The Little Flower Shop by the Sea

by Ali McNamara

  Rebels together forever…

  Nineteen

  Pear Blossom – Comfort

  Basil and I sit in the shop companionably together for some time, Basil snoring gently as he sleeps contentedly with his head on my lap, and me thinking about St Felix past and present. But eventually I decide we must go back to find Lou and see how Suzy is getting on with her puppies. So I wake Basil and encourage him to join me outside for further walkies.

  When we return to Lou’s cottage, I let myself in the back gate, take off Basil’s lead and refill his water bowl, then I promise him I’ll be back when I’ve found him some food in Lou’s kitchen.

  ‘Back in a mo,’ I tell him as he curls up on his bed outside. ‘You might be a daddy by now, several times over!’

  I hunt around Lou’s old-fashioned kitchen for some dog food, stupidly looking in cupboards for tins. Then as I stub my toe on a large sack of Bakers dog food standing on the floor, I realise that looking after two dogs as big as Basil and Suzy must require large quantities of food, not silly little tins of Caesar like my neighbour back in London fed her two pugs.

  I fill a clean silver dog bowl that I find on the kitchen counter with food, then I take it outside to Basil. He looks up at me as I place the bowl down next to him, sniffs the contents, then allows me to leave it there for his perusal later.

  ‘So much for being desperate to see your offspring, Basil,’ I tell him. ‘How about I go investigate on your behalf while you take another nap?’

  Basil seems to like this idea. So while he settles down with his head on his paws I go inside to see what’s happening with Suzy.

  I pause as I arrive outside the sitting room door, unsure whether to knock. How much privacy does a dog need when it’s giving birth? And it’s as I do that I notice something hanging on Lou’s wall. That’s interesting, I think, looking at an embroidered picture of a sweet pea. It’s a bit like the one Amber and I found in the box with the flower journals. I look closer; it has the same initials, VR, sewn into the petals of the flower that ours had.

  ‘Poppy, is that you?’ Lou calls from the sitting room, so I leave the picture and head in.

  Lou and Jake are sitting on the floor in front of Suzy’s basket.

  ‘Come in,’ Lou says, beckoning me across. ‘It’s all over.’

  I walk to the basket and find Suzy looking tired but content with five miniature Suzys wriggling underneath her, all vying with each other to get to their mother’s teats first and latch on for the longest drink of milk.

  ‘They’re so tiny,’ I say, unable to take my eyes off them. ‘It must have happened very quickly.’

  Lou glances at the clock on her mantelpiece. ‘You were gone over two hours,’ she says. ‘That’s plenty of time, and Suzy did really well.’ She reaches out to stroke her, and Suzy, too exhausted to do anything else, simply closes her eyes to acknowledge Lou’s touch. ‘Is Basil OK?’ Lou asks.

  ‘Yes, he’s fine. He was no trouble at all. We went to the shop.’

  Both Lou and Jake look at me in surprise.

  ‘He wanted to,’ I tell them. ‘He was scratching at the door.’

  ‘And what happened?’ Jake asks.

  ‘We went in,’ I reply cautiously. ‘And… sat for a while. He seemed to like being in there.’

  ‘Poor Basil,’ Lou says. ‘I think he still misses Rose.’

  ‘I think so too,’ I agree.

  Lou and Jake exchange a look.

  ‘What?’ I ask. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Lou stands up. ‘The thing is, Poppy, now that Suzy has had her pups I’m not sure I’ll be able to cope with looking after them and two fully grown dogs, and since you got on so well with Basil today…’

  ‘Oh no,’ I say quickly when I see where this is heading. I hold up my hand and back away. ‘No way, I have the shop to run, and…’ I search desperately for something else, but realise that I don’t have anything else to worry about.

  ‘Me caring for Basil was only supposed to be temporary,’ Lou pleads. ‘He’s an old dog, Poppy, he doesn’t take too much looking after – he sleeps most of the time. Besides, he’d so enjoy being back in the shop.’

  Jake stands up and gathers up a small bundle of towel.

  ‘While you and Poppy are discussing this, I’ll do that thing…’ he says, taking a wide berth around me, deliberately keeping the bundle of towel where I can’t see it.

  ‘What thing? What’s he doing?’ I ask as he leaves the room.

  ‘It’s nothing, Poppy.’ Lou, visibly distressed, glances at Suzy then lowers her voice. ‘One of the pups didn’t make it,’ she says, and her lip begins to tremble. ‘Jake and me, we tried so hard to resuscitate him, to give him a chance but…’ She shakes her head and begins to sob.

  ‘Oh, Lou.’ I look at Suzy and she raises her head for a moment away from her new pups and looks with distress at Lou, her ears down. Then she looks at me as if to say, ‘I can’t do anything at the moment, you’ll have to do my usual job of comforting my owner.’

  I take a deep breath and, feeling very much out of my comfort zone, I put my arm around Lou.

  ‘I’m sure you did your best, Lou,’ I tell her, sort of half-patting, half-hugging her. ‘Suzy knows that. And look –’ I gesture towards the basket – ‘Suzy has five healthy puppies to thank you for, as does Basil.’

  Lou sniffs and reaches into the pocket of her apron for a tissue. ‘I know, but he was just so tiny and helpless – the runt of the litter. We tried to save him, but Mother Nature had other ideas.’

  ‘Why don’t you sit down,’ I say, leading her back over to the sofa, next to Suzy and her pups, so she can see the positive results of her efforts and not dwell on the negative. ‘Where’s Jake taking him?’ I ask delicately, not wanting to upset her. ‘The pup?’

  ‘Aw, bless him – he’s a good boy. He’s having a look in my shed to see if he can find a small wooden box to bury the little fella in.’

  I swallow hard. This whole situation is suddenly affecting me in ways I hadn’t expected it to.

  ‘I’ll go and see if he’s OK, and while I’m there I’ll put the kettle on. You look like you could do with a nice cup of tea.’

  ‘Oh, that would be lovely, dear.’ Lou sits back on the sofa and sighs. She looks almost as tired as Suzy as she sits and gazes contentedly at the puppies. ‘Then we can discuss Basil…’

  I go back through to the kitchen, find the kettle, fill it, then put it on to boil.

  Looking out of the kitchen window I see Jake with a spade, digging a hole under a tree in Lou’s back garden.

  He must have found a box then…

  I stand at the window for a few seconds, then I take a deep breath and head out into the garden.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, as I approach.

  Jake jumps, and immediately stands in front of a small wooden box on the grass next to him.

  ‘It’s OK, I know about…’ I nod at the box.

  ‘Oh…’ Jake looks down at it too. ‘Yeah, real shame. We tried…’

  ‘Yes, Lou said. She’s quite upset.’

  Jake nods, then he looks up at the tree and I see him take a deep breath. Was he reliving his own pain, as I was mine?

  ‘You can carry on,’ I say hurriedly. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were… well, you know?’

  Jake looks at me. ‘I was what?’

  I kick at a leaf. ‘You know, OK… after what’s happened.’ I glance at the box again.

  ‘Yeah, I’m OK. Are you?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?’

  Jake shrugs. ‘Death is never easy to deal with, whatever form it takes.’ He looks down at the box. ‘Human, animal, it makes little difference if you loved what’s now lost to you for ever.’

  I remain silent. I desperately want to tell him I know exactly what he means. I know exactly what that pain feels like. But I can’t. That ability has been buried too deep inside me to ever resurface.

  I’m aware Jake is watching me. Waiting for
a response. Still I don’t speak.

  ‘So, what about all this responsibility you’ve been asked to take on lately?’ Jake asks lightly, lifting his spade to resume digging. He’s obviously decided I’m a cold-hearted bitch with no feelings. ‘We all know responsibility isn’t your thing.’

  ‘What responsibility?’ I ask, playing along, hoping he doesn’t really think that, but at the same time pleased he’s changed the subject.

  ‘First there was the flower shop, and now a dog…’

  ‘Basil?’ Basil wakes up at his name, and lifts his head. ‘Basil?’ I whisper this time. ‘I haven’t said I’ll take him yet.’

  ‘But you will.’ Jake adds another shovelful of earth to the pile beside the hole.

  ‘How do you know?’

  Jake ceases digging, throws the spade into the soil, then wipes a few drops of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. ‘Because,’ he says, turning to face me, ‘underneath all that hard black armour you wear to protect yourself, there’s a heart that beats strong and fast. And it’s not just any old heart, Poppy; it’s a beautiful, kind and giving heart. Just like Rose’s was.’

  While I’m still looking at him, surprised once more by his beautiful way with words, he lifts up the wooden box and places it in the hole he’s just dug.

  ‘Life stinks, Poppy,’ he says, as we both look down into the hole together. ‘We both know that. Some of us get a good crack at it, some of us, sadly, don’t.’

  I’m about to agree, then I stop myself. As comfortable as I feel with Jake, he doesn’t know the truth…

  Oblivious to my hesitation, Jake continues: ‘But whatever life throws at you, however bad it is, eventually you realise that your life has to go on. Otherwise,’ he looks down into the hole again, ‘what’s the alternative?’

  It doesn’t always move on, I think. Sometimes it’s easier to remain caught in a time you felt happy. A time before the never-ending sadness began.

  ‘Did you ever consider…?’ I nod at the hole.

  Jake shakes his head. ‘No, I had the kids to think about, they needed me more than ever back then. That was enough to stop me going down that route.’ He smiles at me. ‘People need you too, Poppy. You may not realise it, but they do. You have to move on with your life.’

  I’m about to ask Jake which people need me, and might he be one of them, when I feel a wet nose nudge at my hand.

  ‘Basil,’ I say, crouching down next to him, putting my arm around his slightly podgy body.

  ‘He needs you too,’ Jake says quietly from above us.

  I stroke Basil’s head, but he stands up and leans over the hole.

  ‘Do you think he knows?’ I ask Jake.

  Jake shrugs. ‘Probably, dogs are sensitive like that, aren’t they?’

  I reach across Basil to pull up a daisy that’s growing in the grass.

  ‘Here,’ I say, putting it under his nose, ‘we’ll throw this in for your little boy.’ I toss the daisy into the hole on top of the small wooden box, and then Basil and I sit silently for a few minutes together watching Jake fill the hole with the earth he’d dug earlier.

  Then before the three of us go back into the house to visit the other puppies, we stand for a few moments with our own thoughts of those we’d lost before.

  Twenty

  Freesia – Lasting Friendship

  Jake is right.

  I take Basil home with me that same evening – much to Amber’s delight. The two of them now get on like best buddies, even rolling around on the floor together in Basil’s more energetic moments, which aren’t too often these days, poor fella. Basil comes with us to the shop every day, and happily sits under the desk in the new dog basket we bought for him.

  Basil and I have a more mature relationship than his and Amber’s. We co-habit together quite happily, and make allowances for each other’s faults, i.e. Basil puts up with me moaning about him shedding hairs everywhere, and I put up with Basil’s snoring.

  We also have something in common – a love of cheese. I discover this when I’m happily tucking in to cheese on toast one day, and notice Basil sitting by my side on the balcony – drooling.

  Whereas I prefer a good cheddar, Basil has a penchant for blue cheese, particularly Stilton. I know I shouldn’t give him too many titbits, but I figure the odd treat now and then won’t go amiss.

  So even though I don’t admit it to anyone, I’m actually really enjoying having him around. He’s good company, and our daily walks up on the cliffs and along the beach have become the highlight of my days here in St Felix.

  It’s just over six weeks since the shop first opened, and we’re almost in peak holiday season here in Cornwall. A fact that doesn’t seem to have bothered the town too much, which I find both surprising and a little worrying as I sit at the kitchen table in the cottage filling in our accounts books this morning.

  Amber and I had come up with a plan for running the shop that seemed to work well for both of us. Amber was quite happy to deal with all the floral stuff – arrangements, bouquets, even the ordering of the flowers was her department. I did all the practical things – the accounts, cashing up at the end of the day, banking and ordering new ‘gift’ stock – something we hadn’t had much cause to do yet, because the shop was doing OK, but not brilliantly.

  We still had a lot of support from the residents of St Felix. People would come in to buy bunches of flowers to brighten up their home, or present to someone as a gift, and Amber had had a few orders for birthday and anniversary bouquets – which had been delivered to much happiness and praise from the recipient. That was another of my jobs – delivery. I still had the Range Rover on loan – although I could have done with something a bit smaller to navigate the narrow streets of St Felix – and on the few occasions we had had orders I’d gone out in the ‘beast’, as I named it, to deliver Amber’s beautiful creations.

  Even I, someone who pretty much detested flowers in all forms, could see that Amber was extremely talented when it came to things of a floral nature, and I wondered how my mother was managing to cope without her in New York.

  She’d rung me several times over the last few weeks to check how I was getting on, and how Amber was doing. I’d only had good things to say about Amber, of course, and, much to my surprise, about being back in St Felix. My mother seemed happy, but much less shocked than I was that St Felix appeared to be doing me good.

  ‘And you’re not seeing anyone while you’re there?’ she asks today as I half look at the books, half concentrate on what she’s saying over the phone.

  In a normal mother-and-daughter conversation this would have meant a man, but in my world it meant a therapist.

  ‘No, Mum, I’m not seeing anyone.’ My mother has always found it awkward, talking about my need for counselling. She rarely uses the word therapist.

  ‘And you’re sure you’re OK like that? We could always find you someone local, if you feel the need? I’ll pay.’

  ‘Not necessary. Never felt better,’ I assured her, and I meant it. As much as I found it hard to admit, this little seaside town was doing me the power of good. I felt happier than I had in ages, and if it wasn’t for the fact the shop wasn’t doing too well, everything would be great.

  ‘You’re sure you’re OK with me keeping Amber here?’ I ask her. ‘Aren’t you missing her?’

  ‘Oh, desperately, but this change will be good for her. I haven’t just sent her there to help you. I’m hoping St Felix will help Amber too.’

  ‘Why does Amber need help?’ I ask, wondering what she means.

  ‘Amber will tell you when she’s ready, I expect. Look, I have to go, your father is taking me out for lunch – some fancy revolving restaurant, he informs me.’

  ‘OK, Mum, happy anniversary to you both. Give my love to Dad.’

  ‘Of course. Take care, my darling, I’m so happy it’s all working out for you there.’

  I guess it is, I think as I end the call and stare blankly at my phone for a few seco
nds. It’s a novel experience for me to have things working out. Who would have thought it would happen here?

  My grandmother was obviously even wiser than I’d thought.

  ‘Right, Basil,’ I say to him as he lies at my feet under the table. ‘I think I’ve had enough numbers for the time being. How about a quick walk before we head back to the shop to see Amber?’

  Basil lifts his head, takes a few moments to stretch, then begins to wag his long tail.

  There aren’t too many people about in St Felix this morning as we begin our walk. It’s one of those gloomy, gusty mornings that drive the tourists indoors. The weather here is so changeable; with the turning of the tide a day that starts out like this can change into a beautiful sunny one – and, sadly, vice versa.