James cleared his throat again. ‘Ha! Rosie, that’s a guy thing. I’m only thirty-four; that’s way too young to settle down. Believe me, I’m enjoying playing the field too much right now.’ Was he sweating? ‘Plus, I thought it was a weird thing for you to say…considering.’ That one hurt. I looked away. His smile dropped and he reached across and took my hand. ‘Really, I’m fine, sis. Let’s just have a good time together and enjoy these few days…You know if I need help I’ll always ask you first, yeah?’
I smiled and gave him a hug. Even now, all grown up, my arms were barely able to go the whole way round him. His broad shoulders seemed to relax and he held me for a long time. ‘Thanks for caring, little sis,’ he mumbled.
Later that night in my room, I thought I heard a noise. I put down the battered copy of E. F. Benson’s Mapp & Lucia that I was reading (a present from Marnie from her favourite old bookstore) and climbed out of bed. Tiptoeing to the door, I noticed the living-room light still on and as I got closer I was aware of James’s hushed voice. I opened the door slightly and peered through the gap. James was on the couch-bed, propped up on one shoulder, hunched over his mobile phone. He was whispering with hoarse insistence and, although a glimpse of his face was denied me from my vantage point, his aggravation was obvious.
‘…Never mind what I said…I want out, understand?…Whatever you have to do, get it done. I…I can’t do this anymore…I just can’t, OK?…Yeah, yeah, whatever…Look, I’ll be back Saturday…Yeah, we’ll talk then…Uh, I…Yeah, you too. G’night.’ He snapped his phone off and flopped back onto the bed, his hands over his eyes.
Silently, I closed my door.
Chapter Ten
The sunlight of Friday morning broke through my window a lot earlier than I would have preferred. I had been restless all night and felt drained and heavy-limbed as I reluctantly vacated my bed. One glance in the bathroom mirror revealed the full, uncensored horror that was Rosie Duncan on approximately three hours and twenty-six minutes’ sleep. ‘Well, they say true beauty lies within,’ I said to my reflection, which remained unconvinced. I swear I heard the mirror breathe a sigh of relief and request counselling when I walked away.
James was fast asleep when I passed his makeshift bed to get to the kitchen. He is the only person I know who never loses sleep over anything. Ever. And, believe me, he has had plenty to worry about over the years. I should know: I’ve bailed him out of countless crazy situations that would have caused serious sleep deficiency for most people. At Oxford they called him ‘Straight-Eight Duncan’, meaning that he always got at least eight hours’ sleep every night—even during end-of-year exams and finals.
I finished my breakfast and made him a cup of tea as I got ready to leave. Kneeling down by the side of the bed, I gently touched his shoulder to wake him. He stirred, eyes struggling first to open and then focus, all warm and disoriented like a small child. ‘Hmm?’
‘Morning, sleepy,’ I whispered, smiling at the almost endearing sight of my semi-awake sibling.
A lazy smile spread across his sleep-crumpled face. ‘Mmmhh…morning, Rosie.’
I reached out and ruffled his messed-up ginger hair. ‘Sleep good?’
‘Yeah, great—as ever. You off now?’ His nut-brown eyes studied my face in a slow, side-to-side sweep.
‘I am. But I’ll be back about seven, so think of something you want to do tonight, OK?’ As I rose to leave, James’s expression changed and he reached out to grasp my hand. ‘Rosie, about what you said last night…there is something going on.’
I felt a twist in my stomach. ‘James, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want…’
His eyes widened, the grip on my hand tightening. ‘That’s the point, Rosie. I want to tell you, but…but it’s not possible right now. Give me some time and I promise I’ll explain everything, OK?’
Resisting the urge to press him further, I released his grip with my other hand, pushing the mug of tea into it instead. ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ I smiled, but out in the hallway, I had to lean against the wall for a moment to quieten my insistent heart rate as a familiar sensation of impending trouble wrenched at my gut. What had he managed to get himself mixed up in this time?
Nobody was waiting at Kowalski’s when I arrived. No Marnie, no Ed. Which was a surprise, to say the least. I opened up alone and waited for the order from Patrick’s to arrive. At seven thirty the large green and white delivery truck pulled up and Zac jumped out. He’s a lovely guy: athletic, blond and strikingly good-looking, but gentler than a kitten. He is completely in love with Marnie, although she has so far thwarted his every attempt at securing a date with uncharacteristic indifference—especially as she has confided in me (on more than one occasion) that she thinks he is cute.
Zac joined Patrick’s the same week I started with Mr Kowalski, so we have a shared history. Like me, he left a highflying City career to work with flowers. Unlike me, however, his decision was due to a near nervous breakdown he had suffered at the age of twenty-four, when the pressure of being a Dow Jones trader finally took its toll.
‘Zaccai is another example of the miracle Papa does when He uses His flowers to heal,’ I remember Mr K commenting.
And it was true: flowers did appear to make Zac happy. His smile was as regular a sight as his green and white company shirt, or the short pencil stub he kept permanently lodged behind his left ear. Ed often speculated on why it was that the pencil stub never got any shorter in all the years we’d known him: maybe all company pencils were that short, or maybe he spent his weekends whittling his pencils down to the correct length…
‘Mornin’, Rosie!’ Zac shouted as he swung open the back doors of the truck and jumped up inside.
‘Hi, Zac,’ I called back, stepping off the sidewalk onto the road. He consulted his order sheets and began pulling out the long boxes to make a stack.
‘OK…we got roses, we got button pom-poms, Bells of Ireland, lisianthus, Char Hu…uh, did ya want some extra greens today, ‘cos Jackson’s ordered too much?’
‘Um…’ I consulted my list.
‘Hey, Rosie, you’d be doing me a big favour. I won’t charge ya a bean, OK?’ Zac’s smile was a winner every time.
‘OK, yeah, great. Thanks, mate.’
He hopped down and slid the pile of boxes to the edge of the truck. ‘Ha—“mate”. That’s so cool. I love it when you say that…it’s so British, so quaint!’
We made two trips to get all of the order into the workroom, then I signed the chit. Zac looked round the store, frowning. ‘No Marnie this mornin’?’
‘I don’t know where she is.’
For a moment his perma-smile receded. ‘Oh.’ Then it quickly returned. ‘Tell her Zac the Fit Guy says hi, OK?’ He set the little bell swinging as he opened the door and turned in the doorway. ‘She thinks I don’t know she calls me that. But I do. See ya, mate!’ He waved at the window before slamming shut the back doors of his truck and jumping into the driver’s seat.
As he drove away, Ed walked past the window and waved weakly before entering the shop. He winced when the bell chimed happily. ‘Can’t you make that damn thing any quieter?’
I smiled. ‘Zac and I managed just fine without you this morning, Ed. So thanks for being here like you said you would be.’
Ed clamped a hand over his dark-circled eyes. ‘Uhhh…I’m sorry, Rosie. I completely forgot…I had a rough night.’ As he approached me, it was plain that this assessment was a strong contender for Massive Understatement of the Year.
I reached behind the counter. ‘Strong, black, two sugars.’
Ed grasped the mug like a vessel from the Fountain of Eternal Youth. ‘You are a wonderful woman,’ he breathed.
‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just drink up.’
But I couldn’t shake the knot of irritation wrapped tightly around my gut. It was unlike Ed to get in a state like this—and for him to forget the weekly Patrick’s delivery was just ridiculous. And where on earth was Marnie? This was the
last thing I needed today. The situation with my brother had thrown my peace of mind off kilter this morning and was claiming enough of my thoughts already without me having to deal with strange behaviour from my staff as well.
Caffeine administered, Ed and I unpacked the order and separated the blooms, ready for display or arrangement. The day’s tasks then began in earnest, with Ed in the workroom and me minding the shop while I made a start on the everpresent pile of paperwork. And then, all of a sudden, it was 9 a.m.
Ed appeared at my side, looking decidedly less like an extra from Revenge of the Living Dead now. He cleared his throat and began the necessary grovelling process, as is customary on occasions such as this. ‘About this morning, Rosie…I should explain—’
‘No need.’ I smiled serenely, before spoiling the illusion of Saintly Benevolent Employer by digging for gossip. ‘What I’m more interested in is how you got on last night with The Beautiful Face of Jean St Pierre.’
Ed groaned. ‘Yeah, yeah, beautiful Yelena. She was beautiful…’ He trailed off and he clamped one hand to his forehead as his eyes screwed up in a vain attempt to dull his hangover. ‘My brain is exploding in here…’
I reached behind the counter and threw a box of Advil at him. ‘So?’ I pressed.
Ed let out a breath and glared through the pain at me. ‘So, Miss Marple, she was beautiful and charming, as expected…’
‘Right…’
‘…And so, so committed to my best friend like you wouldn’t believe.’
I winced in sympathy. ‘Ah.’
Ed rubbed a hand across his stubble-covered chin. ‘Hmm. I took her to the show, then to dinner at Orso. It cost the earth but, hey, I thought, it’s worth it, right? I mean, she isn’t married; in fact she’s only been with Steve since July. Two months? Who gets serious with someone in two months?’
‘Well, maybe some people do…’ I ventured, suddenly feeling defensive.
‘Yeah, sure, like no one else I know does…So I took her home, whereupon she graciously left me in the cab and I ended up at Frank’s drinking Jack D’s till 2 a.m. So some hot date that turned out to be. Welcome to the story of my life.’ He dropped his aching brow into his hands once more and let out a long, low groan.
It was time for a Rosie Duncan Rescue Attempt™. This method has been successfully employed on more than a few occasions when Ed has needed cheering up.
‘Hey, don’t worry,’ I smiled encouragingly. ‘I’m sure Yelena had a really good time last night. And so what if she didn’t want anything else? I mean, you’re a great guy, Ed. You’re funny, you look great—this morning aside of course—and…well, most importantly, you’re a brilliant friend…’ I patted his shoulder. ‘So one lady in this city didn’t fall for you? Big deal! There are plenty of others who will.’
Ed lifted his head and suddenly things went horribly wrong. Instead of the warm placated smile I was expecting, I found myself facing arctic-blue eyes frozen by cold fury. ‘And that is your answer for everything, isn’t it? Optimism: it’s going to save the day, right? Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Sure it will. Why can’t you just be like every other damn person on this planet and admit that sometimes life sucks? Well, I have news for you, my friend. You can’t save the world with a smile or a pat on the back. There are millions of people who are lonely and you and I are part of the statistic. I mean, what good has your world-famous optimism ever done you, Rosie?’
Stunned by the intensity of his words, I found myself floundering. ‘What—where on earth did that all come from? I was only trying to help…’
Ed shook his head. ‘Then practise what you preach.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Get yourself out there; get in the game. You said it yourself: there are plenty of people in this city who will want to date you.’
I backed away from him and crossed my arms. ‘I was talking about you.’
‘Well, I’m talking about you now.’
‘Well…don’t.’
‘Why are you being so defensive, Rosie?’
Hot tears made my eyes sting. ‘Because you’re attacking me and I’ve done nothing to deserve it.’
Ed threw his hands in the air. ‘Exactly! You’ve done nothing. All you do is watch other people living their lives, like it’s the only way you’ll ever get to experience things. You spend your whole time at Kowalski’s trying to understand what our customers’ stories are. But what’s your story?’
‘Stop this…I—’
‘Let me ask you one question, Rosie: what would Mr K think if he were here, huh? All he ever talked about was the importance of living life to the full. He wanted you to move on from whatever you were running away from when you came here. He never stopped worrying about you. Hell, even the last phone conversation I had with him he was asking me to keep an eye on you. Would he be impressed that, six years on, you’re no further forward than you were when he met you? I don’t think so. He had great faith in your ability to live, Rosie—was that justified? Or should his hope for your future just have died with him in that Polish flower meadow?’
His words dropped like red-hot rivets in my stomach. Mentioning Mr K like that—when I missed him so much and really needed his advice right now—was almost too much to bear. I was burned, but unwilling to launch into another row.
My voice was scarily cool and calm when it came out. ‘Well, thanks for that. So have you heard from Marnie at all? She should have been here by now.’
Ed struggled to pack his anger away as he answered. ‘Uh—I’m sorry, yes, I did. She left a message on my voicemail—I only got it when I was in the cab on my way here. She’s got flu. Doctor reckons she’ll be out of action for a week. Forgive me, I should have said—’
‘Yes, you should. Right. More work for us, then. Let’s get on.’
‘Yeah…’ He let out a sigh and sent his thawing blue gaze my way again. ‘Look, Rosie, I—’
I headed to the back of the store. ‘If you could mind things here, that would be good. I’m going to make a start on Brent Jacobs’ order now. I need it ready to deliver by ten-fifteen.’
‘Yeah, cool, whatever. I’ll check the orders for next week while I’m in here.’ He sounded hurt. The door opened to reveal a new customer, who nodded in our direction and began to browse the flowers. I walked quickly into the workroom, shut the door sharply and started working quickly, tears falling freely onto the stems of the bright yellow roses I was stripping. I needed the distraction, desperate to remove the image now firmly ensconced at the forefront of my mind: Mr Kowalski, alone and dying amidst the wildflowers, his last earthly emotion an intense sadness at my inability to learn how to live.
I didn’t like to think about how Mr K died. He suffered a heart attack whilst walking in the flower meadows near his home. The doctors said it took him so quickly that he wouldn’t have known anything about it, but still the thought of him dying alone has haunted me ever since.
As I worked on the bouquet for Brent’s wife, I was aware of the tension in my body-slowly ebbing at last. Flowers are the best therapy, Mum says. You can never be angry for too long when you’re with them. And I guess she’s right. There’s something about being surrounded with their scent and colour that soothes you. It sounds very New Age to say that, but it’s not what I mean. It’s just impossible not to be moved by the simple beauty of natural things. When I’m stressed or overworked, I make myself remember Mr K in the middle of all the rush and somehow I always find myself slowing down.
Every now and again in life you meet someone who can truly be described as inspirational. I don’t mean rich, or famous, or even out of the ordinary. I mean someone who makes you feel a better person, just by standing alongside you.
Mr K was inspirational. He seemed to be constantly surrounded by peace. He knew who he was supposed to be. I don’t know many people like that. I know an awful lot of people who are searching for that, though, and I’m one of them. Mr K had the ability to find tranquillity in the middle of the busiest times. One t
ime we had a huge order to complete for a bridal show and I became so stressed that everything I attempted failed. Mr K didn’t shout, didn’t judge. He just walked up alongside me and put his arm round my shoulders.
‘Rosie, take some time. Find some peace now. Listen to Papa.’
I didn’t understand. I asked him how I could listen. A broad smile lit up his wrinkled features.
‘Ukochana, listen to the flowers. They don’t say “Hurry”, they don’t fret or complain. Their colour says “Peace”.’
I didn’t really understand; I still don’t. But I did start to take time out in the middle of my work—to enjoy what I was doing for its own sake. And it works.
Sometimes I miss Mr Kowalski so much it makes my soul ache.
There are people you know all your life who never really make a difference to who you are; others arrive for a short time and change everything. Mr K was definitely one of the latter. He influenced so many people in his own, unassuming way. I actually saw it happen: from the customers that he talked with, to the hours he spent listening to Marnie when she first started at the store—most of which consisted of her pouring her heart out to him while Mr K took it all in—and the way he still encouraged the best out of his former apprentice Ed, always urging him to push his creativity, whilst remaining fiercely proud of everything he did. Not to mention the way he helped me, of course.
Right from the very first day I walked into the store that I would one day call my own, Mr K saw something in me that everyone else had missed. My confidence was at rock bottom; in many ways I’d lost sight of what I was capable of, but Mr K saw it as plain as day. Unlike Ed, or Marnie, or even Celia to begin with, Mr Kowalski never asked why I had come to New York. I suspect he had his theories, but he just accepted me for the person I was.
Mr K was so much more than a father figure to us all. He was confidant, teacher, friend, even devil’s advocate at times. And I needed all of that. My own father had never been around enough to bother about how my life was going and, when he eventually abandoned his family, he stopped bothering about me at all. In fact, the last contact we had was when he wrote to inform me that he was emigrating and didn’t want to stay in touch. Meanwhile, Mum always had a million and one things to worry about, what with a business to run single-handedly, and my brother’s seemingly genetic capability for causing trouble to contend with—not to mention the pressure of keeping it all together when Dad left.
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