The Beachside Flower Stall

by Karen Clarke

  He rang off, and I stood for a moment, wondering what had just happened. Had I talked myself out of the biggest job Ruby’s Blooms had ever been offered?

  I imagined telling Jane, and bashed my head with my phone. ‘Idiot.’

  A passing jogger swerved to avoid me.

  ‘Hello?’

  I turned to see a woman with an armful of gerberas and pastel-pink gladioli (honour and remembrance), and hastened over to serve her.

  ‘I could have walked off with these,’ she scolded, as I wrapped them up while she berated me for not putting the customer first. ‘I’m sick to death of people constantly playing with their phones, instead of interacting with people,’ she finished, counting out the right money in the palm of her hand. ‘What did we ever do before they existed?’

  I was saved from answering by the sound of big-band music erupting from her bag. Flushing, she fished out her phone and hurried away, talking in a hushed voice.

  ‘Good morning, dear!’ It was Doris Day, looking catalogue perfect in a red linen skirt and short-sleeved blouse, a bulging canvas bag hooked over her shoulder. ‘Just off to the library,’ she said, slowing her pace to a saunter and fingering a purple dahlia (dignity and elegance). ‘How’s your aunt?’

  ‘Fine,’ I said, distracted.

  Megan had included her mobile number in her email. I could easily call her myself. And say what? ‘We’ll do the flowers, but it’ll cost you another thousand.’?… That had been my half-baked plan, before giving myself away to Jay Simmons. Now, I’d probably have to undercut whatever he was planning to charge her.

  Another thought struck. What if he offered to supply her wedding flowers for free, in exchange for an endorsement from the mighty Michael Hudson? Jay could be calling her right now.

  I crunched my bottom lip between my teeth. Maybe I should leave it to fate. If Megan reinstated Jay, I couldn’t deny it would be a massive reprieve. Yet the terrier instinct that had risen on Ruby’s behalf hadn’t quite subsided.

  ‘Have you thought any more about what I said?’

  ‘Sorry?’ I refocused.

  Doris was treating me to an arrow-eyed stare. ‘If you were to let me have some details for Ruby’s son I could set the ball rolling,’ she said. ‘I just need a name and date of birth, and anything else you know.’

  I glared. ‘I’ve already told you to forget it,’ I said, heat rushing to my face. On the street where I lived, the only person I’d said more than hello to was my neighbour, Vinnie, to apologise, after Jasmine loudly speculated about the size of his manhood one Sunday morning, during a sunbathing session in the garden (she hadn’t realised he was behind the hedge – or so she’d said), while the closest I’d got to anyone knowing my business was the postman, glancing through the window one winter’s morning, and catching me on the sofa, watching Star Trek in a Slanket, eating a bowl of Frosties.

  In Shipley, it seemed, privacy was a dirty word.

  ‘No offence intended,’ said Doris, digging a hand in her bag. ‘Would you like to see a photograph of my granddaughter?’ Before I could answer she’d whipped one out and thrust it in front of my eyes. ‘I knitted that matinee jacket for my Eric, when he was a baby,’ she said, as I shielded the picture from the sun with my hand and looked at a picture of a cute little girl with a riot of blonde curls, swamped in a pink woolly affair. ‘It’s a bit big on her now, but she’ll grow into it,’ she said, fondly.

  ‘You knitted a pink coat for your son?’

  ‘I was convinced he was going to be a girl,’ said Doris. ‘Now, isn’t she adorable?’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘I know what you’re doing,’ I said.

  Doris’s face was a picture of innocence. ‘Erica will know her surrogate mummy as she grows up,’ she said, tucking the photo away. ‘It’s all well and good having two daddies, but a child needs her mother too.’

  ‘Erica?’ was all I could think to say.

  Doris’s smile was proud. ‘Named after her daddy, though I rather fancied Samantha,’ she said. ‘Still, I got my own way when Eric was born. Roger wanted to call him Columbo after his favourite TV show.’ She glanced at her man-sized watch. ‘Anyway, must dash before this sunshine sets off my heat rash,’ she said. ‘Say hello to Ruby for me.’

  I watched as she crossed to the newsagent’s, her bright hair gleaming in the sunshine. She did a little side-step, to avoid a man coming out, and something about the sight of him stopped my breath. He had a dog with him. A three-legged, loaf-brown terrier, wagging its tail, casting him little looks of treacle-eyed devotion.

  It couldn’t be.

  But the fireworks going off in my stomach, and the blood thundering around my head, told me it was.

  Tom Hudson was crossing the square, heading straight for the stall.

  Again, my body reacted instinctively, this time throwing me down to my hands and knees. Ignoring the startled gaze of an elderly man eating an ice-cream on a bench, I did the only thing I could.

  I crawled beneath the workbench and prayed for invisibility.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Are you playing hide-and-seek?’

  I opened my eyes to see a small blonde girl peering at me with the frankness of the very young. I nodded and pressed a finger to my lips.

  A delighted smile crossed her impish face. ‘Can I play?’ It was clearly a rhetorical question as she scooched beneath the workbench and crouched beside me.

  ‘Are you on holiday?’ I whispered.

  She nodded, solemnly. ‘We come early to play on the beach before smelly toerists are get there.’ She had a surprisingly husky voice for such a small child. ‘That’s what my daddy says.’ She screwed up her face, in what I presumed was an imitation of a grumpy father. ‘Want to go to the sweet shop,’ she added, plopping down on her bottom and folding her chubby arms. ‘Mummy says no ’cos I brushed my teeth, so I have to wait.’ She stuck her lower lip out. ‘Mummy’s a poo-poo head.’

  Hugging my knees, I said, ‘I’m sure your mummy’s very nice.’ I remembered how much I’d adored lemon sherbets as a child, loving the way the sherbet fizzed on my tongue. ‘You should go and find her now.’

  ‘Don’t WANT to,’ she said, with alarming ferocity. ‘I HATE my mummy!’

  ‘Please don’t shout,’ I whispered, aware it was completely the wrong thing to say. I had to get her out and back to her parents, before they realised she was missing and called the police.

  ‘Is your mummy looking for you?’ she enquired when I failed to move, tilting her head so her hair flopped over one eye.

  ‘No,’ I said, deciding to change tack. ‘Actually, I’m not really hiding, I’m looking for something.’

  ‘Is it a flower?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Have you dropped your flower?’ she persisted, like a teacher exercising patience with a difficult pupil. ‘Mummy dropped hers once,’ she went on, wriggling on the cobbled ground. ‘Daddy broughted them home, and Mummy said Daddy had got a glittery conscious and throwed them away.’

  I found myself oddly riveted by this slice of family strife. ‘What happened?’ I said.

  She cupped her chin in her hand. ‘Well, they did some kisses ’cos Daddy was very sorry, and then he helped Mummy get the flowers off the floor, but they’d gone squashed.’

  Despite myself, I hid a small smile. At least Mummy and Daddy had made up, and his guilty conscience had got the better of him.

  ‘Can I help you to look ’cos I’m very helpful?’ she said, dipping her head and widening her eyes at the ground to demonstrate. ‘I can see anything, even up to the moon.’

  ‘That’s brilliant,’ I said, ‘but I think you need to find your mummy and daddy now, before —’

  ‘Oh, it’s a DOGGY!’ she cried, clapping her hands as a bundle of soft brown fur pushed under the oilskin cloth, his ears cocked.

  ‘Hovis,’ I whispered, as his moist brown eyes met mine. His whole body wagged violently, as he launched himself at me and licked my face, whimpering with
unrestrained joy.

  ‘I can’t believe you remember me.’ I was half crying as I held him at arm’s length, loving the familiar feel of his solid little body in my hands. ‘I’ve missed you so much, little fellow.’ Realising the truth of my words, I brought him close and pressed my face into his fur, transported back to running along the beach, throwing his favourite ball, and panicking when he ran into the sea and got caught by a giant wave.

  ‘Why hasn’t he got enough legs?’ The little girl was examining Hovis, a groove between her eyebrows.

  ‘He only had three when I met him,’ I said, putting him down, my face damp with tears and dog saliva.

  ‘Couldn’t he find the other one?’

  ‘No,’ I said with a sniff, unable to stop petting his ears. ‘But he walks very well without it, don’t you think?’

  She nodded and scratched his head, her face lit with wonder when he nuzzled her under the chin. ‘I want a doggy, but Mummy says no ’cos she has to pick up poos in her hands.’ Her chin wobbled.

  ‘Maybe she’ll change her mind,’ I said recklessly, overcome at seeing Hovis so very much alive – though he must be at least eleven by now.

  ‘I’m gonna tell her to get one,’ said the girl, as a voice, shrill with panic, began shrieking, ‘Ellie, where are you? Please come out, sweetheart, you can have some sweeties now.’

  As suddenly as she’d appeared, the girl had gone, closely followed by Hovis, and the space they’d left seemed vast.

  Reality flew in. Tom was close by, Hovis had recognised me, and any minute now I’d be spotted, and would have to explain what I was doing.

  ‘Is there anyone serving at this bloody stall?’ A male voice, tetchy and disgruntled, reached my burning ears. ‘I’m not asking for the moon, I just a want a bunch of these yellow things for the wife.’

  ‘I’m sure the owner isn’t too far away,’ someone said, and recognition quivered through me. Tom.

  Furious with myself for reacting like a lovesick teenager, I scrambled out and stood up too quickly, knocking over a potted azalea.

  Black spots danced in front of my eyes. I blinked them away, and saw a man with dreadlocks bunched into a ponytail, clutching some yellow roses. His gaze was hidden behind round sunglasses, but his mouth was turned down at the corners. ‘About time,’ he said, sourly.

  ‘That’ll be six pounds fifty.’ My voice shook. I grabbed the roses and wrapped them with fumbling hands, fighting the urge to look for Tom.

  ‘I suppose they’ll have to do,’ the man said, snatching them off me and taking out a credit card. ‘The service here is rubbish,’ he grumbled, as I found the chip-and-pin device and held it up so he could stab in his number. ‘I’ll go to the supermarket next time.’

  ‘Please don’t.’ I offered a wobbly smile. ‘We do appreciate your custom.’ I daren’t move my head in case I caught sight of Tom, and it must have looked like I’d cricked my neck, because the man’s frown deepened. ‘You should get that looked at,’ he said, before stalking away.

  Over on the beach, I could see Ellie with her parents, who were as dark-haired as she was blonde. She appeared to be arguing furiously, making pouncing gestures, and holding up her hands like paws. To my relief her mother was laughing, and her father hoisted her onto his shoulders and led a charge to the sea.

  How lovely it would be, to be a child again.

  Smoothing a strand of hair back into my hastily assembled bun, I shifted my gaze left and right without moving my head, like a ventriloquist’s dummy. I couldn’t pick out a familiar face, and there was no sign of Hovis anywhere.

  I puffed out a lungful of air.

  Tom must have gone. Perhaps he hadn’t come to see me after all, and it was a complete coincidence that he’d appeared two days after I called him, and the day after his fiancée had visited the stall to place an order for their wedding flowers.

  ‘Hello, Carrie.’

  I spun around, my stomach capsizing. ‘Tom!’ I was aiming for vague surprise, but it emerged as a ragged whisper.

  ‘That’s me.’ He lifted his arms from his sides in an awkward little gesture I remembered. He’d always seemed more at ease around animals. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Good, good.’

  We moved forward at the same time, and awkwardly bumped cheeks, and his hand briefly brushed my arm. It was the most we’d touched outside my daydreams, and every cell in my body came alive.

  As he stepped back I drank in all the changes; new lines around his eyes, and a thinner, more grown-up face. His hair was shorter, and the three-day stubble he used to wear had gone. So had the jeans, sneakers, and hooded tops he’d favoured, replaced by smart, putty-coloured trousers, and a khaki shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing lightly tanned forearms.

  He was both familiar and strange, like a well-loved song I hadn’t heard for years, but on hearing it again, remembered every single note. It was as if he’d always been there, part of the bones of me.

  So much for being over him.

  I felt sick and dizzy, as if I was coming down with something, and wished I wasn’t wearing old combat trousers, and had ironed my stripy shirt, or worn something that didn’t make me look six months… pregnant. Shit. He’s with Megan now, he’s with Megan now—

  ‘Listen, I wanted to apologise about the other night on the phone,’ he said, when the breath-holding silence had stretched to breaking point.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I lied, my heart flapping about like a trapped bird. ‘I shouldn’t have called you like that, out of the blue.’

  ‘I meant to tell you about me and Megan, but—’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said, waving his words away, my stomach a melting pot of jealousy – even after all this time – at the words ‘me and Megan’. ‘Just forget it.’

  ‘I felt really bad afterwards.’

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t.’ You should.

  He was looking at me now in that interested way I remembered, almost as if he couldn’t help it. ‘You look… well,’ he said, then winced, as if realising how it sounded. ‘I mean… good. You look good.’

  ‘Thanks.’ My face felt in danger of combusting, and was probably clashing horribly with my hair. ‘I’m so glad you still have Hovis,’ I blurted. He’d stationed himself by my feet, panting gently. ‘I really missed him.’

  ‘He obviously remembers you.’ Tom’s gaze steadied, as though he’d fixed me in his mind now. ‘Why were you hiding under that table?’

  ‘It’s a workbench,’ I said stupidly, a fresh tide of heat sweeping up my neck. ‘I was helping a little girl to look for something.’ I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes from his. ‘Something she’d lost. Under the table. Bench.’

  ‘Ah.’ He nodded sagely, and I caught another glimpse of the old Tom, who’d sometimes teased me when he thought I was being too precise. ‘I thought it must be something like that.’

  Hovis began barking at a seagull strolling by, and Tom bent to scoop him up. ‘Do you remember when he ate an avocado?’ he said, as if he was keen to dispel the tension between us.

  I laughed, in spite of myself. ‘We thought he’d developed a refined palate,’ I said. ‘Until we caught him eating leftovers out of the bin.’

  Hovis’s eyes flicked from Tom to me, as if he couldn’t believe his two favourite people were face to face once more. I could hardly believe it myself. If it wasn’t for the tiny matter of Tom’s impending fatherhood and marriage, I could almost have imagined us picking up where we’d left off before his party.

  As if he was following a similar train of thought, Tom said suddenly, ‘I still can’t believe you’re here after all this time.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re marrying Megan Ford.’ The words exploded out of me before I could stop them, and I wanted to kick myself.

  Tom’s smile withered. He set Hovis down, and when he straightened it was as if a shutter had come down. ‘She told me she spoke to you yesterday.’

  I fought an urge to say something uncharacteristically bitchy, lik
e How wonderful that she tells you everything. ‘That’s right,’ I said instead, trying to imagine the spirit in which Megan had told him. Had she been faux-sympathetic about poor little Bagsy returning to help her aunt? Implied she was doing me a favour by letting Ruby provide their wedding flowers? Or had I just imagined she was being disingenuous?

  ‘You didn’t tell her I’d called you.’

  He shook his head, his face suddenly impenetrable. Maybe it had slipped his mind. He’d been busy with a sick cat, after all.

  ‘She explained about the flowers,’ he said, rather stiffly. ‘She said she was going to email you the details.’

  I wanted to grab his arms and shake him and say, Isn’t it ridiculous that we’re talking about your wedding flowers? How can this be happening? Instead, I said quickly, ‘I meant to call to confirm this morning. I just needed to check out a few things, like, erm… suppliers and so on.’

  ‘I can tell her if you like, save you the bother.’ He bent to attach Hovis’s lead so I couldn’t read his face. ‘I’m glad she’s going with someone local, instead of that idiot in London.’

  My mouth dried, as I recalled my conversation with Jay Simmons.

  ‘You went to Scotland,’ I said, not intending to.

  He straightened and shook his head slightly. ‘How—?’

  ‘Megan told me.’ I didn’t mention I’d already heard it from Mum, and plucked nervously at my money belt. ‘She… told me a few things.’

  He nodded, as if it made sense. ‘I went there after I graduated,’ he said. ‘One of my mates moved there and bought a farm—’

  ‘My friend Jasmine’s from Scotland,’ I said, as if it was a tiny village and he might have bumped into her, even though she’d lived in Manchester since she was twelve. ‘Where was the farm?’

  ‘Near Inverness,’ he obliged, and I nodded, as though I knew it well. ‘I stayed with him for a bit and worked at an equine veterinary centre. I needed to get away, and ended up staying for years.’