‘Thank you, Lulubelle…’ Maria looks nervous – with good reason, given what’s happened between them. ‘It was beautiful. It means so much…’
‘I’m really glad you liked it.’ Lulubelle smiles, then to my surprise she leans forward and plants a kiss on her cheek.
‘Congratulations…’ I hear Lulubelle say quietly to her, as the strangest emotions wash over me.
‘Thank you,’ she whispers.
I was right all along. Weddings are madness – absolutely anything can happen.
38
After a weekend like that, my life will never be the same. I sleep most of Sunday and on Monday, it’s business as usual.
As we drive over to Roselin Castle to clear up, I bore Skye and Honey with all the details several times over – with the exception of Lulubelle being Bella Mac, because it’s her secret not mine and anyway, I have plenty of other stuff to tell them.
‘I even sat with the band,’ I boast. ‘You’d have been proud of me, Honey – I behaved impeccably. They were so cool… and Maria looked out of this world. Honestly, you wouldn’t believe it… and our flowers, of course, were just brilliant…’
I don’t hear from Josh, which surprises me. I’m not expecting to get off scot free – but on Tuesday evening, just as I’m cooking my tea, there’s a knock on my door – quite a loud one.
When I open it, there he is, clearly angry and it’s not a pretty sight. I don’t invite him in.
‘Josh… er, I wasn’t expecting you…’
‘I suppose you think that was funny,’ he snarls at me. ‘Sending me off on a wild bloody goose chase…’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I say coolly.
‘Maria Bristow’s wedding,’ he snaps, then stands there looking nasty.
‘Excuse me,’ I say slowly. ‘But you really do have a nerve. Firstly, I wasn’t aware that her wedding was anything to do with you, Josh. And secondly, it’s not my fault if people keep changing their minds, just because they want a tiny bit of privacy from the gutter press on one of the biggest days of their lives…’
His lips curl like a rotweiler’s as I say gutter press. But he knows I’m right.
‘I’m in the middle of my tea – good-bye,’ I go to shut the door but he wedges his foot in the way, his face contorting into a strange expression as he struggles to control his fury.
‘You were there, weren’t you?’ he asks through gritted teeth.
‘What if I was? It’s none of your business.’
‘If you had photos, I’d make it worth your while…’ It comes out sounding strangulated, as though it’s hurting him to ask.
‘You really are a low life,’ I say quietly. ‘Now go away, please.’
‘You fucked me about, Frankie,’ he starts, this time sounding really angry. Then he steps closer. ‘First you lead me on, then you send me running all over the countryside… People like you really piss me off…’
Suddenly I’m starting to feel frightened and like a dog scenting blood, he knows it. He takes another step towards me. But fortunately, just as he closes in for the kill, a car pulls up outside and I fear footsteps running towards us.
‘Frankie?’
I’ve never been so pleased to see someone in my life.
‘Oh, er, Constable Clifton,’ I say, my voice quavering slightly. ‘Josh here is having a problem leaving my flat, and er, my tea’s getting cold… in fact it’ll be stone cold by now…’
Alex looks from me to Josh and draws himself up.
‘So you’re going, are you?’ He stands there, arms folded. ‘Don’t let me hold you up.’ Then he adds, ‘oh and I think you’ll find you’ve parked on a zig zag line so if you don’t want a ticket I’d get moving, if I were you…’
There’s a split second stand-off, but no longer and Josh turns and stalks off.
‘And don’t come back,’ Alex calls after him. ‘Not unless you’re invited…’
He follows me in.
‘What was that about?’
I turn round and to my horror, I’m shaking and my eyes are full of tears.
‘He’s a journalist I know – he was sniffing around about Maria and Pete’s wedding – so I sent him on a wild goose chase to keep him out of the way. It worked, but he’s mad at me.’
For a moment, I think he’s going to tell me off, but the corners of his lips start to quiver and then he grins.
‘Sorry – he was a nasty piece of work but I can’t believe you’d do that! Quite ingenious…’
‘Thank you,’ I say, reaching for a bottle of wine. ‘Look. I don’t usually drink in the week, but I’m sorry, I’m all shaky. Would you like one too?’
‘I’ve got a far better idea,’ he says, his eyes holding mine. ‘We can get one at the pub – and some hot food…’ He glances at my congealed supper. ‘Unless of course, you have plans…’
‘That sounds lovely,’ I say gratefully, not wanting to be here on my own.
He drives us out into the countryside, away from Josh, away from everything, to a small pub where we find a table near the open fire. I don’t know whether it’s the encounter with Josh, but I’m cold and light-headed and even the heat from the fire doesn’t stop me shivering.
Alex comes back with our drinks. ‘Here – I thought this might do you good. Brandy,’ he adds as I eye it suspiciously. ‘Helps - when you’ve had a bit of a shock.’
I take a sip, then order soup, because suddenly that’s all I feel like. Alex orders fish and chips and we eat in silence, until he says ‘Frankie? Are you okay? Only you’re very quiet.’
‘Actually, I don’t feel very well… I think I’ll go and get some water…’
I push back my chair, but as I get up, something funny happens. My vision goes all blurry and my legs are suddenly weak, then as the room starts spinning like a Catherine wheel, everything goes black.
I come round to the sound of a familiar, comforting voice.
‘Frankie? Are you alright?’
Opening my eyes, I find myself sprawled on the floor, with Alex’s face above me, looking worried.
‘Hello.’ I smile weakly, wondering what I’m doing on the floor, then try to push myself up.
‘Just stay put,’ he tells me, holding me still. ‘You’ve been out cold for a few minutes…and you banged your head.’
‘Did I?’ I say wondrously, feeling my head and finding an egg shaped lump that’s just appearing. ‘Ouch…’
‘Take my arm,’ Alex says, ‘and we’ll get you onto a chair.’
‘Oh, I’m fine,’ I say, trying to struggle to my feet, only it’s clear I’m not. My legs won’t hold me for some reason so I end up putting all my weight on him.
‘Thanks.’
I sit, drinking the mug of sweet tea that’s materialised out of nowhere, feeling the light-headedness subside as I start to feel more normal again.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say to Alex. ‘I can’t think what came over me.’
‘You’ve been working hard, haven’t you? And training? Are you sleeping?’
I grimace, shaking my head and realising that I’ve done the last couple of weeks – possibly longer - running on pure adrenaline and though I thought I was over it, only now is it catching up with me.
‘I guess the wanker journalist was the last straw,’ he says wryly. ‘Perhaps I better take you home.’
‘Okay,’ I say, thinking of my pyjamas and my bed and more than anything, uninterrupted sleep.
I even doze off in his car, waking only when he pulls up at the side of the road and switches the engine off. But only when he comes round to help me out do I realise I’ve no idea where I am.
‘I’ve brought you back to mine,’ he says apologetically. ‘Someone should keep an eye on you, Frankie,’ he says firmly, when I open my mouth to protest. ‘And I’ve got a day off tomorrow. I’ll drive you home in the morning.’
I’m too wobbly to argue, just take his arm.
39
It’s not until the
next morning I realise how woozy I was last night because otherwise I’d no way have ended up here, in Alex’s spare room, being kept an eye on, as he put it. Then Josh flashes into my mind and I’m really rather glad I’m not at home. After all, in this state, I’m not exactly up to dealing with an irate journo. And I need to think.
Get this: Alex brings me tea. Piping hot, with sugar in, because he says it will be good for me.
‘But I’m sweet enough,’ I tell him, lying back pathetically against giant soft pillows. I try my hardest to look as though I still need looking after. ‘Don’t you think?’
He ignores me. ‘I’ve brought you my bath robe and there are clean towels in the bathroom, if you fancy a shower.’
I go all tingly when he says that, wondering if his bath robe smells as nice as he does.
‘And I’ll put some breakfast on. Scrambled eggs?’
‘Lovely,’ I say. ‘But really, you don’t have to go to all this trouble for me.’
‘Frankie. I’m not eating just because you’re here,’ he says.
‘I like your house,’ I tell him, because I do. It’s very masculine but still manages to be comfortable. And it’s tidy, which I find most puzzling. ‘Do you live here on your own?’
‘I have a lodger. She’s also in the police, which means with our shifts, we rarely see each other.’
Lodger, eh? Does he think I was born yesterday?
‘So, er, is she working this morning?’
‘Yes,’ he says briefly. ‘Only, it’s not exactly this morning, Frankie… it’s just gone midday.’
I gasp in horror and go to leap out of bed, only my head throbs.
‘Hey, it doesn’t matter, does it? Unless…you haven’t got a wedding have you?’
‘No!’ I cry, holding my head where the bump is. ‘But the shop… I should have opened up ages ago…’
‘Don’t worry – I, er, called Lulubelle and she was going to call your friend Honey. I’m sure, between them, they’ll have everything under control.’
‘But I must phone them!’ I say frantically. ‘I can’t just not turn up like this!’
‘Strewth. It’s no wonder you’re burned out, Frankie. The world won’t stop just because you’re not there.’
‘It won’t?’ My voice is small and pathetic as I realise he’s right. Honey and Skye are more than capable of managing without me.
‘Why don’t you take a few days off?’ he suggests. ‘Get some rest, go on some walks… just wind down a bit. You’d really feel better for it.’
‘Look, I’m only a florist. It’s not like I have this high-powered, high-pressure job like a surgeon,’ I tell him. Oops… ‘Or a policeman…’
‘I know, but from what I’ve seen, you’ve had a lot on lately. When did you last have a holiday?’
I shake my head because I truly can’t remember. There was Ibiza when I was eighteen, Tenerife a couple of years later and I went away with Alice and Dave just after Martha was born, when I was really there as a baby sitter, or so it seemed at the time. So not a proper holiday… ‘Don’t know…’ I mumble.
He shakes his head. ‘Hopeless.’
Of course, after he drives me home, as soon as his car is out of sight, I go straight round to the shop.
‘I’m so sorry.’ I go bursting in there, expecting all hell to have broken loose, but there’s just Honey, quietly doing the books. As I look around, everything is neat and tidy, buckets scrubbed, floor swept, not a stem out of place.
‘What are you doing here?’ she says crossly. ‘You’re a workaholic, Frankie. Don’t you trust me or something?’
‘Of course I do. I was just worried.’
‘You thought Skye and I wouldn’t manage? I sent her home early because everything’s done and the last thing we need is for her to collapse like you have. Now, I’ve been going through the diary and the rest of this week is quiet except for a couple of small weddings on Saturday which we can manage – so go home. And please, do not come back this week, or I’ll phone Alex to come and arrest you.’
‘Oh,’ I say, feeling very small and unwanted. ‘Okay. I’m going.’
It’s surreal, all the more so when almost home, a familiar figure shuffles along the pavement towards me.
‘Hello, my lovely. Now, I heard, you see. I brought you something to help. Left it on the doorstep as I can’t be hanging about.’
‘Oh. Thank you Mrs Orange. That’s so kind.’
She steps closer and peers into my face. ‘You don’t look so good, duck. Told you them brides were trouble. Let that bossy friend of yours get on with it and have a rest.’
And with that, she carries on up the road to the village.
On my doorstep I find it. One of her posies – just a small, simple one, of dusty lilac and white tied with her trademark string. There’s lavender and jasmine to relax and calm someone as jittery as I am, and feathery soft clary sage to lift my mood. And pine, its grey-green needles perfectly complimenting the flowers but bringing its own contribution to the mix. Tentatively I hold it to my nose and breathe it in - and it’s as though the little atoms of magic come whirling in through my nostrils.
Alex calls that evening, just to check up on me and after I hang up, there’s a knock at the door. I check through the window just in case it’s a psycho journalist from hell, but thankfully it’s not - it’s Lulubelle.
‘I’m worried about you,’ she says as she comes in.
‘So is everyone,’ I shake my head. ‘I can’t see what all the fuss is about.’
‘People don’t keel over for no reason, Frankie. You couldn’t be – well, pregnant – could you?’
‘God no!’ I’m horrified. ‘I can’t be – I mean, you have to have sex for one thing and I haven’t. I don’t mean not ever, just not in ages.’
‘Well, should you see your doctor?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘Actually yes! I really should.’
I call Nina while Lulubelle’s still here and she insists on coming over straight away. Not only that, when she gets here, Charlie’s with her. And just after she finishes giving me a very through check up, in the privacy of my bedroom and including dipping my wee with one of those sticks, Honey turns up too.
‘Yay!’ I say, beaming at them. ‘Let’s have a party!’
At which point they turn and stare at me.
‘Sit down,’ says Nina firmly. ‘Frankie, you need to slow down – not forever, just for a week or two. How many miles a week are you running?’
‘Forty,’ Honey answers for me.
‘How often do you get to bed early?’
‘Never,’ say Lulubelle and Honey together. I glare at them both.
‘Well, you don’t – I lived here for a bit – remember?’ Exactly, so Honey should at least be on my side.
‘When did you last take a week off?’ says Nina, frowning.
‘Never,’ says the voice walking in. et tu brute…
‘Flaming heck, Frankie – I’ve been on at you about stress for bleeding months… You should see her,’ Skye tells my friends. ‘Goes mental if anything goes wrong… and mostly it doesn’t, so she like dreams it up…’
‘I don’t! Not at all!’ but my voice peters out as I see them all just looking at me.
‘Okay,’ says Nina calmly. So calmly. How does she do that? ‘So what with your shop, your weddings, marathon training…’
‘Half-marathon,’ I interrupt but she ignores me.
‘Burning the candles at both ends and being an agony Aunt to your friends, and volunteering at the hospice… Oh, your mother too. Frankie? Do you ever have a day doing nothing?’
‘Of course not. But no-one does - not really. And I need to do all these things…’
But as I look around at my friends, I think actually, every single one of them’s ahead of me. They all know where to draw the line to keep them from pitching into the insanity that now surrounds me. And here I am, thinking that because everything I’m doing has a purpose, it’s fine to overdo it when actu
ally, it’s no more fine than drinking far too much at one of Honey’s dinner parties. I start to panic.
‘I have a personality disorder, don’t I? What do you think it is – OCD? Bipolar?’ My imagination off and away with me yet again.
‘Frankie – you’re doing it now. Getting all worked up over nothing. I think you just need to know where to stop,’ says Nina gently.
‘Oh. You think?’ I want to believe her, but maybe, on this occasion, she’s wrong, because after all, even doctors are only human...
‘Yes I do.’
Charlie comes over, taking my hand and leading me over to my sofa.
‘Sit here,’ she orders - kindly though, not bossily like some people. She drags a footstool over. ‘Now put your feet up.’
I do as I’m told, then Lulubelle appears from my kitchen carrying several glasses, opening a bottle of champagne with a flourish and handing me the first glass.
‘Am I allowed?’ I say anxiously.
‘You’re practically teetotal,’ says Honey exasperatedly. ‘It’ll do you good to loosen up.’
I look at Nina anxiously.
‘She’s right.’
Okay. So it’s official. Flowers screw with your head – well, brides, their mothers, not to mention bridezillas and celebrity secret weddings. The pressure too, of having to absolutely always get it right. If I could only rewind to that moment, years ago, when in her greater wisdom Mrs Orange told me that weddings were too much trouble. Moreover, if I’d only believed her… But then, if I hadn’t done it I wouldn’t have met so many brilliant people and had a blast. But okay. Now I do need a rest.
‘Okay,’ I say resignedly. ‘I give in. I’ll do it. For now…’
40
The only trouble is when you’ve been rushing about like a blue arsed fly for as long as you can remember, taking things slowly isn’t easy. My friends seem to have drawn up a rota for checking up on me and bringing me supper and DVD’s.
Wildflowers Page 23
