Flora's Lot

by Katie Fforde

  She didn't want any witnesses to her barrow-boy antics, that's if she had the nerve to perform them.

  Flora decided to target the buyers rather than depend on what she was selling to attract them. She spotted a father with two little girls. He was obviously entertaining them while his wife got on with things at home.

  Flora came out from behind her stall and said hello to the little girls. 'Do you like Barbies?'

  ‘We have a million Barbie dolls at home,' said the father, looking weary.

  ‘But have you got these Barbies?' Flora decided that flirting was allowed when she was doing it to help someone, and smiled. 'They're extra special and an absolute bargain. Look, they're having a picnic,' she turned her attention to the girls again. 'Fifty pence each. The food is extra,' she added, glancing up at the father with a sideways grin.

  ‘Oh, Daddy! Can we?'

  ‘It's up to you. You've got your own money to spend.’

  Flora handed over three Barbie dolls for one pound fifty pence, hoping she hadn't sold them far too cheaply. 'And do you need the food as well? Look, you get all this too.' She shook the plastic bag that contained the more battered toy boxes and tins of groceries. 'Twenty pence. Now, what about the picnic set? Then you could have a big party, with all your dolls.’

  Having screwed every penny out of the two little girls, but given them, in her opinion, very good value for their money, she turned her attention to their dad.

  ‘What about a nice bag for your wife? This one is a very good name. Not quite Prada, but getting there. You have heard of Prada, have you? No? Obviously a serious-minded person, but let me assure you, your wife has heard of Prada, and a bag like this, while obviously not Prada, or it would be worth about a million pounds . . . ‘

  The words poured out of her. She smiled, she flirted, she made him laugh, and by the time he'd gone away he was laden with plastic carriers of toys, a handbag, and a set of Mr Men books. Although fairly satisfied, Flora was disappointed that she hadn't managed to convince him that a rabbit hutch was a pleasing garden ornament, even if you hadn't got, and didn't want, a rabbit.

  She was just counting the money she'd made, hoping Amy wouldn't be furious with her for selling so much so cheaply, when a man came up and asked about the rabbit hutch. 'How much for the hutch, love?'

  ‘Twenty pounds.'

  ‘I'll give you five.'

  ‘Five pounds! Are you trying to rob me? Do you know how much they are new?' As Flora didn't know this herself, she was rather hoping he'd tell her.

  ‘I don't want a new rabbit hutch. It's only for my ferrets. Five pounds. All it's worth to me.'

  ‘Fifteen then. I'm practically giving it away.’

  ‘Six pounds, that's my absolute top offer.'

  ‘Twelve. Cheap at twice the price.'

  ‘Ten. And I'm being robbed. I could keep them in an old crate for nothing.'

  ‘But then they'd escape. Ten pounds is fine. Thank you very much.'

  ‘I've had a brilliant time,' said Flora, when Amy came back. 'But I expect I've sold everything far too cheaply.'

  ‘You've sold it, that's the main thing. And that looks like loads of money.'

  ‘A fiver of it is mine, I'm afraid. I sold a very nice suede skirt I'd bought by mistake.' She frowned slightly. 'I hope the man was right, and his wife was a size ten.’

  *

  Once back at the cottage, when she'd seen to her brood and shown them the teapot, which now had pride of place on the mantelpiece, Flora lay on the sofa, contemplating the prospect of a dinner party with no money. Having too little money to buy posh ready meals was bad enough, but barely having enough to buy basic ingredients was worse. The rain was pouring down outside and, she reflected, a less buoyant personality than her own could get pretty miserable.

  William came in through the back door, shaking his hair, sending water flying off him. 'I'll sleep here tonight if you don't mind, Flora.'

  ‘Don't blame you. The kittens are so adorable! I could hardly bear to leave them. Go up and look.'

  ‘I will in a minute. Tea?'

  ‘I'm already on the wine, I'm afraid. What am I going to feed these people on, William? I've hardly any money.'

  ‘Vegetarian then. Far cheaper.'

  ‘But I don't know how to cook any vegetarian dishes. Isn't it all goats' cheese and aubergines and that bean curd stuff ?'

  ‘Tofu? Not necessarily, but aubergines are good.’

  Flora winced at the thought. She felt too tired to think about big shiny vegetables she never knew what to do with. Didn't they require something complicated to do with salt? 'I'll see if I can get some recipes off the computer.'

  ‘I could cook for you,' William offered amiably. Flora opened her eyes. 'Could you?'

  ‘I've worked as a chef and I used to cook in the Buddhist centre where I lived for a while. Vegetarian dishes are my speciality.'

  ‘That would be fantastic! But wouldn't it look a little odd, you doing the cooking? Did I tell you that you have to pretend to be Emma's partner?'

  ‘No! Why do I have to do that? Why can't I just be another friend?'

  ‘Because where would you sleep?'

  ‘On the sofa, where I always sleep.'

  ‘Yes, but no one's supposed to know that! And although I could put a guest up, I suppose, you're meant to be Emma's partner, calling on me, while I'm down here!’

  William frowned. 'This is all far too complicated.’

  ‘I've got to explain your presence somehow, for your sake as much as anything.'

  ‘It would be much better if I were just Emma's friend. Far less complicated.’

  Flora thought about this. Having a handsome, heterosexual male as a regular caller was not going to do her any good in the eyes of Charles and Annabelle. 'You wouldn't pretend to be gay?'

  ‘No.'

  ‘There's no stigma—'

  ‘No, Flora. I'll be pretend to be Emma - is it Emma? - Emma's old friend from university, who she got back in touch with, and told that you were living down here and didn't know anybody.’

  Flora nodded slowly. 'That could work. That could explain why you were doing t'ai chi naked on the lawn. Emma doesn't know you very well and you've changed over the years.'

  ‘That part at least is true,' he said with a grin. 'I'll have a think about what to cook and give you a shopping list.'

  ‘And I'll make chocolate mousse for pudding. I can use my new ramekin dishes. Oh, and I must ring Henry. I'm still hoping he'll cancel his conference in Switzerland and come.’

  But Henry resisted all blandishments.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘I can't believe you've joined a choir!' said Emma as Flora drove her back from the station on Friday evening. 'It's such a - well - you know . .

  ‘What?' asked Flora defensively.

  "Old person" thing to do.'

  ‘Nonsense! I love it! It's very soothing, singing. You have to concentrate, really hard, all the time - or at least I do because I'm not very good - and that means you can't think about work. We're going to do a concert. You must come down for it. Now, how are you?’

  Emma knew that this meant 'how are you and Dave?’

  ‘Well, OK. He's just lost interest in me, I think. All the little things I do that he used to think were sweet now just irritate him.'

  ‘Oh, I do understand! That happens to me all the time!’

  ‘What?’

  Realising that she was about to say how she got irritated by the little habits that used to enchant her, Flora hurriedly inverted her statement. 'About how they sigh when you do things wrong when they used to do them for you, in a really sweet way.'

  ‘Exactly.'

  ‘Well, what you need is a new man, sweetie. And I've got just the one.'

  ‘You mean William, the naked tae kwon do expert?’

  ‘T'ai chi. It's quite different. And he mostly wears clothes.'

  ‘Still don't fancy it, Flo.'

  ‘It's him you have to fancy. You probably
will, no problem. He's gorgeous.'

  ‘So why don't you fancy him, then?’

  Flora had thought about this, and presumably so had William. 'Don't know. The chemistry's not right, I suppose. But he's really nice, funny, cooks, everything a girl wants, really.'

  ‘Perhaps you fancy someone else. Henry?’

  Flora wrinkled her nose and then remembered it would give her lines and stopped. 'Yes, I do fancy him, sort of, but not in a gut-wrenching way.'

  ‘It doesn't always have to be gut-wrenching. It can creep up on you slowly, from behind.'

  ‘Well, if it does, it does, but it hasn't yet, and quite honestly I have no emotional energy left to spare for a relationship, just at the moment. The business is my obsession.'

  ‘So do you fancy your business partner, then?’

  ‘Charles! What? No way!'

  ‘Why not?'

  ‘Apart from the fact that we had a blazing row, he can't wait to get rid of me and I hate his guts, you mean?'

  ‘Never stopped anyone fancying anyone before.’

  Flora laughed. 'True, but not in this case. He's too stuffy to live. I mean, when I'm not hating him, I do admire him, for the way he does his job, but definitely not the way he runs his business.' She thought for a moment. 'And he is good-looking, and I suppose his sternness could be sexy, but no!'

  ‘Why not?'

  ‘Come on, Em, he's spoken for, for one thing, and even if he wasn't, it would take years to get him to unbend.'

  ‘You've always liked projects before. A challenge, someone who doesn't just fall in love with you immediately they see you. Treat her mean and keep her keen was always the way to get you interested.'

  ‘No, it wasn't,' Flora denied, wondering if what Emma said had any truth in it. 'Anyway, Charles would be more than a project, he'd be like climbing Everest without any training. Or oxygen.'

  ‘Hm.'

  ‘Anyway, even if I did fancy him, which I so don't, he loves Annabelle. I couldn't disturb that.'

  ‘Are you sure he's happy with Annabelle?’

  Flora thought about this. 'I think so. I don't know he's not. They're very well suited and they've known each other for a long time.' Before her huge falling-out with Charles she'd probably have said that Annabelle didn't deserve him. The Charles she'd seen when Annabelle wasn't around, the Charles who was passionate and knowledgeable about his business and great with the people he employed, deserved better than a woman who wanted nothing more than to sell up and get out. And although Flora had warmed to Annabelle a bit when they went shopping together, she was still incredibly self-centred and utterly self-obsessed, which couldn't be fun to live with. But since the collapse of the ceiling, Flora rather thought they were, perfect for each other: the strict, austere Charles she saw when Annabelle was in the room was clearly the real one, and Annabelle was welcome to him!

  ‘Sounds terribly boring,' said Emma, and Flora realised she hadn't been listening properly, off in her own little world. She laughed.

  ‘It does, doesn't it? But I don't suppose it is really. So, let's talk about Dave or your work or something metropolitan.'

  ‘Oh no, don't let's. I'd like to forget about Dave just for a weekend.’

  Flora glanced at her friend, worried, but the look on Emma's face told her now wasn't the time. 'Fair enough. Shall we call in for some chips?'

  ‘Haven't you prepared a gourmet meal for me on my first night with you?'

  ‘No.’

  Emma laughed. 'Chips it is then. I do miss you, Ho. I'm really looking forward to you coming back to London.’

  *

  'You'll have to ring him,' Emma insisted the next day, putting down her tea towel. 'He's your landlord and you need a dining table. Now.’

  Flora smoothed on some hand-cream. She and Emma had just done the washing up after lunch and William was scooping the insides out of aubergines.

  ‘It's Annabelle's cottage. She's responsible,' Flora pointed out.

  ‘Ring her then! I'm sure she'd understand about having people to dinner and not having a table.'

  ‘OK. But it'll have to be quite a big table. It'll take up all the space in the cottage.'

  ‘Not if it folds down or has leaves or something. I don't know why you didn't get it sorted out earlier.'

  ‘I told you, Charles and I had this awful row, and although we did both apologise, it was in that way when you know you have to say sorry, but you're not.' It had been nearly two weeks since they'd had a civil conversation.

  ‘I do understand but we still need a table.'

  ‘I was busy, Em! I'll do it now,' Flora snapped, feeling more harassed by the minute.

  ‘We'd have much more room it we ate outside,' offered William. 'The rain's cleared up and it could be a really nice evening.'

  ‘Weather wise, you mean,' said Flora, who didn't think it could possibly be nice in any other way.

  ‘Yes. Why don't you ask your cousin—'

  ‘His name is Charles,' said Emma, who wasn't getting on with William quite as well as Flora would have liked.

  ‘If he's got a large picnic table we could put a bit of board on,' William went on.

  ‘How many people are we going to be?' asked Emma. 'Only six,' said Flora. 'It's not a huge number. An ordinary table would be fine.'

  ‘As long as it doesn't come on to rain and we have to rush indoors with it,' William explained.

  ‘Oh no, you're right. Annabelle would freak if inside furniture got wet or anything. I'll suggest something like that,' said Flora. 'But I'll go and get it. We want to get the table set in plenty of time. If we're going to eat out it would be nice to decorate it with wild flowers and things.'

  ‘Aren't you getting just a little too rural, Flo?' suggested Emma.

  ‘Not at all. It's just nice to appreciate nature's bounty’

  ‘Pick up the phone,' ordered Emma, not impressed. 'There isn't a phone. I'll have to take my mobile outside, for the reception.’

  Flora went into the front garden, glad to be on her own for a minute, but not relishing having to ring Charles. At least if she got Annabelle, she knew she'd understand the problem.

  Charles answered. Although she knew he was perfectly likely to pick up the phone, hearing his voice panicked her. 'Er hello, it's me.' Flora always forgot her name when she was nervous.

  ‘Flora,' he said.

  ‘Yes, sorry. I'm just ringing about the table. For tonight?'

  ‘Oh. Yes. You'll be needing one.' Flora heard Anna-belle's voice in the background. Then she snatched the phone.

  ‘Flora? What's the matter? You're not cancelling, are you?'

  ‘No. I'm just asking if there's a table we could use. We don't want to eat on our laps.'

  ‘Oh God, I forgot we'd sold the table. I'll organise Charles to do something about it immediately. When do you want it?'

  ‘Well, I would like to have time to set it before you all come, but I suppose—'

  ‘Of course you must have it sooner than that. Don't worry. Um, did your friend arrive all right?'

  ‘Oh yes. I picked her up from the station last night.’

  ‘And - um - the man I saw . . . ?’

  In her slightly frazzled state, Flora couldn't remember quite what she'd said to Annabelle about William, but decided to stick to William's suggestion that he was an old friend of Emma's. 'Oh yes, he's here too. He's doing the cooking.'

  ‘OK. I'll send Charles over with the table, then.’

  Now they'd convinced Flora that they couldn't possibly pass as a couple, William and Emma began to get on much better. They'd gone off to the woods together quite happily. Whether they were intending to gather the makings of a starter, Flora wasn't entirely sure. She was making chocolate mousse when Charles arrived.

  She saw him drive up and went out, wiping her chocolatey hands on the tea towel she had tucked into her belt as an apron. She was in some ways relieved to see him - it would have been such a bore if they'd had no time to set the table nicely - but she wished E
mma and William were here to diffuse things if it got heated.

  ‘Hi, Charles,' she greeted him neutrally. 'This is very kind of you.'

  ‘Not all that kind. You should have had a table all along. I'll bring it in. I've got some wine, too. Save bringing it later.'

  ‘Lovely. Emma and William have brought some too.' A thought occurred to her. 'It's not a very precious table, is it? We thought we'd eat outside. It would be a bit cramped in the cottage for six.'

  ‘No. It's an army surplus one. But it would have been for the officer class,' he added.

  Flora was taken aback. That was definitely a joke. 'That's all right then. I wouldn't want my guests sitting at anything that wasn't worthy' Flora smiled, deciding that as Charles was obviously making an effort at being more civil, she should too.

  ‘Have you enough chairs? I brought a couple of plastic stacking ones, in case.'

  ‘Chairs.' Flora mentally trawled the two bedrooms and the bathroom. 'Actually, a couple of chairs would be very useful, thank you,' she added, making proper eye contact for the first time since the fight.

  ‘Where are your other guests?'

  ‘In the woods. Picking something, probably. I hope you like nettles.'

  ‘Oh, absolutely. My favourite.'

  ‘You think I'm joking, but I'm not,' she said solemnly.

  He nodded, equally serious. 'Flora . . .' He looked oddly embarrassed for a moment. 'I've also got a cheque here for your back wages. If you give me your bank details we can do it by standing order in future.’

  Flora regarded him quizzically. That was definitely the last thing she'd expected, but maybe he was as daunted as her by the idea of a hideously uncomfortable evening, and was trying to engineer some kind of truce. 'You've forgiven me for pulling the ceiling down, then?’

  Again, he looked a little shame-faced. 'You did put it up again, very neatly. And while I do think you're a liability, you're quite a hard-working liability, and deserve to be paid something, even the pathetic wages we're offering. And . . .' He paused again, clearly feeling awkward. 'And Geoffrey said something to me.’

  Flora flushed. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to be the subject of discussions between Geoffrey and Charles.

  ‘He said there were relatively few people who'd give up a job in London to come and work for the minimum wage in a small business in a small town, and we were lucky to have you – and to be honest it was only then that I realised that actually you've been working very hard for us for several weeks for free. Which, even though you're a shareholder, obviously isn't on.'