The Tanglewood Flower Shop

by The Tanglewood Flower Shop (retail) (epub)

  She paused and leaned to the side as the pregnant waitress brought their drinks over and put them down on the table.

  ‘When’s it due?’ Leanne asked her.

  The waitress patted her stomach. ‘A few weeks yet, but I’ve no idea how I can go on that long. Look at me, I’m huge.’

  Rex looked, and had to agree with the assessment.

  ‘Sorry, where are my manners?’ Leanne said. ‘Cassandra, this is Rex. He’s Nell’s new owner.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Thank you for keeping her name, by the way.’

  ‘It suits her,’ Rex replied truthfully.

  ‘Rex, this is Cassandra,’ Leanne carried on.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Cassandra said. ‘Although I’ve seen you in here before, several times.’

  Noticing Leanne’s questioning look, Rex explained, ‘I’m not much of a cook, so Peggy’s Tea Shoppe is a bit of a lifesaver.’

  Once Cassandra had returned to the counter, he looked at Leanne. ‘Did you say your assistant will be left on her own soon? Are you going away?’

  Leanne laughed, and the way her nose crinkled as she did so fascinated him. It really was quite adorable. She had a nice laugh too, kind of tinkling, unlike the shrill giggle of some girls.

  ‘Only for a day,’ she explained, ‘but I’m hoping it will be a regular thing.’

  ‘Oh?’

  She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘I’ve entered a new TV show called Budding Stars and have got through to the interview.’

  Budding Stars? Was it some kind of dancing or singing competition? he wondered. He had no idea what Leanne’s singing voice sounded like, but he wouldn’t be surprised to learn she was a dancer. She was quite graceful, except for when she bumped into people on the street.

  ‘It’s a competition for florists,’ she explained. ‘Like Bake Off, or that pottery show, Throw Down, was it called?

  Rex stared blankly at her and she rolled her eyes.

  ‘Don’t you watch much TV?’ she asked.

  ‘Not really, but when I do, it’s usually either the news, sport or a documentary.’

  ‘Please tell me you’ve heard of Strictly,’ she begged.

  ‘No, what’s that?’

  Another roll of the eyes, this time accompanied by a deep sigh, but the smirk on her face told him she was teasing.

  ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘if it was up to me, I’d probably not watch any of those programmes either, but my mum adores them, and as I still live at home…’ She grimaced. ‘How sad does that sound? I’m twenty-nine and still living with my mum and dad.’

  ‘It’s not sad at all,’ Rex said. ‘It must be comforting to have your family around you.’

  Leanne’s face fell, and she stuttered, ‘I’m sorry, are your parents…?’ She trailed off, her cheeks going a pretty shade of pink.

  ‘Good Lord, no, they’re still around. But they live in a little village in Scotland called Glenshona, so I haven’t seen them since I moved to Tanglewood.’

  ‘Feel free to borrow mine whenever you want,’ she offered. ‘I’ve got four brothers, to start you off, and two of them more or less still live at home. They’ve got their own cottage on the farm, but you’d never know from the amount of time they spend at Mum and Dad’s. My parents should start charging them rent, or at least per meal. Dinner time at our house is like feeding the five thousand.’ She giggled. ‘I can’t say anything, though, because I’m just as bad. Mum feeds me too. I really should get somewhere of my own, but with the way things are at the moment…’ She ground to a halt.

  Rex raised his eyebrows. Leanne was certainly a live wire, as his mum would say, and he found himself enjoying her company. He’d been right, she was easy to talk to – or should he say, she was easy to listen to, because she’d hardly paused for breath yet.

  ‘The competition,’ she added, as though that explained everything.

  His eyebrows rose another notch. Resisting the urge to say anything, he waited for her to continue, guessing she would be unable not to.

  ‘Look, I haven’t told many people about it, and those who know have been sworn to secrecy. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, but I think I can trust you not to blab.’ She paused to take a breath, and Rex found he was sucking in a lungful of air along with her, in sympathy. ‘This competition is kind of a big deal for me, personally and professionally,’ she carried on. ‘I’ve got an interview and a demonstration, and if I get through those, then it’s on to the actual televised programmes.’

  She leaned forward again. ‘It might mean I’m away for a fair bit. They said that each week’s programme takes a whole day to film, and there are ten episodes. I know I mightn’t get that far – I’ll probably not even make it past the next round – but I really, really want to win.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ Rex agreed. ‘What’s the point of entering otherwise?’

  ‘I suppose for some people it’s the taking part that counts, but my eye is on the prize. That’s what I really want.’

  ‘What is the prize?’ Rex found Leanne’s excitement and enthusiasm infectious, and he leaned forward in his seat so their heads were practically touching.

  ‘It’s to exhibit at the Chelsea Flower Show.’ Her face was alight, and she was positively glowing.

  ‘That’s fantastic,’ he said. ‘I really hope you win.’

  ‘Oh, so do I. It’ll be a whole new chapter for me, for my career.’

  He watched with concern as her face suddenly fell.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, hoping it was nothing serious, and wondering if there was anything he could possibly do to help.

  ‘Nell has just done a wee on my foot,’ she said.

  Both of them burst out laughing.

  Chapter 8

  Had she remembered everything? Keys? Tick! Purse? Tick! Designs? Oh Lord, her designs!

  Leanne dashed back up the stairs, feet thundering, and galloped into her bedroom.

  Where were they? She was sure she’d left them on her bed.

  ‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ her mother called from the hall.

  She raced headlong back down the staircase before skidding to a halt as she spied Iris waving a wad of pages at her.

  ‘Yes! Thank you! Where were they?’

  ‘Right where you left them on the kitchen table,’ her mother said. ‘Sorry about the blob of marmalade – I’ve done my best to clean it off.’

  Leanne grabbed the bundle of diagrams and handwritten notes, gave her mother a quick peck on the cheek, then sprinted for the door. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to be late.

  In reality, she was allowing herself plenty of time, but one never knew how the traffic was going to be, or she might get lost, or not be able to find anywhere to park. Oh dear, a hundred and one things could go wrong.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ her mother called as Leanne unlocked her car and threw her bag onto the passenger seat.

  ‘Keep an eye on Mabel,’ she yelled. ‘I’ll be back later tonight.’

  ‘Be careful, and take your time,’ Iris advised. ‘And don’t forget, as long as you do your best, you’ve got nothing to worry about.’

  Of course Leanne had something to worry about! What if her best wasn’t good enough? Or what if she made a silly mistake, or they didn’t like her? Or what if she looked a total horror on screen?

  Why, oh why, had she entered the stupid competition in the first place? she wondered as she manoeuvred her car down the narrow lane and pulled out onto the main road. She could be standing safely behind the counter of her little shop right now, preparing the designs for the Paisleys’ wedding, rather than hurtling towards the motorway for a day of total and utter fear.

  She knew this was the opportunity of a lifetime; if she didn’t give herself a fighting chance, she would spend the rest of her life thinking ‘what if’ and beating herself up about wasting her chance, so she tried to shove the negative thoughts out of her mind. After all, she had nothing to lose except a bit of pride,
and to be fair, getting this far was an achievement in itself. It wasn’t as though many people knew, so if she was dropped at this stage, she’d only have to face the commiserations of her family and a few close friends.

  And Rex.

  Why she’d spilt the beans to a total stranger, she had no idea, but he’d been so easy to talk to, and there was no history between them to muddy the water. He didn’t know that she’d once wet her knickers in assembly in primary school (and she had no intention of telling him, either); he didn’t know she’d had a crush on Andrew Moreton, or that Handy Andy, as he was known, had kissed her behind the bike shed (what a cliché!) and had then asked Hattie Henderson out less than an hour later.

  Leanne felt she had a clean slate with this newcomer to the village. He wouldn’t judge her and find her wanting. That was the problem with living in such a small place – everyone knew everyone else; you couldn’t keep a secret for toffee.

  With the bright lights of the Big Smoke beckoning, she gathered her resolve and her courage and tried to focus on the day ahead. After only one comfort stop and a much-needed cup of coffee, she made it to the venue with plenty of time to spare, and she’d only taken a wrong turn once! Feeling immensely pleased with herself, she grabbed her bag and made her way to reception to sign in, nearly fainting when she saw the number of other people milling around. They couldn’t all be there for the same reason, could they? She sincerely hoped not, especially when she spied one man holding what looked like shiny, professionally designed drawings in his hand. Crikey – it put her pencil sketches to shame. She wondered what sort of software he’d used and whether she could get hold of it.

  Too late now, though, the deed was done. She’d simply have to make do with her scribbles and hope the organisers didn’t ask to look at them.

  The brief had been very brief indeed: Design and produce a display suitable for a wedding. There was no hint as to whether it should be the bride’s bouquet, the flowers in the church, a table decoration or what.

  Working on the premise that the bride’s bouquet would be too obvious a choice, Leanne had chosen exactly that, praying that not many other entrants would go for it. After all, weddings were all about the bride; she had to look perfect. It was her day more than anyone else’s and all eyes would be on her. Without the bride – and the groom, of course, but no one really noticed him except for his own parents – there would be no wedding.

  She was also hoping that less was more. She was aiming for simplicity – the beauty was to be found in the perfection of the individual flowers themselves and not in the complexity of the creation.

  Each contestant was allowed to explain the theory and thinking behind his or her design, and Leanne had toyed with various ideas: a spring woodland theme, a Caribbean beach wedding, a Christmas wedding and loads more. In the end, it was something that Rex had said in Peggy’s Tea Shoppe the other day that had given her an idea. While cleaning up Nell’s mess from the floor and Leanne’s shoes, they’d talked about his job and how important it was to preserve the National Park for future generations, and she’d loved that he was so passionate about it.

  Conservation, that was his thing, and hers too to a certain extent. Her dad had always made room for wildlife on the farm, long before it had become fashionable. He used to say that there was a place for everything, and everything deserved a place. He was particularly meticulous about the drystone walls that were a traditional part of the Marches landscape, maintaining them with a fierce determination. The carefully placed stones provided a refuge for tiny lizards and a multitude of insects from beetles to bumblebees. Nesting birds used their crevasses, and he had always left small gaps at intervals along the base of the walls to allow easy access for hedgehogs, foxes and any other creatures that wanted to cross his fields.

  Mum had a beehive at the bottom of her vegetable patch and a log store that provided a home for hibernating hedgehogs. Nesting boxes, which all the children in the family had helped nail together, hung from every tree on the property, and Geoff was careful not to disturb the swallows roosting in the barn, or the tawny owls that raised a brood of fluffy youngsters every year in the rafters of the tractor shed.

  Conservation, recycling, reusing and eco-friendly were all buzzwords in today’s world, but because the concepts had been drilled into Leanne and her brothers from an early age, they were second nature to her, instilled so deeply in the whole family that it was as though they were in their DNA.

  Deciding on an eco-friendly theme for a wedding bouquet had been the easy part. Putting it into practice had proved to be much harder, especially when she’d only had a limited time to design, plan and source the materials.

  Her biggest problem had been keeping the flowers in good condition. This bouquet wasn’t going to be thrown away or tossed to the waiting guests. It was intended to be reused and repurposed, in the same way the top tier of a traditional wedding cake was sometimes carefully wrapped to be used as a christening cake for the happy couple’s first child.

  Leanne’s bouquet would be a living reminder of the bride and groom’s love for one another; she intended for it to continue to look vibrant and blooming long after a normal bouquet had turned brown and shrivelled up. Each and every piece of greenery and each and every flower would have its roots or bulb intact, and was intended to be replanted. Therefore the roots would need to be kept very moist. Each plant would need to be chosen with the utmost care, and not simply for its looks, either.

  Mabel had watched in fascination as Leanne had spent hours perfecting her design, choosing a flower or a plant only to cast it aside in favour of another.

  Finally it was finished, and she could do no more. She had put her heart and soul into this. If it didn’t prove to be good enough, then so be it. At least she’d tried and had given it her best. Now all she needed to do was to reconstruct the whole thing during the interview.

  Chapter 9

  ‘So, Miss Green, what made you decide to enter this competition?’

  There were three judges, and one of them – Jarred Townsend – was well known in the floral world. For some reason, Leanne hadn’t expected the judges to be involved in this part of the selection process, and it had thrown her for a minute. She’d seen Jarred Townsend in magazines and on social media. He called himself a ‘floral artiste’, and everyone who was anyone went to him for their flowery requirements. He was quite a celebrity. She thought he looked rather forbidding and arrogant.

  Someone cleared their throat, and she blinked. Ah yes, they’d just asked her a question, hadn’t they – one she had been expecting and had prepared for. She tried to focus. ‘I think I’m good enough to win. And of course, winning would be a feather in anyone’s cap.’

  The judges all nodded but made no comment. They must have heard the same answer a hundred times, and would probably hear it a hundred times more before the day was done.

  ‘Have you always wanted to work in floristry?’ asked one of the two female judges, Pauline Crowther. She was a small, elderly woman with severely cropped hair and a kindly smile, and Leanne had warmed to her immediately.

  She had already given them some background on the entry form, and she could see they each had a copy in front of them, so they knew she wasn’t an amateur. She decided to be honest.

  ‘No, I fell into it by accident. I wanted to earn a bit of extra pocket money while I was at school, and when I saw an advert for a casual assistant in the flower shop in the village, I decided to apply. I remember thinking, “How hard can it be?”’ She gave the panel a wry smile and was rewarded with several chuckles. Like anything of beauty, creating gorgeous displays was an art that had to be learnt and practised. Besides, plants and flowers tended to have minds of their own.

  ‘When the owner retired,’ she continued, ‘she gave me first dibs at buying the business.’ She didn’t add that she hadn’t had the necessary funds and her parents had stepped in, generously loaning her the money. Her repayments to them were built into her business plan
, and in another couple of years, she would be free of the debt.

  ‘What do you like most about being a florist?’ Pauline asked.

  ‘All of it!’ Leanne replied promptly. ‘I’m aiming for perfection, whether it be a simple corsage for a prom or a final goodbye to a loved one. No matter what the occasion, my customers deserve the best I can give them. Don’t get me wrong, I love the big stuff too, like creating a design that makes people stop and look and marvel. I want them to love it as much as I do, and mourn when the flowers eventually die.’

  ‘That brings us nicely to your wedding display,’ Jarred said. ‘I see you’ve gone for the bridal bouquet.’

  He’d appeared to be the least friendly of the three judges when they’d been introduced to the contestants, and his tone confirmed Leanne’s initial impression. Her heart sank to her smart new boots. Damn it, by going for the obvious, she’d clearly disappointed him. Heck, she had disappointed herself, after seeing some of the wonderful things the other contestants had created.

  One of them stuck in her mind. It was a vast and enormously complicated depiction of a bride and groom, and it must have cost the guy who’d made it an absolute fortune. Tiny pale pink rosebuds, barely open, formed the bride’s face, with deeper pink buds for the lips. White roses made up the dress, interspersed with white orchids to provide some detailing down the skirt. Black-dyed roses comprised the groom’s suit, and Leanne marvelled at how the man had managed to acquire so many of them. To top it all off, the four-foot-high construction stood on a white pedestal entwined in ivy.

  How on earth was she supposed to compete with that?

  ‘Talk us through your design,’ Jarred said, and Leanne could have sworn he sneered when he said ‘design’.

  For the next few minutes, she explained the reasoning behind her bouquet, trying to stress how nothing she had used would go to waste. Even the ribbons were strands of palm leaves, which could be composted.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Green, you’ve been very informative,’ the third judge said. Her name was Christel Lane, and this was the first time she’d spoken. Although she’d seemed friendly enough, she had spent far too much time glancing at her watch, and Leanne had the feeling she wished she was anywhere else but here, interviewing a jumped-up, two-bit, no-creative-flair person.