The Flower Shop on Foxley Street

by Rachel Dove

  As she shampooed her long blonde hair, she thought of her morning coffee meeting and felt the butterflies fizzle in her stomach. The meeting wasn’t even a date, not really – more an ambush of a fit customer – but it still filled her with nervous excitement. There was something about the man who came into the shop that brightened up her day, and she was looking forward to actually speaking to him without the eagle eyes of her parents, or Roger egging her on in the background.

  She had noticed him when he first started coming into the shop just over a year ago. He looked so tired, so worn down. Her mother had always made conversation with him, chatting away the silences when he came in twice a week. All nothings, every time. They discussed the weather, the politics of the day, the X Factor results.

  Over time, he had gotten brighter. He looked less drawn, more at ease. His eyes were different though. Was it the darkness, the depth of the brown they were? He had sad eyes that never quite matched his lopsided half-smile. They looked at odds with everything in the world, and she found herself counting the days in between her seeing them.

  It had become somewhat of a puzzle to her, a conundrum to solve. She found herself punctuating her working week with his visits. She almost wrote them in her diary, like a girl would record her secret thoughts. She wished that she did write them in her diary to be honest, if only to have something to jot down in there at all. The only thing she wrote in there lately were changes to deliveries, and the usual birthdays and anniversaries that everyone writes in a journal.

  She often daydreamed about him, like now, when she had washed her hair three times. What his story was, the places he had seen. What work did he do? He sometimes came dressed up; sometimes he wore scruffy jeans, ratty T-shirts. He often had the telltale sign of dirt under his fingernails, so she knew he worked with his hands, out in the open.

  Sometimes, when she was daydreaming, or reading one of her romance novels, she thought about what kind of job he did. Farmer? Builder? Did he live local? Westfield was a pretty close-knit place. Everyone knew the colour of your pants on the line, or so the saying went. Not that she dare ask around about him, of course. She just knew she wouldn’t be able to ask casually. Roger was already on to her.

  Stuart worked outside for the most part, but he didn’t have hands like him. His hands were smooth, moisturized, not a callus in sight. In fact, you would think he was a hand model the way he went on sometimes. She had once asked him to put a few shelves up in the shop and he had looked at her as though she had asked him to hack someone’s head off. In the end, Roger had done it, Stuart ‘supervising’ from a distance. Lily was still amazed to this day that Roger hadn’t nailed him to the wall by his thumbs.

  After that, she hadn’t bothered to ask him again. She still had some plans for the shop DIY wise, but she was determined to wait till she had more money in the bank, then at least she could hire a handyman. Simon from the village often did the odd job or two on a weekend, when he wasn’t busy working at the greengrocer’s with his dad, or chasing down new clients for his own business. He had been busy though lately in other ways, wining and dining the new girl who was working at the boutique. She seemed nice, not that Lily had spoken to her in person yet.

  Lily didn’t have many friends, not really. She was popular at school, being a kind girl who loved flowers. People liked her – it was easy. Who didn’t like a girl obsessed with flowers?

  The thing was, she was left behind. Because Westfield was a small village, people moved on. Few moved in, though the ones who did tended to stick, once they fell in love with the countryside. After school, there was college, university, travelling. The next steps in life that people took, when they left the nest. Lily had waved off every one of her friends, one by one, and watched them fly off, while she clung to the sticks of her parental home. The point was, until yesterday, she had never really minded. Even Simon had left, but now he was back, called to his roots. Eager to set down some of his own.

  Until Roger had spoken those words. Take a chance, for once in your life. The sentence haunted her. For once in your life. That was just the thing. She never had taken a chance. Sure, she had her own business now, but the truth was, she had been destined to have the shop since she was born. Her parents helped her save up her deposit, guaranteed her loan. The pampered princess way of earning a living, really.

  The shop thrived, had for years, and it was a pretty safe investment. She knew the shop by heart, having had many of her first milestones either here or in the house she had lived in all her life. Even when she went to college, she was a short bus ride away, and her dad had ferried her in half the time, on his way to a delivery. She had been sheltered like a bird born in captivity, happy with its lot in life, till they heard the songs from the forests nearby. That sentence was a song in the forest, and now Lily couldn’t block out the noise it had produced.

  Stepping out of the shower, she slung on her robe and dashed into her bedroom to get ready. She wanted to get to work early, to compose herself for her morning coffee date/meeting/awkward experience. Stuart hadn’t even called last night, since she put the phone down on him, and she knew he was either letting her cool off or still scratching his head trying to work out what had gone on. Either way, she just hoped he remembered she was busy today. She would deal with him later. Once she had worked out in her own mind just what she was doing.

  Downstairs, Irvin was sitting at the kitchen island, spreading damson jam onto hot buttered toast. Lily smiled at her dad, who looked a little like Danny DeVito, with the wit of Ricky Gervais. Her mother, in comparison, looked more like Glenn Close. Beautiful, tall, and thin with an elegance to her that you didn’t learn from any magazines. Lily was an odd combination of the two: having inherited her mother’s good bone structure and body proportions, and her father’s odd sense of humour and general lack of grace.

  Stuart had taken her golfing once, early on in their dating life. She thought it had gone quite well, but she hadn’t been asked back. She was too embarrassed to ask the reason why. She assumed that her hitting the duck in the pond with a stray shot wasn’t a factor. Or the dent she had put into Stuart’s prized chariot.

  Whatever the reason, she never went to the golf club any more, and Stuart seemed reluctant to have her there again. A shame really, because with a bit of work on the gardens, it would be a fantastic wedding venue. Not that she had mentioned that to him, of course. She was starting to realize that Stuart wasn’t big on talking about wedding plans, but which guy was? It was a badly kept secret that the groom just pretty much turned up on the day, and had no clue about what a centrepiece was, let alone what type of flowers were involved. Why would Stuart be different?

  She kissed her dad on the top of his head, and he patted her arm.

  ‘Morning, darling, sleep well?’

  Lily nodded. ‘Not bad, I have an early start today so I need to get cracking. Where’s Mum?’

  She saw her dad’s face drop a little. ‘Still asleep I think. You know she moved into the spare room, don’t you?’

  Lily nodded. ‘Judging from the amount of face creams in my bathroom, I gather she means to stay there too.’

  Irvin winced, and her heart went out to him.

  ‘I know, I know. Your mother is a stubborn woman. She always has been.’

  Lily rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t see you trying to sort things out either, Dad. It’s been a while since you two have even talked, you know?’

  He nodded and seemed to be about to say something when his wife walked into the room. She looked tired, and a little gaunt, and Lily saw that her dad seemed taken aback.

  ‘Talking about me, were you?’ she said sniffily. ‘I do live here too you know.’

  Lily groaned. ‘Mum, we weren’t talking about you, not like that. It’s just that you seem so unhappy.’

  ‘Me unhappy!’ Lizzie proclaimed. ‘I’m fine!’

  Irvin shook his head. ‘No, Lizzie, you’re not.’

  Lily looke
d from one parent to the other, wishing herself from the room. It was looking like another breakfast from the fruit bowl dash.

  Lizzie sighed, looking all the more tired, and straightened up her dressing gown.

  ‘Well, Irvin, whose fault is that, eh?’

  ***

  They both looked at each other, lost in what they wanted to say and what they felt the other wanted to hear.

  ‘Let’s face it, Irvin, we are not getting on.’

  Irvin went to shake his head, but Lizzie held up a hand to silence him. ‘You know I’m right.’ Irvin nodded slowly, dropping his slice of toast back onto his plate, with a ching on the bone china.

  ‘This retirement was supposed to be a new start – our time. We had so many plans, and what happened? Nothing!’

  Irvin stood up from the stool, walking over to his wife. They stood a foot apart, but Irvin didn’t come any further. They looked each other up and down, neither knowing what to say next. He broke first.

  ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

  Lizzie looked at her husband in shock. Had it really come to this? Them offering each other food and beverages in perpetuity, till one of them shuffled off the mortal coil? She suddenly pictured them, wizened and grey, sat like bookends at each end of the fireplace, rotund from too many biscuits. She looked around, realizing that Lily was gone. She felt a pang of shame. Their poor daughter had obviously fled after yet another awkward morning.

  She took a step back, shaking her head. ‘No, Irvin, I bloody well do not.’ She looked at him one more time, like he had just stepped out of a spaceship before her eyes, and flounced off down the hall.

  ***

  Irvin was left in the kitchen, listening to the kettle click off in the silence. Like an automaton, he walked to the appliance, pouring the hot water onto the teabag in his favourite cup. As he stirred in the milk, he had a pang for his old life, the one where they rushed about, busy lives intertwined. Many a time they had snuggled on the sofa together, exhausted from work and raising their daughter, and been content to just read a book or watch a film together.

  Now, they sat in separate rooms, their house sterile, impersonal. Funny how things changed. Irvin wasn’t a fan, it had to be said. He sighed, sitting back down at the island stool. He just didn’t know how to fix it. The thing was, retirement was terrifying him. He didn’t feel ready to curl up and coast through the rest of his life reading the paper. Five minutes later, he was still nursing his tea when the front door slammed shut.

  ***

  Lily crept out of the house like a stealth ninja, almost snagging her thick tights on the rosebush as she darted across the drive to her van. Looking at the expansive front drive, she clicked her car open. Quietly closing the door behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief. Her little pink van was always sandwiched between her parents’ cars these days. Mum’s smart little Mini and Dad’s Volvo were normally tucked up together on the drive, but now even her van was some kind of referee between their warring vehicles.

  At this point, Lily was glad that she was an only child for the first time in her life. Having brothers and sisters would have been lovely, but given this situation, she wasn’t sure that other casualties of war would have been a good thing. She turned on the engine and flicked on the radio. Reaching for a battered CD case in her door pocket, she pulled out a black CD and fed it into the player. A moment later, heavy metal blared out of the speakers and Lily pulled off the drive. A nice bit of music to blast the anger out of her before she started work.

  Heading further into Westfield, Lily waved at various people as normal. Heading past the greengrocer’s, she saw Simon writing the day’s offers on the blackboard outside. Pulling up, she wound her window down. Simon jumped up, pretending like a mime artist to be blasted away with the force of the music. Lily laughed and flicked the stereo off.

  ‘Sorry,’ she tittered. ‘I forgot you have no taste in music.’

  Simon held his hands to his chest like she had shot him. ‘Your words hurt you know, Lilypad.’

  Lily rolled her eyes. ‘Oh go and cry to your One Direction records,’ she countered, pretending to wipe her teary eyes with her closed fists.

  Simon snorted. ‘What can I do for you this fine morning? You still needing those jobs doing? ’Cos I tell you, I am a little busy at the minute, but I will try at the end of the month.’

  Lily nodded. ‘I figured as much. So much for having my friend back from the fast lane. How’s it going with your girlfriend?’

  Simon blushed and Lily realized that her friend must really be smitten. Since school, she had only seen him act that way before when Mrs Lambert had popped a button on her blouse during chemistry. It was quite a scandal, she remembered. Howard Lee had fainted, although the school had put that down to the heat from the Bunsen burners. Everyone in 9C knew different, of course. He had been nicknamed ‘Wooey Howey’ for a whole year after. Not surprising that he was a plastic surgeon now. He probably owed his career to Mrs Lambert’s breasts.

  ‘It’s going well,’ he stammered, clearing his throat. Lily smiled at him, and he grinned back sheepishly. He never really dated while he was away studying; Simon wasn’t the type to be a player. This girl meant something, and they both knew it.

  ‘I need to meet her!’ she said before she could stop herself. ‘Let’s have a night out!’

  Simon looked surprised. ‘What, you mean an actual night out, with drinks and dancing?’

  ‘Don’t be a git,’ she scolded. ‘I mean it – let’s arrange it. I would love to meet her, and we haven’t caught up in ages.’

  Simon shifted from foot to foot, looking at the ground.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Lily asked, suddenly concerned. ‘You and her okay?’

  ‘Me and Elaine?’ His face lit up at the mention of her name, and she was so happy for her friend. When all the others had left, Simon had stayed in touch, learning his trade as an architect, nipping back when he could to pitch in with the business and see his parents. He was always there to talk to, and she was so pleased he had met someone. As kids, they had a lot in common with their parents’ businesses and expectations, and they had soon fallen into an easy friendship that had lasted through puberty and beyond.

  Their parents did think that they might get together at one point, with the amount of time they spent together, but for Lily and Simon, it was unthinkable. They were as like brother and sister as two friends could be. Simon knew her as well as she knew herself, most of the time.

  ‘No, we are great, it’s just …’ He looked so awkward, and she realized just what had caught his tongue.

  ‘It’s Stuart, isn’t it,’ she stated flatly. Simon shrugged, pulling an apologetic grimace.

  ‘It’s just, you know, me and him, together … all night …’ He looked so nervous, and Lily knew he was not trying to upset her. Simon and Stuart had spent a fair bit of time together over the years, but they had never really gelled. It was still at the polite ‘hey up’ stage, and then the words pretty much dried up. Not even sport, the universal conversation opener of men worldwide, had bridged the gap between them.

  There had been no thrown punches or beaten chests, but the nights always ended up being damp squibs when the two of them were in a room together. Not even Lily could get them to interact in any meaningful way, and she had resigned herself to having them only meet on special occasions. Given that she would want Simon as her ‘male of honour’ should the wedding ever actually happen, it was a touchy subject for everyone.

  ‘Okay, okay, no Stuart,’ Lily concurred. ‘I can play third wheel, be worth it to meet her.’

  Simon looked relieved. ‘Great, shall we say Friday?’

  Lily nodded. ‘Sounds great. Let’s do it.’

  She waved goodbye, pulling away as Simon held up his hands in mock horror at her music. She flipped him the bird and turned it higher. What was it about Stuart that seemed to rub people up the wrong way?

  CHAPTER FIVE


  Will Singer looked every inch the thirty-two-year-old man he was. The bathroom mirror rarely did anyone any favours, but this particular winter morning it appeared to be magically channelling the mirror from Snow White in terms of stark clarity and downright truth. Who’s the hottest man of them all? Certainly not you, dude.

  He had badly needed a shave. People were starting to comment on it, but the clean-shaven Will was not a great improvement. At least his dark stubble had detracted from the huge Kardashian-sized luggage wedged under his eyes. Without his hairy mask, Will felt naked, unable to hide.

  Even worse was the fact that the lack of hair on his face left people free to roam over his other features, in particular the mop of hair sprouting from his head. He looked like Lionel Messi mixed with Mufasa the lion. It did well for them, but Will wasn’t sure it was such a great style for him. Any longer and he would have to buy an Alice band like Beckham. Start sporting a man bun. He was pretty sure the villagers had never seen a man bun. It might scare them enough to dust off the pitchforks and torches. He had a sudden vision of his uncle Archie dressed like Braveheart, rallying the twin set and mohair-clad villagers into action from atop a horse. ‘People of Westfield, we shall not lie down and die. The man bun must be destroyed!’

  He chuckled to himself at his own humour. He would have to tell Lily that joke later.

  He frowned at himself in the mirror, opening the medicine cabinet in desperation. Looking through the arrays of random creams and potions, he picked a fairly normal-looking moisturizing cream and started to massage some into his rather green-looking cheeks. Turning to his hair, he combed it the best he could, deciding in the end that he had to wear a hat for work anyway, so he could use this as a passable excuse this time.

  Of course, there was nothing to say that there would be a next time at all. There shouldn’t even be a first time, but here he was, getting himself ready for the first date he had been on in years. A coffee date, in the daytime. Nothing too bad. Nothing that he should reproach himself too much for. He was just glad that the butterflies in his stomach and the elated feeling he experienced at the prospect of seeing her again were invisible to others. He could keep denying them to himself, but it wouldn’t be as easy if his feelings were on display. Will was more than used to keeping his cards close to his chest. Lily just made him feel like he wanted to show her his hand, and that feeling alone told him he had to be more careful than usual.