by Karen Clarke
‘Ruby, we’ve a possible wedding booking,’ I said, dragging the words out with an effort. ‘It’s at Hudson Grange, on the 28th.’
One of her eyelids peeled back. ‘Oh?’
‘Tom Hudson’s getting married.’ I hated the tiny quiver in my voice. ‘His fiancée’s mother has made an appointment tomorrow at ten, if you’d like to be there.’
‘Where?’ Her other eye pinged open.
‘At the stall.’
‘Why me?’ Her voice was sticky from crying.
‘I thought you might want to be there.’ I remembered what Jane had said. ‘As it’s, you know, a high-profile wedding.’ No response. ‘It’ll be good for business.’
Ruby tightened the duvet around her, as though under threat from some unseen force.
‘Can’t Jane take care of it?’ She looked at me through damp lashes. ‘I’m sure they won’t care, as long as someone’s there.’
‘But they’ll want to talk to the owner,’ I said, desperation creeping in.
‘You’re family.’ She was starting to sound sleepy. ‘You can represent me.’
My stomach tipped. ‘But…’
‘You don’t mind, do you, Carrie?’ She stifled a yawn. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask, and I promise I’ll help with the actual flowers, but I can’t face talking to anyone at the moment.’ She dipped her chin to her chest, appearing to notice the state of her food-stained top. ‘Not like this.’
I nearly suggested that a shower and a change of clothes would do wonders for her appearance, and maybe her state of mind, but sensed it would be pointless. ‘OK,’ I said, bending to pick a plate off the floor, and a mould-encrusted mug off the bedside cabinet. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘Sure?’ Her eyebrows pleaded with me to say yes.
I nodded, hoping my smile projected reassurance. ‘I’m sure,’ I said. ‘I want to help.’
‘Thank you, sweetheart.’ She subsided, with a sigh that sounded like air being let out of a tyre. ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Carrie.’
I paused for a moment, letting her words wrap around me. ‘I’d better get back,’ I said quietly. ‘And don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.’
I let myself out of the room and collided with a woman on the landing. A scream flew out of my mouth.
‘What is it?’ Ruby called, in a way that suggested getting up to save her niece from the clutches of a madman was more than she could face.
Luckily, it wasn’t a madman. It was Doris Day, holding a feather duster, a look of excited shock on her lightly furrowed face.
‘Just me, Ruby!’ she called, round the side of her hand. ‘Remember I said I’d pop in and give this place a clean as you’re not well?’
‘Did you?’ Now Ruby sounded half asleep again. ‘Thanks, Doll.’
‘She always calls me that,’ Doris whispered to me, seeming not to notice that I was rigid with shock, my heart clattering my ribs. She sounded pleased, as if having a nickname meant she and Ruby were best friends, but that wasn’t the impression I’d had from Ruby. ‘She’s a funny one, your aunt,’ Doris went on, smoothing a rubber-gloved hand over her immaculate hair. Hadn’t I told her Ruby was having a break, not that she was unwell? ‘I’ve always wanted to get to the bottom of her, but she plays her cards close to her chest.’
Doris was clearly Shipley’s resident busybody, and I regretted letting her help me the day before. I was about to ask how she’d gained access to Ruby’s flat, but she’d started speaking again.
‘Your aunt hasn’t been well before, around this time of year, you see.’ She assessed me with shrewd blue eyes, before cupping her hand around my elbow and leading me into the kitchen. ‘Leave that, I’ll clear it up,’ she said, when I craned my neck to look at the plate and mug I’d dropped. ‘Good job the floor’s carpeted, or they’d have smashed to smithereens,’ she went on. ‘Anyway, as I was saying, I called round this time last year, after Jane told me your aunt wasn’t well, to ask if there was anything I could do, and she could barely take her eyes off that television screen.’ Doris shook her head, looking slightly scandalised. ‘She just said, “whatever” but I insisted, so she said I could get her some shopping, told me where she keeps the spare key and to let myself in. I popped by every day until she was back on her stall, and I’m happy to do the same again.’
‘That’s nice of you,’ I said, trying to work out if it was, or whether Doris was using the opportunity to have a snoop. ‘So… you came in without knocking?’
‘Your aunt didn’t like being disturbed the last time she was feeling poorly,’ Doris said. ‘I just came in to have a tidy up, sometimes made a cake, and cleaned the windows and watered her window boxes, and maybe touched up the paintwork if I had time, then made her a cup of tea before I left.’
A thought struck. I hadn’t noticed Doris when I came bursting in, but I’d been so intent on confronting Ruby I probably wouldn’t have noticed if there’d been a herd of goats roaming around.
‘Have you been here long?’ I said casually, watching her swipe at a delicate cobweb on the kitchen ceiling. She was wearing a polka-dot apron over her skirt and top, and I wondered whether she carried it around, ready to start cleaning whenever the urge took hold.
‘About half an hour.’ She darted me a meaningful look. ‘Long enough to understand why your aunt can’t get out of bed.’
Chapter Seven
‘You shouldn’t have been eavesdropping.’ I dropped my voice to a whisper, appalled that this stranger knew a secret my own family didn’t.
‘You shot into her bedroom and yelled, “You had a baby”,’ Doris countered, with infuriating calm. ‘I’d have overheard if I’d been wearing earmuffs.’
‘You should have made yourself known.’ I began pacing the kitchen, but it was too small. I bashed into the sink and stopped. ‘You could have coughed, or something.’
‘Then your aunt would have known I’d overheard.’
Fair point. I pushed my hair back into its clip and tried to think.
‘Like I said, I try not to disturb her if she’s sleeping,’ Doris said. Lowering her voice, she added, ‘I think it’s clear no one knows your aunt as well as they think.’
I stared. ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’
Doris drew her shoulders back. ‘I’m very good at keeping secrets.’ She tapped the side of her nose with a neatly manicured fingertip. ‘But I know someone who might be able to help.’
‘What do you mean?’ I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. Just hours ago, I was fretting about my phone call to Tom, and worried about creating bouquets that didn’t look like they’d been assembled by baboons, and now I was discussing my aunt’s secret son, and trying to pretend I wouldn’t soon be face to face with my once-best-friend, discussing flowers for her marriage to a man I had unresolved feelings for.
‘I’m just saying, I know someone who might be able to find Donny, so you can talk to him for your aunt.’ She said his name, as though they were old acquaintances. ‘I’ve a friend who does a bit of detective work on the side.’
‘Oh, for god’s sake!’ I brought my voice down. ‘This isn’t an episode of…’ I tried to think of a TV drama I could equate our situation to.
‘Murder She Wrote?’ Doris cocked an eyebrow.
‘What? No! Nobody’s died.’
‘Without a Trace?’ Seeing my blank look, she elaborated. ‘It’s an American show, where a group of detectives track down people who’ve gone missing. It stars a lovely actor called Anthony LaPaglia, who’s rather fit as my Eric would say.’ Her face softened. ‘He’s gay you know. My Eric, not Anthony LaPaglia.’ She chuckled. ‘He and his partner Lance have just had a baby girl, so I’m a grandmother now.’ Her gaze locked with mine. ‘I suppose I’ve got babies on the mind at the moment, and I’m guessing your aunt has too. That’s all I’m saying.’
It clearly wasn’t all she was saying. Even the way she was standing – upright and alert, like a particularly perky meerkat – was s
peaking volumes.
‘Look, I know this is my fault,’ I said, deploying the soothing tone I’d sometimes used with clients at Cars 4 U. ‘But I’d really appreciate it if you could forget what you just heard.’ I looked around, to check Ruby hadn’t materialised. ‘My aunt would be horrified if we interfered.’
Doris gave me a challenging stare, so I made my eyes go big and round, and tried to project my thoughts like a hypnotist until she looked away.
‘Fine,’ she said mildly. ‘But if you change your mind…’
‘I won’t,’ I said, glancing at my watch. I’d been away from the stall for ages. ‘And while I’m staying with my aunt, there’s no need for you to be here.’
‘As you wish.’ Doris seemed unperturbed. ‘I’ll just finish up and I’ll be off,’ she said, bending to sweep up a trail of crumbs with brisk efficiency. ‘You get yourself back to work.’
I stared at the top of her smooth hair for several seconds, but couldn’t think of a reply.
* * *
Jane seemed more anxious than angry when I returned to the stall in a state of sweaty dishevelment, and without my lunch.
‘I guessed you’d gone to check on Ruby,’ she said, her hair spiralling in different directions as though reacting to her emotions. ‘Is everything OK?’ She plucked a yellow rose from a bucket, and handed it to a man with a Zorro moustache without taking her eyes off me.
‘She’s fine,’ I fibbed. ‘I told her about the appointment tomorrow, but she doesn’t want to be here.’
‘That’s a shame.’
I tried to interpret Jane’s expression. Did she know Ruby’s secret? Was she wondering whether I knew? But she didn’t seem the sort to dissemble. And even if she did know, there was no point bringing it up. Ruby had made her position on the subject clear. It was to remain our secret.
Thankfully, I didn’t have much time to think about Ruby, or anything else, as Jane began running through the day-to-day basics of managing the stall. Determined to focus this time, I realised it wasn’t that complicated after all. It was clear I wouldn’t be creating any award-winning floral pieces, but I felt confident that I could cope.
‘Just take in the delivery from Jools, from All Seasons Nursery, each morning, write down any bookings, sell some flowers, and anything else can wait until I return.’
‘You will be here tomorrow morning?’ Maybe I could persuade Jane to deal with Megan. The thought of seeing her again was making my stomach cramp. Perhaps I could invent an upset stomach; imply I’d caught Jane’s bug.
‘I’ll be here,’ Jane promised. ‘Providing Dennis doesn’t leave me handcuffed to the bed.’ She gave a lusty cackle that startled a seagull assaulting a dropped ice-cream cone. ‘We’ve been having a little practice,’ she said, with a horribly lewd wink.
‘Listen, about this appointment…’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t cramp your style. I’ll let you handle it,’ Jane said.
Panic shuttled through me. ‘But you’re more experienced at this than me.’
She shook her head. ‘You look the part,’ she said, frankly. ‘She won’t want to deal with some frizzy-haired troll in a boiler suit.’
‘You could always wear something smarter. Not that you are a troll, or frizzy-haired.’ My cheeks went hot. ‘I just meant…’
‘I know what you meant.’ She gave a rueful smile and shrug. ‘But what if Mr Hudson turns up with his daughter-in-law-to-be?’ I hadn’t even thought of that. ‘He’s quite the silver fox, you know, like that man from The Great British Bake Off.’ That wasn’t at all how I remembered Mr Hudson. ‘He’s been in the news once or twice, and I have to admit I sometimes fantasise about him—’
I coughed loudly to stop her, not wanting an image of a frolicking Jane and Mr Hudson infiltrating my brain. ‘It’s OK, I’ll do it,’ I said. It looked like the past was going to find me whether I liked it or not. I might as well face it head on. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Of course you will,’ Jane said. ‘And if you run into any problems while I’m away, Ruby won’t leave you to struggle on your own.’
‘I’m not sure Ruby cares. You’ve seen what she’s like.’
‘Nonsense.’ Jane passed me a long-handled broom. ‘I’ve known her for years, and it’s never got to the stage where I thought she’d give up the stall.’
I didn’t argue as I began sweeping petals and leaves into a neat little pile. Jane didn’t know the truth. She didn’t know Ruby’s heart was broken and that, in comparison, the stall didn’t matter to her.
* * *
Over the next few hours I dealt with several customers under Jane’s watchful eye, and managed not to drop or ruin anything. Admittedly, they’d been easy sales; a potted gerbera to a thin-lipped woman who complained about the price; a couple of bouquets that Jane had already made up, and I gathered and wrapped some sweet-smelling stocks for a woman who explained that the scent reminded her of her mother.
‘Smell’s so evocative,’ Jane said, as the woman walked away, sniffing the flowers. ‘When my mother had Alzheimer’s, the only thing that made her smile was the scent of sweet peas, which my father gave her every birthday.’ She sighed. ‘She remembered, you see.’
I recalled my grandparents’ garden, where sweet peas had curled like butterflies around bamboo tepees, and tried to remember whether Dad had ever bought Mum flowers. He wasn’t romantic in the traditional sense, but neither was she. Last year, he’d bought her some ugly sandals that doubled as metal-detectors for her birthday. She’d loved them.
‘No one’s ever bought me flowers,’ I said. By ‘no one’, I meant a man. Not that anyone else had bought me them, either.
‘You could always buy them for yourself.’ Jane deftly wrapped a bunch of freesias and thrust them at me. ‘That’ll be eight pounds, please.’
‘Oh.’ I looked for my bag, unsure whether I had enough cash.
‘Your face!’ Jane exploded into laughter. ‘I’m joking,’ she said, patting my arm. ‘You can have them for a fiver.’
When I finally got back to the flat, with aching feet, my head reeling from all the new information crammed inside, I was stopped on the landing by a voice floating up the stairs.
‘How’s Ruby?’
It was the ruddy-faced man I’d spotted on my sprint through the bakery kitchen earlier.
‘She’s fine,’ I said, moving to the top of the stairs and peering down. ‘And you are?’
‘Her landlord, Bob the baker.’
‘Shouldn’t that be builder?’
It was a lame attempt at a joke but he smiled gamely, as if he’d never heard it before.
‘I thought she might like these.’ He started to come up, holding out a bag. ‘There were some teacakes left over and I thought… well, she always said it was the smell of my buns that got her up in the mornings.’
‘That’s kind of you,’ I said, meeting him halfway. Stuffing the freesias under my arm I grasped hold of the bag, as if we were secret agents. ‘She’s, ah, not too well at the moment.’
‘I gathered that.’ He pushed his hands in the pockets of his baggy trousers and peered at me more closely. I was poised in a shaft of sunshine from the skylight window, and felt like an X-Factor contestant, awaiting the judges’ verdict. ‘You’re quite a lot like her,’ he said.
‘I’m her niece.’
‘Ah.’ He nodded, as though it made sense, and I realised I didn’t mind being told I resembled Ruby. Sarah was the spitting image of Mum, but in spite of us both inheriting her red hair, that’s where the resemblance ended. ‘Something about the eyes,’ he added, approvingly.
Without his white apron and hat, Bob looked more like a trawlerman than a baker, with his wild dark hair, sea-green eyes, and weather-beaten skin. There was matted chest-hair where his shirt was unbuttoned, and I could almost see him standing at the helm of a boat.
‘She comes sailing with me sometimes,’ he said, and I wondered whether my thoughts were coming out of my head in a bubble. ‘We ge
t on.’ It came out gruffly, and I realised what he was trying to tell me.
‘You’re her boyfriend?’
‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t say that.’ Looking alarmed, as if I’d accused him of gross misconduct, he began backing down the stairs. ‘I mean, I admire your aunt greatly and we talk a lot, but no, no, I wouldn’t say I was her boyfriend, though I’d like to be, obviously, she’s a fine-looking woman.’ He passed a broad hand over his face. ‘Give her my regards…’
‘Carrie,’ I supplied, half amused by his insistence that he and my aunt were just friends, when it was clearly more than that – at least on his part.
‘Well, give her my regards, Carrie, and tell her I’d love to see her when she’s up and about.’
‘I will,’ I promised, deciding I liked Bob. There was something solid and reassuring about him. He seemed like the sort of man Ruby could rely on – if she ever decided to open up and be honest about her past. ‘I’ll tell her now.’
Inside the flat, I sagged against the door. Even after the busiest day at Cars 4 U, I’d rarely felt this drained. I wasn’t used to moving about so much, for a start. Sitting at a desk all day hadn’t required much effort.
Casting my weary eyes around, I noted that Doris had worked some sort of magic in the flat. Bathed in an early-evening glow, the living room was spotless, the surfaces polished to a gleam. There were even some grapes in a bowl on the table, glowing like rubies, and the sofa had been cleared of clutter, and its blueberry-coloured cushions freshly plumped. I longed to sink into them and have someone fetch me dinner.
‘It’s Carrie, I’m home!’ I called brightly. Doris had thrown away the wilting lilies, and after filling the vase with water at the kitchen sink, I dropped the freesias in and put it on the windowsill.
My stomach rumbled and I dug my hand in the bag of buns and pulled one out. I bit into it and groaned with pleasure. It was filled with plump, juicy raisins, and the dough was soft, and fragrant with cinnamon.
‘I’ve just met Bob the baker,’ I said, as I entered Ruby’s bedroom. ‘He seems nice.’ I put the bag of buns on the dressing table before leaning over to open the curtains, still convinced some natural light would make Ruby feel better. ‘He said to give you his regards, and to tell you he’d love to see you.’ I turned, unnerved by her silence. ‘I didn’t know you liked sailing.’