Wildflowers

by Debbie Howells

  ‘You were lucky to catch me,’ she says. ‘I spent the night at the hospital. I only came back to get changed.’

  ‘I’ll make you breakfast,’ I tell her.

  ‘I’m not hungry, Frankie. I don’t think I could eat a thing.’

  ‘Look, why don’t you go and have a shower? I’ll make you scrambled eggs and then I’ll drive you to the hospital – okay?’

  She sighs, but doesn’t argue, just trudges back upstairs. While she’s up there, I put the posy in water, leaving it on her window sill while I start on the eggs.

  She’s desperate to get back to Cosmo. After the quickest shower ever, she doesn’t talk, just eats the eggs in seconds and lets me drive without any argument.

  ‘Are you going to come and see him?’ she asks, as I park outside the hospital. ‘Only if you are, I better warn you he’s wired up to all these tubes and machines. He was barely conscious, Frankie, when I left him. It’s bad this time. I can feel it.’

  Her voice breaks. As we get out of my van, I take her hand.

  ‘It’s been bad before, hasn’t it? And he got through it?’

  She nods, but her eyes are full of tears. ‘I don’t know how much more he can take, Frankie… I’m really scared.’

  As we walk through the hospital, I might think I know what’s coming, but I haven’t a clue. Cosmo’s in a small, private room inside a children’s ward, looking tinier and more frail than I’ve ever seen him look. Surrounded by all these machines beeping and whirring, I wonder how he can sleep – but he doesn’t stir.

  ‘You really don’t have to stay,’ says Lulubelle. ‘Honestly. I’ll be here until they kick me out, longer if I make enough fuss. But I can’t bear to be anywhere else.’

  ‘Well, I’d like to stay a bit too, if that’s okay?’

  She nods again.

  ‘It’s so unfair.’ Pointless words, but they’re out before I can stop them.

  ‘He was such an easy baby,’ she tells me quietly, a far-away look in her eyes. ‘He slept at night, smiled at everyone – you know, like he still does. We’d just started at this playgroup. It was one of the staff there who noticed. This lovely lady who’d worked there for years - I remember her asking if he always got tired so easily. I hadn’t noticed, of course. It was just how Cosmo always was, but then I think I told you - there were these bruises…’

  I shake my head, imagining how awful it must have been. What a shock, finding out.

  ‘They did all these tests and there wasn’t any question,’ she said. ‘And the rest, as they say, is history…’ She sighs heavily.

  As we sit in silence, there’s a knot of fear inside me too. I think Lulubelle really believes that this time is different. That however strong she is, she’s reaching the end of their precious time together.

  ‘Hang in there,’ I tell her, squeezing her hand. ‘We have to believe. Miracles do happen, you know.’

  I stay for a couple of hours, then when her mother arrives, I leave them to it. As I walk across the car park to my van, my phone bleeps with a message. From Alex.

  You in later, A x

  Certainly am, going home now x

  Ok b over soon

  When he arrives, I fill him in about Lulubelle and Cosmo.

  ‘He’s really poorly, Alex. He looks so weak. It’s awful…’ My voice wobbles.

  He comes over and pulls me against him. He’s strong and reassuring and warm, and leaning against him, I close my eyes, grateful that he’s here.

  ‘I know. Jessie always says, when you’re surrounded with children who are as ill as Cosmo, each time something happens, you’re shocked, and then you kind of get used to it. It almost becomes normal again – until the next crisis.’

  ‘I’m not sure she expects him to get through this,’ I tell him. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about…’ I can’t bring myself to say Cosmo dying…

  ‘It’s possible he might not,’ says Alex slowly, taking my hand and squeezing it, hard. ‘He’s fought a tough battle, but he is a really sick kid…’

  It turns out just as Alex described. By the time November blurs into December, Cosmo being in the hospital has become the new normal – and though I find it hard to think about anything else, my clouds have a silver lining, because oh my giddy Aunt, I have a boyfriend! Not only that, but he’s spending more and more time round at my place and is very adept at chopping firewood, which means for the first winter ever, my little flat is warm. I will definitely keep him until the summer.

  ‘It’s nearly Christmas,’ I murmur in his ear one morning, with the duvet pulled up over our ears. ‘What would you like for your present?’ I lean over him, slowly tracing the line of his neck with my lips, which makes him pull me closer.

  ‘More of this!’ which was what I was hoping he’d say, which is followed by much more kissing which of course leads to the most passionate sex that I can only describe as life-affirming.

  Over breakfast, however, I notice he’s frowning. Oh God. What is it this time…

  ‘What are you doing over Christmas, Frankie?’

  ‘Oh, I usually spend it with Alice. She cooks tons of food and gets stressed and we have a great time. I’m sure she’d love it if you were there too.’

  ‘Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to come to ours.’

  ‘What - you’re cooking at your house?’ I say incredulously. Alex has many skills, as I’m finding out, but cooking most definitely isn’t one of them.

  ‘No… with my family. You know Jessie don’t you? And my mother – and Bernie of course. What do you think?’

  ‘Have you asked them?’ I’m a little bit taken aback.

  ‘Um – I have,’ he confesses. ‘So?’

  ‘I suppose I could,’ I say, thinking fast. ‘I mean, Alice is pregnant – she probably wouldn’t mind a quieter Christmas – and maybe we could go there in the evening or something?’

  So it’s decided – and I realise that if he’s asking me to his parents’ house, I must be much more than a fling. It’s all very curious, but I don’t have much time to think about it because it’s a busy time of year in the shop, though not too busy with Honey helping Skye churn out wreaths at a rate of knots. We have tons of orders for Christmas week and quite a few houses to decorate, and then, oh bliss, we close.

  Mrs Orange trots in and out, muttering about nice paper ribbons when she knows I never touch them and how I ought to buy in them cheap ones and diddle them up. I think she’s talking about wreaths but I don’t ask.

  ‘Actually, I think ours are rather lovely,’ I tell her.

  ‘They’re not bad,’ she says, cocking her head on one side and studying them. ‘Only it wasn’t so much that. You looked at your hands, duck?’

  I have to admit I haven’t – and when I do, I gasp in horror. ‘Oh! They look like yours,’ I say, mortified. ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘Gloves, my lovely. Rubber ones with olive oil in. And a sprinkle of salt. Wear ‘em to bed.’

  Oh, Alex will love that. He’ll make all these pervy jokes about rubber and fetishes and before I know it, it’ll be all round the police station, and they’ll all drive round here just to point their fingers and laugh at me.

  ‘You alright, duck?’ She’s frowning at me.

  Then I realise, I’ve gone off on one of my paranoid excursions. For the first time in ages. Just a few weeks in the shop and already the stress is getting to me – but then it is Christmas and I am spending it with my boyfriend’s family for the first time… I’m looking forward to it, but at the same time, I’m slightly worried.

  44

  Just before Christmas, I hear the best news. Cosmo’s being transferred to Briarwood, which is fantastic. He must be so much better, if they’re actually letting him out of hospital. I can’t wait to see Lulubelle.

  I’ve made her a Christmas wreath because I don’t suppose she’s even thought about Christmas this year, and I take it with me and just hang it on her front door. It’s bespoke, with heather and dried hydrang
ea in there and I’ve also brought her a bouquet of narcissi, the little scented white ones that are called cheerfulness, because they make you believe that winter can’t go on forever.

  It’s one of those gorgeous crisp mornings as I walk to Lulubelle’s, the air sharp and leaves crunchy underfoot. A perfect winter day. If only they were all like this.

  But when she opens the door, she looks as though she’s been crying.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Suddenly a hand like an iron vice clutches my heart.

  She just nods and I watch as more tears stream down her face. I reach a hand to touch her arm.

  ‘Lulubelle? What’s wrong? I thought he was getting better. He’s going to Briarwood, isn’t he?’

  ‘Oh Frankie…’

  I follow her into the sitting room, puzzled. I don’t understand why she’s so distraught.

  ‘Sit down a minute,’ she tells me, taking a deep breath and bracing herself, looks at me.

  ‘He isn’t going to Briarwood because he’s better, Frankie...’ I can’t work out what she’s telling me. ‘They can’t do any more for him - in the hospital…’ But she breaks off because her face is wet with tears and her shoulders are heaving. Then as I dash over and throw my arms round her, she howls – a hideous, raw sound that comes from the deepest part of her.

  As I let her go, I see it in her face, as very slowly, the truth filters in. Cosmo’s going to Briarwood to die.

  45

  I spend Christmas day with Alex’s family who are so lovely and welcoming. As I already know, his Mum is highly strung, but she’s a darling and his father turns out to be Alex, only older. Jessie of course, I see a lot of these days, and Bernie and James are as all newly-weds should be. Soppy and in love, though I’m pleased to note they do argue, just a bit.

  The house is charmingly decorated with spruce and holly and candles, with a massive Christmas tree with presents piled underneath. There are ten of us round their huge oval dining table and I make them laugh with carefully censored bridezilla tales, but they all know about Lulubelle and Cosmo, and it’s the high point of the most surreal rollercoaster.

  At Briarwood too, it’s bursting with colour - and with love. I’ve known for a long time what an extraordinary place this is, but now, watching as Cosmo succumbs to his illness, I’m truly humbled.

  The truth, quite simply, is that everyone here cares. From the highest up nurse to the guy who empties the bins and washes the floors – and absolutely everyone understands. Cosmo’s every need is met, with no shortage of kind faces or soft voices when he has brief spells of consciousness, the quietest, gentlest care when he’s sleeping, while Lulubelle is bolstered by an invisible force-field of support. It’s awe-inspiring.

  I hold myself together while I’m there with her, then go home to Alex and cry my heart out on his shoulder. Then the next day, do it all over again. Though in between, other parts of life try to tick along as usual.

  For example, Honey calls. ‘We’d love you and Alex to come for dinner. When are you free?’ Which is so different to the orders she used to bark at me.

  Fuck, is my first reaction, remembering Honey’s dinner parties of old. ‘Love to,’ is what I say to her, because things have changed and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

  I just hope it’s not with a load of her stuffy friends, but of course it won’t be. Well, they’re her friends, but this time they’re mine too. Nina and Will, Charlie and Mark – and us. And she doesn’t try to be a killjoy, plus she’s decorated the house with her own gorgeous flower arrangements.

  ‘These are really stunning,’ I tell her. ‘You’ll have to take on some of the weddings.’ I frown. ‘Abigail Culleton,’ I tell her, feeling a lead weight lift. ‘All yours.’

  She flushes pink with pleasure. ‘Do you really think I’m good enough?’

  And I nod – because she is.

  The week after Christmas flies by and the start of another year looms just around the corner. This year we’re all at Nina’s to see it in – all of us, except Lulubelle.

  As I go for a run that morning, there’s the strangest feeling in the air. The sun is rising, casting it’s pale glow over a frozen world and glancing up, I see clouds the shape of angel wings, lit a delicate gold in the dawn sky. Somehow I know it’s a sign.

  The morning passes quietly. Then that afternoon, I go over to Briarwood and in the car park, bump into Maria and Pete. He’s got his arm round her and she’s wiping away tears.

  ‘Are you just going up there?’ says Pete, on the verge of tears himself. ‘Only, it’s not good, Frankie. Not good at all. She sent us away. Sent her Mum away too. Said she wanted us to remember how he used to be, not… Poor little mite. Makes you think, doesn’t it, why it can’t be a hairy old bloke like me instead of a kid.’

  ‘So he’s worse?’ I whisper, terrified of the answer.

  Maria nods.

  ‘He’s just slipping away,’ says Pete, the tears rolling down his face. ‘God… What the hell’s she going to do? What are we all going to do…’

  I nip up the stairs as fast as I can and find his room, creeping over to stand beside Lulubelle. Only when I’ve been in there a few minutes do I realise how quiet it is, and why. Every last machine has been switched off. Unable to speak because of the lump in my throat, all I can do is clutch her hand.

  I leave her just once, briefly, to text Alex. It’s not a decision I make consciously, I just know. New Year’s Eve or not, I’m not leaving without her. I don’t care how long we’re here, but unless the miracle happens and somehow he turns a corner, for as long as she’s holding his hand, I’ll be here holding hers.

  As we sit, leaning against each other, I watch his chest rising, the movement so slight, it’s barely visible, as though he’s gone already and his frail, empty body is shutting down. I think about how many hours she’s spent here over the years. Willing with her incredible strength, breathing her life-force into him, anything to make him better, which worked before, just for some inexplicable reason, not this time.

  At one point she says, ‘you can go if you like Frankie. I’ll be fine.’

  But I know she won’t be. How can she be? I shake my head. ‘Only if you want me to.’

  Silently, we keep our vigil, our eyes on Cosmo, drinking in the detail of his hair, his skin, his hand curled in his mother’s. Last precious moments seared onto my mind forever. On the wall behind us, the clock is ticking but for us, time has become meaningless. All that exists is Cosmo.

  And that’s how the year comes to an end. In the last minutes, as Cosmo’s breathing slows, then stops altogether, a light goes out forever.

  46

  My memories of what followed are shaky. I must have called Alex, who called Pete because when we left Briarwood several hours later, they were waiting patiently in the car park for us.

  I learn also that at a time like this, there are no right, no wrong things to do. For now, all that matters is Lulubelle for whom life has become a living hell.

  Ironically, the shop becomes a refuge of sorts, where I can lose myself in the mad world of wedding fever, but I’m infinitely glad Honey’s there to take the strain which she happily does - only she soon realises what she’s up against.

  ‘That bloody woman phones every Tuesday morning without fail,’ she tells me. ‘About the most trivial detail that I really don’t need to know.’

  I nod knowingly. ‘Mrs Culleton?’

  Honey looks at me astonished. ‘How did you know that?’

  But it’s not just her. A new year always begins with an influx of rabid brides – not the foaming-at-the-mouth rabid, but the sort that can’t talk about anything else and to whom the tiniest detail suddenly takes on earth-shattering importance - Willow being a case in point.

  ‘Yours from the very start,’ I tell Honey. ‘There’s nothing like a baptism of fire, after all. She’s having nine bridesmaids and the parents are divorced which always complicates things, plus she’s as bossy as you are – sorry, used to be.’
>
  Which all in all, should make things interesting – for me and Skye, at least.

  It takes just one meeting to have Honey tearing her hair out.

  ‘The wedding’s August and she’s read in some magazine that you can get any flowers you want any time of year, if you pay for it… So she wants narcissi and peonies – in August, Frankie…’ Honey cries. ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘Tell her no,’ I say calmly, realising that actually, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter, does it? ‘She’ll have to have something else.’

  ‘But she might find another florist,’ wails Honey.

  ‘She’ll never find one who’ll give her narcissi and peonies in August, and if they tell her they can, they’re lying. What I’d do is show her David Austin roses and stephanotis. She won’t be able to tell the difference.’

  It’s starting all over again. The same that happened to me. The madness that consumes you once you start letting the pressure get to you… and I don’t want to go there again. Not ever. There’s more to life than weddings.

  The days that follow, I spend with Lulubelle, just getting her through each day. I make her meals, sit in Cosmo’s bedroom with her, look at all her photos dozens of times, holding her tightly when she cries. My heart feels like it’s broken into thousands of pieces, but I know it’s nothing compared to what she’s going through.

  And all the time, though I don’t tell her, I can’t shake the feeling that Cosmo’s here. In her cottage. That even though we can’t see him, his presence is all around us. Sometimes, I even think I can hear him, feeling him grab my hand, trying to drag me outside for a game of football.

  Then days later, the strangest thing happens. It was the day I saw angels’ wings again, unmistakeable, a shimmer of gold in the evening sky and I knew that Cosmo had left us.