She stood up, annoyed that someone with the moral fibre of a flea was offering her business advice. ‘Like a bank would consider me a good investment. I sell flowers.’
It was meant to be the end of their exchange, but he didn’t pick up on the hint. ‘Don’t sell yourself short. This seems like a profitable enterprise to me. Every time I’ve been here it’s been busy. You’re very creative, not to mention professional …’ He smirked. ‘Well, with most people.’
Bloody cheek.
‘As long as your books balance why wouldn’t a bank agree to invest? I would.’ He grinned, a real butter-wouldn’t-melt smile she was sure had charmed many a hapless female before. Well, not her. She was no dummy.
Fighting the urge to feel flattered by his glowing endorsement of her business, she headed for the kitchen, Marlon hot on her heels, his Ruff & Tuff toy clamped in his mouth. ‘Playtime is later,’ she told him. ‘I have a business to run.’
Despite herself, she couldn’t help wondering if Scott was right. She should be trying to buy the business. Paying out for the boiler would significantly dent her savings, but depending on the valuation she might just have enough for a small deposit.
She fixed Scott a brew, only because it would be rude not to, and went back into the shop. Perhaps she was being too negative. What had Mrs Bitar said when she’d mentioned wanting to buy Diana out? Give the business prestige. Enter a flower competition and bring some recognition to The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop. And hadn’t she also mentioned her husband was in banking?
Evie handed Scott his mug of tea, resolved to entering the competition before the day was out. She was also going to contact Mrs Bitar, as well as her own bank, about a loan.
Pleased with such positivity, she allowed herself a small smile, until Scott said ‘Shame about your shoes’ and she landed back on earth with a bump.
Searching out Marlon to see what footwear he’d devoured, she found him still clutching his rope toy, hopeful someone would play with him. ‘What are you on about?’
Scott nodded at her trainers. ‘I was looking forward to seeing what you had on your feet today. They’re rather tame by comparison.’
Evie inspected her bland trainers. Since Cordelia’s comments regarding her appearance she’d been too self-conscious to wear anything outrageous on her feet. ‘I decided to stop wearing silly shoes.’
‘Why?’ He tilted his head. ‘I thought you liked them?’
She shrugged. ‘Someone pointed out they weren’t exactly professional.’ It was less humiliating to give that as a reason than repeat Cordelia’s comments about paying more attention to other areas of her appearance.
‘I don’t agree. If you liked wearing them why worry what someone else thinks.’ He sipped his tea, looking at her quizzically. ‘You seem a little off today.’
‘I’m fine,’ she lied, returning to her workbench. She didn’t want to reveal any more about herself to the plumber. And anyway, she was fine, sort of. If you ignored potentially losing her precious business and womanising plumbers fixated on novelty shoes, she was just peachy.
Relief came in the form of a customer, breaking the tension of trying not to engage with Scott. The arrival of a mother and daughter to discuss wedding flowers was as welcome as the sunshine pouring through the bay window. Evie loved designing for weddings. It was her favourite aspect of the job.
The mother reeked of class and money, dressed in a denim skirt with leather heeled-boots and waterfall cardigan in soft dove grey. Evie imagined Cordelia Harrison-Walker and this woman hitting it off famously.
The daughter was equally beautiful, graceful and blushing, as all brides should be. The only startling aspect was her youth. But then, many a teenage bride had purchased flowers from Evie, usually because of her reasonable pricing. However, money didn’t look to be an issue here, so Evie could only wonder at why her little shop had been selected for a visit.
‘Have you seen anything you like?’ Evie offered them her portfolio to flick through. Experience had taught her that photographic evidence from the weddings she’d catered for showed off her designs to their best. It was a trick she’d learnt from her friend Laura: Sell the whole experience, not just the flowers. It was good advice, one that had helped increase sales.
‘These are amazing.’ The girl flicked through the pages. ‘I love your designs.’
Evie smiled. ‘Thank you. Did you have a particular style in mind?’
The girl shook her head. ‘Not really. Something simple. My budget is quite restricted.’
The mother touched her daughter’s arm. ‘Darling, I told you not to worry about that.’
‘I know, but there’s no point spending a fortune on flowers if everything else is low-key.’ She turned to Evie. ‘What would be the minimum you’d recommend?’
Evie had been wrong about money not being an issue. A lesson in not making assumptions. ‘There are no rules. You can have as little or as much as you want. Small doesn’t mean we can’t be creative. For example …’ She pointed to the photos on the wall. ‘Using unusual containers for the table displays can make a huge impact. Good positioning of inexpensive foliage can create the sense there’s more than is actually there and flowers with a strong scent will perfume a room and give the illusion of more.’
The girl’s face lit up. ‘Ooh, clever.’
Scott appeared from the kitchen. His jeans were dusty, his brow damp with sweat. He wiped his hands on his T-shirt, the material lifting to reveal a glimpse of stomach. He looked like something from a Diet Coke advert. Both female customers seemed equally captivated, their brief glance in his direction followed by a simultaneous comedy double take.
Blimey, he wasn’t that hot, was he? She looked again, just to be certain.
Evie startled when the girl suddenly yelled, ‘Hi, Scott!’
The plumber glanced over, his expression turning from surprise to acute discomfort in a nanosecond. ‘Er, hi, Amy.’
Amy waved, her youthful exuberance causing him further awkwardness. ‘How funny seeing you here.’ She nudged her mother. ‘This is Ben’s uncle, Mum.’
Maybe it was only Evie who noticed, but the mother’s reaction failed to conceal her recognition of him. She faked a neutral expression, nodding at Scott, her eyes conveying a silent message. ‘What a small world.’
He nodded in return, his greeting polite yet reserved.
This definitely wasn’t their first meeting. Evie would bet money on it. But whatever the relationship there was tension on both sides. Evie wondered if the mother was one of his many ‘lovers’ and this was an awkward coincidence, bumping into each other with her daughter in tow. It wouldn’t surprise her.
‘We’re choosing flowers for the wedding.’ Amy flicked her long blonde hair over her shoulder. ‘Don’t go telling Ben what we’ve picked. I’m trusting you to keep my secret.’
Scott glanced at the mother. ‘I won’t breathe a word.’ Was he talking about the flowers or something else?
The mother excused herself. ‘Carry on looking at the flowers, darling. I’m just going to introduce myself properly to Mr Castillo.’
‘Okay.’ Amy resumed looking at the portfolio, oblivious to the tension mounting behind as mother and plumber shook hands.
Catching Evie staring at the plumber, the girl glanced over her shoulder. ‘That’s my fiancé’s uncle. He’s a really nice guy.’
Evie doubted that.
‘Hot too.’ She nudged Evie’s arm. ‘He doesn’t have a girlfriend, you know.’
Before Evie could assure her that hadn’t been why she’d been staring, the bell tinkled. Josh appeared in the doorway, dressed in his funereal attire. ‘Hey, Evie.’
Evie experienced a moment’s panic, wondering whether she’d forgotten an order. ‘Hi Josh. Are you here about a delivery?’
‘Er, no.’ He looked around the room. ‘Is Saffy about?’
Thank goodness – she hadn’t messed up, it was just teenage love. ‘She’s not in today.’
&
nbsp; ‘Oh.’ His eyes searched the room, almost as if he didn’t believe her.
‘Would you like me to pass on a message?’ Evie was tempted to assure him his flower was standing in water, awaiting Saffy’s return, but figured this might embarrass him, so kept quiet.
‘Yes … Er, I mean, no.’ He screwed up his nose. ‘Can you tell her … On second thoughts, don’t worry.’ He backed out the door.
Smiling at his love-struck behaviour, Evie reverted her attentions to her customer. ‘What style of bouquet did you have in mind?’
She pointed to a hand-tied bouquet of Coral Charm peonies, craspedia and silver brunia. ‘This one will match my dress perfectly. Can you make it bigger?’
‘Of course. Lovely choice. Are you looking for flowers for the church or reception?’
She shook her head. ‘We’re not getting married in a church. But I like your idea for table displays. And then there’s buttonholes for Ben and Scott and corsages for my mum and Ben’s nan.’
Evie wondered whether she was talking about Billie.
The mother rejoined them. After further debate regarding colour and style, they agreed on an order. It was only when Evie opened her order book and began copying down the woman’s contact details that she recognised the address. Evie had delivered flowers to this woman only recently. Under normal circumstances she might point this out, keen to promote her business, but on this occasion it wouldn’t do to gloat. The woman was Patricia Robinson, the wife of the sleazeball who’d flirted with her. More significantly, the man who’d sent Laura three dozen stunning floribunda roses.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Thursday, 8 May
Scott rarely experienced the need to inflict physical damage – punching walls wasn’t his style. He was a mild-mannered, reasonable human being. A man in control of his actions. But today might be the day his patience was pushed to breaking point. Having spent forty minutes on the phone waiting for the relevant authorities to tell him his mother’s benefit claim could take another eleven weeks to process, he’d then queued for over an hour at the Citizens Advice office to see a specialist in completing court forms. And now Lisa was giving him the runaround, leaving him on hold whilst she dealt with a work issue.
Heading outside, he hoped the seating area designed for the residents of Peacock Court to relax in might ease the dull ache in his skull. An ache that was creeping into his shoulders and neck, making it hard to enjoy the elaborate water feature bubbling away hypnotically in the centre of the pond. There was plenty to savour in the communal grounds: rhododendrons in full bloom, an expanse of lawn area and a butterfly garden. But it was doing little to ease his frustrations as he waited for his sister to finish her conversation.
The reality was that Billie needed more therapy. Her muscle tremors were getting worse, so were her issues with swallowing. It was distressing to see, and even more distressing knowing there was nothing he could do about it. The NHS covered the weekly physio home visits, but his mum needed more frequent sessions if she was going to improve – or at least stop declining. The thought of waiting another eleven weeks depressed the hell out of him.
Add to that the issue of a building firm failing to pay him for work rendered and he was feeling the pinch. Lacking the necessary skills to write his own letter before action, he’d taken the morning off work so someone could help him draft the relevant papers. It was both humiliating and costly. If he ended up taking the company to a small claims court it would cost even more. None of which was helping his mood.
Lisa’s voice came back on the line. ‘Sorry, I need to go. I have people waiting.’
‘Oh no you don’t.’ Scott stood up, needing to vent his anger. ‘It’s difficult enough getting hold of you. Don’t you dare fob me off.’
His sister sighed impatiently. ‘I’m not fobbing you off. But I have a job to do. The new centre for biological sciences opens next month – you have no idea how much work is involved.’
‘You’re right, I don’t. Just like you have no idea how much work is involved in caring for a disabled mother and teenage nephew.’ He kicked a loose stone into the pond.
‘And I’m very grateful—’
‘Then show it and stop trying to hang up.’
A brief pause followed. ‘Fine. What do you want?’
He took a breath. ‘You need to talk to Ben. The wedding is going ahead and now Mum’s offered her savings to pay for it.’
A beat passed. ‘And why is that a problem?’
‘Are you kidding me? It’s a problem, Lisa, because he’s eighteen years old and still in school. It’s a problem because Amy’s parents are against the marriage. It’s a problem because our mother needs her savings for future care home fees. I won’t be able to look after her forever.’
‘So this is about money?’
Scott bit back the various expletives, itching to explode. ‘No, Lisa, this is not about money. This is about your refusal to get involved and take some responsibility for your son.’ He snapped off a twig from one of the rhododendron bushes.
‘He’s an adult now, he can make his own choices.’
‘An adult? How can you be so naive?’ The twig joined the stone in the pond. ‘You of all people should know how life-changing a bad decision made at a young age can be.’ It wasn’t often he brought up the subject of his sister’s drunken fumble nineteen years earlier, but as he appeared to be paying for that mistake far more than she ever had, he wasn’t in the mood for sensitivity.
‘Things have turned out okay, haven’t they? Ben’s doing well at school. He’s healthy, happy. What more do you want?’ Her tone indicated Scott was being unreasonable.
‘And who do you think was responsible for that? Certainly not you. You’ve never had to deal with the consequences of your actions. Mum came to the rescue and looked after Ben so you could go to uni. If it hadn’t been for her you wouldn’t be doing what you’re doing now. Maybe if you’d had to step up to the mark and look after Ben yourself you might be a bit more educated in areas other than just academia.’
‘Look, I can tell you’re upset—’
‘I’m fucking furious!’
‘Fine. Whatever.’ Another sigh. Her disinterest was maddening. ‘I’ll send some money over, okay? I’ll try phoning Ben, but I doubt he’ll listen to anything I have to say. What else can I do?’
Scott clenched his fist. ‘You can come home, that’s what you can do.’
‘You know I can’t do that.’
‘No, I don’t.’ He looked up at the sky. A butterfly few past, the red of its wings glinting in the sunlight. ‘You said it yourself, Ben probably won’t talk to you, not over the phone. You need to do this in person. Show him you care. Be his mum, please. We all need this.’
Another brief pause. ‘I’m sorry. I have to go.’ The line went dead.
Scott kicked the ground again. He raked his hands through his hair, almost scalping himself in the process. The burning hot sensation of undiluted rage raced through him. He felt like the Incredible Hulk, about to turn green and rampage the city. But he needed to rein it in – there were other residents in the garden, looking at him warily.
He headed inside the complex. Lisa’s words ran through his head. How could she be so cold? So detached from her own kid? But as infuriated as he was, at least he’d said his piece. For once he’d stood up to his sister. It didn’t count for much, she’d still acted the superior being, but it was more than he’d managed in the past. Fat lot of good it’d done him.
He shoved his key in the front door. In the past, whenever Ben had slagged off Lisa, claiming she didn’t care, Scott had always been quick to defend her, trying his best to improve the relationship between mother and son. Now he wondered why he’d bothered. But he’d done it for Ben. And for that reason he’d keep on trying.
The scene that greeted him as he entered the flat was a familiar one. Billie was in her wheelchair facing the telly, a blanket draped over her knees. Ben was next to her, animated as he poured o
ut three large mugs of tea. The only unfamiliar sight was Evie Armstrong sitting alongside them. What the …? And then Marlon jumped up at him, knocking him off balance.
Even more confusing, Evie didn’t seem as surprised to see him as he was to see her. She folded her arms across her chest, daring him to challenge her.
He obliged. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
Ben turned at the sound of his uncle’s voice. ‘Hi, Uncle Scott. We have a visitor. I’m just serving tea.’
Scott stared at Evie. ‘Doesn’t explain why you’re here.’ There was no logical reason for her to be in his home. At least, not one he could think of. ‘How did you know where I live?’ Was she stalking him? She hadn’t struck him as a crazy person. She didn’t appear to even like him, let alone want to follow him home.
‘I’m not here for you,’ she said, as though the thought disgusted her. ‘I’m visiting Billie. I thought she might like the company.’ There was an accusation hidden amongst her words. What was she implying?
Marlon nudged his hand, eager for attention. Scott rubbed his ears. ‘How do you even know her?’
‘One of your neighbours is a customer of mine. I’ve been here a few times,’ she said defiantly. ‘Your mum seems to appreciate the visits.’ Another dig.
‘Yeah, well, thanks, but you can go now.’ He ignored the look of annoyance on his mother’s face and the puzzlement on his nephew’s. ‘You might think we’re some charity case in need of your interference, but I can assure you we’re not.’ He went over to his mum and kissed her cheek. She tried to speak, but he overrode her. ‘I don’t appreciate you coming here. This is none of your business.’
Evie stood up. ‘Pardon me for trying to help. I wasn’t aware you didn’t approve of visitors. You’ve never been here before when I’ve come.’ Another accusation. They were getting more pronounced.
‘Probably because I work, trying to support my family.’ And then the penny dropped. ‘That’s why you’ve been so shitty to me, isn’t it? You think because I gave you all that crap about having no ties it meant I didn’t look after my mum?’
The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop Page 17
