by Erin Green
‘What did I tell you?’ says Trish, neatly packaging a pair of satin shoes for collection later.
‘In fact, shouldn’t they be included in Friday’s business meeting? How easy would it be for couples to nip next door and get an exclusive deal on a honeymoon package after planning and booking their wedding through us?’
‘It’s short notice but the owners may be interested. Your meeting is Friday, isn’t it?’
‘Yep, I’ll mention it when I speak to her later on,’ I say.
Dana
I’ve been home for a matter of minutes, but I’m not entirely happy with today’s interview session with Cain Marsh. My hands might be busy wrapping floristry wires around individual tiger-lily stems to meet an online order but my mind keeps replaying Cain’s question: ‘Would you?’
Is this not an example of what’s wrong in today’s society? Or have I been away from the dating scene for so long that I’m slightly naïve about such crude remarks? Surely people are allowed to meet and get to know each other, enjoy each other’s company before diving into bed?
I quickly look at my computer to check the details of the flower order before continuing; the last thing I need is to misread the requirements and create an arrangement which doesn’t delight my customers. I’m surprised to see an influx of visitors perusing my website in the last forty-eight hours – surely that’s not linked to the TV programme? With a floristry business as small as mine, I can’t afford to lose sales or get a sloppy reputation in the local area. Likewise, I can’t afford to appear on national TV and be used or humiliated. Such an outcome would be disastrous for me and the business, and I’d never forgive myself for embarrassing my boy.
A lump leaps to my throat at the very thought of disappointing Luke.
It’s the one thing I vowed I would never do. From the moment that midwife told me I was expecting a child with Down’s syndrome, I vowed that every breath I took would go to making my baby’s life the best it could be. Down’s syndrome or not, my baby would have every chance to do what he wanted in life, whether he showed an aptitude towards a specific talent, a desire to strive and achieve a particular goal, even those dreams which others deemed unreachable . . . my vow was to help my child reach his full potential as a human being, come what may.
I dismissed the boundaries that others appeared to be laying down for my son to comply with. There was no way I would follow the restrictive routines of yesteryear when children with this condition or other so-called disabilities led a sheltered, unfulfilled life due to society’s misperceptions and lack of understanding. There would be no cotton wool wrapped around my boy; he’d be allowed to be a child and I would support every choice he ever makes.
My Luke’s little extra within chromosome 21 simply gives me a little extra determination to play my part as his mum.
Likewise, I’m not asking for much in life, just a decent man who’s willing to share my days. I’m not searching for wealth or fame, I don’t really care about finding some hot-looking stud who believes he is God’s gift to women and who everyone else thinks is drop-dead gorgeous . . . just a decent guy, an ordinary bloke. A guy who knows how to work, how to enjoy life and who can commit to someone so we can build a life together. There’ll be good times and bad times, there’ll be big issues and small annoyances but still, whatever comes our way, we’ll cope, together.
My hands fall still partway through cutting greenery and ferns.
Someone who can appreciate and share Luke’s interests would be perfect.
Should I have outlined those desires during this morning’s feedback session?
I resume pushing fern fronds into the rear of the arrangement as a backdrop.
I doubt Cain would have understood a word I’d said if I had. All he seemed to want was a rundown on Alex’s chances of getting some. And that is one thing I won’t be talking about on national TV because I have manners.
I jump down from my work stool and switch on the radio. I need to clear my head and chase away Cain Marsh’s innuendos, so I turn the volume control to loud, and then give it a little extra turn just like Luke does before returning to my work bench.
Twenty minutes later, I sit back to admire the beautiful arrangement of tiger lilies. I’ve gone a little over the top, more flowers than I’d usually use for the price charged, but today I needed to enjoy my work. I needed to return to my base and get lost in my world to combat the negativity that Cain Marsh brought me.
Carmen
In no time, Polly gently taps on the door of the boutique. Anna opens it and I instantly become nervous at the prospect of seeing the list of options she’s holding.
‘Hello, that was quick,’ I say.
‘Not my first time,’ she teases, waving her list.
We huddle on the chaise longue as I read her suggestions.
‘I think that’s a logical order in which to get around Paris in three days. I’ve tried to plan for Friday night, all day Saturday, though you might wish to leave Sunday free for a more leisurely day to spend celebrating. How does that sound?’
I am quite overcome on reading her itinerary.
‘That . . . sounds . . . wonderful . . . thank . . . you . . .’ I manage, trying to hold back the tears. When I succumb to the emotion, I snatch at the nearest box of tissues much like a mother of the bride on seeing her daughter’s gown.
‘I’ve enquired at several of our reputable contacts and have noted the prices next to each event or tour . . . the total amount is in addition to your earlier payment.’ Polly hands me the paper. I simply look at the bottom line, nothing else matters; I’m not about to quibble over individual fees. Through the blur of my tears, I see the stated figure of nine hundred pounds.
I’ll be proposing just once, so what the hell, blow the expense.
‘Perfect. I’m happy to go with the itinerary, and you’re right about leaving Sunday free. We can spend the day relaxing before the flight home. I’ll pop round to pay just before closing up here, if that’s OK with you?’
I hand the itinerary to Trish, who is lingering – it was her suggestion to try next door rather than booking on the internet, after all.
‘Polly, before you go, any chance I could have the contact details for your owners? I’m launching a new business venture that they might be interested in.’
‘Sure, I’ll have that ready for when you come in to pay . . . Right, I’ll skedaddle and get these tickets booked and confirmed. Bye now.’
I watch a grin dawn upon Trish’s face.
‘She’s done a good job, hasn’t she?’ I say, as the travel agent dashes past our front window.
Trish nods. ‘Told you – you should always use professionals when it matters in life.’
‘Have you been watching that dating programme that’s just started?’ asks Anna, interrupting our conversation. ‘It’s following this woman’s first dates with three different guys.’
‘Nope,’ says Trish, confused how Anna’s question links to our conversation.
‘They’re using professionals to see if they can determine true love between strangers . . . me and my mum are loving it. Social media has gone crazy predicting who her dates will be. Some are suggesting they’ve got an A-list celebrity lined up as the third guy and he’s the one she’ll choose for the final date on Saturday.’
‘Oh, to be young and so naïve,’ says Trish teasingly. ‘You know it’s all hype to boost the viewing figures, don’t you?’
Anna ignores her and carries on. ‘I’m still going to tune in every night. I’m surprised you pair haven’t been glued to the screen. It’s worth watching because the woman’s local, or so my mum reckons.’
I listen to her excited babble before interrupting. ‘Did you not have a first date experience last Saturday, for which you left work early?’ I ask, glancing at Trish, who doesn’t disappoint in her reaction.
�
�Oooooh, yes, she did! Come on, spill the beans . . . Pretend you’re on this new dating programme and we’re interviewing you,’ squeals Trish.
‘Stop it, the pair of you. Cody was lovely, we had a nice drink, went to the cinema and we’ve arranged to meet up on Thursday night . . . I might even go to his birthday party on Saturday. Though, I’ll need to record the finale of the dating programme if I do attend – I can’t miss seeing who she chooses.’
‘Not shy about getting an invite, are you?’ asks Trish.
‘Stop it, you’re as bad as my mum,’ says Anna, flouncing off into the back room, leaving the two of us to giggle at our childish behaviour.
Polly
‘Hello, my darlings,’ I call cheerily, as my two nieces dash up the driveway and run into my waiting arms. I’d driven straight from work to collect them. ‘Are we thinking films and cookies or films and pizza for our sleepover treat?’
A chorus of films and pizza fills the air, as I stare beyond the girls at my brother-in-law, adorning his doorstep, with two holdalls stuffed to the zips with their belongings.
‘Pizza it is, and we don’t care if Cody complains!’ I usher the two to wait by the car whilst I collect their overnight gear from their father. ‘How is she?’
‘Not good. She’s suffering from severe stomach spasms and they’re concerned about her liver function as the blood tests aren’t good, but she’s in the best place.’
‘Has she said . . . ?’
Marc shakes his head, slightly too quick a response for my liking.
‘Really? Any chance of me visiting tomorrow – I’m free to do the evening.’
‘I’d prefer to go then . . . It’s best you look after . . .’ He nods towards his daughters leaning against my car.
‘OK, but if you change your mind, just let me know – Fraser will happily look after the girls at ours while I visit Helen.’ I take hold of the offered bags and lug them back to the car, a fake smile plastered on my face for the benefit of my two nieces.
‘Can I sit in the front?’ asks Evie, once Erica has climbed into the rear seats.
‘No, because the seat catch isn’t locking properly . . . Uncle Fraser’s got to look at it,’ I explain, for the umpteenth week. ‘If I brake harshly, the catch releases, which is dangerous.’
I’m surprised when she accepts my explanation and joins her sister on the back seat.
I turn the key in the ignition, check the girls have their seatbelts fastened and indicate. Their doorstep is empty; their father has gone inside without so much as a wave goodbye.
Bastard.
Carmen
‘What are you doing?’ asks Trish, as I sit behind the reception counter, doodling on my notepad.
‘I’m trying to figure out what I’m actually going to say come Saturday evening.’
Trish gives me a sympathetic smile. ‘Harder than you thought?’
‘You bet. I’ve watched so many proposals online . . . there’s funny ones, ones linked to happy memories and their shared experiences, some tearful, emotional proposals . . . but none of them seem right for us. Elliot isn’t one for showing emotion and I couldn’t carry off a humorous proposal.’
‘Which leaves you with the theme of memories you’ve built together.’
‘I just don’t want it to seem like I’m giving him a lecture, trying to prove how great we’ve been together or harping on about how good we’ll be in the future.’
‘Do you have to write a proposal speech?’
‘Yeah, it won’t be the moment for me to wing it – I’d waffle for England and ruin a week’s worth of planning by messing it up. Can you imagine me coming back on Monday and saying I bailed?’ I laugh.
‘That wouldn’t be funny, Carmen.’
‘What did Terry say when he proposed?’
Trish purses her lips, her cheeks colour and gives me a little smile. ‘I can’t remember exactly . . . it was lovely, just as I’d dreamed, but it happened so fast. He told me he loved me dearly, said how much joy I’d brought into his life, but then my memory goes a bit blurry until the “will you marry me” bit.’
‘Oh great, here’s me sweating the small stuff when really it won’t matter.’
‘It will. I just got carried away when Terry produced the ring box, that’s all.’
‘So the lesson is don’t produce the ring until after the speech . . . OK, noted.’
‘I can’t imagine Elliot reacting like I did . . . I jumped about on the spot for ten minutes.’
She has a point. How am I expecting Elliot to react? He’s not the emotional type. Not the overly affectionate, huggy type either. I can’t imagine him jumping about for ten minutes unless he won the lottery.
‘I’m expecting a shocked silence and a lengthy pause, if I’m honest. I think he’ll be taken aback – he’ll never anticipate me organising all this, he knows me too well.’
‘If he’s silent, you can’t take that to heart, Carmen . . . he’ll be so surprised, but that’s half the thrill. I wasn’t expecting it either, but I said “yes” straightaway.’
‘I feel nervous just thinking about it, let alone doing it, Trish.’
‘You’ll be fine . . . just make sure you enjoy it too.’
I suddenly grab the notepad and stuff it under the counter and on to my lap; Trish looks shocked by my sudden move as the boutique door opens.
‘Elliot . . . what a nice surprise!’ I holler in an overly cheerful voice.
‘Hi,’ says Trish, instantly understanding my lightning-speed reaction.
‘Hi, babe, hi, Trish, I’m not disturbing an appointment, am I?’ he asks, looking around the empty boutique.
‘Oh no, we have another twenty minutes until our next bride-to-be arrives.’
Trish smiles politely but I notice she drifts away from the counter as Elliot approaches. He’s out of breath, his suit jacket gaping, his tie slightly skewed from the collar, his name badge proudly in place: Elliot Cole, Assistant Bank Manager. I didn’t think I’d see him to say goodbye, given that Monty’s stag do officially starts at five o’clock. I’d lay in bed and chatted while Elliot packed his overnight bag late last night, to enable him to leave for Cardiff straight from the bank. I fully understand that the stag and his boys can’t lose a minute in their efforts to get ahead of the rush-hour traffic.
So this unexpected visit is a bonus.
‘I thought I’d best drop by as soon as I knew. Martin reckons no one’s volunteered to cover my Saturday morning shift so it looks like I won’t be—’
He doesn’t finish his sentence before I interrupt, hitting hysterical in record time.
‘Elliot, I’ve booked it!’
‘What?’ His brown eyes nearly pop from his head.
‘I booked it this morning! We fly to Paris on Friday at half five.’
‘You didn’t say!’
‘I wanted it to be a surprise! You agreed last Sunday morning . . . your boss will just have to find someone, Elliot. Go back and tell him!’
‘Carmen, I can’t demand that my line manager finds someone to open the branch.’
‘He’ll have to work a Saturday morning then – it’ll be quite a novelty for him as manager.’
‘He’ll think I’m shirking if I go back and say you’ve booked it.’
‘Tough. Elliot, you’re off work for the next three days so this needs sorting today . . . Please, go and speak to him.’
‘How bad will that look?’
‘Tell him you’ll work double when you’re free on another weekend. There’s no way you can work this weekend!’
Elliot stands raking his hand through his hair. He can’t look at me, but stares around the boutique as his brain works overtime trying to figure out what to say to his line manager at the bank.
This is all I need. I roll my eyes and give a headshake towards
Trish, whose eyebrows are signalling shock.
‘Sorry, but I did explain on Sunday . . . Why didn’t you listen?’
‘I did . . . I told him first thing on Monday morning and he’s just come back to me . . . it happens, Carmen.’
‘You said you’d get the shift covered . . . I thought a surprise would be nice,’ I mutter, though my heart rate remains sky high. My chest tightens. If I develop a tingling sensation in my left arm, I’ll be shouting for an ambulance.
‘Surprises are great but I wish you’d said you’d booked it already. I’ll go back and tell him – see what he says.’
‘See what he says? No, Elliot, he needs to know you definitely can’t be on the rota for this weekend’s Saturday shift.’
Elliot straightens his tie and gives me a fleeting smile before pecking me on the cheek.
‘I’ll call you later to let you know we’ve arrived, OK?’ he says.
‘Speak to you later, drive safely,’ I call after him as he turns and strides through the boutique.
‘See you, Trish,’ says Elliot, as he passes Trish straightening the gown rails.
‘Oh my God!’ I screech, as soon as the door closes fully. ‘It’s a bloody disaster.’
‘Keep calm, Carmen. He’ll sort it. I’m sure his boss will understand and pull something from the bag to cover Elliot’s shift.’
I grab the notepad from my lap and throw it down on to the reception counter, causing my pen to bounce from the surface on to the floor.
‘Until he confirms he’s definitely off work, it’s a waste of time me even writing a speech!’
‘Carmen . . . don’t lose it now,’ soothes Trish, crossing the boutique to stand in front of me calmly.
I hold my hands up in frustration. I’m trying my hardest to make this the perfect proposal, going against all my childhood dreams, and the fiancé-to-be won’t be present!
‘This is just a blip . . . Elliot will get this sorted in no time and then you can return to your speech writing.’
‘Until then, my proposal is up the swanny and on hold.’
‘No, until then we’ll focus on another bride . . . Come on, let’s grab a coffee and biscuits before she arrives.’
