The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop

by Tracy Corbett

  If Ben had hoped to remain aloof, carrying off an air of ‘am I bothered?’ then he failed. His youthful face coloured, his free hand clenched into a fist.

  A brief smile rendered Lisa’s mouth a little less sullen. ‘Hello, Ben.’

  Ben didn’t return her smile. ‘Hello, Lisa.’

  She studied his form. ‘You look well. How are you?’

  ‘My nan’s dead. How do you think I am?’

  If Lisa registered the barb, she didn’t show it. In fact, she didn’t do anything, just stood there, looking at him like he was a slightly interesting maths equation.

  Amy stuck out her hand. ‘I’m Amy, Ben’s fiancée.’ There was a touch of defiance to her voice, making it clear which team she was on. Noticeably, she didn’t add, ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  A waitress approached, big smile in place. ‘Hi, guys. Your table’s ready. Come this way.’ She bounded off, eager for tips, no doubt. Poor kid had no idea.

  Scott had deliberately asked for a booth by the far wall. If things became heated he didn’t want an audience.

  The waitress took their drinks orders and handed out menus. ‘Let me know if you need anything.’

  Lisa studied the selection. ‘Not much choice.’

  Ben bristled. ‘We didn’t move to Heatherton for the nightlife, Lisa.’

  The waitress’s eyes widened. She looked between mother and son.

  Scott pointed to the specials board. ‘What can you recommend?’ He offered the girl his best ‘please ignore my family’ smile.

  The girl listed the chef’s signature dishes. Disaster averted … for now.

  With the food ordered, silence descended once again, a contrast to the chatter and laughter around them. A party of women at the bar were enjoying a hen night, the bride-to-be dressed in angel wings and a halo. A group of men were seated at a long trestle table, displaying a football trophy, their focus drifting to the hen party. Couples conversed in low voices, others openly flirted. It was only the Castillo family who remained silent. Ben stared at the table, Amy discreetly rubbed his lower back. Lisa checked her phone. Scott stared despondently at the candle flickering in the middle of the table.

  Someone needed to make an effort. Unable to cope with the silence any longer, Scott addressed his sister. ‘Ben’s been studying hard for his A levels. Two exams down, two to go.’

  Lisa looked up from her phone, seemingly unaware of the tension crackling in the air. ‘What subjects are you taking?’

  Scott swallowed a groan.

  ‘You don’t know?’ Ben shook his head. ‘How very motherly of you.’

  With no hint of shame, Lisa shrugged. ‘Remind me.’

  Ben’s shoulders hunched a little closer to his ears.

  Amy rubbed his back harder, desperately trying to soothe away his anger.

  Realising Ben wasn’t going to answer, Scott filled the awkward void. ‘English, performing arts, film studies and media studies.’

  Lisa frowned. ‘No maths?’

  Ben’s jaw twitched. ‘I want to be a film director. What would be the point of taking maths?’

  Lisa didn’t look impressed. ‘Maths should be compulsory. It’s a basic life requirement.’

  ‘So is having a mother.’ He made no attempt to hide his fury. ‘Guess we both get to be disappointed.’

  Scott rubbed his forehead. Christ, this was worse than having his wisdom teeth removed. He’d foolishly assumed the bond of shared grief might bring them closer together. He’d been wrong.

  Lisa looked mildly surprised by Ben’s rebuke. She slipped off her tracksuit top. ‘I’m not disappointed. I was just commenting on the failings of the national curriculum.’

  Once again Scott was forced to adopt the role of peacemaker. ‘The point is, Ben did well in his mocks, he’s worked really hard and he’s predicted to get good grades. That’s what matters, right?’ He offered his nephew his best ‘hang in there, mate’ smile. ‘We should be really proud of him. I am. I know his nan was too.’

  Lisa gave a conciliatory nod, as if partially agreeing with him. Big of her.

  The drinks arrived, allowing for a change in topic. Scott downed half his bitter in one gulp, hoping a rush of alcohol might numb the discomfort of the evening.

  The waitress laid cutlery, her eyes darting from Ben to Lisa in thinly veiled curiosity.

  Finally, and despite numerous pointed glances from Scott, Lisa asked Amy what her plans were for the future. Although she didn’t look overly impressed with ‘I’m going to be a dancer’, she kept her opinions to herself. If she hadn’t, Scott doubted Ben would have held his tongue. Maybe Lisa had sensed that.

  When Lisa excused herself and went to the ladies, Scott leant across and whispered in Amy’s ear, ‘Help me out here, will you?’

  Despite her loyalty to Ben, she took pity on Scott. When Lisa returned, she talked about their plans to defer university so they could travel, showing a level of confidence that defied her years. Amy was a smart kid. Scott wondered how he’d ever thought otherwise.

  Lisa didn’t say much, just nodded occasionally. It didn’t matter. It was enough to get them through the starters. When the waitress cleared the plates, Scott mouthed ‘thank you’ at Amy. She nodded, and returned to rubbing Ben’s back. He was vibrating like a prizefighter on steroids.

  Scott decided it was time for Lisa to make an effort. He dug out his phone and sent her a text message. ‘Talk to your son!!!’

  When her phone beeped, she checked the display. Her face registered surprise, confusion and then, finally, understanding. Placing her phone on the table, she turned to her son. ‘I hear you’re getting married?’

  Ben’s face tensed. ‘That’s right. Twenty-seventh of June.’

  Lisa tilted her head. ‘So soon? Is that a good idea?’

  Ben’s chest expanded a little, priming for a fight. ‘We think so. And Uncle Scott thinks so too, don’t you?’

  Before Scott could respond, Lisa shafted him by saying, ‘He thinks you’re being naive and hasty. I agree with him.’

  There’d been many an occasion when Scott had wanted to strangle his sister, but none more so than at that moment. The hurt in Ben’s eyes was unbearable. Amy looked disgusted. As ever, Lisa was clueless to the tactlessness of her words.

  Scott glared at her. ‘Thanks, Lisa.’

  Ben’s voice wavered. ‘Is that true, Uncle Scott?’

  Scott braced himself. ‘I won’t lie to you, it was how I felt. But hey, you know that, we argued about it, remember? You talked me round. More than that, the pair of you have demonstrated how solid you are. These last few weeks have been crap, but you’ve coped as a team. You’re there for each other. I wish I had what you two have.’

  Amy smiled as she looked at Ben, full of adoration.

  Scott continued. ‘I wish you’d wait until you finished university and were a bit more settled before getting married, but I get why you don’t want to. Life is unpredictable. You know that more than most. Who knows what’s waiting in store for any of us. If you feel it’s the right thing to do, then you have my support.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Ben, leaning into Amy. She rewarded him with a kiss.

  Scott looked at his sister. ‘We’re all we’ve got, Lisa. With Mum gone we need to stick together and support each other.’

  She seemed to consider this. ‘You always were soppy.’

  Scott had no idea whether this was an insult or a compliment. If being ‘soppy’ meant he took care of his relatives, stuck around when they needed him and didn’t bugger off to India, then yeah, he was soppy. There was no point in voicing these thoughts aloud, though. Lisa never would understand. He wasn’t sure she could. She wasn’t made that way.

  The main courses arrived. Scott wouldn’t venture as far as to say the atmosphere improved, but it didn’t feel quite so frosty. Amy talked about their plans for the wedding, her dress, the flowers, which reminded him of Evie. He’d been trying hard not to think about the cute florist. He missed her, but he was
n’t in the right frame of mind to start a relationship. Though that didn’t stop the yearning. He wasn’t sure he’d ever ‘yearned’ before. It wasn’t like when Nicole left. This felt different; another of the many ‘what if’ scenarios that tortured his mind.

  Amy showed Lisa a photo of her wedding dress, carefully keeping the phone away from Ben. Lisa nodded in non-committal fashion, lacking the art of girlie bonding. It didn’t matter, it was enough that she wasn’t shooting them down in flames.

  ‘We’re choosing a cake tomorrow, if you’d like to join us?’ There was a note of hope in Amy’s voice, even when Ben glared at her. ‘It was just a thought.’

  Lisa wiped her mouth with a napkin. ‘I can’t. I have meetings all day.’

  Scott felt a burning sensation hit the back of his throat. ‘But you’re only home for three days.’

  Lisa’s brow creased in confusion. ‘Your point?’

  Ben dropped his knife, clattering onto the plate. ‘His point is that you’re supposed to be home for Nan’s funeral, not working.’

  Lisa looked genuinely perplexed. ‘There are things I need to do. I’ve left Monday clear.’

  Ben’s laugh was a horrible, strangulated sound. ‘Oh, well, that’s all right, then. As long as you’re not working on the actual day of the funeral.’

  Lisa looked agitated. ‘I don’t see what the issue is.’

  ‘And that’s the problem, Lisa.’ Ben jabbed a finger at her. ‘You never do. Let me ask you this. Will you be at my wedding?’

  The waitress approached. ‘Everything okay with your meal, guys?’

  Ben banged the table, making the waitress jump. ‘Well? Will you?’

  Lisa flinched. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know?’ The rise in Ben’s voice drew attention from the neighbouring tables.

  Lisa sighed. ‘I have work commitments, Ben. My job is very important to me.’

  ‘And I’m not.’ Ben jumped up, knocking over a glass of water as he did so. Amy caught hold of him, but couldn’t prevent the onset of angry tears. She placed an arm around his shoulders and led him away, glancing back at Lisa as if to say ‘bitch’. Scott couldn’t blame her.

  The waitress wiped away the spill. ‘I’ll get the bill, shall I?’ She backed away, not waiting for an answer.

  It took a while before Lisa looked at her brother. When she did, the disgust on Scott’s face must have hit a nerve. ‘What?’

  ‘You know damn well what.’ He pulled out his wallet, the feeling of isolation and gut-wrenching loneliness settling over him once more. The more he tried to pull his family together, the harder they fought to break it apart.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Sunday, 1 June

  Despite the comfort of Martin’s plush car seats, Patricia’s thighs were burning from an afternoon spent running around the tennis court. She and Martin were usually a formidable team, his power a complement for her deceptive slices. But their opponents today had been twenty years younger and a good deal fitter. Two sets had never seemed so long, despite losing most games to a love score line.

  Still, there was nothing like physical exercise to clear the mind of negative thoughts. It was just a shame it hadn’t had the same effect on Martin.

  ‘It’s like she’s stopped trying.’ Martin’s hands left the steering wheel in exasperation. An unnerving sight when travelling at fifty miles per hour. ‘At least when we fought I knew she cared. Now it feels like she’s made a decision. She’s leaving me.’

  Patricia’s foot simulated hitting the brake pedal. She wished he’d slow down. ‘Has she said as much?’

  Martin didn’t decelerate. ‘She doesn’t have to. She acts like we’re lodgers in a shared house rather than husband and wife. I hardly ever see her.’ He braked sharply, suddenly realising he needed to stop. ‘She’s deliberately avoiding me.’

  ‘Have you tried talking to her?’ Patricia’s head connected with the headrest as they pulled away. She was going to suffer a whiplash at this rate. Martin didn’t seem any less wired than before they’d played tennis.

  ‘Move, idiot!’ He yelled at a blue Fiesta. ‘We’re past talking. I don’t want her to go, but we want different things.’

  Patricia rubbed her thigh, trying to ease the niggling cramp. ‘Even more reason to try. I know it’s hard, but unless you focus on what you have in common it’ll only get worse.’

  The irony wasn’t lost on Patricia. Here she was giving marital advice when her own relationship was a royal mess. ‘Talking’ as she’d advised Martin to do, had never worked with David. He always managed to manipulate the conversation to make it seem like she was the one being unreasonable. David’s ability to deflect from his numerous infidelities was a pure art form.

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’ Martin turned into Patricia’s road. Her neighbours were outside, washing their car. The sight of her driving past with a man who wasn’t her husband would probably give rise to speculation. ‘We’ve argued about what we disagree on so much it never occurred to me to try and find something we agree on.’

  David’s restored Bentley was parked in the driveway, glinting in the sunshine. He’d obviously been out, or was planning to go out. Patricia hoped the latter. She was happier when David wasn’t around. Not a great testament to their marriage. ‘Thanks for the lift, Martin. I’m sorry about the match. My legs didn’t want to move today.’

  He swerved to avoid David’s Bentley. Was it wrong to wish he’d hit it?

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t focused on the game either. Too much going on inside here.’ He tapped the side of his temple.

  ‘Understandable, in the circumstances.’ Patricia delayed getting out of the car. She reasoned this was due to the stiffness in her legs. In truth, she wasn’t looking forward to another evening spent listening to her husband finding fault with her. ‘I suppose I’d better go inside.’

  She hadn’t realised this thought had been spoken aloud until Martin said, ‘Are you having problems too?’

  ‘Pardon?’ She looked at Martin, sensing her face getting hotter. ‘No, not at all … It’s just … an effort to move.’ She pointed to her legs. ‘No fun getting older.’ She forced a self-deprecating laugh. Who was she trying to kid?

  Martin smiled. ‘You’re hardly old, Patricia.’

  Embarrassed by her slip, she waved the compliment away. ‘If I will try to keep up with twenty-somethings, what can I expect?’ She opened the car door. ‘See you next week. Good luck with everything.’

  ‘You too.’ He gave her a knowing look, as if seeing through her bluster.

  As she watched him reverse out of the driveway, she spotted her neighbours peering over the hedge. They quickly reverted to sponging down their windscreen, clueless that it was the other Robinson who courted infidelity.

  She hobbled down the driveway, her legs refusing to loosen. At least Martin was honest about his marriage problems, recognising there was an issue. There’d been numerous occasions when Patricia could have shared her woes, but chose not to. Her mother’s voice rang loud and clear in her head, warning her against washing her dirty laundry in public. But what good had keeping quiet done her?

  Raised voices greeted her as she opened the front door. The content wasn’t immediately obvious, although perhaps it should have been. What else were father and daughter likely to be arguing about other than Amy’s forthcoming wedding?

  ‘I will not stand back and allow you to flush your life down the toilet,’ David said as Patricia walked into the kitchen. ‘I won’t budge on this, Amy. You will stop this silly marriage nonsense and go to university as planned. No more talk of deferring.’

  David stood on one side of the kitchen island, Amy the other. Her daughter was cooking a Sunday roast, an array of vegetables cut up next to her.

  Viciously slicing into a carrot, Amy seemed to be taking her frustrations out on chopping. ‘I’m not budging either, Dad. Stop trying to bully me into doing what you want. This is my life, not yours.’

>   As much as Patricia wanted to backtrack and leave without being seen, she knew she couldn’t. The noise of her sports bag dropping to the floor alerted them to her presence.

  ‘Mummy!’ Chucking the knife in the sink, Amy threw herself into Patricia’s arms. ‘Daddy’s being totally unreasonable. Tell him he’s not the boss of me.’ Her daughter’s hair smelt of garlic and groundnut oil.

  David thumped the counter. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, young lady. While you live under this roof you will do as I say.’

  Patricia noticed he hadn’t used the word ‘we’. Her opinion didn’t matter, obviously.

  Amy held onto her mum, her face flushed and defiant. Only the shake in her hands undermined her outward confidence. ‘Daddy doesn’t seem to understand that Ben and I love each other. This is what I want. What we both want.’

  See? Her daughter understood marriage was about two people.

  ‘Ben needs me. He’s been through enough heartache losing his nan. I’m not going to add to it, or allow anyone else to.’ Amy directed the words at her father.

  David’s response was to advance on them both. He was dressed in a polo shirt and jeans, and was wearing new aftershave. Patricia briefly wondered why. ‘I don’t care what he’s been through. You’re my only concern.’

  Amy edged behind Patricia, needing a shield. ‘Mum, tell him.’

  Patricia wanted to side with her daughter. Since meeting Ben’s family, and seeing how in love Amy and Ben were, her resistance to them marrying had slowly disappeared. Marrying at eighteen wasn’t ideal, but was it wrong? Her head said one thing, her heart another. But trying to express these conflicting emotions to her husband when he was thrashing about like an enraged bull was impossible.

  ‘I suggest we all calm down,’ she found herself saying. ‘Shouting isn’t the answer.’

  David stared at her, a disparaging look in his eyes. ‘Shouting is the only way to get through that thick skull of hers.’

  Amy gripped Patricia. ‘I’m not the only one with a thick skull!’