The Beachside Flower Stall

by Karen Clarke

  Actually, I didn’t want to think of Megan.

  ‘Was going to Manchester an instinctive move?’

  The car windscreen seemed to warp in and out. ‘Mmmhmm,’ I managed, sucking hard on my humbug. ‘I don’t think tho.’

  ‘I phoned your parents’ house once, you know.’

  My head whipped round. ‘You did?’

  He nodded. ‘After I moved to Scotland. Your mum said you were with someone.’ What? When?

  ‘Sam?’

  I stared at him, numbly. ‘I was,’ I said, at length. Why hadn’t Mum told me? ‘For a few months, anyway.’

  He gave a crooked little smile. ‘You’re a pretty close bunch, aren’t you, you and your family?’

  Feeling squeezed out of shape, I said, ‘I suppose I take them for granted.’ Well done, Carrie. His mum was dead, and his dad had never supported his career choice. As parents went, I should be cherishing mine.

  ‘It must be nice to have them close by.’

  He called my parents’ house from Scotland. He’d found their number and called to ask after me. ‘Mum and Dad are very hands-on with Sarah’s twins,’ I said, half wishing he hadn’t told me. ‘But Phil’s parents live close by, so it can get a bit competitive.’

  I gathered from the tilt of his head he was interested, and, desperate to escape my knotty thoughts, found myself recounting stories about the twins, which segued into tales from Cars 4 U, and then I was talking about Jasmine.

  ‘We’re really different, but hit it off when she came to look at my spare room,’ I said.

  ‘Is this the one from Scotland?’

  I nodded, pleased he’d remembered. ‘She brought a family pack of Doritos and a bottle of wine, and said she wouldn’t look round the house until we’d made each other laugh. Which immediately made me laugh.’

  He cast me a glance, a smile touching his eyes. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘My impression of Dot Cotton from EastEnders,’ I said, feeling my cheeks glow.

  ‘The one that sounds like the queen?’ He grinned. ‘I remember you doing it for me.’

  I remembered too. It was after a bracing coastal walk to Corfe Castle, when we were sitting on a rocky crag, Hovis sending up barks to the wheeling seagulls. Tom had asked if I had any hidden talents, and confessed he could tap dance after having lessons as a child. I’d told him I liked doing impressions, and launched into my Dot Cotton without thinking.

  ‘Your Majesty, I’m in awe,’ he’d said, touching an imaginary forelock.

  I’d assumed he was joking.

  ‘It does not sound like the queen!’ I said to him now, swiping his arm. ‘Jasmine thought it was Margaret Thatcher.’

  ‘I rest my case.’ He flashed me a look of warm amusement that made my heart flip over. ‘You need to widen your repertoire.’

  ‘Take the next turning on your right and you have reached your destination.’ The robotic voice of the satnav was like an ice cube down my back. As Tom steered the car down Orchard Road we fell silent.

  It was an attractive street, quiet and tree-lined, with red-brick houses set behind hedges, most of them sporting neat front lawns and window boxes brimming with flowers. There was a smell of barbecue smoke in the air, and shrieks of childish laughter floated through the car windows. I felt suddenly guilty. Here I was, planning to gatecrash a family Sunday, which was almost certain to result in me being turned away – if not threatened with the police.

  I considered asking Tom to turn the car around.

  ‘You’re sure about this?’ he said, slowing the car to a crawl to read the house numbers, eventually stopping outside number 21.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Nerve ends twanging, I peered past him. There was a leafy birch tree blocking my view, but adjoining the house was a garage with the door up, revealing a car inside.

  ‘They’re home,’ I said, digging my nails into my palms. ‘But what if I’m making a big mistake?’

  ‘It’s not too late to change your mind.’ Tom turned the engine off and sat back. ‘Nobody will ever know.’

  I looked at his profile; his strong, straight nose, and the way the sunlight created a golden fuzz around his hair. ‘What would you do?’

  A knot of tension rippled along his jawline. ‘I’d talk to him,’ he admitted, turning slightly to face me. ‘It’s not like he doesn’t know about Ruby, and it might be different talking to someone who knows her, but isn’t her, if you see what I mean.’ I did. ‘Less emotional.’

  ‘Maybe.’ I wound a strand of hair around my finger and pulled, the resulting sting sharpening my resolve. ‘I suppose the worst he can do is tell me to clear off.’

  ‘Exactly.’ He lightly touched my knee, and this time I didn’t flinch. ‘If anyone can talk him round, it’s you,’ he said.

  I tried to smile, but my mouth wouldn’t respond.

  ‘Would you like me to come in with you?’

  I realised I would like it – more than anything – because having Tom beside me just felt right, and it was this realisation that had me snapping my seat belt off and fumbling with the door.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I said, willing the emotion to retreat. ‘But thanks.’

  He cast me a businesslike nod. ‘I’ll be here if you need me.’

  ‘I’ll try not to be too long.’ I pushed my feet back into my sandals and snatched up my bag before clambering out of the car.

  The heat was oppressive and perspiration broke out on my temples. I ran my hands over my hair and clothes, and blew out a breath. ‘You can do this,’ I said out loud, startling a ginger cat, which shot through the hedge. ‘Come on, Carrie.’

  I pushed open the gate and headed for the front door, my senses assailed by the scent of herbs from a shrub bordering the path. My legs felt numb from sitting in the car, and to anyone glancing through the window I probably looked a bit tipsy.

  I tried to rehearse a few opening lines, but couldn’t get beyond, ‘Hi, I’m Carrie,’ which even a tongue-tied parrot could have managed.

  Taking a shaky breath, I raised my hand and knocked on the blue-painted door before I could change my mind and race back to the car.

  I resisted the urge to look back, to see if Tom was watching. The fact he was there felt both surreal yet somehow predestined, and I still couldn’t get out of my mind that he’d tried to contact me from Scotland, and I hadn’t known. Did that mean he hadn’t been thinking about Megan, after all?

  I glanced at the window to my right, in time to see the curtain twitch, as if someone had just moved away.

  Maybe Donny didn’t like visitors at the weekend. Not Donny, I reminded myself. Peter.

  I chewed my knuckle, and decided I would knock once more before trying the back of the house, when I heard movement inside.

  I felt a throb at the base of my neck and my mouth dried up. I straightened my shoulders, and arranged my face in what I hoped was a friendly expression as a door chain clattered on the other side of the door, and a couple of bolts were slid back.

  They were certainly security conscious.

  As the door began to open, I said, ‘Hi, I’m Carrie Dashwood,’ hoping I didn’t sound like a local councillor canvassing votes. ‘I’m so sorry to bother you…’ My words trailed off as I was met by a girl with a thick blonde fringe swept across her forehead, and a lollipop jammed in her mouth.

  She looked around fourteen, skinny and not very tall, but upright. She was wearing a blue vest top with long white shorts, but it was her bright blue eyes that made the breath stick in my throat. It was like looking at a young version of Ruby, and I knew without a doubt that the girl was her granddaughter.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ‘Who’s there?’ called a voice from inside the house, and before I could gather my scattered thoughts a man came into view.

  My first impression was how ordinary he looked: medium height, sandy hair, light-coloured eyes, and wearing the sort of weekend uniform beloved of dads everywhere; cream cargo shorts and an open-necked checked shirt.r />
  I couldn’t detect any immediate resemblance to Ruby.

  ‘She’s called Carrie something,’ the girl said, pulling the lollipop out of her mouth, leaving a bluish tinge around her lips. ‘I like your hair.’ She gave it a critical look. ‘I wish mine was ginger.’

  ‘Th-thanks,’ I stuttered, hand fluttering up self-consciously.

  ‘Can you go and watch your brother, Kate?’ the man said. ‘He keeps dive-bombing the paddling pool.’

  Another grandchild! I imagined telling Ruby, pictured her look of open-mouthed joy, and the thought of it kept me pinned to the doorstep.

  ‘Where’s Mum?’ The girl – Kate – was eyeing my bag with interest, as if she’d like to grab it off me and have a good root through. She’d be disappointed. I wasn’t the type to lug my life around in it, which is why it was so small.

  ‘She’s still painting the back bedroom,’ the man said, ruffling her hair. ‘Now, go!’

  Kate rolled her eyes, but ducked obediently under her father’s arm and retreated into the hallway.

  The man stepped forward, a look of polite interest on his even features. His feet were bare and white, as though unused to daylight, and he smelt very faintly of chlorine. ‘How can I help you?’ he said.

  I desperately searched for prompts to start a conversation, and spotted the next-door neighbour sprinkling her roses. ‘Could I trouble you for a glass of water?’ I said, hoping he might invite me in. ‘It’s really hot out here.’

  ‘Is that why you knocked on our door?’ A slice of annoyance lodged between his brows. ‘You should carry water with you in this weather.’

  ‘Oh, I forgot,’ I said, wrong-footed. ‘Silly of me.’

  He rubbed his forehead. ‘You can’t go around knocking on doors, asking strangers for a drink of water.’

  ‘I don’t,’ I said, wishing I hadn’t. Now he was hacked off with me, and I hadn’t even told him the real reason I was there. ‘Look, it doesn’t matter about the water.’

  ‘It’s not that I begrudge anyone a drink, it just seems odd that’s all.’ He glanced over my shoulder and narrowed his greyish eyes. ‘Is that your car?’

  ‘What?’ I turned. The top of the Land Rover was just visible above the hedge. ‘It’s my… husband’s, actually.’ Oh hell.

  The frown deepened. ‘Your husband sent you to this exact address, to ask for a glass of water?’ His eyes were slits of suspicion as he took a step back. ‘It’s a scam, isn’t it?’ he said, reaching for the door handle. ‘I invite you into the kitchen where you try to charm me,’ he gave a little snort, as though the idea was ludicrous, ‘and while we’re in there, your so-called husband slips upstairs and steals our stuff.’

  ‘What?’ He’d obviously been watching too many crime-busting shows. I shot out a hand to stop him closing the door. ‘Look, forget about the water,’ I said. ‘That’s not why I’m really here, though I am quite thirsty, actually.’

  ‘So, you lied?’ His tone was openly hostile.

  ‘Not lied, exactly.’

  ‘What do you call it then, when you say something that isn’t true?’

  Bloody hell. ‘Look, Donny, I shouldn’t have tried to get in your house under false pretences, even though I could really use a drink right now, but…’

  He’d gone as stiff as a waxwork. ‘What did you just call me?’

  Shit. ‘I–I mean, Peter… Mr Robson.’

  ‘She sent you, didn’t she?’ Shit. This couldn’t have gone worse if Ruby had rocked up in person. ‘Who are you?’ he barked. ‘Some sort of private detective?’ I instantly thought of Doris. This was all her doing. ‘Tell her the answer’s the same as the last time she tried to wangle her way into my life. I’m NOT INTERESTED.’

  The door began to swing shut. ‘I’m actually Ruby’s niece,’ I burst out. ‘Your cousin, actually.’ I wished I could stop saying ‘actually’. ‘She hasn’t sent me, actually, I came of my own accord, because I know how desperately she wants to meet you, and her grandchildren, and if you could just give her—’

  The door crashed shut, and there was the sound of bolts being fired across.

  Bending, I thrust open the letterbox and peered through, in time to see his calves scissoring away.

  ‘Please, give her a chance to tell her side of the story,’ I shouted. ‘She loves you and thinks about you all the time. She gets depressed every year on the anniversary of your adoption.’

  ‘Serves her right for giving me away!’

  I dropped to my knees on the doorstep and pushed my face closer. ‘She doesn’t think she deserves a second chance, but I do.’

  I squinted down the hallway. There was an open door at the other end, a beam of sunlight spilling across oak floorboards.

  ‘Peter?’

  ‘I’m calling the police!’ he yelled.

  Bugger. ‘She lives on Main Street in Shipley, above the bakery, if you change your mind,’ I yelled back, in desperation. ‘Or you can find me at her flower stall in the square, if you want to talk.’ I fumbled out the envelope containing Ruby’s letter and shoved it through the letterbox. As it fluttered from my fingers, a set of thickly lashed eyes appeared in front of mine.

  ‘I’m Jen, Pete’s wife,’ said a low-pitched voice. ‘When your aunt came before it was a bad time. Pete’s adoptive mum had just died, his father was ill, and he was very angry.’

  ‘Ruby didn’t know,’ I said, thinking that if you could judge someone purely by their eyes, Jen was a lovely person. ‘She doesn’t want to cause any more upset,’ I blundered on. ‘To be honest, she’s accepted she’ll never get to meet him, but I hate seeing her like this.’

  The eyes – brown with green flecks – blinked a couple of times. ‘I’ve tried talking to him,’ she said, apologetically. ‘He can be very stubborn.’

  ‘Come away from that door!’ Peter roared.

  Jen’s eyes widened. ‘Go,’ she urged. ‘He really will call the police.’

  I snatched my fingers away, and the letterbox snapped shut.

  I knelt for a moment, fighting a wave of dizziness, and when I stood up and turned to leave, Tom was there.

  ‘Come on.’ He placed a hand on my elbow, and as he steered me back to the car I noticed the next-door neighbour was only pretending to water her roses, the hosepipe spraying her garden gnomes as she goggled over the fence.

  ‘I really need a drink,’ I said.

  Tom handed me a litre bottle of water, which I suspected he kept in the car for overheated dogs, and I glugged half of it down before slumping into the passenger seat. I snagged the seat belt as I tried to pull it across my body, and tears leapt to my eyes.

  ‘Let me.’ Tom leaned over and fastened it for me, and I longed to fall against him and cry my eyes out. ‘I take it that didn’t go according to plan.’

  I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.

  ‘Well, at least you tried,’ he said, with unbearable gentleness.

  We didn’t speak again on the way back to Shipley. I tried to push thoughts of Peter and his family from my mind, but they were already lodged there. They were real, actual, living people, and I’d ruined their day. I imagined the scene I’d left behind – Peter dialling the police, his wife trying to placate him, their children frightened of the crazy woman who’d been shouting through their letterbox.

  He would hate Ruby even more now. He might even come and confront her, and not in a good way. Then Ruby would hate me. I should never have come. And yet… he was Ruby’s family, whether he liked it or not, and Kate was her granddaughter. And there was a grandson too.

  It must be killing Ruby, knowing the family was there, but unreachable – like exhibits behind glass. Not even that. You could go and look at exhibits, but if Ruby tried she would mostly likely be arrested.

  It was harder than ever to accept she had to live with it, but I couldn’t see how there was anything more I could do.

  The car stopped and my eyes flew open.

  ‘You nodded off,’ Tom said. �
�I think you needed a nap.’

  My throat felt raw. ‘Was I snoring?’

  ‘Only a tiny bit.’

  He was joking, but I couldn’t raise a smile. I glanced at the dashboard and saw with a start that it was nearly four o’clock. ‘Where are we?’ We were parked in a sun-drenched courtyard, outside a whitewashed building with an uneven, red-tiled roof.

  ‘At my place. The surgery,’ he clarified, fiddling with his keys. ‘I thought you might want to freshen up before I take you back to your aunt’s.’ He paused. ‘I can make some coffee, and call the recovery people to pick up your car.’

  I knew I should refuse; insist he drop me at Ruby’s right away. It suddenly felt like we’d shared something significant, and the air between us was littered with unsaid words. I shouldn’t be on my own with him. What if Megan stopped by?

  ‘OK,’ I said. I stepped out of the car and stretched. The air was like warm silk on my arms, and the sky was the colour of bluebells (everlasting love).

  Tom let us in through a side door that opened into a small, oak-beamed kitchen with a flagstone floor. Hovis gave a woof and leapt off a bow-legged armchair, and I bent to fuss him, enveloped by a sense of coming home.

  ‘The living area’s separate from the surgery,’ Tom was saying, throwing his keys on a well-scrubbed table with an empty fruit bowl in the middle. ‘There aren’t any syringes lying around or sick guinea pigs in the house.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter if there are,’ I said, realising he was trying to put me at ease. Even so, he seemed nervous as he moved around, fumbling a fresh filter into a shiny coffee machine and spilling beans on the counter. ‘Real coffee?’ I teased. ‘Makes a change from that Co-op stuff you used to drink.’

  ‘I still like it,’ he protested. ‘Megan bought me this, she prefers the proper stuff.’

  Jealousy flickered. ‘Does she come here often?’ I wondered if he’d mentioned her to remind me they were getting married – as if I needed reminding.

  ‘Hardly ever.’ It came out abruptly.

  I thought about her fur allergy, then remembered Megan saying that she sometimes stayed over, and she and Tom cuddled up in the bed in the attic room. Perhaps he’d just been trying to spare my feelings. But if that was the case, he must think I cared that he and Megan were together.