Then Mrs Orange pitches up, her radar on full alert.
‘It’s serious,’ I mutter at her. ‘Marital problems, possibly terminal. Any thoughts?’
‘Hazel twigs,’ she nods knowingly at Honey. ‘Works a treat, it does.’
‘I already tried them,’ I tell her. ‘This seems beyond the power of even the mighty hazel…It’s desperate. Does anything else come to mind?’
She tilts her head on one side and frowns. ‘Could always try them white tulips, pet...’
‘But it’s August…’
She stomps about a bit with a frown. ‘I’ll be back later, duck,’ is all she says, which isn’t helpful in the slightest.
Give Honey her due, she knuckles down and when Milo delivers the flowers, helps me and Skye snip the stems until they’re all unwrapped and in water.
There’s no sign of Mrs Orange, until she pokes her head back in just as we’re about to close. She hands me a strange little posy and winks comically, jerking her head towards Honey.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper.
The day passes relatively smoothly. Honey knuckles down and gets on with everything I ask and by the end of the day, looks tired but marginally happier.
Back home, I put Mrs Orange’s posy into water. I’ll sneak it into Honey’s room later on, and leave it to work its magic.
‘You work quite hard, don’t you?’ Honey sounds surprised. ‘I didn’t realise…’
‘Ha!’ I say triumphantly. ‘No-one does, not until they try it themselves. To quote one of your eligible dinner party guests, flowers are a sweet little job for a girl.’
‘Whoever said that?’ she asks sharply.
‘Handsome, lovely Joe, who was completely up himself,’ I tell her.
‘You can’t say that, Frankie! He’s the MD’s nephew. Then she allows herself a giggle. ‘I suppose he is, isn’t he…’
‘Anyway, your reward is a night out,’ I tell her and her face falls.
‘I don’t think so, but thanks all the same.’
‘Actually, you don’t have any say in the matter. Call it therapy or whatever,’ I tell her. ‘You’ve drunk all my booze, remember? And Demelza’s is out of wine, if you don’t count that disgusting Spanish stuff which I refuse to drink because it doubles as drain cleaner. Get changed.’
I daren’t tell her we’re meeting Charlie and Nina, because that would really make her dig her heels in. She doesn’t know either, that after a hurried confab while she was in the shower, that the three of us are about to give her a makeover. Which starts, as everything does, with a bottle or two of champagne.
‘So how was LA?’
Charlie’s tan is even more golden than last time I saw her and there’s a sparkle in her eyes – with good reason, so it turns out.
‘Hot! In more ways than one, girls! Guess what! I met a guy!’
‘You’re always meeting guys,’ I remind her. ‘She picks them up everywhere she goes,’ I explain to Honey, who suddenly looks as though there’s a particularly nasty smell under her nose.
Charlie misses nothing and gives me a look. ‘This is different,’ she insists. ‘We talked and talked. He’s even English, just working out there for a few months. His name is Mark, he’s single – here..’ She whips out her iphone. ‘This is him.’
She shows us a picture of a very nice, very ordinary looking guy with honest eyes and a warm smile. ‘Cute, isn’t he?’
‘Very,’ I nod approvingly.
At the same time, Honey gets up. ‘Look, I’m going. Sorry – I’m just not feeling too great,’ she says miserably.
Nina and I simultaneously take one of her arms each and pull her back into her chair.
‘You’re staying,’ I tell her, topping up her glass and thrusting it under her nose. ‘Get this down you.’
‘It’s ok, Honey,’ says Nina, who’s kinder than I am. ‘You don’t have to tell us about it, but if you want to, that’s fine. You never know, it might just help.’
Honey looks as though she’s about to leap up again but then she slumps in her seat. ‘If you really want to know, I’ve single-handedly destroyed my marriage.’ She stares at the table and when she looks up, her eyes glitter with tears. ‘There. Now – can I go?’
‘Poppycock,’ says Charlie. ‘I’m sure he’s not entirely blameless… Let’s face it, men never are.’ Which is extremely generous of her seeing as Honey’s never even given her the time of day.
‘Oh, you don’t know what I’m like,’ says Honey quietly.
Charlie raises one perfectly arched eyebrow, a gesture which doesn’t go unnoticed. I glare at her.
‘All marriages have problems,’ says Nina, donning her white coat and stethoscope – figuratively speaking. ‘And not everyone’s as honest as you’re being. If you and Johnny can get through this, you’ll end up far stronger for it.’
‘I don’t think there’s any hope of that,’ says Honey sadly, the champagne loosening her tongue. ‘I said some terrible things. Really terrible…’ Her voice drops to a whisper.
‘And he didn’t?’ says Charlie. ‘Come on… I bet he didn’t take it lying down…’
‘No…’ Honey brightens briefly. ‘No, I suppose he didn’t…’
‘Well, at least while you’re working, you can keep your mind on something else,’ says Nina. ‘It’s not a good idea to brood.’
‘But I can’t,’ says Honey pathetically. ‘Work, I mean. I can’t concentrate. I’ve told my boss I’m ill. I can hardly go in like this…’
‘She’s working with me,’ I say. ‘Another pair of hands is always useful.’
Honey looks vaguely pleased.
‘There’s just one little problem…’ I say, glancing at Charlie, then back at Honey. ‘Only, you don’t really have any suitable clothes, Honey. Everything is terribly smart and expensive and working with flowers is so messy…’
‘Oh…’ Honey looks nonplussed.
‘I’m going to All Hallows tomorrow,’ says Charlie casually. ‘I need one or two things before I go away… Come with me, if you like…’
Honey looks at her in horror, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.
‘She’d love to,’ I say hastily. ‘Wouldn’t you, Honey?’ I turn to Charlie and wink. ‘Really kind.’
‘I’ll meet you both for lunch,’ says Nina. ‘I’ve got a half day.’
‘Fantastic!’ I tell Honey. ‘That’s organised, then.’
She doesn’t look happy but for once in her life, she doesn’t argue.
18
And so the next day, Honey actually goes - without a murmur, much to my astonishment and without the faintest idea she’s been set up. Once she’s been safely whisked away from the shop by Charlie, Skye and I work much faster and the day’s flowers are delivered in double quick time. Half marathon training has been somewhat side-lined this week, so after work, I whizz home to change and get out for a run, only just before I set off, Charlie delivers Honey home again.
She comes in wearing faded boyfriend jeans and a short cardigan, looking a much softer, younger version of herself. Better still, she’s smiling - and bless my soul if behind her, Charlie isn’t too.
‘Wow! Honey, you’re gorgeous!’
She blushes slightly but looks pleased. ‘Thank you!’
‘Make yourselves at home, girls. I’m just off out for my run.’
‘Good for you,’ says Charlie, settling herself on the sofa and kicking her shoes off. ‘When is this marathon?’
‘Not for ages – and it’s only a half marathon, that’s all.’
This time my modesty isn’t false. Knowing how hard it is, I’m in total awe of those super-humans who run the whole twenty six miles because I honestly think it would kill me.
‘Actually, I’m raising funds for Briarwood – the children’s hospice – if you fancy making a contribution?’
‘Of course I will - but leave it with me,’ says Charlie. ‘Only I know someone at work in the office – I might be able to persuade them to be
quite generous...’
‘Oh, wow! Thank you!’
‘I’ll sponsor you - have you a form?’ asks Honey, gentler in her new, un-bossy clothes.
‘On the side over there. I’ve got to go – otherwise I’ll change my mind…’
As I go outside, leaving Charlie and Honey in my flat, I’m wondering if this might be the beginning of an unlikely but beautiful friendship.
It looks a distinct possibility, because an hour later, when I return, the flat’s empty and there’s a note saying they’ve gone to the pub. And it’s just the two of them, because I know for a fact that Nina’s seeing Will tonight. I decide, just this once, not to join them. It’ll be a good bonding exercise and anyway, I want to see Lulubelle.
Just as I leave, there’s a call from Julia, which I choose not to answer. In a convoluted message, she tells me that it’s bad news about Giles and she’ll call me sometime soon.
I can’t help but wonder just how bad and almost call her back. Of course I’m sorry about Giles, but the thing is it’s just typical of her, to draw everyone in when it suits her, then just disappear without a word. Sometime I need to explain that I’d like her in my life for a change, not the other way round.
19
It’s early evening when I get to Lulubelle’s, knocking on the door twice before she answers.
‘Hi! Sorry! We were outside, reading.’ She holds the door open.
‘Are you busy?’ Now I’m here, I’m not sure why I’ve come, only that I wanted to be somewhere I could think.
‘No – come on in! We’re about to have tea in the garden – you’re more than welcome to join us.’
I follow her in. ‘You know, I am so in love with this house. Your fireplace,’ I lean against it, caressing the worn bricks. ‘And your pictures are so cool, Lulubelle. I want pictures like that…’
It’s like I suddenly realise what I’m missing. It’s a home. I gaze around wistfully as we go through the double doors thrown open into the garden.
‘See? Even your flowers are happy.’ It’s true. Her lawn is edged with a mixture of bright, clashing flowers.
Lulubelle looks at me, frowning. ‘Are you okay, Frankie?’
I nod, a little vacantly, watching Cosmo kicking a football around.
‘Just having a funny day. He’s looking better than he has in ages.’
‘He is, isn’t he? It’s a good day. His cheeks are fuller and his energy’s clearly coming back.
‘Hi. Want a goalie?’ I ask him. ‘I know I’m not very good, but you could always train me…’
‘Yaaay…’ He throws his skinny arms in the air and kicks the ball straight at me. Luckily I catch it.
‘Hey, be kind,’ I tell him. ‘At least let me get warmed up.’
For a skinny child, he has quite some power behind his kick. Time after time, he defeats me, until worn out, I surrender.
‘No more, please,’ I beg, as he hurls himself on top of me, just as in the house, the phone rings.
‘Can you watch him?’ Lulubelle asks, ‘while I get that?’
By the time she comes back, we’re sitting on the rug, reading. Suddenly I’m conscious how pale and tiny Cosmo’s limbs are, even for a child and I’m reminded yet again just how frail he is. Then as he tries to get up, he stumbles and falls back against me. I wrap my arms round him, feeling his warm skin like paper against my own, his heart pumping away just beneath.
It passes – and he’s fine again. Except I’m not. The slightest thing, like that is positively terrifying.
‘Sorry about that…’ Lulubelle comes over. ‘That was a real coincidence actually. It was one of the fundraisers from the hospice – asking if we’d like to meet them later for a drink.’
‘What about Cosmo?’ I’m still cradling him, quite protectively. ‘I think he’s tired out from all that football.’
‘I’m sure Mum would come and look after him…What do you think, Cosmo?’
‘Yaay!’ he manages to shriek. ‘I want to see Grandma.’
‘Okay, I’ll ask her, but this time, you’ll have to be good and go to bed. Not like last time,’ she warns him, before looking at me. ‘He was a monster. So, are you doing anything tonight?’
‘No. Cool. I’d love to.’
‘Okay, so we better get this boy some tea and into bed.’
As we wander inside, in the sitting room I go over to the wall where she’s hung her photographs. One in particular catches my eye. It’s Lulubelle, but much younger – with tangled hair and a reckless look in her eyes. I lean forward, peering at it more closely.
‘Great photo.’
‘That one? It’s an old one, Frankie. From my other life… Come and have a cup of tea.’
With Cosmo finally settled in bed, and Lulubelle’s Mum up there reading to him, we drive to this pub a few winding miles of country lane away. It’s a proper, out-in-the-sticks country pub with a small enclosure for tying horses up.
‘They’re a great bunch of guys – a bit mad when you get them away from work – but I know them quite well now. Just watch out – some of them don’t get out enough!’
I’m guessing high jinks and shenanigans are more a reaction to working in the environment that they do. When you’re constantly reminded of the transience of life, you need to let your hair down more than most.
As we go in, she points them out. Not that you can miss the noise they’re making. ‘That’s them, over there.’
There’s about ten of them in the group, spread over a couple of tables and after collecting drinks, we wander over to join them. Lulubelle introduces me, and I end up sitting between Casey, one of the nurses and Jessie, who works in reception. Both are running for Briarwood.
‘Is this your first half marathon?’ Casey asks, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes.
‘It is.’ Suddenly I’m worried. ‘And please don’t tell me you’re one of those hardened runners who does this all the time…’
He roars with laughter. ‘You have to be kidding! But Jess here, she’s another matter altogether. Heard of ultra-marathons?’
I shake my head, mystified.
‘Mega marathons in deserts and up mountains,’ he says while Jessie pulls a face at him. ‘Extreme temperatures, extreme mileage, extremely ugly feet…You should see them.’ He grimaces.
‘He’s exaggerating,’ says Jessie. ‘Well, apart from the feet. They are quite long races and sometimes in hot places, but it’s like any of them – you just get into your stride and keep going. Your feet get really sore but it’s great for raising funds...’
I’m awestruck. ‘Sorry, but somehow I don’t believe it’s quite that easy…’
But then Jessie waves at someone who’s just walking in, and my heart stops. It’s Alex.
I sit there, frozen, wanting to be anywhere else, just not here, as he comes over and kisses first Jessie, then Lulubelle on the cheek.
Jessie tries to introduce us. ‘Alex, this is Frankie.’
‘I know.’ His eyes give away nothing. ‘We’ve met. What are you doing here?’
‘Oh, I came along with Lulubelle,’ I say casually, because I don’t need to explain myself to him and against my will, feeling my heart flutter, then flip right over. He may completely misunderstand me, but it doesn’t stop him being gorgeous. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘One of our team’s injured,’ explains Jessie. ‘So Alex’s kindly stepping in to take their place.’
I feel my poor hyperactive heart sink into my boots. Does this mean I’ll have to train with him?
‘Shouldn’t be too much of a challenge for you,’ I say coolly. ‘It’s just a half marathon after all… Sorry,’ I say to a mystified Lulubelle. ‘But would you excuse me? I just need to make a call.’
I can hear them talking amongst themselves as I go and sit next to her and I can just imagine what he’s saying, about that flaky florist who’s shallow and self-interested and can’t think of anyone but herself. Only I don’t have to sit there under his disapproving gaz
e.
Sadly, though, it looks as though I was right about him. I’m not the girl he thought I was. It clinches it. This is serious. Not only will I do this race, I’ll do it in a respectable time.
I’ll show him, I think to myself. I’ll show them all...
20
After a lazy Sunday during which Honey continues to be much less bossy, the week gets off to a rip roaring start. I spend the whole of Monday morning compiling orders for three weddings later in the week and then the phone starts ringing. And ringing.
It’s not just my current season’s brides either, but some calling about next year, which is fantastic for business, it’s just that calling in the middle of silly season means I don’t have time for long discussions about their vague ponderings on flowers. Mrs Culleton calls again, which has become a weekly occurrence and will no doubt continue to be so until her beloved Abigail is finally despatched down the aisle and off her hands for good. I’m a firm believer in details, but the nit-picking variety Mrs Culleton comes up with are completely ludicrous. I really do not need to know the exact shade of white of the table linen. Nor do I need a sample, thank you for asking. Nor do I need to know the colour of the groom’s boxers… Well, slight exaggeration, but that, it seems, is what it’s coming to.
Then Milo throws his bloody great spanner in the works.
‘Them roses, darlin’… Them amnesia ones, you know the price is up, don’t you?’ And when he tells me how much by, I start to cry.
‘Oh Milo… it’s a disaster,’ I wail. ‘What will I do? All my profit will disappear if I pay that much…’
‘Blimey, Frankie, mate. Don’t stress – I’ll get you hypnose. No-one will be able to tell the difference.’
But I will, that’s the trouble, because hypnose isn’t the same. Almost, but it’s a shade apart, which to my discerning designer’s eye is quite upsetting. I settle for half and half and make a note to self to never base a wedding on amnesia roses ever, ever again.
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