‘Friggin’ boring, inn’t it?’ says Skye, staring at all the red, white and gold roses and carnations that have just come in. ‘I mean, they’re nice, but like all them Indians having the same flowers all the time... What if you like purple or something?’
Mrs Orange isn’t impressed either. She pops in early, on her way to Demelza’s
‘Got dark hair I hope,’ is all she says, to which I reply truthfully ‘as a matter of fact she has.’
‘Ttch, ttch,’ she says as she leaves, clearly not happy.
In the end, I leave Skye to deal with the flowers and drive over to see Maria, who opens her beautiful front door in a state.
‘Is everything alright?’ I ask, slightly alarmed and hoping she’s not about to cancel.
‘Oh Frankie, I’m just a bit upset. Come on through. I’ll put the kettle on.’
I always imagined that the rich and famous like Maria and Pete would have slaves to do all that sort of stuff, but she actually fills the kettle herself and switches it on, then fetches two coffee mugs.
‘How do you like yours?’ she asks, while I hover around, feeling it should be me making coffee for her.
‘Black with one. Thank you.’
She brings them over and we sit at the enormous table, which is strewn with all this wedding paraphernalia.
‘I’m sorry about all this, Frankie. It’s just Pete’s family again…’
‘Excuse me if this sounds rude,’ I say, frowning. ‘They’re accusing you of being a gold-digger – right? Only, it’s a bit bonkers isn’t it, because it’s not as though you’re exactly poor yourself…’
She looks slightly shocked and I wonder if I should have said that. ‘And you must have loads of guys after you. Look at you – you’re beautiful and successful – and he’s a little bit older than you,’ I add, diplomatically. ‘If you didn’t really love him, you’d hardly be left on the shelf.’
To my relief, she giggles. ‘You’re right, aren’t you? I can’t tell you what a relief it is to hear someone say it like it is.’ She sighs. ‘Everyone pussyfoots around me, instead of saying well you’d hardly be marrying such an old guy if you didn’t love him.’
‘Sometimes straight-talking’s quite helpful,’ I nod knowingly. ‘Maybe you should tell them, just like that.’
‘The trouble is it’s more complicated. You see, Pete has a daughter. She lives round here but refuses to even speak to him. It breaks his heart.’
‘So – why is she like that?’ I screw my face up. Pete would be a cool father from the little I’ve seen of him. And Maria’s really nice – so what’s the problem?
‘Apparently he was unfaithful to his first wife – quite a few times - he’s told me about it. He says it’s no more than he deserves, but it makes me so sad – because if she were to turn up on the day, it would make it perfect. For both of us.’
Her lip is wobbling. I reach out a hand to touch her arm. ‘There’s still time, Maria. She might yet come round.’
‘Sweet of you.’ Her dark eyes look huge. ‘I honestly don’t think she will.’
‘Look, from the outside, I’d say it’s her loss. You and Pete seem so happy together – you want her to share it and if she decides she can’t, well… You’re still going to have a great day and a wonderful life together… Talking of the great day, what did you want to talk about?’
She sighs. ‘You’re going to hate me too. Only I’ve gone full circle with ideas – that whole ivy and white roses thing is a bit try-hard, don’t you think?’
‘Um, classic’s the word I’d probably use, but…’
‘Well, don’t tell Pete…’ Suddenly her eyes light up. ‘Look, he’s a rock star and this is a country wedding, not blinking Hollywood. So I had this idea, about making it like a huge sort of festival – I’m thinking loads of colour, a massive disco ball in the marquee – I’ve changed that too, by the way! I didn’t tell you that bit! It’s one of those oversized tee-pees, with a fire pit and multi-coloured fairy lights…What do you think?’
Her eyes meet mine anxiously. And while all my ideas for impressive towering creations bedecked with roses come tumbling down, I completely get where she’s coming from. It’s authentic, straight from her heart and rather than impressing, she’s celebrating – and believe it or not, I really like that.
‘You know what? I love it, Maria! It sounds amazing! So what are you wearing?’
‘Well…’ Her face lights up. ‘I’ve found a theatrical company that makes bespoke dresses…. Here – I’ll show you the sketch… It’s mediaeval looking, with a tight bodice and big skirt and with all these colours in…’
She shows me the sketch and then gives me the fabric swatches and I gasp, because I’ve never seen anything like it. If you could dream up a grown-up flower fairy dress, this would be it, with all these gorgeous shimmering fabrics in muted greens, blues, pinks and silver.
‘Hair?’ I squeak, completely buying into this.
‘Some up, some loose…’ She grabs a handful and scrunches it up on her head and instantly I can see her on the day, not stiff, formal and bridal but looking like a fairy princess from the woods. It’s going to be a wedding to die for.
‘Oh Maria, I’m speechless. Thank you so much for showing me this…’ My voice has gone funny.
‘The question now…’ she says, her cheeks glowing with excitement, ‘is flowers, Frankie. Because honestly, I haven’t a clue.’
‘Wild,’ I say instantly. ‘Wilder than wild. Things that move when the wind blows, that smell like flowers should smell – branches of the last little red garden roses, arching stems of rosehips. Thistles, grasses, berries… long trails of old man’s beard and honeysuckle, larch, big rusty hydrangeas, rosemary….’ My voice is rising higher and higher. ‘What do you think?’
Her eyes shine back at me. ‘Perfect!’
And it is. It’s flowers as they should look, as they actually do look whether in rambling country gardens or wild, in the woods and fields, a million miles from the moulded, perfect, structured little shapes most brides want these days. In fact, Maria’s so sure I’ve bought into this, I’ve got a free hand and the same massive budget. It’ll be hard work, but I can’t wait to get started on it.
On the way back to the shop, I pull over and call Charlie from my mobile to give her an update.
‘Phase one is under way!’ I tell her. ‘She’s got through at least three books so far… I’d even go so far as to say she’s enjoying them…’
It’s true – Honey’s taken to having early nights, but I see from the crack of light under her door, she isn’t sleeping. She’s going through those books like a dose of salts… and along with the magic posy sitting surreptitiously on the side, this time I’m quietly optimistic.
Then there’s more good news back at the shop.
‘I’ve found us a new venue,’ says Honey proudly. ‘Brand spanking new, in fact. A converted manor house and it’s gorgeous inside and very expensive. Perfect for us!’
‘Well done! And I’ve just had the most fantastic wedding meeting ever and Maria’s dropped the idea of white roses for wild flowers! It’ll be amazing…’
‘Why?’ Honey’s puzzled.
‘I think she just decided that she wasn’t trying to impress anyone and she just wanted it all to be fun and colourful and informal. Great – don’t you think?’
‘Still be a blinking nightmare getting it all over to the church,’ grumbles Skye.
‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ says Honey airily. ‘I forgot to tell you. At college, they all want work experience. Tell me the dates you need the help and I’ll sort it out.’
So just like that, all our problems are solved.
Only I should know by now, shouldn’t I. Real life doesn’t quite go like that.
When the phone rings, Honey takes the call and I can tell, straight away, something’s happened. She starts calm but I can hear her getting more and more annoyed.
‘I’m terribly sorry, Mr Sengupta, bu
t there’s really nothing we can do about that… Yes… yes… I understand… I appreciate you’re giving us notice, but it is only three days and your flowers are already here…That’s completely out of the question, of course… That’s up to you but I don’t think you’ll have a leg to stand on… Terms and conditions… Yes they’re all there on the invoice, if you read the small print at the bottom… Well, I’ll be surprised if you can find one to take you on… I do beg your pardon, Mr Sengupta…. Well - perhaps that’s because I am one.’
She slams the phone down. ‘Horrible, rude man. That was Mr Sengupta. He’s cancelled. Not only that, but he’s demanding a full refund and threatening us with lawyers if we don’t pay up. Where’s his invoice, Frankie? I need to check something.’
‘He can’t, can he?’ I scrabble around on my desk and hand it to her, quietly panicking.
‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ she says grimly.
‘Does this mean the wedding’s off?’ says Skye, slightly vacantly.
‘It looks that way.’
Honey’s still scouring through the small print. ‘That’s fine. You state that the deposit’s non-refundable and that any changes must be confirmed at least two weeks before the wedding, not three bloody days like he has… Actually, I’m going to call a colleague, just to be sure.’
I can’t bear to listen. The thought of having to refund their money will mean I’m potentially hundreds of pounds out of pocket, which for a business the size of mine, is serious. So I sit on the doorstep, thanking my lucky stars that firstly I have a friend who’s a lawyer, and secondly, that she just so happens to be right here in my shop.
The call drags on a bit, but then she comes outside to find me.
‘Frankie? It’s fine – we’ve nothing to worry about. I’m going to call Sengupta back right now and tell him that. I’ll suggest that if he wants his flowers, he’s got until tomorrow to collect them and after that, we’ll be giving them to a local charity.
I half listen in to the call and Honey’s very cool and collected. He obviously puts up a fight about it, which she wins – at least, for now.
Then as she hangs up, this terrible thought occurs to me.
‘Honey… how do we know this is for real? That it’s really Mr Sengupta you’ve been talking to and not an imposter trying to sabotage another wedding?’
She stares at me. ‘You’ve been watching too much television, Frankie. I’m almost positive it was him…’ But she’s frowning.
‘No, seriously Honey… The ex-fiance that sabotaged my flowers a while back, tried to cancel the venue too. You can’t be too careful,’ I persist, imagining poor Karima turning up to get married with no flowers.
‘Oh God… Look, you have Karima’s number, don’t you? Okay – I’ll phone her, make an excuse of some sort, like passing on our condolences….’
Honey really is great at all this stuff. Calls like that would leave me completely sick with nerves, but then after years of being a lawyer, she’s used to dealing with break ups and traumas of various kinds, and takes it all in her stride.
‘Right,’ she says afterwards. ‘It seems condolences weren’t actually appropriate. Karima dumped the groom for a white boy. Came to her senses, she says and that we weren’t to worry about a thing because her father’s filthy rich, just tight as a Yorkshireman. And please do give the flowers to somewhere worthy, with her compliments. Oh – and she said if this latest one works out, she’ll be in touch. She really liked you!’
‘How lovely of her!’ I cry, hugely relieved and imagining turning up at Briarwood with all those flowers.
‘Well, I think we should give them until tomorrow to collect any they want,’ says Honey. ‘Just in case. I told Mr Sengupta we would. Then after that…’
‘Briarwood?’
That evening, out of the blue, Julia turns up at the shop.
‘I came to settle up,’ she says. ‘The flowers you did for Giles were so lovely. And knowing they’d been made by my daughter was quite special. What do I owe you?’
Her emotions tightly reined in, she’s so brittle I fear she could snap. I tell her a figure which is about half what it ought to be.
‘That’s not enough.’ She counts out a wad of notes. ‘Here - please take it. Frankie, we both know you don’t owe me any favours.’
‘Well, at least come and have a cup of tea. Everyone’s gone home. Our wedding this week has been cancelled. Bride bottled out at the last minute.’
‘Goodness.’ She looks at all the flowers, quite shocked. ‘So what happens to all of these?’
‘The bride’s father will take some. The rest are going to a local children’s hospice.’
As I make the tea, she’s silent.
‘What will you do now?’ I ask her.
She shrugs. ‘I’ll go back to the Brighton house. At least, for now. I’m not sure but I might even stay there for a while. Take some time to think. I thought Giles and I would have years together.’
‘It must be hard. You never know, do you,’ I say, more kindly. ‘My friend’s son has leukaemia. He’s six.’
She shakes her head, then astounds me.
‘I’m very proud of you,’ she says quietly. ‘I want you to know that. And also, that I take no credit whatsoever. What you and Alice have achieved, you’ve done in spite of me…’ She laughs but it’s hollow.
I’m gobsmacked. Is this her attempt at an apology? And what do I say? That it’s fine, and just let it go, or take the opportunity to talk properly, maybe the only opportunity I’ll ever get.
‘It hasn’t always been easy,’ I tell her quietly, pulling up a chair. ‘You were never there. Even when we were little, you were in and out of the house all the time, and you know, I don’t we’ve ever sat down and talked – not like this.’
She shakes her head. ‘It was hard on me too when your father died. He looked after everything you know.’ She looks at me, her eyes glittering with tears.
‘I know. But we were kids. They come first – don’t they?’
And there in those few words lies the crux of what’s haunted me almost my entire life. I’m not worthy enough, an insecurity that’s become bound into my psyche.
And then she says it. ‘You’re right.’
Two words. Just two. They can’t change the past – but actually, hearing her say them means everything, because I know none of it was my fault, nor was it Alice’s. She made a mistake.
‘You might like us if you got to know us,’ I tell her quietly. ‘Me and Alice. She’s done fine. She’s really happy. And I’m happy, just… well. I’m happy.’
Even now, I can’t bare my soul to her.
‘I know I’ve left it too late to come waltzing back in and be a mother, but I’d like it if we could talk – maybe see each other now and then.’ Her voice is very quiet.
‘I would too,’ I say, finding I mean it. ‘I really would. I’m not sure about Alice, though. She’s such a devoted mother to Martha, she can’t understand why anyone wouldn’t be.’
‘I don’t blame her,’ Julia says. ‘Perhaps you could talk to her?’
‘I could…’ I say slowly, but then she’s just admitted this is all single-handedly her doing. All her life, she’s leaned on other people. If she wants Alice to meet her, Julia needs to do the legwork. ‘But you know? I think it might be better if you did. I expect she’ll be angry - at first, but I think she’d really respect you for it. And Martha is a darling…’
She starts when I mention Martha, then sits up straighter, a look of surprise of her face. ‘You know, I think maybe you’re right...’
Then she gets up and picks up her bag. ‘Thank you for the tea. And the flowers. And the chat too.’
I follow her to the door. And though I know we’ll never have a mother-daughter relationship, who knows. Perhaps now, at least, we’ll stay in touch.
‘Thank you for coming by.’ I kiss her on both cheeks. ‘Take care. And please call me…’
She pulls herself uprigh
t and pins on that fake Julia smile I know so well. ‘I will, darling. I’ll see you.’
28
With Honey in college learning the latest in high-tech floristry skills, what should have been a hectic day passes slowly, as Skye and I wait and wait for the Senguptas to arrive.
‘She’s getting quite annoying,’ I tell Skye. ‘She comes home at night and tells me that I’m getting slack and I ought to do a refresher course on wiring techniques.’
‘Just get her to do it all,’ says Skye, meaning the wiring. ‘That’d keep her busy… ‘Ere – this must be the geezer…’
A fleet of shiny black cars has drawn up outside and Karima’s entire family, plus a few are getting out.
‘Shit! I was hoping Honey would be back to deal with them!’ My heart is pounding in my chest as I get up to meet them, suddenly feeling shaky and taking a deep breath to steady myself.
‘Mt Sengupta! How lovely to see you! Would you like to er, come in?’
But he just stands there imperiously and glares imperiously down his nose at me, while his entourage scuttle in ahead of him.
‘Um, they’re over here…’
I lead them over to the buckets and buckets of beautiful, vibrantly coloured flowers, just beginning to open, petal by petal.
‘Is this all there is?’ he says condescendingly.
‘Oh no, this is just a few. The rest are through here.’ I lead him into the prep room which is wall to wall with more flowers. For the first time he looks slightly disconcerted.
‘Now – would you like us to help you carry them out to your cars?’ I offer helpfully. ‘Though it might be a bit of a squash…’
He does this arrogant wave with one of his hands and clicks his fingers, at which point some of his party come rushing over. There’s a gabbled conversation in Hindu which sounds like an argument and then he stalks out without saying a word.
At this point, all the women start grabbing the flowers at super speed chattering loudly, loading each other up until their arms are full of them, then they cram themselves back in their cars. It’s hilarious watching them. Eventually, they too drive off and Skye and I just stare at each other, speechless.
Wildflowers Page 18
