The Beachside Flower Stall

by Karen Clarke

  Doris’s eyes flicked this way and that. ‘She prefers to operate under the wire, so it’s best not to ask too many questions,’ she said in hushed tones, inclining her head to indicate that walls had ears – even though there weren’t any walls.

  ‘Fine,’ I snapped, my resistance slackening. I fished the piece of paper from my pocket and read the address. ‘It’s not that far from here,’ I said, as if Doris didn’t know. ‘Only an hour.’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t want to be too far away after all.’ Doris looked pleased by this assumption.

  ‘Why does this matter to you?’

  She dipped her hand in her bag then popped a sweet in her mouth. ‘Pineapple cube?’

  I shook my head, knowing she was playing for time.

  She rattled the sweet around her teeth then seemed to make up her mind. ‘When my Roger died, he and Eric were estranged.’ The words came out stiffly, as if they needed oiling. ‘I was forty when Eric was born, his father five years older. It was a different generation, and he couldn’t accept that Eric wasn’t like other boys. When Eric “came out”,’ she made quotation marks with her fingers, ‘Roger disowned him.’ She shook her head, eyes filled with sadness. ‘I loved my Roger, but he was a stubborn old goat,’ she said. ‘I know he thought the world of Eric, but never got a chance to tell him before he died.’ She swallowed hard and her eyes watered. ‘Went down whole,’ she gasped, blinking tears away. ‘Anyway,’ she said when she’d recovered. ‘I don’t like the thought of Ruby’s boy not knowing his biological mother, no matter what the circumstances.’

  I tried to formulate a response, but Doris was already walking away with tidy strides, her gardening gloves poking out of her bag.

  ‘Bollocks,’ I said loudly, attracting a glance from the elderly man I’d seen eating an ice-cream on a bench the day before. As if on cue, he pulled a violin from a shabby case and tucked it under his chin, then played a melancholy tune that would have made a perfect soundtrack to my conversation with Doris.

  Passers-by began throwing coins in his open case and a couple paused to listen, arms entwined around each other’s waists. A breeze tugged the hem of the young woman’s white sarong, and for a tortured second I imagined they were Tom and Megan.

  A feeling of envy persisted when they approached the stall and the young man bought a single rose to tuck behind her ear. It was the ‘Hollywood’ couple who lived opposite Ruby, as photogenic close up as I’d imagined they’d be. They finally moved away, fingers laced, smiling into each other’s eyes. I couldn’t help hoping they’d trip up.

  I took out my bottle of water and took a reviving drink, Doris’s words cantering around in my head, and jumped when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

  I took it out to see that Toby had replied.

  Hi.

  It seemed neither of us were budding Poet Laureates.

  So, you’re a painter?

  Very imaginative.

  Yes, I am, for my sins.

  I tried to recall some types of art.

  Impressionist or realist?

  There was a bit of a pause, then,

  I’m rubbish at impressions and I like to think I’m a glass-half-full kind of person.

  I smiled. At least he had a sense of humour.

  I can be a bit abstract myself.

  Interesting. Maybe we can go for a drink and discuss this further?

  It all seemed so quick and slick, but I supposed that was the point.

  Okay, when?

  How about tomorrow night? We could meet at The Anchor in Shipley at 7.30 p.m.

  I’ll see you there, then.

  I fumbled to add a smiley emoticon, and accidentally sent a poo with eyes.

  I’ve been told I sometimes talk shite, but never that quickly!!

  I went hot all over.

  Sorry, I pressed the wrong one.

  Thought so

  I hastily typed I’ll see you tomorrow and logged off before I could show myself up even more.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Back at the flat there were no delicious cooking smells, and no sign of Ruby in the living room. Guessing she’d returned to her bed, I removed my money belt and counted out the day’s takings. Not bad, thanks to Doris and Jane’s flowers, which had practically sold out.

  I’d brought back a fresh posy of lemon and lilac freesias (friendship and trust) and replaced the wilting ones in the vase on the table.

  Glancing through the window, I saw that the sun had dipped, throwing the street into shadow. The Hollywood couple were back from their stroll and appeared to be dancing, their heads close together, as they glided around the room.

  Did they ever argue? I wondered.

  Did Tom and Megan ever argue? Why was it so hard to picture them married, when at his party they’d looked so perfect together?

  A noise from the spare room – my bedroom – made my head whip round.

  ‘Ruby?’

  ‘In here!’

  She was on her knees on the swirly carpet, her dressing gown billowing around her, surrounded by open boxes and blocks of foam, with a glinting knife in her hand.

  ‘I didn’t realise the time,’ she said, blinking at me through the gloom.

  ‘Ruby, what are you doing?’ Almost stumbling in my haste, I hurried over and grabbed the knife off her. ‘Why have you got this?’

  She tried to swipe it back, but I held it out of her reach.

  ‘It’s one of my tools,’ she said. ‘I had an idea for a table arrangement, and got a bit carried away going through these boxes.’ Catching my expression, her eyes softened. ‘I wasn’t planning to top myself, if that’s what you were thinking.’

  ‘Of course not,’ I lied, my heart tripping over. ‘I just didn’t want you to cut yourself.’ I glanced up. ‘The light’s terrible in here.’

  ‘True,’ she said, accepting my words at face value. She glanced around, as if seeing the state of the room for the first time. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t make an effort to clear it out for you.’ She grimaced. ‘Your parents would have a fit if they could see it.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘You need somewhere to store your work things.’

  ‘I always meant to move them to Jane’s.’ She shifted onto her bottom and stretched her legs out, her robe falling apart to reveal surprisingly hairy shins. ‘She’s got more room at hers, but I’ve somehow never got around to it. That’s how rubbish I am.’

  ‘Of course you’re not rubbish,’ I said, wishing I hadn’t jumped to the wrong conclusion. Already the brightness I’d seen in her face when I came in was leaching away. ‘What sort of arrangement were you thinking of making?’ I looked at a box spilling flowers that looked real. ‘Silk?’ I said, picking up a snow-white rose.

  ‘They were for a winter wedding that was called off at the last minute.’

  ‘Does that happen often?’

  ‘I’ve only done one so far, so I don’t really know.’

  ‘Jane showed me the photos,’ I said, kneeling opposite, trying to beam positive thoughts into her head. ‘They looked lovely.’

  Ruby shrugged, staring at her hands lying limply in her lap. ‘It was easy really, everything traditional.’

  ‘Is it normal to use artificial flowers?’

  She jerked a shoulder. ‘They can be more expensive, but at least they last forever.’

  ‘Good point,’ I said.

  Ruby flexed her fingers. ‘The bride was allergic to real ones.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘And at least you can use flowers that aren’t in season.’

  ‘But they wouldn’t smell of anything.’

  ‘You spray them with scent.’

  ‘Of course.’

  My bright façade faltered as conversation ground to a halt. I reached up and clicked the lamp on, feeling slightly entombed in the tiny room. ‘What were you thinking of making just now?’ I gestured with the knife I was still holding. ‘I’d love to see you in action.’

  Ruby heaved a deep sigh, as if I’
d asked her to compose a sonata, and shuffled her hands through her hair. ‘I can’t really be bothered,’ she said.

  I was seized with panic, remembering I had to take a flower arrangement to Hudson Grange, to impress Megan with. Perhaps I could persuade Ruby to make up something using her silk flowers, and I wouldn’t need to attempt something with whatever was left on the stall tomorrow – especially as I had no idea where to start.

  ‘What else is in here?’ I dragged the box closer and pushed my hand inside, expecting to find more flowers. Instead, my fingers brushed something stiff, and digging deeper I tugged out a pair of floral puppies, made up of white carnations. They were nestled together in a wicker basket, paws dangling over the edge, dressed as a bride and groom with swivelly eyes and plastic noses. The groom-pup had on a top hat, and the bride was sporting a veil.

  ‘This is… amazing,’ I said, though in truth I was undecided. Was it cute, or tacky? I supposed it was a matter of taste.

  ‘I made it for the wedding that never was,’ said Ruby, eyeing the pups with mild interest, as if she’d forgotten about them. ‘I made a swan too, for the bride’s table at the reception, but it wasn’t very good.’ She picked some fluff from her dressing gown sleeve. ‘It looked more like a turkey.’

  ‘It’s so clever,’ I said, checking for imperfections. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’ I doubted I’d choose it for my own wedding, but there was no doubting the skill involved. And if Megan was impressed that Jay Simmons had designed a bouquet in the shape of a handbag, it was probably right up her street. ‘Can I keep it?’

  Ruby jolted upright. ‘Whatever for?’ she said, but there was something proud about the tilt of her chin, and her lips had formed an involuntary smile.

  ‘It’s inspiring,’ I said, knowing I should just come clean and tell her I was planning to take it to Hudson Grange, but I couldn’t risk her refusing when I had nothing else to show. ‘I wouldn’t mind having a go at something like this myself.’

  ‘Oh.’ Seeming nonplussed, Ruby poked half-heartedly among the flowers scattered around. ‘You could start with a heart shape, I suppose.’

  Unwilling to expose my ineptitude, I scrambled to my feet. ‘Maybe it’s getting a bit late now.’ I placed the flower-pups and craft knife on the end of my bed, and held out my hands to Ruby to help her up. ‘What shall we have for dinner?’

  Neither of us felt like cooking, so we worked our way through several slabs of cake in front of the television. All the time, I was aware of Peter’s address still tucked in my pocket. My thigh felt hot, as if it was burning me, and I wondered what Ruby would think if she knew it was there.

  A couple of times I opened my mouth to broach the topic, but she’d settled her gaze on a wildlife programme, where a leopard was savaging a deer, and in the white light from the television, her face was unusually relaxed.

  I couldn’t risk making her cry again.

  I wondered whether Peter was on social media, or had an email address where I could contact him. It might be better to approach in writing first. Or was that cowardly? Face to face would have more impact if I was going to plead Ruby’s case. I imagined him shutting the door on my foot, and nearly choked on my cake.

  Swilling some tea, it occurred to me that I was hiding too much from Ruby. Should I ask her to come with me to see Megan on Sunday? But even as the thought crept in, I knew it was me Megan wanted to see, and if Ruby turned up she’d probably change her mind, regardless of how stunning the flower arrangement was.

  And I couldn’t deny a part of me was morbidly curious. Perhaps seeing Megan again would somehow make her marriage to Tom seem real. If I saw them together I might even be convinced they were meant to be together, and the weird, niggly feeling I had would go away.

  And if it didn’t? Either way, I had to accept they were getting married, and that if Tom wasn’t marrying Megan it could be someone else one day.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ Ruby’s words were a welcome intrusion.

  ‘I was wondering how you cope on the stall in winter,’ I said, wishing I could confide in her. I had a feeling she would give good advice, but it wasn’t fair to burden her when she was already low. ‘It must get freezing out there.’

  ‘You get used to it,’ she said, ripping open a packet of crisps with her teeth. ‘We just wrap up more warmly, or sit in the van, and if the weather’s really bad we don’t open.’

  ‘Doesn’t Jane mind working all weathers?’

  ‘Jane’s a tough old bird,’ she said affectionately, palming crisps into her mouth. ‘She loves the job.’

  ‘Is she happily married?’

  Ruby looked mildly surprised. ‘As far as I know,’ she said, after swallowing. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Oh, no reason.’ I looked into my mug of tea, wondering how close they really were. It seemed they were both hiding things from each other.

  ‘Ooh, I’ve got some toffees for you,’ I said, suddenly remembering. Reaching down for my bag, I pulled them out and handed them over.

  Ruby retrieved one, and studied it as though it was an experimental drug. ‘She makes them herself, you know.’

  ‘She seemed lovely.’

  Ruby finally slotted the toffee in her mouth. ‘So, any men on the horizon for you?’ she said, cheek bulging.

  ‘Actually, I’ve a date tomorrow evening.’ I was half hoping she’d disapprove, and I could stay in. ‘I don’t have to go, though,’ I prompted. ‘We could watch a film together, and I could make us a salad.’

  ‘Salad?’ She looked vaguely disturbed, as if I’d suggested frying our own kidneys.

  ‘Something a bit more, you know, healthy.’ I was still bloated from all the carbohydrates I’d ingested.

  ‘Salads don’t fill me up,’ she said, swiping another toffee from the bag. ‘And I don’t need babysitting, so you go on your date, love, have a nice time.’ Her brow pinched. ‘Where did you meet him?’

  ‘Oh, through a dating app called My Single Friend,’ I said, fiddling with the piping on the arm of the sofa.

  ‘Whatever happened to being chatted up in a pub?’

  I smiled. ‘Too old-fashioned, I suppose.’

  She gave a slow nod as she slid the toffee between her lips. ‘Are your mum and dad still happy?’ It was my turn to look surprised. ‘At their wedding, they seemed genuinely in love, but it’s been what…’ She did a mental calculation. ‘Nearly thirty-five years.’

  I nodded. ‘Impressive, I know.’ I thought for a moment. ‘They have their moments, but, yes, they do still love each other.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Ruby smiled, a little sadly. ‘It would have been nice to see more of them over the years.’

  ‘Dad said you couldn’t wait to get away from Dorchester.’ I was careful not to sound accusing. ‘Though I don’t think he thought you’d end up in Hong Kong for so long.’

  ‘They could have come over to visit, but they had the business. And you girls, of course.’

  ‘What was Henry like?’

  ‘Kind,’ she said, with a trace of sadness. ‘He was a godsend, actually. He was older than me, and had never wanted children. He had money, and had just been offered a job at a big bank in Hong Kong when I met him. He was just what I needed.’

  ‘Did he know about Donny – I mean Peter?’

  She gave a quick shake of her head. ‘I told you, no one knows.’

  ‘I’m sure Dad would understand if you talked to him,’ I ventured, but Ruby didn’t answer. She chewed her toffee with a slightly wild-eyed look that told me not to pursue it, so I turned my attention back to the television, where a three-toed sloth was swimming through a lagoon.

  ‘It’s as if she’s got her own take on the past, and won’t consider it any other way,’ I said later to Jasmine, via FaceTime.

  ‘It’s obvious why,’ she said, in her soft, Scottish lilt. ‘She knows she can’t change the decisions she made then, so there’s no point torturing herself about what might have happened if she’d ha
ndled things differently.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ I nested the duvet around my head, despite the heat – even with the window cracked open, it was still muggy – and thought about Tom, and how I could have handled things better ten years ago. How, if I’d told him how I felt, or had stood up to Megan, or hadn’t run, things might have turned out differently.

  ‘What’s going on there?’ I said. I could hardly comprehend that a week ago I’d been juggling my search for a job with frantic phone calls to the house insurers, who seemed hell-bent on wriggling out of paying for my ruined kitchen.

  ‘Not much,’ said Jasmine, rubbing her eyes, leaving black make-up smears underneath. She yawned, which always made me smile, because she looked like an angry kitten. ‘I fell off my bike this morning, and the plaster in the kitchen is taking forever to dry.’

  ‘Are you OK?’ I said, alarmed.

  She looked around and spoke to someone off-camera. ‘That’s our neighbour, Vinnie,’ she said, moving her phone so I could see a pair of tanned, muscular calves. ‘He drove me to A & E because I thought my ankle was fractured, but it wasn’t, so I invited him round for a drink.’

  I shook my head. ‘What about whatsisname, the plasterer?’

  She looked blank for a moment. ‘Oh, him.’ She pulled a face. ‘I decided to put things back on a professional footing after I spoke to you the other night, but he hasn’t taken it too well.’

  ‘Oh, Jas.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ she said, waving a half-full wine glass. ‘He emptied a tin of paint on the drive but I’ve cleaned it up, and his brother’s replaced him on the job.’

  After she’d rung off, I lay for a while, mentally wandering through my narrow, end-of-terrace house; up the carpeted staircase, into the glossy-tiled bathroom, which Jasmine had filled with bottles and lotions, into my bland bedroom with its built-in cupboards and tidy surfaces, back to the living room, where Jasmine did her marking at the beech-wood dining table, and where I discovered her straddling a boyfriend on the leather sofa one evening.