquet, which though I say it myself, is a triumph. 

Quite simply, Maria’s stunning, but not at all in a showy way.  Her long hair falls in loose waves except for the bit pinned messily up, just as she’d shown me. 
In her gorgeous dress of mermaid colours, she glows – not just her skin and her eyes, but more essentially, from inside, so you get the feeling that celebrity or not, whether Pete has a past or not,
this
is the real deal. 

So there, by the light of candles and to the sound of guitars, Pete and Maria pledge their troth.  Smiling to myself, I spare a brief thought for J
osh, who will never see this, but I can’t bring myself to feel too sorry for him.  Then remembering Honey’s warning, I shiver.  I hope he doesn’t come looking for me.