Next time the phone rings, it’s Maria, wanting to arrange another meeting – this week – but seeing as she’s paying me squillions, I stupidly agree to meet her on Thursday. In the end, my workload gets so ridiculous, I call Honey.
‘Please. Come and answer my phones. I’ll even let you organise my diary, if you promise not to overdo it, only I’m desperate, Honey…’
She arrives ten minutes later in elegantly crumpled linen trousers, a long sleeved t-shirt and polka dot pumps with a bow on the front.
‘Wow,’ I say, impressed. ‘Very cool. Quite the florist. But you better wear an apron or you’ll ruin them.’
She practically snatches the one I hand her, and underneath, just as I suspected, her long suppressed efficiency is bubbling up and raring to go.
‘Right, let me have your diary, Frankie. And while I’m here, I may as well get your books up to date too.’
‘Gosh. Thanks.’ Meaning I’m free to focus on the flowers which is what I’m best at.
Amazingly, it works - and by mid-afternoon, Skye and I have all the vases for the weddings laid out, the buckets ready, foliage cut, floor swept and all my lovely lists pinned up on the wall, while Honey has taken all the calls, organised my diary and dealt with those annoying sales people that I find it so hard to get rid of. She’s completely ruthless with them, telling them quite bluntly that if we require their services, we’ll be contacting them and not vice versa. And in the meantime, to take us off their database and never to call us again. Not ever.
Impressive. Trouble is, she’s getting everything so ship-shape, she’s doing herself out of a job.
‘You are wonderful,’ I tell her admiringly. ‘Tell you what, I’ll buy you a Chinese.’
‘Actually, I’ll buy you one,’ she says. ‘I’ve been living off you since I got here and I shouldn’t be.’ And uncharacteristically she shuts up.
Then the penny drops. In getting my books up to date, she now knows what my turnover is. It’s more than enough for me and Skye, but clearly nowhere near what a hotshot lawyer makes and it’s shocked her.
‘I’m not exactly poor,’ I say tactfully.
‘No. But considering how hard you work, you don’t get paid enough either. Ideally you’d up your prices by thirty per cent, Frankie. That would be far more reasonable.’
‘Thirty per cent?’ I splutter at her. ‘This is the real world, Honey. If I did that, I wouldn’t have a business.’
‘Actually,’ she says slowly. ‘I’ve been going through your notes. And there are quite a number of clients who seem to be spending a fortune on the venue and the dress – it’s all in your paperwork. Well, not in so many words, but everyone knows how much Roselin Castle and Vera Wang dresses set you back – yet when it comes to flowers, they beat you down to nothing. I was wondering…’
‘What?’ I’m curious.
‘Well, if you let me, I could single out the more expensive venues and set up some meetings. See if they’d be interested in some exclusive kind of deal with you. That way you’d be tapping into the top end of the market and you’d charge accordingly. You’d make far more money.’
‘But I like the tiny simple weddings, too,’ I protest. ‘They’re easy – and fun. The big ones can be a nightmare.’
‘Frankie, this isn’t a hobby, it’s your job. And if they pay you enough, it’ll be worth it.’
I go to meet Maria at the church, parking on the lane behind her enormous shiny Toyota with the personalised number plate, before taking the narrow leafy path that meanders downhill through the woods, over a stream and up the other side to the churchyard. Except for the birds and the gentle rustling of leaves, it’s blissfully quiet. Beneath the canopy of the trees, the ground is carpeted with wildflowers and every so often my arm brushes against the soft foliage growing up on either side.
It’s only as I walk across the grass towards the church, I notice Maria isn’t alone, she’s with Pete.
My first thought is oh my God I’m in the presence of rock royalty. I can’t help it. My heart stops and my insides do a triple somersault. In the flesh, he reminds me of Bill Nighy, only taller and with tanned, leathery skin. His hair is spiky and he’s wearing faded jeans and cowboy boots. Maria’s hand is entwined in his wrinkly one and as he pulls her towards him, they look utterly, sweetly in love.
I clear my throat diplomatically as I approach them and they both look round.
‘Frankie!’ says Maria excitedly. ‘You haven’t met Pete, have you? Sweetie, this is Frankie! And she’s quite brilliant…’
And as I stand there smiling at them, I realise. In that single sentence lies everything I’ve ever dreamed of. I’m meeting two celebrities who are about to pay me a fortune to work on their high profile wedding and they think I’m brilliant. Only all of a sudden, I don’t see it like that. They’re just a couple. Like any other couple, except unlike some of my clients, these two look really, properly in love.
‘Hello, lovely to meet you.’ I offer my hand and Pete shakes it. Here I am, actually touching the mighty rock star himself – and nothing. No frisson of excitement, no blood rushing to my cheeks, nothing.
‘Great to meet you, Frankie,’ says Pete. ‘Maria’s told me all about you. But to tell you the truth, I’m going to sit out here and leave you girls to it. Flowers aren’t really my bag.’ He gives me a saucy wink.
But the wink does it and this time my cheeks do blush pink. ‘Oh. Ok.’ I turn to Maria. ‘Shall we take a look?’
The ancient wooden door creaks open and we step inside. It’s cool and musty, a blend of chalky white walls contrasting with stone. This genuinely is a simple country church, with no adornments and no pretentions. You can imagine a sheep or two blundering in and not looking at all out of place. It’s my favourite church ever.
‘Shall we sit at the back?’ I suggest. ‘And then tell me what you’ve been thinking.’
‘Oh, probably roses,’ she giggles, sitting on a dusty pew without appearing to notice. ‘But apart from that… Oh I don’t know, Frankie. You’re the expert. What do you think?’
I sit down next to her and gaze towards the front, trying to imagine it full of people as I dream up something fabulous.
‘Those stone columns,’ I say, pointing to the ones either side at the front. ‘Festooned in ivy and roses up to the ceiling. They won’t get in anyone’s way but wow, will it look stunning…’
Maria starts to smile.
‘And on all the windowsills, ivy and roses and hundreds of candles – it’ll be October, remember, late afternoon… It’ll look perfect.’
Her smile grows.
‘And a carpet of rose petals all the way up the aisle to the altar, which if your vicar will let us, we can also cover with more roses…’ I frown. ‘You see, I’m thinking stunning, but not fussy. What do you think?’
But she’s nodding happily. ‘And the door, Frankie, we can have an arch, can’t we?’
‘Of course…’
Okay, so maybe Pete isn’t that ordinary. When we go outside again, he’s lounging on a bench under the yew tree with a fag in his mouth, strumming a chart-topping tune on an acoustic guitar.
‘Okay, babe?’ he winks at Maria, then at me again.
‘It’s so exciting!’ She jumps up and down like a little girl. ‘I can’t wait!’
Then it’s back down to earth with a crunch, because I know there are all these flowers to do for the weekend and we’re running out of hours to do them in.
‘So sorry, Skye…’ I tear into the shop. ‘How far have you got with tomorrow’s wedding?’
‘Finished,’ she says calmly and my jaw drops open. ‘Nearly done the second one too. You didn’t say about your friend, Frankie - she’s a bit of a natural.’
‘You mean Honey?’ I’m incredulous.
‘Don’t look so shocked. Like you always say, it’s hardly rocket science. Anyway, she like watched me do a couple of vases and had a go. Finished them in the end – look. Over there. I bet you can’t tell whic
h are hers and which are mine.’
I go over and look at the vases, set neatly out. They look perfect. Skye’s right. I can’t. ‘Where is she now?’
‘Oh – she like went out for something. She didn’t say what… Want a cuppa?’
‘Um yes,’ I say distractedly, suddenly realising that Honey can be seriously useful now. And actually, that would be great, except I’ll have to pay her.
It’s mid-afternoon before she returns looking a little cagey, clutching a wodge of papers under her arm which she tries to hide from me.
‘Where have you been?’ I ask her – suspiciously. After all, I know my friend.
‘Nowhere, really,’ she shrugs.
Nowhere really… What kind of an answer is that? I fold my arms and glare at her. ‘Honey, spill.’
‘Promise you won’t be annoyed? That I didn’t run it by you first?’
‘That all depends....’ I’m not getting a good feeling here. What has she been up to?
‘Well, I’ve signed up for a floristry course.’
I open my mouth to speak but she holds up a hand. ‘Now, before you say anything Frankie, it’s only one day a week so I’ll still be here to help you. And I thought I’d be far more use if I had some training and I really enjoyed helping Skye while you were out…’
But it’s a step too far. Out of the kindness of my heart, I’ve let her into my home, my shop and it’s beginning to feel like a takeover. I’m beginning to understand what Johnny’s up against.
‘But you don’t understand,’ I cry. ‘I’m the florist, not you. You might have paid my deposit for this place and I’m really, really grateful to you, but this is mine, Honey. I created it. You’re… you’re a lawyer…’
As I watch, her shoulders slump and her face turns ashen. ‘I – I’ve done it again, haven’t I?’ she mumbles. ‘I’ve gone bulldozing in without a thought for how you’d feel. I’m so sorry, Frankie…’
‘No… no…’ I protest, but I don’t sound convincing, even to me. ‘It’s not like that.’
‘But it is, Frankie. It’s what I always do… At least, that’s what Johnny says. I’ll cancel the course, it’s not a problem. You’re right, I’m a lawyer. It was silly of me.’
Her voice has gone flat and the defeated look is back. As she turns to walk out of the shop, I give a heartfelt sigh, then go running after her and grab her arm.
‘Come back here.’ I frogmarch her over to the bench to where the flowers she arranged are all neatly set out. Then take a deep breath. I never in a million years thought I’d be saying this, but you can’t learn to be creative. She has a talent.
‘Look at them. They’re good aren’t they? Really good, Honey. And you’ve never tried to do it before. You should do that course – as long as you realise that a day a week will teach you the basics, but there’s far, far more to it than that. Things you only learn the hard way. Like in here,’ I say pointedly. ‘Working for me in this shop. And we’re getting so busy, I’m going to be needing another florist, so…’ I swallow my pride and pin a smile on. ‘The sooner you do that course, the better.’
Honey says nothing, just nearly strangles me in a hug.
21
Guiltily, and somewhat reluctantly, I get round to calling Julia. After all, she is my mother.
‘How’s Giles?’ I ask her, guessing from her voice he isn’t good.
‘Oh Frankie… It’s awful. He’s so brave, but he’s so ill… I can’t believe how fast this is happening. I don’t know what I’m going to do…’ Her voice breaks.
‘You just do what you’re doing,’ I tell her. ‘Be with him. As much as you can.’ Thinking she better not dare do one of her runners. Then against my better judgement I add, ‘why don’t I come up and meet you for lunch?’
‘Them flowers worked yet, duck?’
‘What – the posy you mean, Mrs Orange? Not yet, I’m afraid.’
‘Sometimes it takes time, my lovely. Your friend though, has the makings doesn’t she?’ She nods wisely, her beady little eyes squinting at me.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well. I came in the other day when you were out and she was fiddling with some vases - so I helped her. Listened real good, she did. Did quite a good job for a posh girl.’
First Charlie, then Mrs Orange - and now Honey’s going back to school. Something very weird’s going on. It’s one aspect of Honey’s makeover I hadn’t anticipated but it definitely suits her. She’s looking happier again, but there’s still no sign of Johnny rushing back to make it up, which worries me. I might yet need to do something devious but I’ll need some help. With Honey out of the way, I make some calls.
‘Charlie? Listen – you free this weekend? Only I have a plan…’
I leave a message with Nina’s receptionist. ‘It’s important – can you ask her to keep Sunday free?’
Next up is Johnny, which I’m slightly nervous about. Employing the old tactic of phoning rather than texting because it’ll be harder for him to say no, I cross my fingers.
‘Hi Johnny, it’s me, Frankie…’ I use my breeziest, happiest voice.
‘Hi Frankie! How are you?’ He sounds pleased to hear from me and really good, not depressed and grief-stricken like I was expecting.
Yet again I’m staggered that he and Josh are actually brothers. ‘Really good, thanks. Um, I wanted to ask you a favour.’
‘Ask away.’
‘A very good friend of mine has a little boy who isn’t well. Only he loves boats and I was wondering if by any chance Matty might take us out on his? I know it’s a huge favour to ask – but what about Sunday? I’ll bring a huge, super-duper picnic for everyone and you’ll love Lulubelle and Cosmo – that’s my friend and her son – so – what do you think?’
‘Is it a good idea, Frankie? If this little boy isn’t well? Wouldn’t it make more sense to do it when he’s better?’
I hesitate. ‘The trouble is… he’s not that sort of ill, Johnny. He’s leukaemia sort of ill and he might not get better – which is why I’m asking.’
‘Oh.’ He sounds shocked. ‘Yes. Of course - I’ll phone Matty right now and see how he’s fixed. Forecast is good for Sunday, isn’t it? Might work out rather well…’
‘Thank you Johnny,’ I say gratefully. ‘That’s really brilliant of you.’
After the call ends, I’m baffled. He hasn’t mentioned Honey once, nor does he sound as though he’s missing her. That’s not good. I’m not sure what to do here, unless somehow we can show him what he’s missing.
He calls back minutes later and it’s fixed, so all I have to do now is tell Lulubelle and Cosmo – and that’s something I’d rather do in person.
After work, I walk up the lane to her cottage and when I get there, I see a bunch of balloons tied to the front door. I knock, hoping I’m not interrupting anything. Lulubelle’s mother opens it, her face pink with excitement.
‘Oh Frankie! Just the person! We’ve had some wonderful news! Oh, I’ll let Lulubelle tell you… Come in, come in – she’s in the garden.’
She hustles me through to where Lulubelle is, across the garden with a couple of friends I recognise from the hospice. They’re drinking champagne and I wonder just what it is they’re celebrating. When she sees me, she comes rushing over.
‘Frankie! I’m so glad you’re here!’
‘What’s happening?’ I ask her, noting something in her eyes I’ve never seen before.
‘It’s official, Frankie’ she says tremulously. ‘We heard today! It’s Cosmo! He’s in remission!’
‘Yaayy….’ I shriek and fling my arms round her, as this incredible feeling washes over me. This is the best, most amazing news ever and to be here to celebrate is just awesome. We’re still hugging excitedly when Cosmo comes up and tugs at me.
‘Let’s play football!’ he shouts, pulling me towards the garden. ‘Come on!’
I beam at him, a huge smile that cracks my face in half. ‘Let’s! Come on…this time I’m going to beat yo
u…’ and I run after him, my heart bursting with a happiness like I’ve never felt before.
It’s wonderful. No-one deserves it more than these two. Cosmo kicks his football at me relentlessly until Lulubelle calls half time and brings me a glass of champagne.
‘I almost forgot to tell you,’ I say to her, gratefully sipping it. ‘You know my idea about the boat? Well, it’s on for Sunday – if that’s ok with you?’
She grins back at me. ‘Definitely! Thanks so much! It’s perfect timing, isn’t it! It’ll be a celebration! My baby’s in remission and we’ve got the whole summer ahead of us – I can’t think of anything better! Shall I tell him or would you like to?’
‘Can I?’ I say, pleased. ‘Hey, Beckham!’ I shout at him. ‘Come here a minute. We’ve got a surprise for you…’
He runs over towards us, skidding to a stop on his knees like any other small boy and glancing up at us cheekily.
‘Well, a friend of a friend of mine has a boat, you see. And he’s looking for a ships mate. And I told him I might just know someone… so he says he’ll try you out on Sunday - if you’re not too busy, of course…’
His eyes light up and his face beams at mine, then Lulubelle’s. ‘Mama? Can we go? Please?’
‘Of course we can!’ She sweeps him up in a hug he doesn’t want and he beats his fists on her back until she puts him down again, then tears off across the garden.
After a truly magical evening, I walk home floating on air, realising what I saw in Lulubelle’s eyes. It was happiness, plain and simple. I don’t think I’d ever seen it there before.
I can’t wait for Sunday now. I have to tell Honey. When I get home, she’s sitting with her feet up, engrossed in CSI getting her law fix.
‘I’ve just seen Lulubelle,’ I say excitedly. ‘She’s had the best news. They found out today that Cosmo’s in remission.’
But she doesn’t move, which goes to show, you can take the girl out of the law but you can’t take the law out of the girl.
‘Honey…’
‘That’s good,’ she says absently, staring at the screen. I pick up the remote and turn it off.
Wildflowers Page 14