New Beginnings at Seaside Blooms

by Jessica Redland

  I’d already looked under Mum and Dad’s sofa but what if it was under Auntie Kay’s instead? I raced out the room, down the stairs and into the lounge.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Ben said, making me jump as I lay on the floor.

  ‘Do me a favour and lift up that end of the sofa.’

  ‘Why?’

  I glared at him. He sighed but did as he was asked. I bent down and looked underneath. Fluff… coins… hair-grip and… oh my God! I grabbed at the object.

  Ben lowered the sofa back down with a grunt. ‘What is it?’

  I stared at the item resting on my palm. ‘Grandma’s bracelet. The one Mum thought she’d lost years ago.’

  ‘No way. How did you know it was there?’

  I smiled and shook my head. ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’ Suddenly feeling very weak, I sunk back against the sofa, breathing deeply. Wow! The bracelet under the sofa and the lighthouse photo, exactly as predicted. There was no way she could have guessed at those things. There was just one thing left to happen, then: meeting Steven. Oh. My. God!

  15

  ‘How cute is this place?’ Clare said, looking at the roses round the door on the double-fronted white-washed cottage. ‘I can’t wait to see it in daylight.’

  I ushered her into the narrow hallway the following evening and closed the door on the bitter November night. ‘Glad you found it all right. I’ve got a fire going in the lounge.’

  ‘A real one?’

  ‘Of course. Now, do you want to be all cutesy cottage and have hot chocolate with marshmallows or can I tempt you with a glass of wine?’

  ‘After the drive I’ve had, what do you think?’

  ‘I’ll get the glasses. Make yourself at home.’

  I grabbed a bottle of wine and glasses from the kitchen and headed back to the lounge.

  Clare was talking to Kit and Kat. ‘Hi cats. How’s your new home? Jesus. I must be going soft. Will you listen to me talking to two stupid moggies?’

  I laughed as I put the glasses down on the coffee table so I could pour the wine. ‘I thought you might be expecting an answer from them.’

  ‘Scarily enough, I think I was. It’s been a long day.’ She took a glug of her wine then looked around the room full of my books and other belongings. ‘Nice room. Looks like you’ve settled in well already. Where’s all your auntie’s stuff?’

  ‘In my old bedroom. Dad and Ben did a huge swap round yesterday while I was at the shop. I’d been thinking that I should look for somewhere to rent so it’s worked out perfectly. It’s been lovely being back at home, but I’m used to my independence. I don’t think I could have lived with my parents long-term but they seemed so pleased to have me back that I didn’t want to offend them by saying so.’

  ‘Can’t say I blame you. If I moved back to Ireland, I’d hate to live with my parents.’ Clare stared into the fireplace for a moment, fiddling with the Claddagh ring she always wore on her right hand. ‘Will you listen to me? What a stupid thing to say. I have no intention of ever moving back to Ireland – whatever happens in my life – and, seeing as I don’t even exchange Christmas cards with the parents, the mere idea of me being in a situation where moving back in with them is even an option is absurd, so it is.’

  ‘More wine?’ I asked as Clare gulped hers down in one.

  ‘Please.’ She held out her glass. I noticed her hand shaking. I’d noticed the rambling too. It was odd how we shared the same nervous tendency to talk too much.

  ‘You know I’m here if you ever want to talk about what happened with you and your parents, don’t you?’

  ‘I know. But I’m grand, thanks. I don’t know what came over me. Must be the sea air or something.’

  ‘Must be. It can have a strange effect on them city folk what aren’t used to it.’ I put on my best yokel accent and smiled.

  The subject of Clare’s past was closed again. Every so often, she let something slip. I’d pieced together that she’d been brought up in a strict catholic family in a village not too far from Cork. There’d been some major family fall-out when she was a teenager resulting in Clare moving to Cornwall to live with a distant relative. She’d never returned to Ireland or spoken to her parents. There were siblings but she wasn’t in touch with them either. She never mentioned her guardian in Cornwall so I suspected ties had been severed there too. I’d never seen any family photos or pictures of her home.

  When we were at university, I tried to get Clare to open up and tell me about her family but she always refused. The bits I knew had mainly come from drink-fuelled nights out, but the minute she revealed something about her past that I tried to probe, she clammed up completely and avoided me for a couple of days. I soon wised up and realised it was none of my business and I’d rather have Clare as a friend with a mysterious past than know all about the skeletons in her closet yet no longer have her as a friend.

  ‘So,’ Clare said getting to her feet, ‘where’s your laptop?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Will I be right in guessing someone hasn’t registered on a dating site yet? It’s my mission this weekend to make sure they do.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Now’s just grand. Sure, if we get your profile up and running tonight, you could line up a few dates for next week.’

  ‘I…’ But I had made the decision to register and I was all out of excuses for delaying it. It would be good to have Clare with me for support. ‘Sod it, let’s do it.’

  ‘Do you really think I’ll get any responses?’ I locked the door to Seaside Blooms the next evening after an exhausting day of assembling display units, while Clare painted some stunning floral images onto the walls.

  ‘For the fiftieth time today, yes! I’m convinced of it.’ She rummaged in her bag. ‘And not only that, I reckon you’ll have several responses by the time we get back to the cottage. Now will you be quiet? I’m concentrating.’

  We set off up Castle Street. ‘What are you looking for?’ I asked.

  ‘My phone.’

  I stopped. ‘The phone you said you’d left at the cottage charging?’

  Clare pulled it out of her bag. ‘I lied.’

  ‘Why would you do that to me?’

  ‘It was for your own good. You’d have been checking your messages constantly, on a high if you heard from anyone and on a low if you didn’t and either way, would have got nothing done. Instead, you’ve put together more flat-packs than an IKEA store, which, I have to say, was quite impressive to watch.’

  ‘Can I check my messages now?’

  ‘No.’

  We walked for a while in silence as Clare fiddled with her phone. She was right to have hidden it because I would have been checking it every five minutes. Broadband was getting connected the following week so my lovely new work Mac had been sitting there all day, teasing me with its inability to do anything online.

  ‘Do you think it was a bit sad marking all those Stevens as my favourites?’

  Clare sighed again. ‘Will you shut your trap, now? I’m trying to read something. We’ll be home in ten minutes.’

  Sulking slightly, I dug my ancient phone out of my pocket and was surprised to see a text from Nick. I hadn’t heard it beep.

  ✉︎ From Nick

  Not going to be able to stop by this week and won’t be running either. Last minute job in Edinburgh. Working for a Steve! But he’s twice your age & 5 times divorced! Keep that Monday free still. Will catch up soon to explain my proposition. Also had some ideas for your website xx

  Damn! I’d been looking forward to seeing him. Whoa there, Sarah! Stop it. You may have messages at home from a stack of Stevens begging for a date with you. Think lustful thoughts about them, not about Nick.

  But he did sign off his text with two kisses this time. What did that mean?

  ‘Oh my God!’ I squealed fifteen minutes later. ‘Five messages. I can’t believe it.’ Hands shaking, I clicked on the first one.

  ‘What does it say? Will you angle
your laptop so I can see?’

  I did as I was told. ‘This one’s pants – just a welcome message from the-one.com.’

  ‘So read it later then.’ After acting so relaxed about it all day, Clare now had her excited head on. ‘Who’s the next one from?’

  I clicked on the next message. ‘Crap. Not a Steven. It’s from someone called Dave Peacock. Let’s see.’ I scanned the message then screwed up my nose. ‘Ew! That’s disgusting. And he can’t spell.’

  ‘What does he say?’ Clare grabbed the laptop from me.

  Hi, I’m Dave. I see your new. Your gorgeous. I bet your a dirty bitch. I want to lick cream off you. If you fancy a shag, get in touch. I’m hard for you. I want…

  ‘Ew!’ she agreed, clicking off the message. ‘Dirty, dirty man. I’m sure they’re not all like this.’

  ‘Did you change my profile back to one of your mucky ones?’ It was a battle last night to get something I approved of on my profile. Clare insisted on being in control of the laptop and kept selecting hobbies like ‘pole dancing’ and ‘erotica’ as well as compiling indecent summaries about what I’d like to do to any Stevens out there.

  ‘Of course not. I was only messing with you last night. You know I wouldn’t do that to you for real.’

  I tentatively looked at the next message when she clicked on it:

  Hello Sarah, my name’s Chris Taylor. I’m 25 and I live in a small hamlet called Greavedon between Whitsborough Bay and York. I work in the planning department at York City Council. I love old buildings. You say you live in a 200-year-old cottage so you probably agree!

  ‘He sounds normal.’ I could hear the relief in Clare’s voice. ‘A bit young perhaps, but quite nice. Although there’s no point reading the rest.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He’s not called Steven. Remember, the whole point of this was to target Stevens.’

  ‘I’m gutted,’ Clare said over drinks in Minty’s later that evening. ‘I thought it was a really grand idea.’

  ‘You weren’t to know. Please don’t feel bad.’ I took a sip of my wine and wondered what else I could say to lift Clare’s spirits and make our night out fun rather than the sombre affair it was turning out to be.

  ‘Great, that’s just what I need,’ Clare muttered, staring towards the entrance.

  I turned round to see what had caught her attention. ‘Elise! I thought you were going to your grandma’s.’

  ‘I was but she’s had a better offer. One of the men in her retirement home is taking her out to the theatre. Grandma’s really excited, bless her. It’s so sweet.’

  ‘Ew – old people getting it on? Disgusting.’ Clare shuddered.

  ‘Hi Clare, nice to see you as always. Thanks for sharing.’

  ‘Ladies,’ I warned, ‘play nicely.’

  Elise sat down in one of the spare chairs at our table. ‘Don’t worry, Clare, I’m not going to crash your night out. Gary and I are meeting friends for a Chinese, but I spotted you in the window and thought I’d come in to say hello to Sarah and see if she’s had any messages now that she’s finally registered with a dating site.’

  ‘How do you know she’s registered?’

  Uh-oh.

  ‘Sarah texted me last night to tell me, of course.’ Elise turned to me. ‘Any news?’

  ‘Five messages.’

  ‘From Stevens?’

  ‘Four non-Stevens plus a message from a Steven I’d picked as a favourite saying he was flattered but he’d met someone and was about to remove his profile.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’ She shrugged. ‘Consider it teething problems. Maybe give it until Christmas and, if it’s more of the same, change to another site or give it up as a bad job.’

  I nodded and smiled.

  ‘In that case, I’ll leave you to it.’ Elise gave a nod towards Gary who was loitering outside the window, pointing to his watch. ‘Don’t give up,’ she whispered, giving me a hug. ‘Call me when your house-guest has gone. Clare, as always, it’s been a delight.’ And, with that, she sashayed out of Minty’s.

  I looked at Clare. ‘Before you say anything nasty, remember that Elise thinks it’s a good idea.’

  ‘Wasn’t going to say a word. Is it your round?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Grand.’

  ‘Did she get away okay?’ Elise asked over the phone on Monday evening.

  ‘Who? Auntie Kay or Clare?’

  ‘Ha ha. Kay, of course.’

  ‘Yes. She’ll be on the plane right now. Dad got back from the airport a couple of hours ago.’ We’d all had Sunday lunch together and said our goodbyes then before Ben caught the train back to Leeds. Mum, Auntie Kay and I all got upset so there were lots of hugs and promises of regular contact. Mum and I had intended to join Dad for the airport run but Auntie Kay decided it would be too emotional to say goodbye two days in a row and, on a practical note, five adults was going to be a squeeze alongside the luggage.

  ‘She’ll let us know when she lands,’ I said. ‘And, not that you’re interested, but Clare left this morning.’

  ‘Dare I ask…?’

  ‘Two more messages. And I have a date.’ I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice as I did a little dance round the lounge.

  ‘Really? When? Who?’

  ‘He’s called Steve Turner. I’d put him in my favourites and he got in touch last night. We’ve exchanged a few messages this evening and we’re going to the cinema tomorrow night.’

  ‘Can I come round and help you get ready?’

  ‘If you want. I could probably do with some wardrobe advice.’

  ‘We can discuss a strategy for what to do if he’s creepy or boring and you want to escape. Not that he will be, of course,’ Elise said, ‘because he may well be the Steven.’

  ‘I know.’ I did another little dance round the room. ‘I’m so excited.’

  ‘What about the other message?’

  ‘Some bloke called Darren. He sounds nice, but I haven’t replied yet because I was too excited about hearing from one of my Stevens. I might wait until after the cinema then get in touch.’

  ‘Remember he’s not a Steven, though.’

  ‘I know. But he sounds nice.’

  ‘Sarah!’

  ‘I know. I need to be strong.’

  ‘I know it’s tough, but if you spend time with Darrens it’s time you’re not spending with Stevens. And if you’re deviating into non-Stevens, I suspect there’s a Nick who may be top of your list.’

  As usual, she was right.

  16

  ✉︎ From Auntie Kay

  Good flight over to Canada and settled in our hotel in Vancouver. Have you and Nick got your act together yet? I know he’s not called Steven but surely you can see he’s perfect for you xx

  * * *

  ✉︎ To Auntie Kay

  Can’t believe you’re thousands of miles away and you’re still meddling! I have a date tonight. With a Steven. So ner! xxx

  I checked my watch as I hurried down the cliff path to the seafront. Whose stupid idea was it to wear high-heeled boots? Hurrying in heels wasn’t easy and I was late. It wasn’t even my fault. As I was leaving the street, one of Auntie Kay’s neighbours stopped to congratulate me on being the new owner of Seaside Blooms and ask me whether Auntie Kay was enjoying her travels. Despite my protests that I had to meet someone and that Auntie Kay had only left yesterday, Mrs Bailey kept me for nearly fifteen minutes talking about the time she’d almost booked a long weekend break to New York before deciding on a static caravan in Cleethorpes instead – not quite the same thing.

  As soon as I rounded the corner, I spotted Steve, immediately recognisable from his online photo. He raised his hand, stared at his watch, shook his head then turned to stare down the seafront in the opposite direction from my approach. Hmm, if my interpretation of his body language was correct, Steve Turner was not a happy little bunny at being kept waiting.

  I took a deep breath and tapped him on the arm, declaring bright
ly, ‘Steve? I’m Sarah.’ I put my hand out to shake his and felt very small when he didn’t take it. Years of working in business made this a natural reaction on meeting someone new, but perhaps it wasn’t appropriate. Especially for a date I’d kept waiting. Especially a date with a face like thunder. Especially a date who was looking at me as though I was something unpleasant he’d just trodden in. Oh pants. It was going to be a long night.

  ‘You’re late.’

  I self-consciously put my hand back down by my side. ‘I’m so sorry. I got held up. One of my—’

  ‘It’s about to start,’ he interrupted. ‘You owe me £7.75.’ He put his hand out.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘£7.75. I’ve already bought the tickets.’ He moved his outstretched hand slightly closer to me and repeated, ‘£7.75.’

  ‘Erm, okay.’ I rummaged in my bag for my purse and handed him a tenner.

  ‘I haven’t got any change.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter about the change,’ I muttered, feeling like I was paying a taxi-fare.

  ‘Okay.’ He pocketed the note. How rude. It was only £2.25 but I had expected at least a little objection or perhaps an offer to buy some popcorn. He thrust a ticket into my hand and headed into the lobby without even holding the door for me. I watched him through the glass, heading towards the usher. Was he even aware I wasn’t with him? Or bothered now that he’d been paid – with interest – for the ticket? I hesitated for a moment wondering whether to follow or run. Sod it. I’d paid and it was a film I really wanted to see so I might as well go in.

  I caught up with Steve as he reached the door to screen two. ‘I hope we can get some decent seats,’ he said, finally acknowledging me again. He then surprised me by stepping back and holding the door open with a big smile that lit up his eyes and transformed him from Mr Grumpy into Mr Pretty Hot Actually.