The Beachside Flower Stall

by Karen Clarke

  My mouth had fallen open. ‘Tom, that’s not true…’ I began.

  ‘She was really hurt that you dropped her,’ he went on. ‘She thought you were her best friend.’

  What?

  But even as my mind was spinning at the roaring injustice, I wasn’t as shocked as I could have been. Looking back, I could see that Megan had always been capable of twisting things to suit her own ends, and I could imagine how she’d made me look to Tom.

  ‘I thought something was a bit off with you that night,’ he was saying, as if it was coming back to him in dribs and drabs. ‘I wanted to come and talk to you, but Megan said you were in a funny mood and that we should leave you alone.’

  I remembered her whispering to him, and wondered whether to tell him I’d been in a funny mood because she’d laid claim to Tom, as if it was her right, and seeing them together had made me doubt myself. ‘We were friends,’ I said, instead, deciding to take the high road. ‘But she…’ stole you. Hardly. You can’t steal a person. Made me feel that you were out of my league. No. That was my lack of self-confidence. ‘Once I saw you and Megan together, I…’ couldn’t stand it?

  I needed to stop completing sentences in my head, but felt certain whatever I said would come out wrong. ‘We’re very different people, that’s all,’ I managed, lamely.

  ‘You were certainly keen to pair us off,’ he said. ‘Remember? You said she was perfect for me.’

  Why, oh why, had I said that? More importantly, why had he believed me?

  ‘And suddenly you’d gone for good.’ A loaded pause. ‘Hovis missed you.’

  Tears leapt to my eyes at the thought of the little dog. I’d missed him badly, too; had treasured the copy of the photo I’d given to Tom, which I wasn’t sure he’d even opened that night, along with a picture of Tom I’d taken, of him holding a lop-eared rabbit with a bandaged foot. ‘I tried phoning a few times, but you never picked up.’

  ‘Did you?’ He sounded sceptical.

  Yes, I bloody did. ‘Anyway, it’s all in the past now.’ I switched my tone to one I hoped sounded cheerleader perky and not – as I suspected – dangerously unstable. ‘Would you like to meet up while I’m here?’

  ‘Carrie, I—’ He was interrupted by the tortured yowl of an animal in the background.

  ‘Look, forget I called,’ I said, unable to bear it any longer. He was obviously thinking of a polite way to let me down, and it struck me that I knew nothing about his circumstances. He could be married with five kids, for all I knew. ‘Nice to speak to you,’ I chirruped. ‘’Bye!’

  I rang off, then opened the line so he would get the engaged tone should he be tempted to call back and reiterate that he wasn’t interested.

  ‘That went well,’ I said out loud, cringing as I replayed every word of the call in my head. What had I been expecting? This was real life, not a romantic movie about former sweethearts reuniting. Not that we’d ever been sweethearts.

  I felt sick, imagining how I must have come across.

  From the passageway came the sonorous sound of Ruby snoring, and suddenly I wanted nothing more than the oblivion of sleep.

  I switched off the television and went through to the spare room, where I set my phone alarm to wake me at seven, before peeling off my clothes. Then I crawled under the duvet in my single bed, without bothering to brush my teeth.

  Chapter Four

  I woke to a yeasty aroma from the bakery below. It made such a nice change from the usual whiff of petrol fumes outside my house in Manchester that, for a few blissful seconds, I was glad to be in Shipley – until I remembered my conversation with Tom.

  Groaning, I buried my face in the pillow. I should never have called. All I’d done was remind him what a complete idiot I was.

  My phone burst into life, and I sat up in fright. I thought I’d set the alarm to wake me with a wind-chime sound, but had obviously pressed the drum ’n’ bass one instead.

  I switched it off and dropped back on my pillow. Jane would be there to set up the stall with Calum, so there was no need to get out of bed just yet.

  But what if her tummy was still playing up?

  Reluctantly, I forced myself out of bed and into the tiny bathroom, where I had a lukewarm shower, and decided I missed my house after all. At least I could turn around there without bashing into something.

  I still hadn’t unpacked properly, so pulled on the trousers I’d worn the day before, with a fresh top that was only a little bit crumpled, and dragged my hair off my cheeks into a crocodile clip. I’d normally spend at least ten minutes grooming, but couldn’t see the point if I was going to be outdoors all day. I made do with a slick of lip balm, before making myself a mug of instant coffee and a slice of toast in the kitchen.

  Hefty snores were barrelling out of Ruby’s room, but I took her a mug of coffee in anyway and left it by her bed. The window was shut and the curtains drawn and I fretted about whether I should try to persuade her to get up. In the end, I left a note, to call if she needed anything.

  ‘She’ll get up when she’s good and ready,’ Jane said, when I arrived at the stall five minutes later and blurted out my worries. ‘Ruby’s her own woman, and won’t be told.’ She was a little pale, but otherwise seemed recovered, though her hair was flattened on one side as though she’d run out of energy halfway through brushing it. Her outfit – navy boiler suit tucked into green wellies (despite the sun already warming the air) – spoke of someone whose priorities weren’t exactly fashion focused.

  ‘I just feel a bit useless,’ I said.

  ‘It means a lot to Ruby that you came, even if she doesn’t show it.’

  ‘She wouldn’t…’ I hesitated, while Jane picked up a floral cup and poured in some coffee from a Thermos. ‘She wouldn’t do anything stupid?’

  ‘Try to kill herself you mean?’ Jane shook her head. ‘Never has before,’ she said, matter-of-factly. ‘I don’t think she’d do that,’ she added. ‘It’s more like she’s waiting for something that never happens, but I don’t know what it is. I’m not sure she does either.’

  Unrequited love? I wondered. Maybe her heart had been broken around this time of year. Or could it be the anniversary of when Henry had died? Although, according to Mum, he’d been more of a father figure for Ruby than a passionate lover. Still, she must miss him.

  ‘And she’s like this every summer?’

  ‘Never this bad.’ Jane put down her cup and bent to pick up a cream-coloured rose petal. ‘Last year it was just a few days. She watched daytime telly and ate a lot of pastry.’

  ‘So, how did you come to work with her?’

  Jane scrunched up her freckled nose. ‘I’ve always loved growing flowers, you should see my garden,’ she said. ‘I used to work in a nursery – the garden sort – when Calum was growing up, but it was miles away and I wanted something closer to home, so I approached your aunt one day and asked if she’d like an assistant.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ve got a flair for it,’ she said, immodestly. ‘Self-trained with my flower arranging, and your aunt’s taught me a lot.’ She thrust the petal under my nose. ‘Smell that.’

  I inhaled, my senses flooding with the delicate perfume. I wondered whether there was a process to describing its scent, like wine-tasting. Should I be able to smell berries, and windswept moors, with a top-note of angel’s wings?

  ‘It’s… nice?’

  Jane nodded, encouragingly. ‘Patience.’

  I thought some more, struggling for appropriate words. ‘I’m sure I can smell vanilla,’ I began, and Jane gave a stuttering laugh.

  ‘No, silly, the rose is called Patience.’ Her eyes – the colour of stone-washed denim – were mischievous behind her round glasses. ‘Most wholesale roses look similar and don’t have much scent, but I grow this variety at home.’

  Trying to hide a blush, I looked around. ‘I’ve worked for a car rental company for years, doing the accounts. No flowers involved.’

  ‘Now don’t be modest.’ Jane wagged a finger. ‘Y
our mum told me that you can turn your hand to practically anything. She said you’d done—’

  ‘An online tutorial in flower arranging,’ I said flatly. Bloody Mum.

  ‘I’m impressed.’ Jane passed a hand over her hair, which immediately sprang back to its original height. ‘It’s good to know the stall will be in good hands while I’m away.’

  Feeling my blush take hold, I made a show of straightening the buckets into a regimental line and straightening the flowers.

  The sun was gathering strength, and people were filtering through the square on their way to work, or towards the beach for a run.

  ‘I usually make up a few bouquets first thing.’ Jane began moving briskly, transferring flowers to the workbench, and I wondered how she knew what went with what, but didn’t want to give away my ignorance by asking.

  ‘Here,’ I said, handing her the scissors for snipping stems.

  ‘It seems a shame to be doing accounts, if you’ve inherited your aunt’s creative streak,’ she said.

  I returned her smile through gritted teeth. Mum obviously hadn’t mentioned the picture I’d once drawn for Ruby. It was of a miniature Shetland pony, but Ruby mistook it for a pair of dancing Mexicans, and I could still remember the way she’d swallowed her laughter, not wanting to upset me. ‘Accounting is creative, in its own way,’ I said. ‘Not that I do anything illegal,’ I added, hastily.

  ‘Well, as you know, flower arranging is all about colour and design, and knowing what looks right.’

  ‘U-huh,’ I said, agreeably. After moving into my house, I’d kept the walls magnolia, and had chosen minimalist furniture, scared of getting it wrong, but since then, the twins had decorated the walls with fingerprints, and Jasmine had introduced bright throws to ‘break up the beige’.

  ‘Look!’ Jane was artistically arranging the flowers she’d gathered, in a process that took a matter of seconds.

  ‘That’s lovely,’ I said, as she secured the wrapping with a much smaller strip of Sellotape than I’d used the day before.

  She plopped the bouquet in a bucket. ‘Why don’t you make up a couple, while I refill my flask with some coffee at Cooper’s?’

  Relieved she wasn’t about to watch, I attempted to emulate her movements, but by the time I’d finished it looked like a bird had started building a nest, and got bored halfway through.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Jane when she returned, placing her flask beside my mangled arrangement. ‘I don’t think Shipley’s ready for something so…’ she tipped her head. ‘Modern?’

  ‘That’s OK, I’ll tone it down,’ I said, trying to sound casual. A couple of passers-by stopped to look at some plants, bristling with bright green leaves, and I was relieved when Jane shot over to talk to them.

  I slipped my bird’s-nest affair beneath the bench, my mind switching back to Tom. I wondered if I’d blown my chances of ever seeing him again.

  ‘So where is it you’re going?’ I asked Jane, after she’d persuaded the couple to buy another plant, made up of violently purple flowers.

  ‘Look, I know it’s not the best time to book a break,’ she said, as if she’d read some judgement in my face. ‘But it’s important to me. My marriage is depending on it.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Things aren’t good in the bedroom,’ she said, as if discussing the state of the economy. ‘Now Calum’s a grown man, it’s time for Dennis and me to get back some intimacy.’

  ‘Ri-i-i-ight.’

  ‘It’s not going to happen at home,’ she persisted, seeming unaware of my growing discomfort. ‘Not with family photos looking on.’

  ‘I see.’ I grabbed one of the cups she’d filled with coffee, and took a reviving swig.

  ‘It’s since I read Fifty Shades, you see.’ Jane’s gaze went somewhere else, and a menopausal flush travelled up her throat. ‘It made me realise how stale things had become between us,’ she said. ‘Do you know what I mean?’

  I nodded, armpits prickling. What was I supposed to say? Jasmine had dragged me to see Fifty Shades and I’d come away feeling grimy. The only dominant trait I was comfortable with in a man was if he ordered pizza on my behalf. I was hopeless at choosing toppings.

  ‘Dennis isn’t sure about it yet,’ Jane continued. ‘He won’t so much as kill a fly, bless him, so the idea of taking a hairbrush to my backside…’

  ‘I think someone needs help,’ I said, keen to stop her surge of words, but the man who’d been eyeing a pail of carnations took fright and scurried away.

  ‘Ooh, I’ve made you blush!’ Jane gave me a playful shove and I staggered backwards, slopping coffee down my top. She was surprisingly strong for someone with such a small frame. ‘So, you can see why I need a holiday,’ she added. ‘If we don’t get away, I dread to think what will happen.’

  I dreaded to think what would happen if they did get away, and wondered if Ruby knew the nature of Jane’s holiday. Perhaps I would ask her later; it might make her smile.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of things,’ I said, rubbing at the spreading stain on my top. ‘Do you know where the vet’s is, by the way?’

  I hadn’t meant to say it, and wasn’t sure why I had.

  Jane frowned. ‘You’re not planning to have your aunt put down, are you?’ Her face cleared. ‘Only teasing,’ she said. ‘Here’s the lady you want to ask.’ She waved over a woman with a walking stick and a Labrador, approaching from the parade. ‘One of my neighbours,’ she said. ‘She does puppy-training sessions there.’

  ‘Are you talking about me?’ said the woman, flourishing her stick. She had on a fluorescent green maxi-dress with blindingly white trainers, and a pair of giant sunglasses nestled in her fluffy grey hair. ‘Celia Appleton,’ she said to me, not waiting for a reply. The Labrador wagged his tail and I patted his head. ‘Where’s Ruby? I haven’t see her for a few days.’

  ‘Having a little break,’ Jane said, loyally. ‘This is Carrie, her niece, and she’d like to know where the vet’s is.’

  If Celia thought it strange, she didn’t comment. ‘It’s a five-minute drive from here, Nightingale Lane, near the primary school. Nice chap, the vet,’ she added, giving me a piercing look. My heart lurched, as if the reference to Tom might conjure him up. ‘Nothing like his father, thank goodness, though my boyfriend, Paddy, says he’s mellowed a bit since his wife died. He works for Mr Hudson, you see.’

  Tom’s mother was dead?

  I felt a pinch of sadness. Tom had loved her, even though she hadn’t always stood up for him when his dad was on his back to join the business.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, but Celia was already striding away, her Labrador sashaying at her heels.

  ‘Nice woman,’ Jane said, watching her go. ‘There’s not much she doesn’t know about dogs.’ She turned, and nodded at my top. ‘Mop yourself up, and I’ll run through the payment process with you,’ she said, flipping back into business mode. ‘Hopefully, there’ll be plenty of customers to practise on.’

  I’d just grabbed a sheet of industrial towel roll from the back of the van and started dabbing at the stain, which was pointless because it had already dried, when I heard a blast of tinny music from the work mobile, still in my bag from the day before.

  Glancing back, I saw Jane in conversation with a woman holding up a baby to be admired.

  I took out the phone. ‘Hello, Cars 4 U,’ I said. ‘I mean, the flower stall, um, Ruby’s Blooms.’

  ‘I thought I’d got the wrong number for a minute,’ said a fretful female voice at the other end. ‘I take it you’re not’ – there was a pause, as if she was looking up the name – ‘Ruby Dashwood?’

  ‘No,’ I said, still scrubbing at my top, wondering if I should nip back to the flat and get changed. Apart from anything, it was already too warm for long sleeves. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘I hope so.’ The voice sounded vaguely familiar, and for some reason my scalp began to tingle. ‘My daughter’s getting married the weekend after next, and the florist we’d booked has ra
ther let us down.’ I made an appropriate murmur. ‘We’re having trouble finding someone who isn’t fully booked, and wondered if you might be able to step in?’

  Jane was holding the baby now, who was squealing with delight, and reaching out to clutch her hair. I moved to the workbench, and scrabbled for a notepad and pen among the clutter. ‘If you’d like to give me some details, I’ll see what we can do.’

  ‘The wedding’s on the 28th, a Saturday, at Hudson Grange.’ My heart flipped. Hudson Grange? So, they were doing weddings there now.

  ‘You’ve probably heard of it,’ the woman said, pride trickling into her voice, and suddenly – shockingly – I knew exactly who she was.

  ‘My daughter is marrying Tom Hudson there,’ she went on, openly bragging now. ‘Her name’s—’

  ‘Megan Ford,’ I finished, feeling as if someone had opened a valve and drained all the blood from my body.

  Tom and Megan were not only back together, they were getting married.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Who was that?’ Jane balanced the baby on her hip and looked at me with concern. ‘Bad news?’

  ‘No, nothing like that.’ I forced a smile as I put the phone down, but my heart gave a juddering wallop. Tom was marrying Megan?

  I thought again of my phone call the night before, and had to bite my lip to stop a groan of mortification escaping.

  But didn’t they break up? Unless the grapevine had got it wrong, all those years ago.

  Not that I still had romantic feelings for Tom.

  But, Megan?

  Still, it was none of my business, and the sooner I pushed the pair of them out of my head, the better. I’d managed it (mostly) for the last ten years, and if I’d never quite got closure, then maybe it was because I didn’t deserve it. After all, as Tom had reminded me, I’d practically pushed them together.

  ‘Carrie?’

  I jumped, and realised Jane was waiting for an explanation.