The Little Flower Shop by the Sea

by Ali McNamara

  I shake my head to try and wake myself up. An enthusiastic American hippy was not what I was used to before I’d even had coffee in the morning.

  ‘If Mum sent you, then I guess you’d better,’ I sigh, moving aside to let her into the cottage.

  Amber and her luggage are now scattered across the sitting room while I make tea – herbal for Amber, which she has produced from one of her many bags, and black for me, after I realise I don’t have any milk in yet.

  All I’ve discovered so far is that Amber flew in to Bristol Airport early this morning from New York via Dublin. Then she got a train, and finally a taxi to St Felix. She says she hasn’t slept in twenty-four hours, which is why she’s acting ‘pretty wired’ and has got her days mixed up.

  I carry our two mugs of tea upstairs to the living area.

  Amber is already out on the balcony, her face absorbing the sun’s morning rays. ‘Your view is to die for,’ Amber says, turning towards me as I join her.

  ‘Yes, it is pretty special.’ I pass Amber her tea while I take a look at the view myself. It looks a lot prettier than it had out here yesterday. Today I can see right across the bay to the harbour. The sea is a crystal clear azure blue, and where the sun’s rays burn into it, it’s almost translucent in places. What a difference a new day and some sunshine makes.

  ‘Your mom promised me St Felix would be special,’ Amber says, ‘but I had no idea just how beautiful it would be.’

  ‘So why are you here? I know you said Mum sent you, but why?’

  Amber takes a sip of her tea. ‘Mmm, camomile… so relaxing. I’m your new florist,’ she announces. ‘I usually work with your mom at her store in Brooklyn. She knew you’d be needing someone and, well, I don’t like to sing my own praises too highly, but I am one of the best florists in New York State.’

  ‘Fantastic.’ I nod. ‘I’m sure you’re really talented, Amber. But why did you want to leave New York to come here to St Felix? It’s a bit different.’

  ‘Change is good,’ is all Amber says, before sipping her tea once more.

  ‘But Mum was taking an awful chance, sending you all the way over here on the off chance I’d be keeping the shop, wasn’t she? What if I’d decided to sell?’

  ‘Oh, she knew you’d be keeping it,’ Amber says knowingly.

  ‘How could she, when I didn’t even know it myself until this morning? In fact I only decided thirty seconds before you knocked on my door!’

  ‘I read her petals,’ Amber says, wandering back into the lounge. She sits down on the rocking chair. ‘Oh, how very quaint!’ she exclaims as she begins rocking to and fro.

  ‘What do you mean – read her petals?’ I ask, following her.

  ‘Her flower petals; I gave her a flower reading. It’s like a cross between reading tea leaves and tarot cards.’

  I blink hard. Could she be for real?

  ‘I may regret asking this,’ I say, sitting on the sofa opposite her, ‘but tell me: just how do you read someone’s flower petals?’

  Amber smiles dreamily. ‘It’s a gift. I’ll read yours while I’m here, if you like?’

  ‘Er, no, that won’t be necessary, thank you.’

  ‘Why, what are you afraid of?’ Amber looks above my head with a glazed expression. ‘You know your aura is very muddy. I could cleanse that for you, if you like?’

  Before I can politely reject her offer, Amber continues, ‘I see a lot of darkness around you, Poppy.’ She flinches slightly. ‘A lot of darkness and a lot of pain.’

  ‘What’s my mother been telling you?’ I shout, jumping up. ‘It’s no one’s business but my own!’

  ‘Whoa, easy, sister. Your mom said nothing. I’m just telling you what I see, that’s all.’

  ‘Well don’t.’ I walk back towards the open French windows and stare out at the wispy white specks of cloud in the bright blue sky. ‘I don’t mean to seem rude, Amber, because I’m happy you’re here to help me with the shop, really I am. I know nothing about running a florist.’

  Actually I can’t believe my luck. This means I won’t have to look for someone. One item crossed off what I expect will turn out to be a very long list of things that need to be done before I can get the shop up and running again.

  ‘But I’d appreciate it if your flower knowledge is all you share. I have my reasons, but all this spiritual stuff – which I’m sure works for you – it’s not my scene at all.’ A giant gull lands right in front of me on the balcony. He flaps his wings a couple of times and stares at me as if to enquire why I’m on his landing area, then decides to fly off again in search of food. ‘I’m sure your floristry skills will be a wonderful asset to The Daisy Chain,’ I say, watching the gulls dive into the water looking for fish. ‘I haven’t thought too much about what sort of shop it’s going to be when we re-open; you caught me unawares with your sudden arrival this morning. So if you’ve got any ideas that you want to share, I’d really appreciate hearing them…’

  I turn to hear Amber’s response; but the chair has stopped rocking and she’s fast asleep.

  Great!

  There’s a blanket lying across the arm of the sofa, so I pick it up and gently cover her. She doesn’t stir, so I hurry back down to my bedroom to get dressed.

  Leaving Amber still snoozing in the rocking chair I head out in search of breakfast. All I’d had time to do last night was buy fish and chips, so I head down to the supermarket and stock up on a few basic provisions – like milk, butter, jam and bread. I decide I’ll have to pop back later and stock up properly when I’ve had a chance to make a list.

  On the way back I pause outside The Blue Canary bakery. The cakes in the window look delicious – just like they had when I was a child. The only difference was now I could see through the window with ease instead of having to stand on tiptoe.

  A man wearing a pair of mustard-yellow trousers and a tight, white short-sleeved T-shirt with a blue canary on the front comes out of the shop carrying a sign. He places it down on the pavement, then smiles at me.

  ‘Howdy,’ he says jovially. ‘Can we tempt you into something naughty but nice?’

  ‘Yes, I think you might be able to.’ I grin back. ‘It all looks so good.’

  ‘What tickles your fancy – in the cake sense, that is!’

  ‘Erm…’ And then I remember. ‘I don’t suppose you do a custard tart, do you? I used to buy a lovely one here when I was small.’

  ‘My darling, of course we do! It’s one of our specialities! Come, come!’ He encourages me into the shop. ‘Declan!’ he calls, as we go into the shop together. ‘Are the tarts ready yet?’

  ‘Coming right up, Anthony!’ I hear a voice from the back respond merrily, and then another, slightly thinner man, this time wearing bright-red trousers and the same white T-shirt, with the addition of a blue apron, appears carrying a tray of freshly baked custard tarts.

  ‘How many would you like?’ Anthony asks, now behind the counter.

  ‘I’ll take two, please,’ I say, thinking of Amber back at the cottage.

  ‘Coming right up.’ Anthony begins to bag up the cakes. ‘So how long ago was it you used to buy the tarts?’ he asks.

  ‘Oh, many years ago. I used to holiday here in St Felix as a child.’

  ‘How lovely. You would have known Declan’s uncle then. Declan inherited the shop from him.’

  ‘And all his recipes!’ Declan calls, bringing through yet another tray of delicious-looking cakes – Chelsea buns this time – which he sets down on the counter. ‘Those tarts are made to his exact recipe.’

  ‘Then I know they’ll be delicious!’ I smile, offering Anthony a £10 note. ‘They were always my favourite.’

  ‘Are you holidaying here again now?’ Declan asks, coming over to the shop counter. ‘We don’t see too many holidaymakers at this time of year.’

  ‘At any time of year,’ Anthony mutters, tapping the buttons on the till.

  Declan glances at him.

  I take a deep breath; I’ve made
my decision, now I must stick with it. ‘No, as a matter of fact I’m taking over the florist shop along the street. I’m Poppy – Rose’s granddaughter.’

  Anthony and Declan look shocked at my announcement one moment, then overjoyed the next.

  They both speak at once: ‘Oh my darling, why didn’t you say so! That’s fabulous news. We adored Rose. We were devastated when she passed.’

  Anthony opens the till again, puts back the change he was just about to give me, and retrieves my £10 note. Then he presses it into my hand.

  ‘Those are on the house,’ he says. ‘I should have known. Custard tarts were always Rose’s favourite too.’

  ‘Really?’ How had I forgotten?

  He nods. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a hankie. He dabs it at his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, turning away. ‘Seeing you here, and knowing you’re going to take over Rose’s wonderful shop. It’s just too much!’

  Declan smiles at me.

  ‘Ant is always a bit overemotional,’ he explains. ‘I’m used to it.’

  ‘Oh!’ I exclaim, suddenly realising. ‘Your names! You’re Ant and Dec!’

  Ant spins around, his sorrow now turned to joy. ‘I know, isn’t it cool? We used to hate it when we were first together and they were PJ and Duncan, but now they’re international celebrities it’s rather fabulous!’

  ‘They’re hardly international celebrities, sweetie,’ Declan says. ‘But it’s a good hook for the business.’ He looks up at the back of the shop, and I see an elaborately painted sign:

  Welcome to

  The Blue Canary Bakery

  Where your hosts

  Ant & Dec

  will be pleased to serve you today.

  ‘The customers love it,’ Declan continues. ‘And they never seem disappointed when it’s just me and Ant serving them.’

  ‘As well they shouldn’t,’ I say. ‘I’m sure the two of you are just as entertaining, if not more so.’

  ‘When do you think you’ll have the shop open again?’ Anthony asks. ‘The ladies of the Women’s Guild have been running it since your grandmother went into hospital, but their ways…’ He pulls a face. ‘Let’s just say they’re not quite up to your grandmother’s standards.’

  ‘Let’s be honest, no one could replicate Rose’s touch with a bloom,’ Declan says wistfully. ‘That was something extremely special to behold.’

  They both exchange a knowing look.

  What on earth did my grandmother do with flowers that was so wonderful? I remember people often leaving her shop incredibly happy, even crying on occasion, which had seemed odd to me at the time. But what was she doing with flowers to make them so special?

  ‘I’m not too sure when we’ll be open again,’ I tell them. ‘But luckily I do have someone to help me with the shop – a new florist, all the way from New York!’

  ‘Oh, how decadent!’ Anthony says. ‘I can’t wait to see what they do. Let’s just hope she… or is it a he?’

  ‘She.’

  ‘She can sprinkle some Manhattan magic into your grandmother’s shop. It’s sure been lacking it of late.’

  They exchange another glance.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll both give it a good go,’ I assure them, wondering again what all these looks were about.

  ‘It’ll need more than that, sweetie,’ Declan says. ‘The way things have been here lately, it’ll need a miracle.’

  Eight

  Monkswood – Chivalry

  Amber and I stand and look up at the outside of the shop.

  It’s 9.30 a.m. and we’ve breakfasted on custard tarts and more tea, and even though I’d suggested Amber stay and try and get some more sleep, she insisted on coming with me to visit the shop this morning, so she could see just what she was letting herself in for.

  ‘It needs work,’ Amber says. ‘A lot of work.’

  ‘Yes, I know that,’ I say, taking a step back to get a better view. ‘But in what way? I mean, we can’t just give it a lick of paint, can we? I’ve a feeling it needs more than that.’

  ‘I could tell you about your mom’s shop, if you like?’ Amber suggests.

  ‘I know what it’s like; I’ve seen it when I’ve been over there.’

  ‘I don’t remember you visiting,’ says Amber. ‘Was I there?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. It was some time ago.’

  The truth was I’d visited years ago when Mum first opened the shop. It had seemed super exciting, Mum opening a florist in New York, and I’d jumped at the chance of a free trip over to the Big Apple. I’d had such a great time seeing the sights and living it up in the city that never sleeps, that I hadn’t taken much interest in Mum’s flower shop at all. I feel guilty now as I stand looking up at my grandmother’s old store, as though a piece of my history has died along with a member of my family.

  ‘Anyway,’ I try to sound bright, ‘I don’t want to emulate one of my family’s many flower shops from around the globe. If I’m going to do this – and believe me, Amber, this isn’t coming easy to me – I’m going to do it my way.’

  ‘Would you two youngsters move aside please, we’ve flowers to get into the shop.’

  We both turn to find three ladies of varying ages and builds unloading flowers from a small white van.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say to the one fast approaching the shop door carrying a large pot of carnations. ‘The shop isn’t open today, and it won’t be for a while until it’s refitted.’

  ‘What?’ a middle-aged woman, who’s wearing a Barbour jacket and a paisley headscarf tied jauntily around her neck, demands. ‘Don’t talk nonsense. We only close on Sundays and Mondays. Stand aside at once.’

  ‘No.’ I step in front of her. ‘You can’t come in today, I’m afraid. As I just said, the shop won’t be opening.’

  Amber barricades herself across the doorway, her arms outstretched in a dramatic fashion, so the sleeves of her brightly coloured blouse billow like sails across the frame.

  The woman regards Amber and then me as if we’re minor irritations she could do without.

  She sighs. ‘Beryl, Willow!’ she calls to the women offloading the van. ‘Do you know anything about this?’

  Beryl and Willow poke their heads around the side of the van.

  ‘These girls,’ she says with disdain, ‘won’t let us into the shop.’

  Beryl, a well-built older lady with grey curly hair, and Willow, a tall, slim girl of about twenty, put down the boxes of flowers they’re holding and stand side by side in front of the van, folding their arms across their chests.

  The woman in the Barbour turns her head back to me. ‘I don’t know what you think you’re doing,’ she says in a low voice, ‘but I suggest you both move. Beryl, Willow and I have work to do. We don’t take kindly to being held up.’

  I defiantly fold my own arms now, and stare hard into her face. Is this woman really spoiling for a fight here in the middle of St Felix? Goodness, things have changed!

  Beryl and Willow begin to walk silently towards us.

  As I steel myself against the women’s approach, I’ve never been so glad to hear the dulcet tones of the local constabulary asking: ‘Good morning, ladies. Can I be of any assistance here?’

  Woody! Thank goodness.

  ‘Police Constable Woods, just the person,’ the Barbour-jacket woman says, smiling sweetly. ‘These girls won’t allow us access to the flower shop.’

  As Woody looks at us, he jumps in surprise, firstly at seeing me again, and then at Amber barricading the door.

  ‘Is this true, ladies?’ he asks.

  ‘It sure is!’ Amber cries. ‘We will not, we will not be moved!’ she sings.

  ‘What my friend means, Woody,’ I say sweetly, ‘if you don’t mind me calling you that?’

  He nods.

  ‘What Amber means is, I own this flower shop now and the shop will be closed until further notice.’

  Woody looks back at Barbour-jacket woman. ‘Well, Harriet
?’

  ‘What proof does she have?’ Harriet demands. ‘Aren’t you going to ask her that, PC Woods?’

  Woody turns back to me. ‘She has a point.’

  ‘I have a key,’ I say, reaching into my pocket. ‘I think that’s proof enough.’

  ‘Well, I have a key right here too,’ Harriet says, holding up a key on a piece of rope.

  Woody begins to look a bit panicky.

  ‘This was my grandmother’s shop. I’m Poppy, her granddaughter, and I’ve inherited it. You can ask Amber here, or Ant and Dec up the road, or Rita and Richie in the Merry Mermaid or —’