The Beachside Flower Stall

by Karen Clarke

  She’d asked more than once if she could buy the house, should I ever decide to sell up, and it was true that it sometimes felt more like hers than mine. I’d never really put my imprint on it, the way Jasmine had with her bedroom, turning it into somewhere that felt like home (with a slutty edge), yet I’d been so proud the day I moved in; I’d had a real sense of achievement.

  Upon moving – I’d refused to think of it as running away – to Manchester, I’d immediately set some goals:

  1. Stop thinking about Tom and Megan. (Not as easy as it sounded, at least for the first few weeks, when I drove Sarah mad going over and over what had happened.)

  2. Get a job. Which hadn’t proved too difficult once I’d thrown myself into it. I’d never been afraid of hard work, and what I lacked in experience, I’d made up for in enthusiasm, and a willingness to make tea for everyone, until a vending machine was installed.

  3. Move out of Sarah and Phil’s. Which wasn’t so much a goal as a necessity. I loved my sister and brother-in-law – had drawn up a budget for their wedding, and squeezed into an unflattering bridesmaid’s dress on their big day – but proximity brought out Sarah’s bossy side, so when Carly, a girl at Cars 4 U, asked if I’d be interested in flat-sharing, I’d jumped at the opportunity. It had worked well enough, until she left to go travelling with her boyfriend, but my fourth goal had been to buy my own house, and surprisingly it hadn’t been that hard. Property wasn’t as expensive in the north, and I didn’t go out much before I met Jasmine, preferring box sets and books in the evenings to partying. Plus, I’d always been good at saving.

  But once I’d moved in, and the excitement wore off, there’d been a sense of something missing. A man, according to Sarah and Mum, who kept insisting I had to let down my guard, even though I hadn’t realised it was up.

  Admittedly, relationships had been a bit thin on the ground.

  After Carly moved out, I’d shared the flat with a curly-haired cartoonist called Sam, who’d worked in the coffee shop near the office, but it had only lasted a few months. When I got sick of supporting him, and asked him to leave, he drew a mean caricature of me, with ginormous bosoms and squinty eyes, and left it pinned to the fridge.

  My guard probably was up, after that. There’d been many dates, but none had come to anything.

  Lying in Ruby’s spare room, with its unfamiliar outlines, I suddenly felt adrift.

  I don’t belong anywhere.

  To stem a rising tide of panic, I fiddled with my relaxation app, until I found the sound of gentle rain on a window, and my final thought before drifting off was that I had nothing to wear for my date the following evening.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Normally on a Saturday, I’d have a lie-in, before going for a walk in the park at the end of our road. If Jasmine was at a loose end, we’d go somewhere for coffee, and I’d usually have a wander round the library, picking out some good books. In the afternoon, I might pop round to Sarah’s and play with the twins, or squeeze in a visit to Mum and Dad’s.

  But Jane had made it clear that Saturday was the stall’s busiest day, so by eight o’clock I was knee-deep in flowers, eating cake for breakfast. I’d stuffed some banana loaf in my bag before leaving the flat, along with some cheese straws, pressed on me by Bob at the foot of the stairs.

  ‘I was wondering if Ruby might come out for a spin later,’ he’d said, fingering the small gold medallion nestling in his chest hair, as though it could somehow transmit a message to her.

  ‘You can ask her yourself, if you can get her up.’

  Conscious that we kept alluding to Ruby in either a state of undress or prone in bed I’d hurried past, cheeks burning.

  It was another sultry day, the sun blazing from a cloudless sky, and in a fit of spontaneity I’d cut some jeans into shorts, and teamed them with a plain white top that hopefully didn’t scream ‘boardroom meeting’.

  The trouble was, I’d accidentally cut one leg shorter than the other, and had to keep tugging at the fraying edge. I also had a suspicion my buttocks might be visible if I bent over, and I’d failed to bring any suitable footwear from home. I was wearing the bright orange trainers last worn at my wall-climbing sessions, and they didn’t really go.

  After putting the stall up, Calum had gone for a breakfast fry-up at Cooper’s Café, so I sat on a pallet and finished my cake before biting into a cheese straw. At this rate, I’d be half a stone heavier by the time I left Shipley.

  The sun was pleasantly warm on my arms and bare legs, and as I looked across at the sea, my muscles softened. I thought I’d adjusted well to city life, but being back in Dorset was like pulling on a favourite T-shirt. The sounds of the square behind me, and the hypnotic rhythm of waves was reassuring, and my panic from the night before receded like a bad dream.

  Also, it was rather nice not having a boss breathing down my neck, or having to listen to his politically incorrect jokes, or comfort the receptionist, Gemma, who often cried because her boyfriend preferred playing Grand Theft Auto to hanging out with her.

  Maybe I could freelance, I pondered – get away from that office environment, which could be as cliquey as school had been.

  A pair of seagulls paraded past, aggressively eyeing my third cheese straw, and I dropped half of it in fright. They began fighting over it, so I grabbed my bag and retreated to the safety of the van. Maybe an office environment wasn’t so bad after all. At least there weren’t any seagulls in Manchester.

  The work phone on the seat beside me started ringing, as though I’d set it off.

  ‘Is that Carrie?’

  ‘Jane! Hi, how are you?’

  ‘Knackered,’ she said, in a satisfied way that made my ears tighten. ‘I can hardly walk this morning.’

  ‘Too much information, Jane!’ I made my voice jovial, so she wouldn’t think I was judging her – even though I was.

  ‘Ooh, you dirty minx,’ she chortled. ‘I can hardly walk, because I tripped on the way into the hotel and sprained my ankle.’

  ‘Oh, no, I am sorry,’ I said, insides clenched with embarrassment. ‘I didn’t mean to imply—’

  ‘Mind you, it didn’t stop us indulging, if you get my drift.’ I did. ‘Dennis even wore the grey tie I bought him, and let me rip his shirt off, so the buttons went everywhere, just like in the film.’ Jane sounded awestruck. ‘I’ve promised I’ll sew them back on, when we get home.’ A wave of laughter built, and I had to bite my lip. ‘He’s got quite into the whole Christian Grey thing,’ she went on, warming up. ‘He’s even booked us a ride in a helicopter.’

  ‘That’s nice.’ I prayed she meant ‘ride’ in the literal sense.

  ‘He’ll need a bit of persuading to use the butt plug though,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘He thought it was a chess piece.’

  I tried to turn a giggle into a cough, and ended up nearly choking. ‘Everything’s fine here,’ I said, in strangled tones. ‘In case you were wondering.’

  ‘That’s why I was phoning,’ she said, surprised. ‘How’s your aunt?’

  ‘Much better,’ I said, wiping my eyes. ‘I think she’s looking forward to the wedding, she’s been going through the order.’

  ‘Oh, wonderful!’ Jane sounded so thrilled, I forgave her over-sharing. ‘Well, I’ll let you go. I’ve a husband here, beckoning me into the shower.’

  As she cut the call off, I noticed the swell of people in the square, and found myself searching for Tom, then reminded myself he probably didn’t work weekends and was spending the day with Megan.

  Don’t think about Tom.

  The seagulls were still circling, so I switched on the radio in the van and pulsed my shoulders to a Kings of Leon song, which seemed to loosen my thoughts.

  I’d hidden Peter’s address in my purse, and wondered whether to drive out to his house tomorrow, after I’d paraded the flower-pups for Megan’s approval. No warning, no Internet searching – just do it. For Ruby. And to get Doris off my back. Now the address was in my possession, it seem
ed wrong to go back to Manchester without at least trying. What was the worst that could happen?

  I decided not to think about that.

  My mind jack-knifed straight back to Tom, and the day he’d asked me to test him on one of his veterinary exam papers, which was about ‘small companion animals’, and instead of ‘right stifle (genual) joint’ I’d said ‘genital’ in relation to swelling. He’d laughed for ages and said he would think of that in the exam, and I’d made a point of mispronouncing all the difficult words after that, enjoying his reaction. He’d started giving silly answers, like, ‘I’d dress the chihuahua in a dinner jacket, and send him on a world cruise,’ until we were both clutching our sides.

  I felt close to tears suddenly, and it was a relief to see Calum returning, patting his belly with a satisfied grin on his face.

  ‘I’ve just spoken to your mum,’ I said, banishing memories of Tom as I climbed out of the van.

  Calum glanced at my exposed thighs and away again, colour staining his cheeks, and I wished I hadn’t hacked at my jeans. ‘Did she tell you they’re staying for another week?’ he asked my trainers.

  ‘WHAT?’

  He reeled back, as if he’d had a glimpse of evil. ‘I spoke to her last night and she said she’d call you.’

  ‘It must have slipped her mind.’ While she was describing her sexual odyssey. ‘Sorry I shouted,’ I added, feeling bad.

  He gave an awkward grin. ‘They’re having a really good time,’ he said. ‘Mum reckons she’s never seen Dad so relaxed.’

  Now my cheeks were aflame, as a mental picture of Jane in skimpy pants sprang into my head. ‘I’m sure they deserve their holiday,’ I said, hastily brushing crumbs off my top before the seagulls dived in for dessert.

  ‘They definitely went prepared, like.’ Calum folded himself into the van, which he’d asked to borrow for a few hours. ‘It’s one of them activity holidays,’ he said sticking his head through the open window. ‘I heard Mum saying to a friend she was planning to wear Dad out, and I know she’d ordered all this lubricating stuff off the internet for blisters.’

  I risked a look at his guileless face and realised he was being serious.

  ‘Enjoy the rest of your day,’ I said, keen to bring this line of conversation to an end. He’d told me he was taking his girlfriend shopping in Bristol. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  As he drove off, I felt a twinge of guilt that he had to come back to take down the stall, but he didn’t seem to mind, and I reflected that his girlfriend was lucky to have him.

  ‘I’ll take a bunch of these for the missus, love.’ The booming voice belonged to a man with Victorian muttonchops, wearing a loose white shirt. ‘It’s her birthday today and I forgot until I came out for a newspaper.’ He’d tucked the paper under his arm and was digging in his pocket for change. I took the bunch of lilies and made a cone with brown paper, making an effort for his obviously long-suffering wife.

  ‘Hey, what did the old flower say to the young flower?’ he said.

  ‘Sorry?’ I looked up from tearing off a strip of Sellotape.

  ‘It’s a joke,’ he said, his face full of mischief.

  My stomach shrivelled. I hated it when people told jokes, from years of Dad getting the punchlines wrong. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘What did the old flower say to the young flower?’

  ‘What’s up, bud?’ He bellowed with laughter. ‘Da-bum-CHING,’ he said, doing the actions.

  ‘That’s a good one.’ I reorganised my face into a grin.

  ‘Plenty more where that came from,’ he said, as I passed him his flowers and took his money. ‘What do you call a sunflower—?’

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said, holding up a finger as I tugged my phone from the pocket of my too-short shorts and pressed it to my ear. ‘I have to take this,’ I said, making apologetic eyes. He shrugged and wandered off, the bunch of flowers incongruous in his meaty paw.

  As I ended my pretend call and lowered the phone, I saw a message from Jasmine with a photo of the kitchen attached. A man was bent over, attaching a piece of skirting board, an inch of bum-crack on show.

  Somewhere to keep our tea-towels?

  she’d written.

  Gross.

  I replied.

  Got a date tonight, by the way.

  Whoa!

  she typed back

  Better dust the cobwebs off your lady parts.

  Ha-di-ha. I’ll call you later.

  As if on cue, a message pinged in from Toby.

  Are you still on for tonight?

  I am if you are.

  I cringed. Being flirty didn’t suit me, despite Megan’s efforts to teach me back in the day. She’d made it an art form: an upward sweep of her eyelashes and a sultry glance was all it had taken. Failing that, a hand on the arm and a breathless, ‘Oh my god, you’re so funny,’ usually did the trick.

  Trying to emulate her in front of my mirror I’d looked like I was suffering a series of nervous twitches, and my ‘breathless’ voice sounded asthmatic.

  I am

  Toby replied, adding a smiley face.

  I plundered my brain for a witty painting reference.

  I hope you won’t give me the brush off.

  Too desperate.

  Joke!

  I added.

  He replied right away.

  If I do, you can call a CONSTABLE

  I wondered if we’d end up talking in art puns when we met, and whether I should google some ideas, just in case.

  I’ll remember to bring some MONET!

  I typed, quickly adding See you later aware of a woman in a wide-brimmed sun hat hovering by the dahlias.

  As I served her, shoving in some white heather for luck, and trying to stay interested while she told me a story about a relative who once grew a sunflower so tall he had to put scaffolding around it, I thought I glimpsed Tom near the beach.

  My heart flew into my throat, but when I looked again it was just a man who looked a bit like him, eating chips from a plastic carton.

  Once the customer had gone, I sat on an upturned bucket for a while, with Ruby’s A–Z of Flowers and their Meanings to calm myself down. Daisy: innocence and purity, gerbera: cheerfulness…

  Checking that the seagulls were bothering someone else, I took out another cheese straw and ate it quickly.

  * * *

  Six hours later I was fighting the urge to be sick, and not just because I’d eaten six more cheese straws by the time Calum returned.

  I’d just showered and washed my hair, and was draped in a towel, hunting through my bags for something to wear that didn’t scream ‘business lunch’ or ‘another business lunch’, wondering when my wardrobe had become so… businessy. Probably when I was promoted to head of accounts and started modelling myself on Alicia from The Good Wife, without the budget.

  I had plenty of municipal-looking shirts, skirts and trousers, and jackets with nipped- in waists, in my cupboards at home, and couldn’t understand why I’d brought a couple to Shipley with me ‘just in case’. In case of what? An impromptu invitation to a town-planning meeting?

  ‘Look,’ I said to Jasmine, passing my phone across the array of clothes I’d spread out.

  ‘God, that room’s a state,’ she said. ‘I can barely see the bed.’

  ‘Never mind the room.’ I propped my phone on top of a pile of boxes, and held up a dark grey top for inspection. ‘Why haven’t I got any colour in my clothes? It’s the middle of summer.’

  Jasmine pushed her face closer to the screen. ‘Because you’re worried you’ll make yourself stand out,’ she said, as if it was obvious.

  ‘Not that old chestnut.’ She was right though. I’d worn a slinky emerald dress to the firm’s Christmas do one year, prompting my boss to ask who’d invited Joan from Mad Men, and the ensuing attention had sent me scuttling back to my neutral palette.

  ‘I suppose I could wear the shorts I wore to work.’ I plucked them off the floor.

  ‘Dear god.’ Jasmine
dramatically clutched her throat. ‘You actually showed your thighs in a public place in broad daylight?’

  ‘Yes, and they’re really sunburnt.’ I peeked inside my towel at my glowing flesh. ‘I’m not used to being outside all day, and I didn’t bring my sun cream.’

  Jasmine pointed behind me. ‘What about that?’

  Turning, I spotted a silky, rose-patterned kimono hanging on the back of the door.

  ‘That’s one of Ruby’s dressing gowns.’ I moved over to touch the material, which felt deliciously cool between my fingers. ‘I can’t wear this.’

  ‘Why not?’ Jasmine gave a kittenish twitch of her nose. ‘Once it’s on it’ll look like a summery dress,’ she said. ‘Just put a proper belt round it, and for god’s sake don’t wear your brogues. Or your trainers.’ She did a few star jumps, her hair bouncing. ‘And take some condoms, just in case.’

  ‘I don’t have any condoms,’ I said, prissily. ‘I’m not planning to sleep with him.’

  ‘I should hope not.’ She was twerking now, buttocks jiggling in her silky PJ bottoms. ‘Sleeping’s the last thing you should be planning.’

  I tutted. ‘You know how I feel about indulging on a first date.’

  She gave a squeal of laughter. ‘You’re so adorable.’ She dropped into a lunge. ‘When was the last time you had S.E.X?’ she said, spelling it out.

  ‘You know when.’ I adjusted my towel, which kept slipping. ‘It was with that carpenter guy, Shaun, who worked in the building next to Cars 4 U.’