by Lacey London
Clara
in
the Middle
Copyright © 2016 by Stacey Cartlidge
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For my husband.
I probably drove you insane whilst writing this book.
The least I could do was dedicate it to you.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Common sense is a flower that doesn’t grow in everyone’s garden…
Chapter 1
Flowers. We all love them. Whether it’s a classic red rose, some pretty peonies or a bunch of striking sunflowers, there’s a flower out there for all of us. If you’d have asked me a few months ago what my favourite flower was, I would probably have said roses. Not because I felt strongly about roses, but because I didn’t really have a clue about any others. Now, looking around the florist that has become my second home, I have fallen in love with so many. Gerberas, lilies, daffodils, tulips…
‘Carnations?’ Believe me, no woman wants to receive carnations on their birthday!’ Janie lets out a scoff and boldly leans over the counter, narrowly avoiding an awkward wardrobe malfunction. ‘How about orchids? Can you afford orchids?’ She takes the wallet out of the customer’s hands as he stares at her in bewilderment. ‘Let’s see, how much have you got in here?’
I smile apologetically at the poor man who now looks frozen to the spot. That bloody woman should come with a warning! We’re not going to have any customers left at this rate. Shaking my head at my outspoken mother-in-law, I shoot her a glare and get back to arranging a vase of purple freesias. Sensing my annoyance, Janie exhales loudly and begrudgingly stands up straight.
‘Fine.’ She attempts a small smile, but her distain at his choice of flowers is clear to see. ‘Carnations it is…’
After applying a layer of red gloss to her collagen filled lips, she begrudgingly wraps a selection of the pink flowers in delicate tissue paper. In a matter of seconds, her wrinkly fingers twist the stems together, creating a beautiful bespoke bouquet. Watching her take the cash and slam the till shut with her hip, I wait until the customer has left the building before turning to face her.
‘OK, you have to stop doing that.’ I give her a stern look and fold my arms, trying my hardest not to lose my temper.
‘What?’ Janie’s Texan drawl echoes around the room and I rub my throbbing temples.
‘If people want carnations, just give them carnations.’ Taking the vase of freesias and placing it at the front of the window display, I flip the sign over to closed and lean against the door.
‘Would you want carnations?’ She attempts to raise an already terrifyingly high eyebrow and grins smugly.
Dammit. I certainly would not want to receive carnations. Knowing that she’s got me over a barrel, I bite my lip and look out of the window. Carnations have always reminded me of a tacky apology from a guilty man. You know the kind, a lame gift picked up from the petrol station in a last-ditch attempt at salvaging a failing relationship. Not that I admit this to the customers, obviously.
‘I… I don’t mind carnations.’ I say this confidently, secretly knowing that she’s aware I absolutely hate carnations.
Janie looks at me suspiciously for a moment before finally tearing her eyes away unconvinced. She knows that I’m lying, but I really don’t care. What I do care about is her scaring away our customers with her outspoken and opinionated ways. It’s not like this is the first time it’s happened either. After three months of sporadic shifts and numerous disgruntled clients, her customer service skills haven’t improved one iota. I think we can safely say that public relations are not her strong point. To be honest, I really shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, my mother-in-law doesn’t exactly have a reputation for being a people person. I have lost count of the amount of times I’ve had to apologise for Janie’s outrageous behaviour and I don’t just mean here at the florist.
Checking over the remaining stock, I discard the last of the withered flowers into the recycling bin and flip the lid shut. This is my least favourite part of the job. Throwing away beautiful flowers just because they have turned a little brown around the edges makes me feel rather sad. When the florist first opened, we used to take the leftover stock to the retirement home across town, but due to new health regulations and a rather pedantic district manager, we were told they would no longer be able to accept them. Pretty stupid if you ask me. I did try taking them home to make potpourri, but Oliver soon put a stop to that when he mistook them for crisps as he looked for a midnight snack.
Stacking the recycling bins together, I scan the room for anything that I might have missed and place them neatly by the back door. Poor flowers. I have a sneaky feeling that the eccentric bohemian lady from across the street slips them into her shopping cart before the containers are collected. I look out of the window and spot her tying an array of plastic bags to the handles on her trolley. Every single day she sits in the same spot, wearing the same outfit and shouting the same curse words. I’ve never spoken to her, but for some reason I feel like I know her. Her now familiar wiry hair and crazy clothes have become a permanent fixture for us here on Teller Street. Don’t ask me why, but seeing her sat there come rain or shine makes me feel strangely safe and watching her shout at the snooty bankers as they step over her has made us laugh on many occasions.
Janie swears under her breath, bringing me out of my daydream with a thud. Spinning around, I watch her rubbing furiously at the green stains on her skirt, making the messy marks ten times worse.
‘Damn flowers. This is the third outfit I’ve ruined this week!’ Shaking her head, she says some words that I wouldn’t want to repeat and sighs dramatically.
‘I don’t know why you won’t just wear an apron like the rest of us.’ Tearing off my own apron, I shake down the lilac canvas and place it on its hanger.
‘Please, do I look like the kind of woman who wears aprons?’ She throws back her head and laughs like a crazy person.
Looking her up and down, I have to admit that she certainly does not look like the kind of woman who wears aprons. Poured into a pink pencil skirt and a shockingly low-cut blouse, she doesn’t exactly look like the kind of woman who works in a florist either. Well, Janie doesn’t technically work here, but due to an unexpected emergency she offered to step in and give me a helping hand. I guess I shouldn’t really be complaining, Janie has had to come to our rescue on more than one occasion lately. When my good friend and owner of the florist, Eve, realised she had miscalculated her dates and that she was ovulating today, she threw down her apron and practically ran out of the shop, leaving just myself and my co-worker, Dawn, to cope with the lunchtime rush. Before I could have a complete meltdown, Janie stepped up to the plate and saved the day. Even though she drives me completely insane, without her help we would have had a hundred unhappy customers today, rather than just the two that she has managed to upset on her own.
If you haven’t already guessed, I’ll let you in on a secret. Eve and her husband, Owen, are trying for a baby. Well, I call it a secret, b
ut everyone who is anyone knows that the Lakes have been longing for a child for a good couple of years now. I still find it hard to believe that the once child phobic Eve wants to become a mother. Eve Lake, the same woman who declared that she didn’t ever intend on having kids and used whatever mothering instincts she had on a pack of spoilt Pomeranians. A smile plays on my lips as I picture my gorgeous and immaculate friend in my mind. Blonde hair, blue eyes and a body fat percentage to rival most athletes. There’s no denying that she would most definitely be the yummiest of mummies.
It was on a trip to Barbados a couple of years back that Eve’s biological clock finally started to tick. At the time, we put her sudden change of heart down to one too many rum punches and perhaps a little heat stroke, but she has been obsessed with the idea ever since. Even Owen, who at first was completely against the idea, has been hit with a serious case of baby fever. Just last week he randomly called by the apartment to take Noah to the park. Between me and you, I think Owen is trying to get some practice under his belt before he hears the pitter-patter of tiny feet for himself. It’s actually ridiculously cute, watching the two of them walk off together, laughing and joking like a pair of teenagers even though there are more than forty years between them.
Unfortunately for the Lakes, all their baby making hasn’t been very productive and after twenty-four months of regulated sex sessions they are still minus a child. Eve’s inability to conceive is actually why she ended up owning this place, Floral Fizz. Understandably, she was getting rather downtrodden with the whole baby situation and we were starting to get a little worried about her. Various therapy sessions proved to be useless and counselling didn’t seem to be working, so Owen thought buying Eve a business of her own would help to take her mind off things. At first I was a little sceptical. I mean, how does giving someone a company stop them from being broody? Although I have to hand it to Owen, having Floral Fizz really has worked wonders on lifting Eve’s spirits.
In a matter of months, Eve has made this florist into a baby of her own and there isn’t a day that goes by where she isn’t consumed with bouquets, petals or champagne. I say champagne, because in true Eve style she managed to design a florist that not only sells the most stunning flowers, but also has a specialist selection of some of the best champagnes in the world. With Eve being the self-confessed queen of bling, I wouldn’t expect anything less.
‘Are we done for the day?’ Dawn asks, poking her head out of the workshop and bursting my thought bubble.
Looking up, I let out a laugh as I take in Dawn’s flustered appearance. With foliage in her tousled hair, a dozen sticky labels on her t-shirt and soil on her nose, it’s fair to say that she looks a little frazzled to say the least.
‘It most certainly is.’ I reach over and pull a small branch out of her hair and toss it into the bin.
‘Thank God!’ Dawn lets out a dramatic sigh of relief and leans against the counter.
Bless her, she really is a trooper. There’s not a day that goes by where she doesn’t put a hundred and ten percent into her work. I still remember the day that Eve hired Dawn. After tons of terrible interviews and a few failed background checks, Eve had begun to give up hope of ever finding the perfect candidate. Then one day, the stars aligned and a chance meeting in a local coffee shop brought the two of them together. Whilst fumbling with her handbag at the till, Eve managed to spill the entire contents of her purse onto the floor and had a mini breakdown right there in the middle of the café.
Ever the good Samaritan, Dawn jumped to her feet and rushed to Eve’s rescue. The two of them got to talking and Eve offered Dawn the job on the spot. It turned out that Dawn had quit her job the week prior after a fortune teller told her she would find her dream job in seven hours, seven days, seven weeks or seven years. Accurate, I know. When Eve mentioned she was struggling to find a florist, Dawn saw this as the green light she was waiting for and signed on the dotted line that very day. In true fairy-tale style, Dawn was welcomed into the Floral Fizz family and we have never looked back.
‘Before I forget, I’m not going to be here tomorrow, so I’ve left the bridal collection for the Logan wedding in the store room.’ Dawn wipes her hands on her apron and lets out a lion worthy yawn.
‘Got it.’ Nodding in response, I grab a cloth and start to wipe down the messy work surfaces. ‘I’m leaving at midday, but Janie will be here.’
Dawn’s eyes widen as she gives Janie a dubious glance. ‘OK…’ She says slowly, looking between Janie and I with a look of horror on her face.
‘It will be fine.’ I place a reassuring hand on her arm, but Dawn just purses her lips and heads over to the wash station.
It’s safe to say that Dawn and Janie don’t really see eye to eye. With Dawn being a self-proclaimed perfectionist, who will spend hour upon hour making sure that not a single petal is out of place, she cannot stand Janie’s slapdash attitude to her work. I guess you could say that Dawn is high-maintenance, slightly obsessive and perhaps a little anal, but she is damn good at her job. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with the creative flair and passion that she has. Whilst the rest of us buzz around the shop floor like headless chickens, Dawn locks herself in the workshop and loses herself in a mountain of pollen and perfume. She really is Floral Fizz’s prized asset and we would be completely lost without her.
Unlike Dawn, I wasn’t born with the skills to transform a bunch of flowers into a spectacular display of colour and vibrancy. I can, however, be trusted to serve customers without offending them, whereas my delightful mother-in-law cannot. It would be an understatement to say that Janie and I have had somewhat of a turbulent relationship over the years. I know that most people complain about their mother-in-law, but mine really does take the biscuit. For those of you who don’t know, Janie divorced her husband and moved to the UK around six months ago. Their forty-year marriage was dissolved in just sixty days and Janie has been living in our spare room ever since.
Ever the exhibitionist, Janie announced that she was leaving Randy on a surprise trip to Orlando for my son’s birthday. Once the initial shock had worn off, I foolishly allowed myself to relax, only for Oliver to drop the life changing bombshell on me that would lead us to where we are today. I knew at the time that it was a terrible idea, but how do you say no to your husband when he asks if his crying mother can come and live with you? Oliver swore that it would just be a temporary measure, that she would be on a flight back to America in no time at all. Unfortunately, after twenty-four long, tiring and incredible frustrating weeks, Janie is still very much with us.
I know it sounds horrible, but Janie is honestly the hardest person to live with in the entire world. Honestly, I think I would rather share a house with a pack of stray dogs. Let’s face it, they would probably have better manners. From stealing my beauty products to never doing laundry and even bringing random men back to the apartment. Yes, you heard me. My sixty something mother-in-law actually brings booty calls back to the same apartment where her son and grandson are sleeping. You might be thinking that I am being quite blasé about this, but over the years I have become used to Janie’s outlandish antics. Seriously, the stories I could tell you would have you squirming in your seat, but there’s a time and a place for tales like that and now is not it.
‘What’s for dinner?’ Janie asks, checking out her ludicrously long talons and groaning when she spots a minuscule chip.
I rack my brains in a poor attempt at recalling the contents of our practically bare fridge. We both know that I should have paid a trip to Waitrose yesterday and we also both know that I spent the entire evening watching re-runs of Tom and Jerry with Noah.
‘I have no idea.’ Checking my watch, I realise that I have just thirty minutes before Oliver gets home. ‘I guess we will just have to grab something on the way back.’
‘Well, it better be healthy.’ Janie turns around and checks out her backside in the mirror. ‘I swear my ass has doubled in size with all the crap that you eat.’
I flash her a glare and bite my lip in a bid to stop myself from saying something I will later regret. She has some nerve! In almost two hundred days, Janie hasn’t offered to make dinner once. What she has done is complain about the number of calories in just about everything that we have eaten.
‘Well, if you don’t like what we’re having you can always take yourself out for dinner…’ Dumping the takings in the safe, I flick off the light and make a grab for my handbag.
‘You trying to get rid of me, lady?’ Janie adjusts the strap on her stripper style sandals and roughly shoves me out of the door.
Not bothering to respond, I zip up my jacket and wait for Dawn to gather her belongings. The busy street is cast in shadows from the many high buildings that line the roadside, providing a welcome relief from the strong sunshine that is peeking out from behind the clouds. Hordes of people dash along the pavement, each one seeming busier than the last, just itching to get to their destination before the next person. Smartly dressed businessmen weave through the crowds of teenagers who are happily talking amongst themselves. Their chatter is muffled by the sound of their glossy carrier bags crinkling as they walk.
Tipping back my head and taking a deep inhale of breath, I allow the vibe of the city to wash over me. A lot of people hate the hustle and bustle of London, but it really is my favourite city in the world. It’s the only place I’ve ever been where I feel completely free and where just about anything seems possible.
‘Alright.’ Pulling down the shutters on the shop front, Dawn hauls her handbag onto her shoulder and holds out her arms for a hug. ‘I better get going.’
‘Enjoy your day off and I’ll see you on Friday.’ I give her a quick squeeze and step to the side to let a group of schoolgirls pass. ‘You are coming, aren’t you?’
I add, ensuring that I keep my voice down so Janie doesn’t hear me.
Dawn looks at me blankly for a second before a dawning realisation appears on her face.
