The Garden of Little Rose

by Suzanne Snow

  Chapter Seven

  Once the meal was over, there was still a little while to wait before the evening guests were due to arrive, and most people had gone to the bar or to freshen up in the bedrooms upstairs. Sophie and Flora had followed Mel to the bridal suite to help her out of her dress until the party began all over again. Once the dress was carefully hung and Mel had kicked off her shoes for a touch-up of make-up and hair, Flora headed to her room, quickly changed into jeans and escaped into the garden, hoping for a few minutes alone. She hadn’t seen Mac for a while and she assumed that he was in the bar, probably chatting to Eddie.

  She made her way through the garden rooms beyond the terrace until she reached a lawn, bordered by a belt of beech trees, and followed a leafy path between them. She found the lake and skirted around the edge until she came to the stone seat tucked underneath the willow tree. She sat down and gratefully eased her flat loafers from her feet, stretching them out luxuriously and wriggling her toes. Bluebells were fading now in the woodland, but the pungent smell of wild garlic still lingered, and she closed her eyes to enjoy it.

  Her thoughts drifted back to the wedding service just a few hours ago, and a wave of sadness landed like a punch in her stomach. Both of her friends were married now, and she loved them so much and wished them well. She had watched Mel walk up the aisle beside her beaming father today, had fixed her smile in place and felt the quick grasp of Sophie’s fingers reaching for hers.

  Her own moment at her own wedding with her dad would never come. It had been lost not only to his sudden death but the revelation which had followed, leaving her family in pieces all over again. Her dad had been like a cuddly bear: big, lively and sometimes loud. She had been the little girl he spoiled, lifting her up to spin her around when he came home from his work trips away, making her squeal with excitement as he revealed yet more presents for her and her brother Charlie.

  It had been her dad who had taught her what to do when a boy had pushed her over in the playground at school – the next time the boy had tried, Flora had sent him flying with a shove, her height always an advantage. Her dad had been the one who’d encouraged her to play the piano and stood on the side-lines to cheer Charlie on at rugby, their weekends as a family non-negotiable. Her dad, who was gone and had taken her cherished memories with him, leaving behind the pain of his loss and the realisation that she had never known him, not really.

  The tears fell as she tried to picture her own wedding: someday hazy in the future and a space at her side, a chasm where her dad should be standing, her arm safely tucked through his as she stepped into her future. She pressed her hands to her face, trying not to let the tracks of her tears spoil the make-up so carefully applied.

  ‘Flora? You’re not very hard to find – I just had to look in the garden.’

  She spun around so quickly she almost fell off the narrow seat, her hands flying down to grasp the stone. She knew feelings of surprise and then dismay were chasing one another across her face, revealing her distress to Mac. He was carrying a tray with two cups and he set it down on the ground, quickly moving to sit beside her. She saw him register her anguished expression and couldn’t miss the new gentleness in his eyes.

  ‘Hey, what’s the matter?’ He reached for her hand, smoothing his fingers across hers. ‘Flora?’

  She was still shivering and couldn’t seem to stop now that he was here. Again, he shrugged out of his jacket to drape it across her shoulders, warming her at once. A moment passed and then she felt his arms going around her, too, pulling her against his chest, tightening his grip as she tried to gulp back a silent sob.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing, really. I’m fine.’ She mumbled the reply, hoping it would be enough but knowing it wasn’t. He wouldn’t settle for a lie; he would want to know all.

  ‘You don’t seem fine right now. Want to share?’

  She no longer talked about her dad to anyone other than Sophie and Mel and her family; she and Charlie had gone over the events enough times when they had first happened. Now her brother had his wife, Sam, and a gorgeous baby daughter; her mum a demanding job which left her exhausted and with little time to think, just as she preferred it. Flora had found a way to live with the loss, too: she had flung herself into her work and appreciated the steadiness of a comfortable partnership with David. But then she had met Mac during the weekend she had spent on Alana and now he was holding her with a certainty and gentleness that threatened the barriers she’d erected around her heart.

  ‘It’s nothing you’d want to hear.’

  ‘You can’t know that,’ Mac said reasonably, his hands stroking her back with a simplicity that only seemed to increase the amount of new tears gathering. ‘If the prospect of dancing with me is making you cry, then you’d better say so now.’

  Flora tried to laugh at the attempt at humour and sniffed instead, fumbling for a tissue that wasn’t in her pocket.

  ‘Here.’ Mac reached for a handkerchief and instead of giving it to her, he ran it gently across her face, catching the last of the tears. ‘Better than nothing.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She sniffed again, feeling herself surrendering to his touch and trying not to love the simple care he was offering.

  ‘So? Are you going to tell me?’

  The question hung between them, a moment to decide, and Flora knew she could still escape. She could stand and walk away, give his jacket back, promise to wash and return the handkerchief. She did none of those things. Her voice small, she began to speak. ‘I was just thinking about my dad. He died two years ago and even though I don’t think I’ll get married, I still can’t forget that he won’t be there to walk me down the aisle.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Flora.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Her tone was flatter now. She had taught herself long ago to remove the emotion from her words, as though she were repeating someone else’s history, because the facts still didn’t seem to belong to her. ‘It wasn’t only that we lost him so suddenly. We found out in the middle of planning the funeral that he had had a second family, after us. Another partner and a child, who was fifteen.’

  Mac instinctively pulled her closer to him, until it was impossible to know where he ended and she began. Her head was under his chin, his hands firm around her beneath his jacket. She was almost in his lap and her own fingers skimmed over the heat she felt through his shirt, unwilling to reject the tenderness he was offering.

  ‘It was a terrible shock, especially for my mum; her hair turned white within a month and we were so, so angry. It felt like we’d lost him twice, because there was no possibility of discussing what he’d done. We’d lurch from really missing him to being totally furious and feeling so let down and deceived. He stole from us any possibility of grieving normally and being able to come to terms with losing him.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Mac said again, his voice low, and Flora could feel the vibration against the top of her head. ‘I wish I knew what to say.’

  He moved his hands to clasp her face, tipping it back slightly. She saw his head bend toward her, until his lips had pressed a gentle kiss beneath one eye and then moved to do the same to the other. She drew in a gasp, caught between distress and sorrow, and the immediate flare of desire she tried to suppress.

  ‘I hate that that happened to you,’ he said simply. ‘I haven’t known you very long and already I can’t stand to see you cry.’

  ‘I can’t stand that you’ve seen me cry, if that’s any consolation.’ Flora tried to make light of it, inching away from his strength and offering a wan smile as recognition of his gentleness towards her. ‘It’s not a good look.’

  ‘On you, it actually is. You have the most extraordinarily beautiful eyes, Flora. Not even tears can diminish them.’

  ‘Is that meant to be a line?’ She tried to joke, to bat away his compliment. This shouldn’t be happening; it was everything she sought to avoid. She knew this day was running away with her, but she could retreat no further without getting up f
rom the seat. Mac’s arms were no longer around her, but their hands were joined now, tightening the threads already beginning to bind them.

  ‘I think you know it’s not.’

  There was nothing Flora wanted to add, unwilling to reveal how his words had awakened her desire, feeling the atmosphere settle into something different, something less casual. She knew Sophie would tell her to lighten up, not overthink it: enjoy the day with Mac and wave him off at the end with a kiss or maybe more – perhaps delay the parting until tomorrow. Maybe they’d each make a half-hearted promise to text, catch up if ever they happened to be in the same place again.

  ‘It’s been a fantastic day so far.’ Mac broke the growing silence, shifting the conversation into something lighter. ‘Sophie’s trying to get Eva to have a nap and apparently Eddie’s crashed out. I wanted to thank you for inviting me; I’ve really enjoyed meeting your friends properly.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Everyone seems glad that you came.’ She bit her lip, surprised she had spoken the thought out loud.

  ‘And you, Flora?’ Mac’s voice had dropped, and she noticed how it emphasised his Scottish accent, as he drew out the words; it was yet another thing about him that she liked. ‘Are you glad that I came?’

  ‘Well, it was better than leaving a gap on the seating plan after you’d accepted,’ she quipped, dismissing his question with something that even to her sounded mean. ‘Where are you staying this evening?’ Flora hurried on, trying to explain herself. ‘It’s just that I think the hotel is fully booked and I’m not sure what else there is locally.’

  ‘No need, I’m driving back later.’ Mac reached out to swat idly at a bee floating around their heads and it droned away, settling onto a plant nearby.

  ‘What, all the way to the island? Tonight?’

  ‘My sister and a couple of her friends are coming to stay for a few days; I’ve promised to pick them up tomorrow morning. I’ll crash out at a friend’s place near the airport.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Thank you for thinking of me but I won’t need a room.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Flora rushed on, desperate to make him understand that she hadn’t been trying to issue a very different sort of invitation. She freed her fingers and saw him watching her gesture. ‘I hope you won’t be too tired; it’s such a long way. Don’t fall asleep at the wheel.’

  ‘I won’t fall asleep. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Where does your sister live?’

  ‘Paris. She’s a painter; her partner is a sculptor. Every so often their artistic temperaments clash and she escapes to the island when she wants some time alone to work.’

  ‘Are you alike?’

  ‘I’m not sure. What am I like, Flora?’

  ‘Tell me about your sister and then I can compare it with the little I know of you.’

  ‘Cassie’s very similar to our mother; they both have red hair and a wanderlust that keeps them on the move. Since meeting her partner, she’s stayed in Paris about three years – longer than anywhere else, I think. She’s exuberant and sociable and has an ever-expanding group of friends around the world, and she loves adventures. She accuses me sometimes of being too predictable, but I know I’m always her voice of reason, and we speak often.’ He paused, watching her. ‘So how do you think that compares with me?’

  It all sounded very lively and Flora felt embarrassed to reveal that her childhood home had been sold so her mum could move to a small new build in a larger town, and they could all try to move on without the glare of attention, offering sympathy and curiosity in equal measure.

  ‘Well, I’d say that you’re decisive, confident and creative, and those may be qualities you share with your sister. Will that do?’

  ‘Impressive, Flora. My turn. I know about your passion for gardens. Tell me something – something that no one else would know about you.’

  This was beginning to stray into proper date conversation, and Flora realised it had been a long time since she had bothered to try to be interesting on purpose. She scrambled about in her mind for something to tell him and blurted out the first wild thought that flared up. ‘I missed getting my Gold award in Guides when I broke my wrist abseiling, trying to impress the instructor because I was madly in love with him.’

  ‘Guides and abseiling. What else?’

  Mac was laughing as he watched her. A tendril of brunette hair had escaped from its chignon in the breeze and drifted across her face. She stilled as he reached out and gently smoothed it behind her ear with a long finger, dislodging a wisp of confetti that floated to the ground.

  ‘Stamp collecting? Crochet? Playing the recorder?’

  ‘I was twelve,’ Flora said indignantly, snatching her head away before she allowed herself to be distracted further. ‘You’re deliberately trying to make me sound boring.’ She had learned to be very good at giving away little of herself and she preferred such anonymity to the alternative.

  ‘I’m not, I promise.’ Mac held up his hands in protest. ‘I’m just trying to find out more about you, that’s all.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Are you always this blunt?’

  ‘Only when I know the other person is far more interesting than me. I’m sure you have much more to tell.’ She crossed her hands firmly on her lap, gazing straight ahead to the lake in front of them.

  ‘So what happened to the abseiling instructor?’

  ‘It was an unrequited crush that lasted until I discovered he was already going out with somebody else.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘I have to get back,’ she said, leaping to her feet. ‘It’s getting late, and I can’t leave Mel and Sophie to manage alone, it’s not fair. Sorry.’ She slipped out of his jacket and handed it back to him. ‘Thank you.’

  Mac took it, and she turned and began to hurry back to the house, leaving him to follow.

  Chapter Eight

  Once Mel had been buttoned back into her dress and was looking suitably bridal – and Flora had also put on her bridesmaid outfit again – the evening party could begin. The noise was increasing, as more guests arrived and hurried over to congratulate the bride and groom, who were looking much more relaxed. The DJ was well into his stride, and a few young girls were already dancing to Ariana Grande songs and grumpily turning their backs on the boys sliding past on their knees and getting in the way.

  Flora was busy greeting people, catching up with distant friends and marvelling at various children, either new or well grown. Throughout, she was aware of Mac hovering at the bar, his fingers idly resting around a glass of something she hoped wasn’t whisky, seeing as he had a long drive ahead. Occasionally, she pointed him out with a casual wave to those who asked whether she had brought somebody to the wedding.

  Mac wasn’t alone; Eddie was keeping him company, and Sophie had expressed her amazement that somebody was managing to keep her husband away from his iPhone for more than five minutes. Flora glanced towards the DJ, as the music abruptly faded and he roared into the microphone, making himself heard above the noise.

  ‘Okay, ladies and gentlemen – move over, kids! It’s time for the brand-new Mr and Mrs Oliver to get the evening started with their first dance. Come on, everybody, give it up for your bride and groom!’

  Most people stopped talking and turned to look, as the music was cranked up again, and Harry and Mel smilingly made their way onto the dance floor, holding hands. Flora stood in the shadows near the door onto the terrace, as a romantic track began to play. Harry drew Mel into his arms and slowly they danced, as their guests whooped and applauded, hastily pointing phones and cameras at them, and shooing children out of the way to capture this intimate moment in the special day. After a minute or so, the DJ invited the best man and bridesmaids to join in. Flora jumped, as she felt a hand on her back.

  ‘Come on, Flora, you’re not sitting this one out. Fair warning, remember?’

  She was already smiling as Mac led her onto the dance floor. He placed a hand in th
e middle of her back and took hold of her right hand with the other. She gave him a casual glance, hoping it suggested that everything was fine. Really, it wasn’t – every nerve ending was screaming in delight at his touch. Her smile was fixed as she looked away over his shoulder, watching everybody else so that she would not have to meet his gaze.

  ‘You’re tense again.’ Mac lowered his head to speak into her ear, his breath light on her neck. She closed her eyes and pretended not to have heard. ‘Relax, Flora.’

  At first, he held her away from him, so that their bodies were not touching and a gap was maintained. But as the song progressed, Flora gradually softened in his arms, and the distance between them vanished, until she could feel the smoothness of his shirt and the contrasting hardness of his chest against her bare shoulders. His jaw, already shadowy with stubble, was against her temple and slowly his hand moved up her back until it reached her neck. Then his fingers trailed down her spine, sending her mind spinning as a searing heat lit up her skin.

  As the people around them began to drift away, Flora realised that the song had ended, and very slowly they drew apart. But Mac kept a firm hold of her hand, unwilling as she was to let go. The DJ’s sudden shout interrupted them, and a new track came booming through the speakers, blaring around the ballroom.

  ‘You all know the groom’s legendary taste in music, so once we’ve got this nonsense out of the way, we’ll be onto the good stuff, starting with classic Stone Roses. Everybody – up on the dance floor and find a partner, preferably a stranger or at least somebody you’ve never danced with before.’

  Carefully, Flora tried to prise her fingers from Mac’s as she turned away, ready to go and sit down.