Please Forgive Me

by Melissa Hill

  ‘So don’t you want to know what we talked about, or what he said?’ Grace prompted when Leonie stayed silent.

  ‘No I don’t actually,’ she said, swallowing hard. ‘I’d rather not talk about him at all to be honest.’

  ‘Well he looked absolutely terrible, and for what it’s worth, I think he’s really sorry that –’

  ‘Grace please,’ Leonie interjected hoarsely. ‘I just don’t want to know, OK?’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry but you’re my best friend, and I’m really worried about you! Look, I know what happened was awful, but isn’t there any chance you two could try and work things out? Forgive and forget, maybe?’

  Leonie closed her eyes. ‘I really don’t think so, Grace,’ she replied determinedly, knowing in her heart that some things just couldn’t be forgiven.

  Chapter 3

  Two weeks later, Leonie got the keys to the apartment and moved out of the Holiday Inn into what would be her brand new home – for the next six months at least.

  She’d told Grace the truth when she’d said she didn’t know how long she’d be staying away; all she knew was that it was what she’d always done when faced with any major decisions in her life.

  OK, so her job required her to be cool, calm and decisive and she was usually pretty good at applying these same traits to other people’s problems, but for some reason, she could never manage to call upon them when it came to her own.

  In her teenage years, when all her classmates were worrying about exams and college places, Leonie decided to avoid the stress by taking a year out to go backpacking around Asia and Australia. While Grace and her other school friends had been horrified (albeit more than a little envious too), Leonie’s parents had been fully supportive. In fact, the only major decision she’d given real consideration was agreeing to marry Adam – and clearly, she should have thought even harder about that, she mused now as she dragged her backpack up the steps to the front door of the house.

  Entering her apartment, she was struck once again by the large angled bay window that dominated the living room and flooded it with light and sunshine, and she guessed she’d while away many a day and evening sitting on the window seat and drinking in those amazing views across the bay. It was the perfect spot for curling up with a good book, which Leonie suspected she’d be doing quite a lot of.

  And while it was tempting to ‘hide away’ (as Grace put it) in a place so cosy and lovely, she knew there was no point. She’d end up dwelling even more on what had happened back home.

  No, Leonie decided immediately, there would be no moping about here; she’d done enough of that already, hadn’t she? Instead, she’d take a few days to settle in and then make it her business to explore the area properly. The city was so compact you could see a lot of it on foot, and if walking the hills got too difficult she could always hop on one of the cable cars (although they looked very scary going up and down those humongous hills on a single wire – what if it snapped?). It was lovely that her street was only a few blocks from Fishermans Wharf; there was always plenty of activity down there what with tourist-thronged Pier 39 and the lively markets and street performers. It was hard not knowing anyone, but hopefully this would only be for a while and if she was seriously stuck for someone to talk to, she could always go down and chat to the sea lions!

  But first things first Leonie decided, wrinkling her nose; this place needed a good spring clean. The previous occupant hadn’t exactly left it in a pristine state. A sheen of dust lay on the living room coffee table and over the mantelpiece, and the adjoining kitchen (although it was more of a kitchenette really) looked decidedly grubby.

  She dumped her backpack in the bedroom, deciding to head straight back out to pick up some supplies. There was a mini-mart at the end of the street so she should be able to get enough cleaning paraphernalia there to keep her occupied for the afternoon at least. And while she was at it, she might as well stock up on a few essentials like milk and sugar. She’d do a full shop at one of the bigger supermarkets soon, but the place wouldn’t really be home until she’d enjoyed a cuppa. An excited thrill ran along her spine as the reality of making her first cup of tea in her own little place in a city thousands of miles away struck her.

  Despite the problems that had led to her being here in the first place, she was already starting to feel much more positive. And if she had anything to do with it, she thought, putting her hands on her hips as she surveyed her new surroundings, Green Street would soon start to feel like home.

  Having scrubbed the living room and the somewhat neglected kitchen, she eventually made her way to the bedroom, which to her relief didn’t look like it needed a whole lot of work, apart from vacuuming the carpets and cleaning out the wardrobes – or closets as they called them here, she remembered with a smile.

  Standing on a kitchen chair to give her enough height, Leonie set about dusting inside the wardrobe. It was a very old, practically antique piece made from dark redwood, and could very well be about the same age as the house itself, she thought, remembering that she’d read somewhere how a lot of Victorian houses had been constructed with the then easily available (and more importantly fire-resistant) native timber.

  She reached inside and swept a duster along the shelf, intending to give it no more than a quick going over for the sake of it. Then she frowned, as her hand connected with something. She peered into the darkness and saw what looked to be a small wooden storage box hidden deep in the back. Great, she groaned inwardly, the last tenants had obviously left her a nice housewarming present of their unwanted rubbish! Sighing, Leonie dragged the box across the shelf and lifted it out of the wardrobe, intending to place it on the floor and out of her way.

  But the box was much heavier than expected, and as she went to pick it up, Leonie suddenly lost her balance on the chair, and both she and the box went tumbling to the ground.

  ‘Ah, look what you made me do!’ she wailed rubbing the small of her back, which had taken the brunt of the fall. The little gold catch on the box had fallen open and its contents, a collection of envelopes loosely wrapped in cellophane, were strewn all over the floor.

  So much for cleaning the place up, she grunted, deciding that it had to be a sign that she’d done enough for one afternoon. Not to mention a very good excuse for a cuppa…

  Standing up, Leonie roughly gathered together the contents of the box. As she did she realised that strangely, the envelopes were still sealed and unopened. She picked one up for closer examination. It was a letter all right, addressed to someone who must have previously lived at this address.

  Helena Abbott.

  In fact, each and every one was unopened and addressed to the same person.

  Weird.

  The box in her arms, Leonie went back out to the kitchen and switched on the kettle. While waiting for it to boil, she sat by the bay window and further examined the envelopes one by one, her curiosity piqued. The handwriting on each envelope was identical, she realised, noting the same rather elegant cursive script appeared on every one. Such beautiful handwriting too, almost like calligraphy.

  Why hadn’t the letters been opened? Assuming this Helena Abbott, whoever she was, had previously lived here and had intentionally stored the letters away in the box (and a very nice ornate one at that), then why hadn’t she bothered to open them? Or taken them with her when she moved out? Had she just forgotten about them hidden away in the back of the wardrobe or…?

  The kettle boiled, and Leonie shook her head, telling herself that it was none of her business either way. Putting the letters aside, she went into the kitchen, took out a mug and went about making a fresh cup of tea.

  But typically, her curiosity, (or downright nosiness as Grace would call it) managed to get the better of her, and mug in hand, she returned to the windowsill and set the box on her lap and the tea alongside her.

  Lifting the lid, she again took the envelopes out of the cellophane and turned them over one by one. There seemed to be no return addr
ess on any of them so it was impossible to tell where they might have originated. Then she peered closely at the postmark, trying to see if this might yield anything, but it looked to be nothing more than an official-looking but pretty generic ink mark.

  Oh well, she thought, putting them back in the box, she’d give the rental agency a call, see if they had a forwarding address.

  Although, something told Leonie that Helena Abbot might not miss them either way.

  ‘No, I’m afraid there isn’t a forwarding address on file,’ the man from the rental agency told her, when Leonie called a few days later. She had since cleaned the apartment from top to bottom and found nothing else belonging to previous tenants other than the box.

  ‘Oh. It’s just, I’ve got a pile of post –’

  ‘Post?’

  ‘Sorry, I mean…mail,’ she corrected quickly, realising that he wouldn’t have a bull’s notion of what she was on about. ‘She left it behind when she moved out, and it could be important.’

  ‘I’m sorry but we’ve got nothing at all on file. In fact, we don’t have a record of the name you mentioned as a customer of this office.’

  Leonie frowned. ‘What? But she only moved out a couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘Perhaps so, but she wasn’t a client of ours. The landlord obviously used another agency for previous lettings,’ he explained.

  ‘Well, maybe the landlord might have her address then. Could I have his number?’

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t give out that kind of information,’ the man sighed.

  ‘What?’ Leonie cried frustrated. ‘So, what I am supposed to do about the letters? Surely there must be some way of contacting the landlord? I mean, what if something goes wrong with the apartment, if it burns down or something?’

  ‘Ma’am the agency here are responsible for all aspects of the rental, but if you’d like to leave your name and number I can contact our client and pass on a message for him to call you?’ He was sounding a little irritated now.

  ‘OK then,’ Leonie sighed. She supposed that would have to do. Chances were the landlord wouldn’t give a fiddler’s about some previous tenant’s belongings but if nothing else at least she’d tried.

  That much done, she started to prepare lunch, and thought about the next thing she needed to do; see about getting a job. She’d spent the last few days settling into the apartment and getting to know the neighbourhood a little better. The day after she moved in, she’d taken a cable car down to Union Square (which was seriously scary) where she’d spent a few hours picking up the various household paraphernalia she needed to kit the place out completely.

  In terms of decorating it, there was a gorgeous little art gallery nearby, where she’d managed to pick up some funky pieces of wall art for an absolute song, and which went a long way towards brightening up the living room, as did the pretty handmade candles from the craft shop a block away. San Francisco was famous for its bohemian culture and hippy New Age roots, but she’d been taken aback by the proliference of small, independently run stores and eateries in the area, as opposed to the ubiquitous chain stores she’d expected. That personal touch added to the lovely sense of community she’d felt in the neighbourhood right from the off, and many of the cheery café and deli owners were only too happy to chat and give her lots of helpful information on her surroundings.

  In fact, the locals had been so friendly and open that they’d given Leonie the courage she needed to think about searching for a job. While she’d enjoyed spending her first few days in the apartment setting up home and alternating between watching (mesmerizingly addictive) American TV, or reading by the window seat while gazing out at the sailboats on the bay, she was now starting to feel a bit restless.

  Getting a job would hopefully focus her mind and help her settle in even further and even if it was just waitressing or a coffee barista, she’d prefer something that involved interacting with people. Surely with all the bistros and delis in the area, (particularly on Columbus Ave which boasted more Italian eateries on a single street than Leonie had seen in any Italian city) she’d be able to pick up a job around here?

  Having finished lunch, she decided to bite the bullet and head down that direction for a gander around.

  Despite a little coastal fog, it was another glorious sunny day, and as Leonie closed the front door behind her, she caught a glimpse of someone entering the apartment downstairs. It was the first time since moving in that she’d heard a sound or noticed any activity from her neighbours, which was either a testament to solid Victorian construction, or a sign that the surrounding tenants were nice and quiet.

  It was a pity she’d missed them though, she mused, deciding it would be nice to know her neighbours, at least enough to say a passing hello now and again.

  Going down the steps, she slung her handbag over her shoulder and headed further along the tree-lined street in the direction of Columbus Avenue.

  On the way she spotted a gorgeous little Italian pottery shop just off one of the side streets; its colourful window display and vibrantly painted exterior attracting her like a magpie.

  Alongside this were a couple of pretty boutiques and even further along a dinky little bookstore, and before Leonie knew it, she’d wandered completely off course and ended up in an area she didn’t recognise. But it didn’t matter, she was in no rush, and this was merely another aspect of this city she loved; the notion of wandering around a neighbourhood and randomly uncovering some of its hidden treasures.

  She moseyed along in the same direction for a little while, window-shopping and occasionally stopping to browse in whatever shops took her fancy, when a sign in a nearby window caught her eye.

  Help Wanted.

  From the extravagant flower displays in the window, it looked to be a florist.

  Leonie looked up at the sign over the door and gave a little laugh at the cheesy-as-you-can get-name of the store. What else? Well, no time like the present, she thought pushing open the door of …ahem… Flower Power and going inside.

  ‘Hi there, I see you’re looking for staff?’

  A stern, heavyset woman who looked nothing like the New Age hippy-type Leonie had been expecting gave her an appraising look. ‘You know anything about flower arranging, sweetheart?’

  Leonie gulped. ‘Not a whole lot to be honest. I mean; I don’t have any training or anything.’ Numbskull, she really should have thought of that. In truth, Leonie had no retail experience whatsoever, as she’d waitressed during her teenage years and on her travels, and from there went into event management. What had possessed her to think she could work in a place like this? ‘Although, I used to deal a lot with florists in my last job,’ she added quickly.

  The woman just shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter, neither do I,’ she said and Leonie was surprised at this given the lavish and highly stylised tropical arrangements that filled the room. ‘Anyhow, I’m just looking for someone to work the till and the phones, and process the internet orders. Do you know anything about the internet?’

  ‘I do, yes. Again, I haven’t worked in this particular area before, I mean with flowers per se but I’m sure I can learn.’ She went on to give the woman an account of her experience in event management, and how she’d only recently arrived in San Francisco and happened to be looking for work. ‘I was just passing and I saw the sign so…’

  ‘Where are you from honey?’ the woman asked, clearly thrown by the accent.

  ‘Ireland. In Europe,’ Leonie added helpfully, aware that not everyone would be familiar with her home country.

  ‘I know where Ireland is, I’ve been there twice,’ the other woman said, waving an arm dismissively. ‘Guess that pretty hair should have been a giveaway.’

  Yup, that and the translucent skin, Leonie thought to herself.

  ‘So have you got a social security number?’

  ‘Well no, I…’ Stupidly, she hadn’t even thought about that and now she felt very foolish indeed. What had she been thinking, expecting to just walk i
nto a job in a different country without the necessary documentation? Her resident’s visa had obviously given her a false sense of security and – ‘

  ‘Doesn’t matter - I guess we can work off the books until you get it.’ The woman seemed very easy-going about it all, which made Leonie suspect that this kind of thing was (luckily for her) par for the course.

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘Well, let’s see how the interview goes and then we can work out the details, OK?’

  ‘Oh yes … of course.’ Again Leonie felt foolish.

  ‘So, what’s your name?’

  Introductions were made and she discovered that the woman’s name was Marcy and she was the proprietor of Flower Power.

  ‘It’s a great name for a flower shop, especially here,’ Leonie smiled. ‘I presume you were part of the hippy movement?’

  Marcy looked insulted. ‘Are you crazy? I’m a good Baptist girl from Mississippi! None of that ‘free love’ stuff for me. Nah, I moved out West about ten years ago after my husband died.’

  ‘Oh. I’m very sorry to hear that.’ She was also horrified she’d raised the subject in the first place, but everyone else she’d met had been so friendly and forthcoming that she’d almost forgotten herself.

  But Marcy was unperturbed. ‘Look honey, here’s the thing, my last girl left on Saturday, and we’re heading into a real busy time here with Valentine’s Day just around the corner. So I need someone who’s smart, hard-working and most importantly doesn’t need babysitting,’ she added wryly. ‘Though I might as well tell you upfront, the pay’s not so hot.’ She then quoted a weekly wage that was only a third of what Leonie had been earning back home and would just about cover her rent. But she could live with that for the moment; she had some savings so all she really needed was enough to pay the rent and day-to-day living expenses, rather than fund an extravagant lifestyle or anything. ‘There are tips on top of that too and some of our regulars can be very generous.’