by Talli Roland
‘Tell them I’m not here!’ Jay yelled. Who could that be? He hadn’t thought anyone had known where he was. Would it be the police, maybe, if Willow had pressed charges?
‘He’s on his way up!’ his mother shouted.
‘Bollocks.’ Jay scrambled to his feet. Trust Mum not to have heard he didn’t want visitors. Quickly pulling on the fluff-covered suit, he ran a hand through his hair and spritzed on some of his rapidly dwindling supply of cologne.
‘Hiya, Jay. Or Lewis.’
Jay heard the sneering voice before the face of Dean Denner swung around the doorframe. Shit. Dean’s threatening messages had stopped a few weeks ago, and Jay had breathed a sigh of relief that he’d finally given up. But Jay would never forget the slew of threats if he didn’t pay, ranging from broken bones to a watery date with the River Thames. Jay arranged his features into a calm expression, despite the fear inside. ‘Oh, hello there, Dean. Good to see you again.’
‘Phew!’ Dean waved a hand in front of his face and looked down at Bunny. ‘Nice place you’ve got here,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Look, we need to talk. Let’s take this outside.’ His tone suggested there wasn’t a choice. Jay nodded and followed Dean downstairs.
‘Have a nice time with your friend!’ his mother warbled and Dean sniggered.
‘Oh, we’ll have a nice time, all right,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Won’t we, Jay?’
‘Um, yes,’ Jay stammered.
‘So,’ Dean said conversationally, hands in his pockets as they walked down the street away from the house. ‘There’s a bit of money you owe me.’
‘Um, yes,’ Jay said again. ‘Sorry about that. I’m working on getting it.’
Dean stopped and turned toward him. ‘All I know is that you promised me a fee – a big one – and that you owe me.’
‘But you didn’t actually perform,’ Jay protested weakly, fully aware this was his last and only line of defence.
But Dean carried on as if he hadn’t even heard him. ‘Now, I’ve been quite patient. I’ve even left you very polite messages, and you’d have to admit you’ve been fairly rude, haven’t you?’ He stared at Jay, awaiting a response, and Jay nodded.
‘So I guess me and my brothers will have to teach you a lesson.’ Dean snapped his fingers, and five men appeared from out of nowhere. Jay’s eyes widened. Surely they wouldn’t jump him or something? This wasn’t nineteen-twenties Chicago.
But one look at the resolve in the eyes of the men as they advanced on him, and their intentions were all too clear. Jay yelped and took off down the street, the menacing mob in hot pursuit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
BETTS SIPPED HER DOM PERIGNON and scanned the walls of her Marilyn room, staring at the icon’s smiling face peeping out of photo after photo. She looked so joyful, but the countless books Betts had read told a different story. Marilyn might have seemed happy on the outside, but no amount of fame or fortune had made her life worth living.
Not for the first time since she’d returned home, Betts reflected on why she’d been so obsessed with Marilyn to begin with. Back in Belcherton, she’d met hordes of people who had replaced their own empty lives with Marilyn, desperate to find something to latch onto. Betts sighed and took a gulp of her drink. What with her bad marriage – not to mention the kids treating her like dirt – she’d done the same thing. And now that she’d got back some worth and told her children what’s what, Marilyn just didn’t do it for her any longer.
Betts lifted the biggest photo off the wall – a framed poster of Marilyn in the iconic white dress, standing over a steam outlet. Wasn’t it funny that Betts had chosen a woman who wasn’t content with her own life to fill the gap in hers? No one could make you fulfilled and happy except yourself, Betts realised now.
As she started stripping the room of all its Marilyn paraphernalia, Betts couldn’t help thinking of Dickie and wondering what he was doing right about now. Was he still selling the Marilyn stuff? Since Betts had come home, she’d steadfastly refused to watch the entertainment channels that used to be her constant companion, for fear she’d catch sight of Belcherton. She was trying so hard to keep it out of her mind!
But try as she might, she just couldn’t forget about Dickie. She missed him, Betts admitted to herself, tidying away several ceramic Marilyn figures. She missed him more than she’d ever missed Gord, although that wasn’t saying much. A million times, Betts had picked up the phone to tell Dickie how she really felt; to see if they might have a chance at a future. But a million times, she’d hung up again. Betts shook her head, sighing. Was she just being a sissy? Where was that spirit and drive she’d found again?
What would Marilyn do? No, stop, she told herself firmly. What would Betts do? What did she want?
A broad grin forced her cheeks upward like two ripe apples, and Betts grabbed the phone and punched in a number. She knew exactly what she wanted. She’d known it all along.
‘Dickie?’ Her heart jumped when she heard his deep voice. ‘It’s Betts.’
‘Betts!’ She heard something like dishes rattling and Krusty cawing, and she swallowed hard against the rising emotion.
‘I, um, was just calling to check in. Let you know I’m okay and that I made it home safe and sound. We never said goodbye, so I just thought . . .’ Her voice trailed away into the buzz of the transatlantic line as her mind went blank. Oh, for goodness’ sake, Betts. Just come out with it!
‘It’s nice to hear from you.’ Dickie’s tone was cautious, and Betts wanted to throttle her daughter.
She jerked to her feet, coming face to face with a porcelain bust of Marilyn. ‘I don’t know exactly what Lucy told you, Dickie. But Gord and I have been divorced for years, and to be honest, him leaving was the best thing that happened to me. No, scratch that.’ She swallowed. ‘You’re the best thing that’s happened to me.’
There was a pause and Betts dropped her head, studying the pink shag carpet. Did he feel the same way?
‘So why did you leave so quickly, without letting me know how to get in touch?’ Dickie asked softly.
Heart pounding, she told him the story of how she’d been deported. ‘Why don’t you come see me?’ she said suddenly. ‘I mean, I’d love to have you visit. Or even . . . stay awhile. You can get to know the area – the South is great, so friendly, and the weather is really nice. We have the biggest BBQ pit in all of Georgia, and—’
‘Betts.’ Dickie’s gentle tone broke into her nervous babble. ‘I’m sure it’s all brilliant. But I don’t care about any of it.’
Oh. She should have known. Silly Betts, opening her big fat mouth and rushing forward—
‘Because I just want to be with you.’
Betts clapped a hand to her chest, melting with happiness.
‘But I’m not sure about leaving Willow for too long,’ Dickie said. ‘She gave up a lot to stay with me.’ Betts could hear the hesitation in his voice.
‘Dickie, Willow had a life before she moved home. And she’ll have one after you leave, too.’ She thought of Lucy, and how Betts had finally managed to cut herself free – for both their sakes. ‘Sometimes, we need to let them go, so they can stand on their own.’
Silence fell. Then, in a voice gruff with emotion, Dickie said: ‘You’re right. Willow is more than capable of finding her way. In fact, I think she’s already started.’
*
Willow awoke the next morning, feeling something was different. She lay in bed for a second, trying to put her finger on it as the tuneless yet cheery tune of her father’s whistling drifted up the stairs toward her.
Wait a second. That’s what was different. Her dad was whistling! She yawned and stretched, then rolled out of bed. Outside, the sky was azure and she could already sense from the warm morning air that the day was going to be a hot one.
Pulling on her robe, she slouched down the stairs, sniffing the air appreciatively. Her father already had the coffee on?
‘Dad?’ she asked tentatively.
Her father stopped mid-whistle. ‘Have a seat, love.’ He poured some coffee into a cup and sat down on the chair across from her, his jovial face settling into a solemn expression. ‘Willow, we need to talk.’
‘Okay,’ she said slowly, burning her tongue as she took a sip of coffee. Had he somehow found out about the shop’s debt? Was everything all right with his health? The familiar anxiety crept in and she lifted a nail to her mouth.
‘I heard from Betts last night.’ The corners of her father’s eyes crinkled and the serious expression disappeared.
‘That’s fantastic!’ Willow smiled.
‘I know,’ her dad said. ‘It is. And she asked me to go visit her in America.’
‘Wow, brilliant, Dad.’ A holiday and a trip out of Belcherton would do him some good. He rarely left the confines of the small village. ‘I can take care of everything here while you’re gone.’
Her father nodded. ‘I know you can. But Willow,’ – he paused – ‘it might be an extended visit.’
‘An extended visit?’ she echoed. What, did he mean, like, two weeks?
‘Yes. If things go well, and of course if you’re fine with it all, I might stay there for a few months. Betts isn’t able to come back here right now because of her visa situation. While we try to sort that out, we want to be together.’ His eyes moved back and forth across her face.
Willow stared, thoughts racing through her head. A few months? And what visa situation?
Her father quickly explained Betts had been deported for working illegally. ‘Love, after your mum, I never thought, well . . .’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’m too old to faff around and go slowly. I love Betts; she loves me; and we want to be together. It’s that simple.’
Willow nodded. She could see by the look on his face that he meant every word, and she wanted him to be happy. If it took going to America, then that’s what he should do.
But was it really that simple, she asked herself? It certainly hadn’t been with Alex. But maybe . . . maybe despite all the difficulties, she should have reached out, told him how she really felt. Sure, they’d drifted apart – inevitable, with everything that had happened. But that hadn’t meant things had to be over. Why hadn’t she fought harder to stay with him?
She squeezed her father’s hand. ‘Dad, you need to do whatever feels right for you. I’ll miss you so much, but please don’t worry about me. I’m going to be fine.’ It wasn’t just something she was saying; she actually meant it. Looking into his eyes, she knew he could see she would be, too.
‘What about the business?’ she asked. It was easier to focus on practicalities than think about him leaving.
‘Well, now, that’s up to you. The shop’s been more of a hobby for me lately than anything else. You’ve been doing so wonderfully with the flowers, maybe you should think about expanding to the whole space.’ He stroked his beard. ‘Or you can go back to London? Pick up where you left off?’
Willow nodded slowly, trying to absorb all the changes. Maybe she would go back to London – one day. For now, though, she was happy to start living her dream right here in Belcherton. And the thought of filling the whole shop with flowers, blossoms spilling out of every nook and cranny . . . Even with the shock of her father leaving, she couldn’t help feeling a little excited.
‘So you’re okay with me taking off for a while?’ her dad asked. ‘I know you gave up a lot to come back here and live with me after Mum died, and I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter. But I’ve always felt guilty about you thinking I was your responsibility.’
Willow opened her mouth to protest, but he held out a hand to stop her.
‘I’m not saying you feel that way, but it was how I felt. I would have tried harder for you to return to London, but the truth is, I loved having you around. Without your mum, it would have been lonely, I must admit.’ His eyes shone with liquid. ‘This is a chance for you to do what you want, too.’
Willow threw her arms around his neck. ‘And you, Dad. I’m sure you and Betts will be happy.’
‘I know we will,’ her father’s voice rumbled.
‘So when do you think you’ll be going?’ Willow pulled away before tears spilled over.
‘I’ve already booked a flight for next week,’ her father said, blue eyes sparkling with excitement.
‘Next week?’ Willow croaked.
‘I know it’s quick, but I really can’t wait to see Betts, and I got a great fare. I’ll do as much as I can in the shop before I go, but you’ve been taking care of things here at home and with the business for the past little while, anyway. You know what to do.’
Willow nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Her father smiled gently at her. ‘I know you’ll make a life you’ll be proud of. But don’t worry about making me proud. I already am.’
‘Are you all right?’ Paula asked. The two had just returned to Willow’s house after her father’s great send-off. The whole village had turned out to watch him heave his battered suitcase onto the National Express bus to Heathrow. Willow had wanted to go all the way to the airport to say goodbye, but he’d insisted it would be too hard. So she’d joined the crowds, given him one last hug, and waved until the belching bus was out of sight.
‘I guess so,’ Willow answered, trying to figure out how she did feel. It had all happened so fast she could barely believe her father had really left; that he wouldn’t pop his head around from the shop and ask what was for dinner. Even with Paula by her side and Krusty quietly crooning in the back garden, the house felt empty.
‘It’s just so strange with him gone.’ Willow motioned Paula into the kitchen and poured her a glass of wine. It was still early, but Paula was never one to refuse a drink and right now, Willow needed something stronger than tea.
‘I can imagine.’ Paula sipped her wine. ‘So what have you decided about the shop, then?’
‘Well . . .’ Ever since Dad had mentioned taking over the whole space, images and memories she’d buried for the past two years had sprung to life: how she’d arrange her special pots so the flowers would cascade down the walls; the collection of ribbons she’d bought from the haberdashery at Liberty’s through the years, just to tie around flowers’ stems; the apron she’d seen one day in Cath Kidston, dotted with vibrant colours and just perfect for a florist. God, where had she put all that stuff? She’d need to have a rummage around in the cellar to see if she could find it.
‘Flowers?’ Paula poked her arm and Willow nodded. ‘How could it be anything else, knowing you?’
Willow’s grin grew bigger to match the expanding balloon of hope inside. This was it: exactly what she wanted. Not fame. Not fortune. Just beautiful flowers, without any added finery, standing proudly on their own.
Two weeks later, Willow was standing knee-deep in blossoms and the scent of lilies, gladioli and greenery hung heavily in the air. Lifting her head from a bucket filling with water, she couldn’t help smiling as she took in the room. Every inch – every surface – was covered in flowers exploding with colour.
‘I got the sign!’ Paula shattered the calm of the shop, staggering in under the weight of a package in her arms. She unwrapped it slowly and turned it toward Willow. ‘What do you think?’
Willow caught her breath. ‘It’s perfect,’ she said, and it was: the gold curlicue lettering spelled out Willow’s Blossoms, carved into polished oak. It was exactly as she’d imagined.
‘It’s fab, isn’t it? I’ll go pinch Mr Jordan’s ladder so we can put it up.’ Paula scanned the room. ‘Looks great in here, by the way. You’ll be more than ready for the grand opening tomorrow.’ She threw her arms around Willow, pulling her in for a hug. ‘I’m super impressed, Wills. Look at all you’ve managed to do. So fast, too!’
Willow nodded, her eyes filling with happy tears. She had accomplished a lot since her father left: putting the antique stock up for auction, transforming the shop space into something suitable for a florist, dealing with suppliers . . . and finally sending off th
at cheque to Her Majesty, clearing the debt for good! It was all enough to make her head spin, and she was amazed at what she could do – and how efficiently – if she put her mind to it. Dad really would be proud. Mum, too.
A now-familiar pang jolted through her as she thought of her father. God, she missed him. She’d talked to him often to make sure he really was all right with her changing the premises. Opening the flower shop was such a permanent step, and she wanted to make sure he’d meant his suggestion of expansion – and that he was getting on well with Betts, too. Willow had never heard her father happier. He’d even been christened an ‘honorary Georgian’, whatever that entailed.
So. Here she was. Taking charge of her life and her dreams, once again.
There was a bang at the door, and Willow looked up to see Paula with the ladder. Finally, the moment her father’s shop would become her own. Outside, Willow hefted the heavy sign into her arms, then carefully climbed the ladder. She manoeuvred it onto the metal hooks protruding from the shop front and leaned back, making sure it was on securely.
‘How does it look?’ she asked Paula, who was watching from below.
Paula shaded her eyes and glanced up. ‘Brilliant. Come here and see!’
Willow scampered down the ladder then looked up at the sign. Paula was right: it was brilliant, and it looked like it had always hung there. Through the sparkling window, the shop was bright and welcoming. It was everything she’d envisioned, and more.
‘Hey, where’s your apron?’ Paula grinned. ‘Go put it on. I want to get a picture of you under the sign.’ She dug out a mobile from her pocket and started angling it toward Willow.
