The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop
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Evie carried the vases into the living room and placed them on the sideboard. She began arranging the flowers, a sense of loneliness looming over her, as it always did when she thought about her family. They’d become acquaintances in her life, no longer a constant, but intermittent planets drifting in and out of her solar system, leaving a huge black hole in their wake.
Cordelia appeared, pushing a hostess trolley laden with matching china and a three-tier cake stand. ‘What flowers will you be treating me to this week? I did so enjoy the sunflowers.’
Evie had discovered pretty quickly that nothing was ever too colourful or exuberant for her client, which meant she was able to unleash her inner creativity. ‘I’m so pleased you liked them. The yellow looked beautiful against the blue of the walls. This week I’ve gone for something a little offbeat. I hope that’s okay.’
Cordelia beamed. ‘Excellent. Do help yourself to cake.’ She perched on the sofa, cup and saucer held delicately in her age-defying hands.
‘Maybe later.’ Evie separated out the pink gerberas and lisianthus and began filling the vases, weaving in green chrysanthemums to complement the bold scheme.
‘They’re an unusual colour.’ Cordelia watched Evie work as she always did. ‘Striking. Are they chrysanthemums?’
Evie nodded, adjusting the balance of colour as she went. ‘Did you know that chrysanthemums have been grown by the Chinese for over two thousand years? They were used as an antibiotic to treat high blood pressure and angina.’
Cordelia looked impressed. ‘Maybe I should substitute them for my beta blockers.’
Evie laughed. ‘I wouldn’t, if I were you, they taste horrible.’ She carried one of the vases over to the baby grand, knowing her client liked to look at the displays whilst playing Chopin. ‘They also symbolise compassion, friendship and secret love.’
Cordelia smiled. ‘Ah, no wonder I like them. I’ve always been drawn to symbols of love. My second husband used to bring me trinkets from all over the world that were claimed to be aphrodisiacs. Not that we needed any help in that department.’ She looked knowingly at Evie. ‘Todd was a very attentive lover. I was never left wanting.’
Evie nearly dropped the vase. ‘Right … Well, that’s good.’
Cordelia became contemplative. ‘I used to pity my girlfriends whose husbands left them unsatisfied. It’s really not very polite, or conducive to a healthy marriage.’
Evie wasn’t quite sure how to respond. She picked up the orange Alexander roses and busied herself cutting stems.
‘You’d do well to take a lover, you know.’
Evie looked around for the protective mat to place the vase on. ‘How do you know I haven’t?’
Cordelia sipped her tea. ‘My dear, a woman’s emotion shines through her eyes. Whether she’s experiencing joy or sadness or betrayal, it’s there for the world to see. And you, my dear, are clearly not getting any.’
Evie startled, only just managing to keep hold of the vase before it landed on the carpet. ‘Say it like it is, why don’t you?’
Cordelia raised an eyebrow. ‘Am I wrong?’
Evie placed the vase on the mat, angling it so she could check all aspects were perfect. ‘Let’s just say I’m kind of off men at the moment.’
‘That much is obvious. May I ask why?’
Evie carried the second vase over to the mantelpiece. ‘Bad experience.’
‘Well, love isn’t for wimps. But you don’t seem like the timid type. Get back on the horse. Life is so much more fun with a man in tow.’
Evie wiped her damp hands on her jeans. ‘That’s as maybe, but it’s not so easy. I mean, how can you know who to trust? A man might look like an Italian film star and appear sane, but underneath the facade he could still be a nutter.’
A glint crept into Cordelia’s expression. ‘And who might this Italian film star be?’
Evie gathered up the discarded leaves from the sideboard, an image of the plumber’s forearms tumbling into her mind. It was unnerving how often this had happened over the last week. Usually when she was daydreaming. Suddenly there he was, as clear as if he was standing right in front of her, running his hands through his dark ruffled hair, or laughing in response to something Saffy had said. She shook the image away, scolding herself for a moment’s weakness. ‘Oh, no one,’ she lied.
‘He sounds divine. An adventure waiting to happen. Dip your toe into that stream, my dear. You’ll enjoy the sensation.’
Evie felt herself blushing. ‘I wasn’t being specific. It was a generalisation. There isn’t anyone. I was just saying that you can’t know what someone is like until it’s too late. The next thing you know you’re trapped in a bad situation. It’s not worth it. I’d rather be on my own.’
Cordelia didn’t look convinced. ‘Well, you know what they say. Lose a love, find a life.’
‘Exactly. And that’s what I’m doing.’ Evie wiped down the surfaces, ensuring she left the place immaculate.
Cordelia tilted her head. ‘By wearing fish shoes?’
Evie looked down at her feet. ‘It’s a start.’
‘Hmm, we’ll see. Do come and sit down, you’ve earned a break.’ She handed Evie a neatly folded napkin. ‘Now, tell me about your family. I’m curious to hear more.’
Knowing one of the main reasons Cordelia chose a home arrangement service was the chance to enjoy regular company, it was another forty minutes before Evie was packed up and ready to leave. She didn’t mind. Cordelia was a delight to visit, an unpredictable phenomenon, defying both age and expectation. Maybe a more mercenary service provider would charge extra for their time, but Evie wouldn’t be comfortable doing that. Besides, in the absence of family it was nice to have someone to chat to.
Bidding Cordelia goodbye, Evie lugged her kit towards the double doors at the end of the corridor. Thankfully, a woman wearing a white nurse’s uniform held the door open, allowing her to exit without having to put anything down. As she thanked the woman, Evie noticed a middle-aged woman in a wheelchair, one side of her mouth turned down. She had kind eyes. Evie was reminded of Cordelia’s mantra that a woman radiated her true emotion through them.
‘What lovely flowers.’ The nurse admired the leftover blooms in Evie’s tray. ‘Aren’t they pretty, Billie?’
The woman in the wheelchair nodded.
Opening the door to the adjacent apartment, the nurse angled the chair so she could wheel her patient inside. ‘Next time we’re out we’ll see if we can get some to brighten up the apartment.’
Evie made an instant decision. ‘These are left over from a display I’ve just finished. Would you like me to make a bouquet for you? No charge, obviously.’
The nurse looked down at her patient. ‘What a lovely idea. Would you like that, Billie? Flowers for the apartment?’
Billie nodded, mouthing something about money.
‘No, please, there’s no charge.’ Evie hoisted the tray onto her hip. ‘They’ll only go to waste. I’d rather see them enjoyed.’
The nurse looked delighted. ‘In that case, come in.’ She reversed the wheelchair through the doorway, beckoning Evie to follow.
As the woman was wheeled inside, she pointed to Evie’s shoes, a smile creasing one side of her face.
The inside of the apartment was nothing like Cordelia’s. The living area was sparse, with just a TV unit, a bookcase and two-seater sofa settled against the wall. Evie guessed they needed space to manoeuvre the wheelchair around. The soft ivory walls and various ornaments contrasted with the teal cushions, giving it a cosy if slightly masculine feel. It was a considered space, cared for.
The nurse positioned Billie in front of the TV. ‘Where will I find a vase, love?’ Her patient nodded towards the kitchen.
Evie followed, placing her bag on the kitchen table whilst the nurse hunted through the cupboards. She noticed the badge on her uniform. ‘Oshma. What a lovely name.’
The nurse smiled. ‘It means summer season. My father’s idea. I guess he wasn’t to know I’d turn out to be more of a hurricane.’ She handed Evie a cut-glass vase. ‘Can I get you a cuppa?’
Evie filled the vase with water. ‘Oh, no, thank you. I’ve just had one.’
‘Shout if you need anything.’ Oshma disappeared into the lounge.
Evie didn’t know why Billie was in a wheelchair, and it wasn’t her place to ask, but as she arranged the flowers she made a note to stop dwelling on her own problems and be thankful for the good things in life. She might have had a rough time in the past, but she’d moved to Kent to start afresh. And that’s what she needed to do. Okay, so she wasn’t a fan of relationships, but she had her business and her health, and that was a lot to be grateful for.
Glancing down at her feet, Evie grinned, cheered by the sight of two goldfish smiling back at her. Reintroducing novelty shoes into her life had definitely been the right decision. She was asserting her independence, giving her confidence a much-needed kick up the backside.
Yep, she was back on that horse.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Friday, 28 February
Laura read through Jamie Oliver’s instructions again. Heat the oven to full whack. Check. Place rock salt in an ovenproof dish. Check. Place the oysters on top and cook for twenty minutes. Laura glanced at the kitchen clock, wondering if it was too early to put them in. It was eight forty. Martin promised he’d be home by seven. His promises didn’t seem to count for much these days.
She sent him another text. ‘Where are you?’
The clementine jelly was setting in the fridge, the Asian seared tuna was ready to warm up when required, but the salad was starting to wilt. Her romantic meal was in danger of turning into a shrivelled mess.
She went upstairs to check her appearance wasn’t doing the same.
The house wasn’t designed for a single occupant. It was a ‘highly desirable property with spacious living area’ and meant for a family. Laura hadn’t wanted something so vast, but Martin had convinced her it was an investment. Getting a bigger place would give them time to adjust to the mortgage payments before starting a family, preventing them from having to move again.
Martin was a good salesman, she’d give him that. She’d fallen for his spiel. But the modern design, white decor and three empty bedrooms only served to increase her trepidation about having kids, not endear her to the idea. It was too much, too soon. They should be living it up, relishing their early thirties, not behaving like wannabe parents in training.
She gazed into the floor-length mirror, checking her carefully chosen outfit was still intact. Her cheeks were a little flushed from cooking, but the black dress she’d purchased showed off her curves and auburn hair. More importantly, it advertised her intentions. With heels to enhance her calves and a hint of hold-ups showing through the clingy fabric, Martin couldn’t fail to want her … could he?
She had one more ace up her sleeve, her anniversary gift. Traditionally, five years meant something wooden, and she had come up with a rather naughty interpretation of what that might mean.
She picked up the wrapped parcel, carrying it downstairs. With any luck, the contents would be in play well before they reached the bedroom. Sex toys had yet to feature in their relationship, but intervention was required if she was going to save her marriage.
That intervention came in the form of fruity, juicy lube, a satin eye mask with ribbon ties and a set of sex-position playing cards. Martin wasn’t the only salesperson in the household. She also knew how to close a deal.
She checked her watch. Nine o’clock. Keep calm, she told herself. All will be fine.
Except it wasn’t. Nine thirty came and went. Nine forty-five. Ten o’clock. Finally, at ten thirty-five, when the oysters had retreated into their shells and she’d stopped bothering to reply to Martin’s apologetic ‘I’m running late’ texts, he walked through the door.
‘I’m so sorry, love.’ He dumped his briefcase and rain-soaked coat on the kitchen table. ‘I got away as soon as I could.’ He kissed her cheek, smelling of day-old aftershave and damp fabric. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. ‘Dinner smells good.’
‘I doubt that.’ Frustration overrode any desire to be sultry and seductive. ‘It’s ruined. I’ve binned most of it.’
He shrugged off his suit jacket. ‘That’s a shame. Order a takeaway and we’ll crack open a bottle of wine. It’s no big deal.’ He hooked his jacket on the back of a chair, placing a wrapped box onto the table. ‘Happy anniversary, darling.’
She looked into his tired eyes. Love and tenderness stared back. They were at a crossroads and she was in the driving seat. She could park up and switch off the engine, accept his apology and order in a takeaway, making the most of what was left of their anniversary … Or she could run the bastard over. Why should she let him off the hook? Why was it always down to her to concede, to accept the shreds of affection he deemed to throw her way? It was time to make a stand. Revving the engine, ignoring all warning signs telling her to slow down, she hit the junction with full-on tyre-screeching, wheel-spinning throttle.
‘What do you mean, it’s no big deal?’ Her hands settled on her hips. ‘It’s our wedding anniversary, Martin. Of course it’s a big deal.’
He closed his eyes as if choosing his response carefully. ‘I just meant that we don’t have to sit down to a formal meal in order to celebrate our anniversary. What matters is that we’re together. I’m here now. Let’s make the most of what’s left of the evening, instead of disagreeing.’
She hated it when Martin tried to reason her out of an argument. ‘So it doesn’t matter that I’ve spent all frigging evening cooking? Preparing a romantic meal? Trying to make it a special night for you?’
He sighed. ‘Yes, of course it matters. And once again I’m sorry.’ He came over to where she was standing. ‘I was caught up at work. There was nothing I could do about it.’
She stepped backwards. ‘There was a time when you would’ve said stuff work. I was more important.’
He took her by the shoulders. ‘You still are. I left as soon as I could. I’m here now. Can we please try to enjoy what’s left of the evening?’ His eyes searched her face, pleading with her to relent. ‘Would you like your gift?’ He manoeuvred her over to the table, sitting her down. ‘I think you’ll like it.’
Her anger hadn’t abated, but it seemed churlish to refuse. She opened the card first. The words ‘you’re my world’ written in Martin’s bold scrawl threw another emotion into the mix. She didn’t want to cry. She opened the present, ripping away the paper in an effort to disperse any weakness. She needn’t have worried. The contents washed away any threat of blubbing.
Martin stood behind her, massaging her shoulders. ‘Do you like it?’
Words almost failed her. ‘It’s a blender.’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded lifeless.
‘I know. You said you wanted one.’ He stopped massaging, no doubt sensing her lack of delight at his choice of present.
‘I do, but …’
‘But what? You said you wanted a blender, I’ve bought you a blender. Tell me what I’ve done wrong now?’
Laura stood up. There was no way he was going to hijack her anger. How dare he play the wounded card. She was the one whose feelings had been hurt.
Actions spoke louder than words. So instead of explaining why his attempt at an anniversary present was woefully inadequate, she fetched her own gift.
There was a sense of trepidation radiating off Martin as he took the gift, as though being handed a grenade with the ring removed. He placed the package on the table, tentatively removing the ribbons and large bow.
Laura watched him, waiting for his expression to register the significance of her gift compared to the insult of being given a kitchen appliance. He unwrapped the scented tissue paper from each item and looked at it without comment before placing it on the table. Other than pausing longer over the playing cards, his expression gave nothing away.
Laura lost patience. ‘Don’t you like them?’
He rubbed his eyes, wearily.
She felt her anger increase. ‘Don’t just pull a face. Tell me what’s wrong?’
He picked up the tube of lube. ‘This is all a bit … juvenile, don’t you think?’
Laura wondered if she’d heard him right. ‘Juvenile?’
‘Yes, juvenile.’ He dropped the tube on the table. ‘It’s tacky. Cheap.’
She couldn’t believe it. ‘Oh, you mean unlike giving a sensible gift, like a blender.’
Martin flinched, but didn’t say anything.
She picked up the satin mask. ‘There was a time when you would’ve loved getting stuff like this. You would’ve relished the opportunity to try them out.’ She shook the mask in his face. ‘You would’ve seen the funny side.’ She threw it on the table. ‘So what’s changed, Martin? Don’t you want a decent sex life?’
He looked stung. His face creased into a frown. ‘Of course I do, but this isn’t the way to do it. This isn’t us, Laura. We’ve moved on. Grown up.’
‘Grown up?’ Laura was in danger of throttling her husband. ‘So what, now we’re thirty we can’t play around? Next you’ll be telling me it’s the missionary position or nothing.’
Martin looked annoyed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I’m not being ridiculous.’ She moved towards him. ‘I’m trying to keep our sex life from dying out completely. Is that such a crime?’
He reached for her. ‘And that’s the problem, Laura. You’re trying too hard.’
She shrugged him away. ‘Well, one of us has to. You’re not making any effort.’
‘That’s not true. What you have to appreciate, Laura, is that life moves on, it changes. People change.’ His voice was getting louder. ‘We’re not students any more. We have careers and responsibilities. The mortgage needs paying. My job does that.’ He overrode her attempts to object. ‘And yes, I work long hours. I don’t always want to, but I need to. If we’re going to become financially secure and have kids then that’s the reality.’
Laura threw her hands in the air. ‘I wondered how long it would be before you played the kids card.’
Martin groaned. ‘You know how I feel. I want kids, Laura. I always have. I thought you did too?’
‘One day, yes. But what’s the hurry?’
He had the audacity to look affronted. ‘We’ve been married for five years. It’s time we settled down.’
Laura rounded on him. ‘It seems to me we’ve already settled down. If we were any more settled we’d be dead!’
He backed away. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’
She followed him, cornering him by the hot oven. ‘And you’re being a selfish prick.’
‘How am I being selfish?’ He cupped her face in his hands. ‘I love you. I provide for you. I work stupidly long hours to give you the best life possible. How is that selfish?’
The pain in his expression mirrored her own. ‘Because it’s not what I want, Martin.’ His hands dropped from her face. ‘I never see you. We never go out. We never have fun any more. And now you want me to give up my business, the one thing I have left, and be stuck at home all day with screaming babies while you’re off building your precious career.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not suggesting that at all. And do you have any idea how ungrateful you sound? Most women would count themselves lucky to be in your position.’
‘Well, why don’t you go and be with one of them then, because I don’t want this. I don’t want—’
‘Me. Yeah, that’s abundantly clear.’ He brushed past her.
‘That’s not what I meant.’
He swiped up his jacket from the chair. ‘I’ll be in the spare bedroom if you need me.’
Why did he always do that? Back away before things had been resolved? ‘Is that it? You’re quitting?’ She followed him to the door. ‘Martin? Martin …’
He didn’t reply.
A few moments later a door slammed upstairs. The shudder rattled a vase of giant yellow roses balancing on the hall table. The words ‘Happy Anniversary, darling’ danced in front of her wet eyes.
Crap.
So much for a romantic night.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Saturday, 1 March
Evie pressed her hands against the wall and pushed her heel into the floor, trying to get the maximum stretch in her calf muscle. There wasn’t really enough room inside her tiny hallway for stretching, but running without warming up would only result in a torn muscle and as she hadn’t exercised for a while she needed to take it easy, allowing her body time to adjust.
Satisfied she was fully loosened up, she closed the door behind her and skipped down the steps onto the pavement. Adjusting her headphones, she set off down Folkestone Road, pleased to discover some bounce left in her old trainers.
Running at night wouldn’t usually be her chosen time to exercise. She much preferred the early mornings when the dew still glistened on the ground and the air was fresh and crisp, but early starts at The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop had put an end to any kind of activity before work. She was up at five most days, either visiting the wholesalers or waiting for them to deliver. It wasn’t that she minded getting up early – managing the florist’s was what she wanted – but the upshot of her new regime meant that if she was going to exercise then it needed to be after the shop closed.
Sport had always featured in Evie’s life. To deny herself exercise was like not eating or sleeping; her body just didn’t function as well without it. As a kid she’d been a member of her local athletics club, competing at events and showing promise as a sprinter until she’d developed hips, at which point her times had slowed and she’d had to accept Olympic gold wasn’t within her grasp. But it hadn’t stopped her enjoying running, and she’d switched to middle distance instead. In recent years she’d tried joining a gym, but with nothing to stimulate her mind or senses, other than watching others struggling with the machinery or showing off their bulging muscles, it felt too claustrophobic. She wanted to be outside, feeling the air in her lungs and the road beneath her feet, not constricted by a monotonous treadmill.
She turned into Biddenden Lane, ran past the church and headed towards the post office. There was a nice loop of the village, giving her a good five miles in which to stretch her legs and get the blood pumping. Running a circuit meant there was less temptation to turn back. Each time she ran she tried to improve her time. It was the incentive she needed to not stay tucked up indoors with a hot chocolate and mindless TV.
Ten minutes into her run she was feeling the effects. Her lungs were stinging from the chilly night air and her thighs were burning with a desire to stop. But Evie always hit a wall ten minutes into training. She just needed to jog through it, keep taking in oxygen and allow the acid in her muscles to reduce.
Distraction always helped, which was why running outdoors was so much better than a gym. There was more to look at, something to focus on other than how knackered you were.
As Evie reached the main crossroads she passed under the illuminated sign for Heatherton, a large feature depicting an image of the Allsop twins. According to legend, the twin sisters were born in the early 1100s, joined at the shoulders and hips. They lived in this state for thirty-four years, never leaving the village. When Rosetta died, Louisa refused to be separated from her sibling and took to her bedroom, where shortly after she too died. So attached to Heatherton were they that the sisters bequeathed the income from twenty acres of land to the church, hence their image being a permanent fixture in the village. Evie couldn’t imagine being conjoined to her sister Holly for three decades. They would have throttled each other before their second birthday.
As Evie crossed the bridle path adjacent to the cricket pitch, she became aware of someone behind her. There was nothing unusual about this – it was a well-populated area, the streets rarely deserted, even at nine o’clock at night. But still she glanced over her shoulder, spotting another jogger some thirty metres behind. He was male, dressed in dark clothing, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up, masking his face.