by Clare Lydon
“Please.” She flashed Kate her grandstand smile again which flooded her eyes, and Kate could do nothing else but comply, her heartbeat pulsing in her ears.
The florist sat in the other chair and pulled across a couple of books from the end of the counter.
“First things first — I’m Meg.” She held out a hand to Kate.
Kate took the hand in hers, trying not to dwell too much on the long, slender fingers. She shook Meg’s hand slowly and brought her eyes up to meet Meg’s again.
Was Meg looking at her fingers too? Of course she wasn’t. Honestly, no wonder Kate’s mum thought she needed checking up on. Here she was, tasked with sorting out her uncle’s flowers and she was trying to hit on the undoubtedly straight florist. Focus.
“Kate,” she replied, still holding onto Meg’s hand. “And I’m sorry I just blurted out half my life story to you. It’s just a weird situation, ordering flowers for a funeral.” Kate wasn’t sure she’d made it any better.
Meg smiled back. “Believe me, you did not blurt out your life story.” She fixed Kate with her gaze. “Besides, us florists are like therapists — confidentiality is key. What goes on in Fabulous Flowers, stays in Fabulous Flowers.” Meg let out a low chuckle that reverberated all the way down Kate’s body.
Suddenly, Kate had a new plan of action: the quicker she could get this over with, the better.
Meg, however, had other ideas, getting to her feet and licking her lips. “So how about that tea, now you know you can trust me. Or I have coffee if you prefer?” She smiled at Kate as she waited for an answer.
Kate was still focused on Meg’s lips. “Coffee would be great.”
“Gimme two ticks.”
Kate watched Meg’s trim form disappear — she was tall, perhaps taller than her, and Kate was no slouch in the height department. Kate’s cheeks reddened and her eyes darted around the shop — she needed a distraction. Lilies. Were they appropriate funeral flowers? Kate thought she’d read it somewhere. There were some intriguing black flowers on the far side of the shop, but she could just imagine her mum’s face if she ordered those. Maureen would not be amused.
Meg came back a few seconds later with two white mugs of coffee. She put them down on the counter, then disappeared again, coming back seconds later with a two-pint carton of milk in one hand, her phone in the other.
“Wasn’t sure if you took milk.” She handed the milk to Kate. With her other hand, she fiddled with her phone, frowned, then put it back in her pocket.
“Everything okay with you?” Kate was glad to have a moment where she was the one who looked in control.
Meg smiled, but her face didn’t light up this time. “Fine — just dealing with my mum. We run the florist together and we’re having a difference of opinion.” She shrugged and held up both palms. “But anyway, back to you and your uncle’s funeral. Do you want to have a look at some popular funeral choices?”
Kate nodded and Meg pulled open a couple of books to show her. Meg spoke about arrangements, seasonal flowers, popular choices and budgets. But all Kate registered was a silky voice, a musky perfume, professional confidence and strong arms. Really strong arms. Kate was thrown. Was Meg single? Was she a lesbian? But then, whoever heard of a lesbian florist? Besides, Kate’s gaydar was not going off, so she should just back away.
Then again, Meg did have short fingernails.
Meg shut the books with a flourish, then stood up and put them back under the counter. “I’ll mail you with all the details — options, prices, the flowers we talked about. You can check the website, too — everything’s on there.”
Kate’s chair scraped the floor as she stood up too. “My mum will be happy at least.” She flicked her eyes up to Meg, who was staring intently at her.
There was a beat as neither of them said a word.
But then Meg forced a smile. “And my mum will be happy I’ve got another customer, so it seems we’re golden daughters today.”
Kate chuckled. “First time for everything.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and held out her hand. “Thanks, you’ve been really helpful. And you’ve got my email.”
Meg shook her hand warmly. “Yep — I’ll be in touch.”
Desire shot up Kate’s arm and through her body. Goddamn it, it was like she’d been cast in some kind of corny movie. But after a few seconds, she noticed Meg seemed frozen to the spot as well — and they were still holding hands.
They both swiftly dropped them.
Kate reached into her bag and brought out her wallet. “Just in case you need to call me about anything, here’s my card too.”
Meg took it with a smile. “Thanks.” They walked towards the door together. “Really lovely to meet you,” Meg added, opening the door for Kate.
“You too.” Kate gave Meg a wave that resembled a windscreen wiper, then stepped onto the street.
Outside, the world looked the same and life carried on. Had anything happened or was it all in her head? Kate glanced back into the shop, and Meg, who’d been watching, swiftly turned her back.
Kate flicked her head up to the sky and exhaled, breathing in the September sunshine. It was a gorgeous day to be alive and she was glad she was. She was also glad her Uncle Mike wasn’t, otherwise she’d never have gone into Fabulous Flowers.
“I’m going straight to hell,” Kate muttered as she walked along the High Street. She could be at her mum’s house in ten minutes if she walked quickly. However, dealing with her mum and Aunty Viv when she’d just met a gorgeous woman, who was surely straight, wasn’t top of Kate’s list.
Instead, she turned and walked the other way, back in the direction of the main road and the bus stop. Her sister Vicky’s house was within 15 minutes and the thought of a cup of tea with her was more appealing.
***
Twenty minutes later, however, standing on Vicky’s doorstep, Kate wasn’t sure if she’d made the right choice. Perhaps she should have just gone home and spoken to her flatmate, Jess? But she was here now. She rang the doorbell and waited.
Her three-year-old nephew Freddie was the first to arrive, pressing his face against the frosted glass and licking it. Kate knew that his four-year-old brother Luke would be sat on the sofa engrossed in some TV show and would pay no heed to her arrival. Eventually, Vicky arrived at the door and her eyes lit up when she saw her sister.
“Hello stranger — anyone would think someone had died.” Vicky gave Kate a hug and invited her in.
Vicky and Jack lived on a new build estate near Mill Hill, bought just after giving up on their dream of staying central after the necessity of space overtook the necessity of having a cool postcode. They were now safely ensconced in suburbia along with all the other commuting young professionals, their house boasting a garden, stairs and a garage. In London, that was true luxury.
“Yeah, well - I’ve just sorted the flowers, so that’s one less job to do.” Kate followed Vicky into the kitchen and hung her jacket on the back of a dining chair as she sat down. She deposited a loitering Freddie onto her lap, and he picked up a glass of orange juice from the table and took a swig, smacking his tiny lips together.
“Very tasty,” he told Kate, nodding.
“Is it, sweetheart?” she asked, kissing the top of his head.
Freddie nodded. “Yes it is. Very tasty.”
“It’s his new phrase,” Vicky said. “Everything’s very tasty, isn’t it Fred?”
He nodded. “Very tasty, Mummy.” He paused and eyeballed Kate. “Did you bring me any sweets?”
Kate laughed. “I didn’t, I’m afraid,” she said. “I’m a terrible aunty, aren’t I?”
Freddie thought about it. “Not terrible,” he said, before jumping off Kate’s lap and running into the lounge.
Kate got up and walked over to Vicky. “Your son’s very forgiving.”
“Takes after his mother.”
Kate snorted. “Has Mum been on to you today?”
“Onto me? All over me more like,” Vicky s
aid, filling the kettle. “Her and Aunty Viv were round this morning to see the boys, then she’s been calling me about catering arrangements — like I’m the fountain of all knowledge on this.”
Kate smiled. “You did do Dad’s.”
“That’s what she said! But it was five years ago.” Vicky paused. “Besides, I don’t think food is a top priority at funerals. People aren’t turning up for a gastronomic feast, are they? It’s not a bloody wedding.” She grabbed two mugs from the mug tree and set them down on the counter-top. “And anyway, did Mike have any friends?”
“Oh, you’re going to hell,” Kate said, laughing. “Along with me, by the way. I just went to organise the flowers and my oh my, the florist is smokin’ hot.”
Vicky let out a hoot of delight as she made the tea.
“I mean, properly gorgeous. But straight too, obviously.” Kate shrugged and took the biscuit tin from her sister.
Seconds later, Vicky plonked herself down opposite Kate at the kitchen table. “Why straight too, obviously?” Vicky swept some of her long hair out of her face and eyeballed her sister.
“You know,” Kate replied. “She’s a florist.”
Vicky gave Kate a look. “And that means she’s straight because?”
“How many lesbian florists do you know?”
“Seriously?” Vicky looked amused.
“Look, I know loads of lesbians and not one of them is a florist.”
“So that means no other lesbians can be either? You’re very close-minded sometimes.” Vicky took a Jammy Dodger from the biscuit tin and took a bite. “I don’t think being a florist is a barrier to being a lesbian.”
“I think it might be,” Kate replied, deadpan. “I’m just saying that lesbians tend to be in certain occupations. Teachers, nurses, designers, writers, mental health, that sort of thing. Florists aren’t high on the list.”
Vicky took another bite of her biscuit. “And you tell me I’m prejudiced.”
Kate pouted. “I’m allowed to say these things, I’m a lesbian.”
“If you say so.” Vicky paused. “But more interesting than whether or not Ms Florist is gay is that you’re interested in her. And you haven’t been interested in anyone since Caroline. So I say a thumbs-up for Ms Florist.” Vicky gave Kate a double thumbs-up. “Does she have a name?”
Kate fluttered her eyelids and smiled. “Meg.”
Vicky snorted again. “Look at you, Ms Giggly! Did Meg have a wedding ring on?”
“She did not,” Kate replied, then blushed. “But I imagine florists wouldn’t wear them because they get their hands messy all the time.” Kate shrugged. “Anyway, nothing’s going to happen apart from Meg’s going to give us some lovely flowers for Uncle Mike’s funeral. And then I’ll never see her again and she can go back to her boyfriend — let’s call him Phil. The end.”
Vicky stuck her bottom lip out. “You’re so cute when you like someone,” she said. “And can I just say again, I like this very much — the ‘you liking someone’ bit. You’ve been so down on relationships since Caroline cheated on you, but life goes on. It’s high time you found somebody else.”
Kate gave her a look. “Spoken like a happily married person.”
Vicky just laughed. “I’m not apologising for my relationship status and my gorgeous husband.” Pause. “And I’m serious. You’ve been all doom and gloom when it comes to love, so it’s good to see you taking an interest.” Vicky’s smile grew wider. “Even if she is straight.”
“She’s bound to be, isn’t she?” Kate said. “She’s a florist.”
“So you said.” Vicky rolled her eyes again. “Anyway, are you staying for dinner?”
Kate thought about it. “What you having?”
“Probably a Chinese takeaway. Just don’t report me as bad mother of the year, okay?”
“Guides’ honour,” Kate replied, holding up her three middle fingers.
“You weren’t even in the Guides, you liar.”
6
Meg closed up the florist and walked along Finchley High Street, thinking about Kate. Specifically about Kate’s gorgeous blue eyes and endearing smile, but in her business brain working out what flowers she might need to buy for the funeral. And then which flowers would go best with Kate’s eyes. Maybe irises? Or perhaps blue orchids? And also which flowers she could put on the table when she made Kate dinner. A bunch of baby blue eyes?
Stop it. For the rest of the afternoon, she’d had the song Blue Eyes in her head and it was playing again now. What if it got lodged there for good and she was doomed to spend the rest of her days with Elton John on repeat? It didn’t bear thinking about.
Really, Meg had no idea what her brain was doing. I mean, first the song. And second, hadn’t she learned? That women were to be avoided at all costs and that her life had been so much simpler since she’d thrown herself into work and avoided any issues — well, most of the issues anyhow. And then a woman walked into her shop one day and she was ready to throw all logic out the window and fling flowers in her direction. Meg shook her head as she arrived home 15 minutes later, letting herself in through the black front door, eyeing her reflection in the shiny chrome knocker.
Once inside, she heard Tanya in the kitchen, her laughter echoing down the hallway of their Victorian terrace. Meg’s shackles went up immediately and she narrowed her eyes. Tanya was cooking again. Tanya was entertaining again.
In their four years together, Meg could count on her two hands how often Tanya had cooked for her. But now, Tanya couldn’t seem to get out of their kitchen, which made it awkward for Meg to cook most days. Plus, Tanya seemed to have a never-ending stream of new friends to invite for dinner, which also set Meg’s nerves on edge.
In the year since they’d split up and been trialling their new ‘situation’, Tanya seemed to have embraced London lesbian living, whereas Meg had retreated into her floristry world, happy to watch life pass by on the pavement outside rather than experience it first-hand.
And every time Tanya flaunted her new life in Meg’s face, it hurt — physically hurt. In her bones and in her flesh. Like today.
Meg hung up her jacket on the bulging coat rack and was just about to take the stairs up to her room when Tanya appeared in the hallway. She was wearing her usual cocky smile and a black apron with ‘Good Lookin’ And Cookin’!’ emblazoned on the front in red. Tanya licked the last remnants of tomato sauce off of a wooden spoon, pausing briefly to give Meg a satisfied glance.
“I thought I heard you sneak in — you’re working late again.” Meg looked at her watch: 7.15pm. Twelve-hour days weren’t uncommon in her life and besides, it kept her mind off other things. Like the fact she was still living with her ex when they officially split up over a year ago.
“You look tired too.” Tanya waved the wooden spoon in her direction. “And I bet you haven’t eaten properly today.”
Meg held up her hand. “I already have a mother to do this speech.”
Tanya cocked her head in response. “I’m cooking a lasagne, it’s just gone in the oven.” She shrugged. “Imogen’s over and we’re having dinner in 45 minutes. Get washed and join us. There’s plenty.”
Meg gripped the stair banister. This arrangement wasn’t working. She wanted to get on with her life, but she was stuck in a rut with no way out. When she’d mooted the idea of getting the house ready for sale, Tanya had been non-committal, claiming she had far too much to do at work to think about selling the house too. But that was nearly nine months ago. Now, it should be clear they needed their own space and to move on with their lives.
However, much to Meg’s surprise and horror, Tanya appeared to be reveling in the new status. No upheaval to her life at all, and no Meg to deal with as a girlfriend, either. Tanya appeared to have just slipped effortlessly into friend mode without so much as a backward glance. And now here was Tanya, inviting Meg to dinner in her own house like she was a lodger, with Tanya’s hippy friend Imogen along for company. How was it that Meg was so in charg
e of her business life, yet so ineffective in her personal life?
“Great,” Tanya said, not waiting for a response. “And don’t worry about wine — I already used the bottle you’d half drunk and you’ve got another couple in the rack anyway.”
Meg stood on the second stair up for a few moments as she watched Tanya disappear and then heard laughter coming from the kitchen once more. Meg clutched the bannister even tighter, exhaled and took the rest of the stairs one by one, feeling the reassuring soft carpet cushion the soles of her feet.
Even if she did like Kate and got as far as bringing her back here, how was that going to work out with Tanya forever parading around like some sort of social house mascot? Every time Meg walked in the door, there was Tanya, asking about her day, cooking her dinner, arranging her time. Often, it felt as if Meg still had one leg in the relationship, the other dangling over some precipice she was too scared to look over.
Meg pushed open the door to her room and collapsed on her unmade bed, the sheets tangling uncomfortably beneath her. Her eyes flicked around her room — the room that used to be their room, but was now hers alone. She should get new bedding — Tanya had done so straight away. Maybe change the lampshade, hang some new curtains. Plus, the walls could do with a lick of paint too, the pale blue they’d chosen three years ago now seeming to represent a cold prison of her own making.
Meg had to talk to Tanya again; the situation had to change. She couldn’t carry on like this and expect to move forward. Up until now, she’d been too lazy to push it, too scared to deal with the rest. Even her mum had stopped asking her when she was selling the house as often, with Meg having jumped down her throat about it one too many times.
And Meg knew nothing would ever happen with Kate. Of course it wouldn’t. The woman had just come into her shop to get some flowers for her uncle’s funeral; she hadn’t come in for a date. Besides, someone like her was bound to have a girlfriend.
They usually did.
7
