The Beachside Flower Stall

by Karen Clarke

  It looked much the same as I remembered, from its grey-stone exterior, chimneys, and cockerel weathervane, to the oak front door and sweeping acre of garden. There was a sporty red hatchback outside that I guessed was Megan’s, alongside a sleek black car with chrome bumpers. Next to that was a dusty Land Rover.

  Tom’s?

  Heart kicking, I switched off the engine and rubbed my eyes, trying to ease the ache still clamped across my brow. When I looked up, Megan was approaching, a dagger of sunlight falling across her face.

  Resisting the urge to slam the car into reverse, I retrieved the canvas bag.

  Breathe in, breathe out.

  ‘Don’t let me down,’ I whispered to the flower-pups, fumbling the door open.

  They didn’t reply.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ said Megan, folding me into a tight embrace, seeming not to notice how stiff I was. ‘Tom has to go into work, so it’ll just be me.’

  My heart flew into my throat as he came out of the house, closely followed by Hovis. Megan released me and let out a squeal as the dog jumped up at me, tail whipping back and forth.

  ‘Get down,’ she snapped, swiping at his head.

  ‘He’s fine,’ I said, as Hovis flinched away.

  ‘He doesn’t mean any harm,’ Tom said behind her, a mild rebuke in his voice. ‘Hi, Carrie.’

  ‘Hi.’ I daren’t look directly at him, scared my feelings were stamped all over my face, but couldn’t miss the look of suppressed annoyance he flashed at Megan.

  Seeming not to notice, she said, ‘Try not to be too long, babe,’ before sweeping back into the house – just as she had ten years earlier. I followed without looking back, wondering whether Tom was remembering that night too.

  With a grand-hostess air, Megan led the way through the high-ceilinged hallway, past a bright, book-lined dining room, and a kitchen with a marbled island, where a uniformed housekeeper was washing crystal wine glasses.

  It was unsettling being back in the place where my plan had backfired so spectacularly all that time ago, and I wished I’d put my foot down and insisted we meet somewhere neutral.

  I couldn’t clearly remember the interior of the house, but as I glanced back at the wide stairway the past came rushing back, and I half expected Mr Hudson to materialise, and look at me like something the cat had deposited.

  Not that they had a cat.

  ‘Can we do this outside?’ I said, but Megan was too far ahead, so I had to hurry after her, into a spacious, sunlit room, where a couple of Chesterfield sofas faced each other across a Persian rug. There was a smell of freshly brewing coffee coming from a silver pot on the coffee table, next to a pile of Country Life magazines, and a tall vase of mop-headed flowers I recognised as hydrangeas (gratitude – or, negatively, frigidity and heartlessness).

  A grand piano dominated the opposite end of the room, with thick-framed family photos jostling for space on top. It was like being on the set of Downton Abbey.

  I looked for signs of Tom, but the photos were too far away, and there was nothing else to suggest he’d set foot in the stately room recently.

  ‘This is Jay Simmons,’ said Megan, waving her hand at a man perched on the edge of the sofa, facing away from me.

  My spirits plunged as I edged forward. He must have turned up early with the intention of clearing the air between them, and looked like he might have succeeded.

  ‘Jay, Carrie Dashwood.’

  With a face like thunder he nodded at me and muttered, ‘Hi.’

  I nodded back, taking him in. He was bald, his head a perfect, light brown egg shape, and he was all in black – thick, black-rimmed glasses, V-neck T-shirt revealing a swirl of dark hair, skinny jeans with turn-ups, and pointy shoes – and was gripping his coffee cup as though he was throttling it.

  In comparison, Megan looked cheer-leader bright in a white cotton dress and sliders, her hair swishing like black satin around her shoulders.

  I nervously tugged my scoop-neck top over the waistband of my candy-pink jeans, wishing I’d tied back my hair, which was extra bouncy, and that I hadn’t worn red lipstick.

  It seemed pathetic that I’d been secretly hoping to impress Tom, by showing him how capable and in control I was. I would have to make do with Megan. I didn’t want her feeding back to him that I’d fluffed it.

  ‘So, you’re my competition,’ Jay said, setting his cup down, his smooth face set in a close-lipped smile. His charcoal eyes were magnified through his rectangular lenses, and not remotely friendly.

  ‘I prefer to call it pitching for a job.’ It was my best professional voice – apart from a tiny quaver at the end.

  Jay leaned back and spread his legs, flinging one arm across the back of the sofa. It was a gesture presumably intended to intimidate, spoilt by the fact that his flies were undone.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve too much to worry about,’ he said, in a thespy way. ‘Been in the business too long, sweetheart.’

  ‘You haven’t seen what I’ve got yet.’ I indicated the vase of flowers on the table, which looked like they’d been plonked in. ‘Even I could have done that.’

  He followed my gaze. ‘Those?’ He pointed at them, as if to make absolutely sure. ‘You think I brought those?’

  He and Megan looked at each other and burst into showy laughter, any animosity there’d been between them, gone.

  ‘I did those, silly, they’re from the garden,’ Megan said, shimmying over to pat my arm, her engagement ring flashing like a warning. ‘Now, would you like some coffee before we take a look at Jay’s arrangement?’

  ‘Not for me, thanks,’ I said, scanning the room. If Jay’s arrangement wasn’t here, where was it?

  ‘Flowers have to be kept cool in this weather or they droop,’ Jay said, dripping scorn, bringing his foot onto the opposite knee. ‘Isn’t that the first rule of being a florist?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ I bit back. ‘My aunt’s the florist, not me. I’m here to represent her, as Megan agreed she could supply the flowers for her wedding.’

  ‘Oh, did she now?’ Jay tossed Megan a sniper-like look that brought her hurrying to his side.

  ‘Provisionally,’ she said, smoothing the air with her hands. ‘The thing is, Carrie, I owe Jay, for dropping him without waiting to hear the outcome of his arrest.’ She gave a pantomime shrug. ‘My bad.’

  And my fault for calling him in the first place.

  ‘I understand that,’ I said, attempting to soften my tone, reminding myself that Ruby needed this job. ‘But you promised to look at both our arrangements before deciding.’

  ‘True.’ Megan glanced at my bag. ‘It’s in there?’ Her eyebrows sprang up. ‘Yours wasn’t in a bag,’ she said to Jay, and I couldn’t make out if she was being genuinely accusing, or pretending to be.

  ‘It certainly wasn’t,’ he replied, in a similar tone, rubbing a hand around his jaw. Shuffling forwards, he steepled his fingers. ‘Let’s have a shufty then.’

  He exchanged a look with Megan as I stepped up to the coffee table, and my pulse accelerated as I put down the bag and reached inside. In the absence of any perfume, which I rarely wore, I’d blasted the flower-pups with Dove antiperspirant. It had a strong floral scent that attacked my nostrils as I lifted the pups out and placed them next to the coffee pot.

  ‘Obviously, this is just a sample,’ I said, fighting an urge to sneeze. I retrieved the portfolio and held it out. ‘I know you didn’t have time to look the other day, but I’ve brought it so you can see what else…’ My words petered out.

  The hush was so total I could hear my stomach gurgle.

  I looked from Megan to Jay, both staring at the flower-pups with identical expressions, though I couldn’t determine what they were.

  Sounds leached into the room: the housekeeper warbling the chorus of ‘Mamma Mia’; the drone of a lawnmower through the open window; the creak of floorboards overhead.

  Suddenly Jay jerked forward, knocki
ng the table with his foot, and I jumped as a spoon clattered to the surface.

  ‘May I?’ His voice had a rather muffled quality as he reached out a bony hand to the pups.

  ‘No!’ I stepped forward, palm up like a traffic warden. ‘It’s very delicate,’ I said, not wanting him to discover that the flowers weren’t real. ‘It’s just for show,’ I clarified, as he hovered his hand in the air. ‘I don’t want it to get damaged.’

  Megan had dropped to her knees and was eye-to-eye with groom-pup. He looked particularly appealing in his black top hat, and although bride-pup’s eyes were a bit skew-whiff I was sure it wouldn’t be a deal-breaker. The overall effect was what counted, and they couldn’t have looked more weddingy.

  ‘It smells really strong,’ she said, with the same peculiar timbre to her voice; as if she’d got biscuit crumbs stuck in her throat and was trying not to choke. ‘What kind of flowers are they?’

  ‘Mostly carnations,’ I said. ‘But if you’d like something similar we could use white roses, and they don’t even have to be white—’

  A sound erupted, like someone squeezing a duck.

  I shot a glance at Jay. He was doubled over, cradling his head as though in terrible pain, and his shoulders were vibrating.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ I said to Megan.

  She’d rocked forward onto her hands, her head hanging down between her arms, and as I watched her bucking, like a cat retching up a fur-ball, I realised what was happening.

  They weren’t just laughing, they were almost paralysed by hilarity, unable to move out of their contorted positions.

  ‘Oh. My. God,’ Megan managed at last, pushing herself up and swiping the backs of her hands across her face. Her cheeks were magenta, smeared with eye make-up, and Jay looked like he’d been weeping.

  ‘I don’t see what’s so funny.’ I was stiff with shame and embarrassment. ‘My aunt worked hard on that, and it shows how skilled she is.’

  ‘Oh, Carrie, you’re so sweet,’ said Megan, husky-voiced from laughing. ‘I can’t believe you seriously thought something like this would do.’ She gave a strangled splutter. ‘I mean, they’re not even real flowers.’

  ‘I thought you liked themed designs.’ I hated that they were laughing at Ruby. I remembered the look of shy pride on her face, and the absorbed expression she’d worn before I disturbed her as she was rummaging through her boxes. ‘You sounded impressed by Jay’s handbag flowers.’

  ‘Hardly in the same league,’ Jay squawked. ‘I mean, Jesus WEPT!’

  ‘He would if he saw that!’

  They creased up again.

  ‘This is just to show you what Ruby can do,’ I pressed on, determined to have my say. ‘Obviously, we’ll use real flowers on the day.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Jay said softly, dashing his fingertips beneath his eyes, removing all trace of amusement. ‘You’d better come with me, and I’ll show you how it should be done.’

  Megan sprang to her feet and straightened her dress, her face twisting once more as she caught sight of the pups.

  ‘I haven’t laughed like that for years,’ she said, reaching to give my frozen fingers a squeeze. ‘I’d forgotten how funny you were, Bagsy.’

  I was glad Tom wasn’t there to witness my loss of face, as Megan picked up the flower-pups and cuddled them under her arm.

  ‘They can come with us,’ she said, sharing another look of amusement with Jay.

  If they weren’t best buddies before, they were now; at my expense.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jay practically pranced from the room, with Megan by his side, and I followed them, face burning, into the kitchen, which was now empty and spotlessly clean. Ruby’s whole flat would have fitted inside it.

  I thought briefly of the messy kitchen in the house Tom had shared with his fellow vets, the surfaces scattered with coffee cups, cereal packets and takeaway leaflets, and could see why he’d felt more at home there.

  ‘Here we are!’ Jay flung wide the doors of a walk-in larder, and flounced inside.

  It was several degrees cooler than the rest of the house, and lined with packets of fancy pasta, jars of preserves and expensive looking olive oils.

  One shelf had been cleared to showcase Jay’s floral arrangement, and as I clapped eyes on it I tried not to groan out loud. Far from the over-the-top affair I’d been expecting – a life-size replica of Madonna perhaps, made entirely of daisies – I was looking at an understated bouquet in subtle shades of sapphire-blue and ivory, bound with a silky sash that had been secured with a diamanté pin – the only remotely flashy aspect.

  It was perfect in its simplicity, and, judging by his self-satisfied smirk, Jay knew it.

  ‘I’ve gone for a preppy seaside theme, with peonies, ranunculus, nigella, delphiniums and cerinthe.’ He reeled off the names of the flowers as though they were his children. ‘It was obvious the moment I met her, that Megan has exquisite taste,’ he went on, flashing an obsequious smile that revealed a gold tooth. ‘I knew it was going to be a case of less is more.’ He stabbed me with his gaze, before lifting the bouquet as carefully as if it were a baby bird and holding it against Megan’s hair. ‘Suits her colouring, don’t you think, and brings out those amazing eyes.’

  I’d like to bring out your eyes, I thought.

  ‘It’s superb,’ Megan gushed, angling her head and fluttering her eyelashes at me. ‘I could have matching posies on the tables at the reception.’

  Jay whipped out a smart-phone and took a couple of snaps, and Megan played up, pouting flirtily, waggling the wedding-pups for the camera, and making little whining noises in her throat.

  She looked like a Disney princess, with a bitchy vibe.

  ‘Let me take a couple of you holding the bouquet in the kitchen, where the lighting’s better,’ said Jay. ‘I can put some pictures on my website, darling. You’re going to be a stunning bride.’

  ‘You should see my dress,’ she said, sliding me a look. ‘Tom’s going to be blown away.’

  ‘I hope he hasn’t seen you in it, darling, you know it’s bad luck.’

  ‘Of course not.’ She widened her eyes at the thought. ‘Ooh, and I want rose petals scattered behind me as I walk down the aisle.’ She twirled around with the bouquet, the wedding-pups discarded on the worktop, and pointed through the window at the grounds, where presumably the ceremony was to take place. ‘There’ll be a pergola at the end, where Tom and I will exchange our vows’ – she cast me a little look as if to check I was listening – ‘and actually, if you could entwine some white roses around the pergola, that would be super-duper.’

  ‘Not a problemo,’ said Jay, sucking up to her like mad. I might as well have been invisible. ‘Leave it to me, sweetheart.’

  Anger rising like one of Bob’s loaves, I snatched up the pups and said loudly, ‘So I’ll tell my aunt it’s a “no” then, shall I?’

  ‘No to what?’ said a voice behind me, and I whipped around to see Mr Hudson in the doorway.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  At first glance, Michael Hudson looked barely changed from the last time I’d seen him. He was wearing a salmon-pink shirt and immaculately pressed beige trousers, his brown shoes as shiny as conkers. On a second glance, I noticed white streaks running through his hair, and a bruised look in his brown eyes, which I guessed was to do with his wife’s death.

  He entered the kitchen and put the plate he’d been carrying into the sink, before turning to me, eyebrows lifted in polite enquiry.

  ‘I was pitching to do the flowers for the wedding,’ I said, refusing to be intimidated as I snatched up Ruby’s arrangements. It was blindingly obvious that, compared to Jay’s, they were completely unsuitable.

  ‘Do I know you?’ He leaned against the counter, his forehead rippling. ‘That red hair,’ he mused. ‘You look familiar.’

  ‘We knew each other at school.’ Megan handed her bouquet to Jay, and moved over to slip her arm through Mr Hudson’s. ‘She introduced me t
o Tom at his twenty-first, before she moved away and lost touch.’ She gave me a glowing smile that I felt was more for Mr Hudson’s benefit than mine.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘You were Tom’s friend…’

  ‘Carrie,’ I said flatly. I wanted to leave and never come back. I wasn’t looking forward to telling Ruby there was no booking after all, but hopefully she would find it in her heart to forgive me.

  ‘Carrie, of course, I remember.’ Mr Hudson rubbed his chin while he studied me with narrowed eyes. ‘Tom talked about you to his mother.’

  Megan stiffened.

  ‘I knew him when he was at veterinary college,’ I said. It felt like a massive betrayal of how I’d really felt, but I could hardly blurt out that I’d been in love with him.

  ‘You were crying the night of the party.’ His gaze narrowed further. ‘I saw you on the stairs.’

  I was surprised he’d remembered. I could feel the laser-beam of Megan’s eyes.

  ‘I’d had too much to drink,’ I said, dropping my gaze to my feet. They were still sore from the night before, even in the comfy sandals I’d found in Ruby’s cupboard. ‘Anyway, I’d better get going.’

  ‘Your aunt’s a florist?’

  I lifted my head. ‘Ruby’s Blooms,’ I said. ‘She has a stall near the beach in Shipley.’

  He gave a fleeting smile that transformed his face, and I saw a resemblance to Tom that wrenched at my heart. ‘I tried to buy some buildings along the parade there a long time ago, but the sweet-shop owner put up quite a fight.’ He sounded as if he admired the owner’s gumption. ‘I don’t remember your aunt’s stall.’

  ‘It’s been there quite a few years now,’ I said, not sure why I was bothering when he was just being polite.

  ‘She made those dogs,’ Megan butted in, eyes flicking to Jay and away, and I turned to see him smiling behind his hand.

  ‘Cute,’ said Mr Hudson, eyeing my aunt’s puppies with an inscrutable expression. ‘Tell her to go ahead.’

  ‘What?’ snapped Megan, before I could open my mouth.