The Little Flower Shop by the Sea

by Ali McNamara

  Amber was spending every night engrossed in the flower books. She was still adamant we could use them in some way.

  ‘It makes interesting reading,’ Jake says, flicking through the pages. ‘Did your grandmother really think she was healing people with her flowers?’

  ‘It would seem so,’ I say, a tad embarrassed to be admitting this to Jake. I tell him about the other books we’d discovered, and how Amber thought she could turn our fortunes around if we began using them.

  Jake nods. ‘I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try,’ he says, much to my surprise.

  ‘Are you winding me up?’ I look at him with suspicion. ‘You can’t be serious?’

  ‘What harm could it do? Look at it this way, Poppy: St Felix needs an injection of something or we’re going to lose even more of the businesses on Harbour Street soon. Maybe a magical flower shop could be just the thing we need to bring people in. You said yourself the town is already a healing place – this could fit really well.’

  ‘I don’t know…’ Much as I adored Amber, her spiritual healing ways didn’t sit well with me.

  ‘Your grandmother was a very smart woman, Poppy,’ Jake says. ‘If she thought this worked, you can bet your life it did.’

  ‘You’re right about her being smart. She was definitely that – and loving and kind. I miss her,’ I say, surprising myself by this admission.

  ‘You remind me of her – a lot,’ Jake says, putting the book back down on the table. ‘Not just on the outside, I mean in here, too.’ Jake taps his fingers lightly on my chest, and I’m sure he must be able to feel my heart pounding away.

  ‘I hardly think so,’ I say quickly. ‘My grandmother was a great woman. I’m nothing like she was.’

  ‘Oh, you are, Poppy,’ Jake insists, lifting his hand away. ‘I can tell.’

  Suddenly, without consulting my brain, which would definitely have told me a very emphatic no!, I lean forward on the sofa and kiss Jake. Not on the cheek this time, but right on his lips.

  I feel him hesitate for a split second, then he responds. But just as I’m happily sinking into this heavenly feeling of being so close to Jake, I feel him pull away from me.

  ‘I… I really have to go!’ he says, standing up so suddenly he almost spills his coffee. ‘I should be getting back to the shop – Miley… you know how she is.’

  ‘Oh… right, yes, of course,’ I reply, my cheeks redder than the scarlet cushion Jake’s just vacated on the sofa. As I stare at it, the imprint of his belt still remains in the fabric.

  ‘I’m sorry, Poppy,’ Jake says softly, sounding apologetic now rather than panicked. ‘I’m not ready for this. It’s too soon.’

  I look up at him. ‘After Felicity, you mean?’ I ask, surprising myself again, this time at my bluntness.

  He nods.

  ‘But it’s been five years, hasn’t it?’

  ‘It could be ten for all it matters,’ he says, his forehead wrinkling with concern. ‘I just can’t. Maybe not ever… Do you understand?’

  It’s my turn to nod.

  ‘Sure, I understand. Perhaps it’s better if you just leave then.’

  I turn and look out of the French windows. The sun has disappeared behind a bank of dark clouds. They hover ominously in the sky, predicting unsettled conditions to come.

  And as I hear the front door of the cottage open and close, my feelings are a perfect match for the weather.

  Twenty-two

  Trachelium – Neglected Beauty

  I sit alone in the cottage for a while, nursing my wounds and trying to get over my embarrassment – what was I thinking of, kissing Jake? He quite obviously isn’t ready for a relationship, and now he’s told me he probably never will be. I decide I’d better head back to the shop to see Amber and check on Basil.

  So I change out of Amber’s sweatshirt and into my usual black, trying not to think about the compliments Jake had paid me when I’d been wearing it. Then I gather up the accounts books and mooch back to the shop, wearing the huge mac I’d hidden under the first night I arrived in St Felix. Hiding not only from the rain, which is pelting down on to the cobbles of Harbour Street, but anyone who might want to talk to me too.

  Jake’s rejection has hit me hard. This is why I never allow myself to get involved with people – they always let you down. I’d stupidly allowed myself to have feelings for Jake, feelings he obviously didn’t reciprocate, and as always I was the one who had ended up getting hurt.

  Amber and I spend the rest of the afternoon in the shop together. I try not to let my mood dictate our afternoon, but Amber knows me too well, and her constant attempts to find out what is wrong are admirable, but exasperating at the same time.

  I wasn’t telling anyone what had happened at the cottage with Jake. Living through that rejection once had been bad enough, but twice? It wasn’t going to happen.

  The awful weather leads to a dearth of customers in the afternoon, and this gives me the ideal opportunity to talk to Amber about the shop and how it’s doing. It also diverts attention from my troubles for a while.

  ‘So what are we going to do?’ I ask Amber when I’ve gone over the last six weeks’ sales figures with her. ‘I know you keep saying it will pick up, but it’s not.’

  Amber sighs. Always one to look on the bright side, even she looks worried. ‘Maybe when the tourists arrive in the school holidays?’ she suggests.

  ‘But what if they don’t? I was talking to Ant and Dec the other day and they say there’s not a huge tourist influx in St Felix in July and August any more – the holidaymakers tend to stick to the bigger resorts up the road. They say if it wasn’t for the fact Dec owns their building, they wouldn’t be able to survive.’

  Amber thinks about this. ‘Then we need to attract the tourists here, don’t we? Away from the big resorts.’ She reaches under the counter. ‘I know you don’t believe in these little books,’ she says, holding up the rest of the old notebooks we’d found hidden in the shop. ‘And I know you’ve resisted using them so far. But I think it’s worth a shot.’

  I look sceptically at the books in her hand and try not to think about what Jake had said.

  ‘Really?’

  Amber nods. ‘You’ve seen me reading them – and I’ve also been doing some of my own research on the net. I believe there’s something to this. I think your grandmother must have been using an early form of alternative healing when she had this shop, based around the Victorian meanings of flowers – it’s possible it’s a gift that’s been passed down through the generations since Daisy was first given this book and started her shop here.’

  ‘OK, let’s say we – or rather, you – started using these books when you make up bouquets and the like. Do you honestly think it’s going to make that much of a difference?’

  ‘Yup, I do,’ Amber says enthusiastically. ‘There’s something special about this shop, Poppy. I felt a magical energy the moment I walked in. I think if we tap into that magic, we might just be able to turn this shop’s fortunes around, and possibly the fortunes of St Felix too.’

  ‘OK, tell me,’ I sigh, knowing in my heart that both Amber and Jake could be right about this. Daisy Chain has always been a success in the past; there must be something we can do to replicate that.

  ‘Well,’ Amber begins, as the shop door, which we’ve had to close because of the rain, opens, and a lady wearing a red mac and fighting with a purple umbrella backs through the door.

  ‘Gosh, I’m sorry,’ she says as she drips water on to the floor, ‘but it’s awful weather out there.’

  ‘Here, let me help you,’ Amber says, hurrying over and taking her umbrella.

  While the woman runs a hand over her damp hair, Amber stands the umbrella up in the stand we’ve installed at the front of the shop to prevent wet umbrellas – a common occurrence in St Felix – dripping all over the floor.

  ‘What can we do for you?’ I ask, as the woman removes her mac and water droplets fall to the ground.

  ‘Wait, do
n’t I know you?’ Amber asks, looking at the woman with interest.

  The woman nods. ‘Yes, I came in a couple of weeks ago, and you gave me a special bouquet.’

  ‘That’s right, I remember you,’ Amber says eagerly. ‘So, did it work?’

  The woman’s face, which until this moment has looked slightly worn and weary from battling the elements, lights up.

  ‘Yes,’ she beams. ‘It certainly did!’

  I look back and forth at their excited faces.

  ‘What?’ I ask. ‘Did what work?’

  ‘Your magical flower shop!’ the woman gushes. ‘It’s simply amazing!’

  Amber makes the woman, who I discover is called Marie, a cup of tea, and while she dries off she tells a delighted Amber, and an astounded me, all about what’s happened.

  Apparently Marie had come into the shop one day a little upset. She was visiting her family in a nearby town and desperately wanted to make up with her sister, whom she hadn’t spoken to in over ten years. She’d come in simply to buy some flowers as a peace offering. But Amber had used the old books of my grandmother’s and come up with something a bit different – a bouquet that included purple hyacinth – meaning please forgive me, and hazel, which stood for reconciliation.

  ‘So,’ Marie says, after I’ve caught up on the beginning of the story. ‘When I knocked on my sister’s door and presented her with the flowers, I thought for one awful moment she was going to slam it in my face. But then the weirdest thing happened. She took the bouquet from me, leaned into it and smelled the flowers. Then she looked at me and said, “Marie, I’ve missed you. Please forgive me.”’ Marie reaches for a packet of tissues from her bag, pulls one free and dabs at her eyes with it. ‘Sorry,’ she apologises, ‘it’s all so raw still.’

  Amber nods sympathetically.

  ‘So then Julie, that’s my sister, invites me in, and it’s as if we’ve never been apart. We’re like best friends again. We’re even going to Alicante together in October with our husbands. And it’s all thanks to you girls and your magical flower shop!’

  After finishing her tea, Marie leaves the shop promising she will tell all her friends about us and insist that they come here to buy their flowers.

  ‘So,’ I ask Amber, after we’ve sent a dried-out Marie (tear-and rain-wise) on her way, ‘you’re just thinking of using the flower books in the shop, are you?’

  Amber grins. ‘I told you before, Poppy, the language of flowers is a wonderful, magical thing. You just have to believe…’

  The next day is much brighter, both for St Felix and for me.

  Basil and I are taking our usual morning walk. With sunshine beating down on our backs and bright blue skies above our heads, life seems a lot better than it had yesterday. Overnight I’ve decided that what happened yesterday was nothing for me to be ashamed about, and I mustn’t let Jake’s rejection ruin my time here.

  ‘You’ve come so far, Poppy,’ I’d told myself as I lay in bed, ‘don’t let this one incident set you back.’ Jake was just one person; I wasn’t going to allow him to tarnish my thoughts about everyone here.

  ‘Come on, Bas!’ I’d said to Basil as we set off on our walk. ‘This is a new day for us, who knows what might happen. It could be great!’

  Basil had looked up at me cynically, as if he knew his days were never going to change that much. All Basil was interested in were his walks and a constant supply of food being on hand at all times. Other than that he has nothing to stress about in his life – there are times when I’m quite envious of him.

  We’re about to continue with our walk along the clifftops, when I turn and look up the path that leads to Trecarlan Castle, just as I had yesterday morning before Jake caught up with us. I shake my head. No, no Jake today.

  I’d thought about heading up there to take a look around a number of times since the day I came here with Charlie, but the truth is I’m scared of what I might find. Visits to Trecarlan with Stan had been such an integral part of my childhood in St Felix that the thought of visiting there without him – and, heaven forbid, finding his beloved home derelict – was not something I could face.

  But today is a new day, I remind myself. Maybe the time has come to take that first step on a new path. So I take a deep breath, give a gentle tug on Basil’s lead, and together we set off up the long road that leads to the castle.

  As Basil and I get closer to Trecarlan, and the blurred outline of the grey stone house begins to sharpen, I’m surprised by how little it has changed over the years.

  Yes, it’s more overgrown than I remember, there’s ivy covering the walls and it looks a bit dilapidated with the odd crack in the brickwork, but fundamentally it’s much the same as it was when I was a child. As Basil and I stand looking up at the grand entrance, I half expect Stan to come wandering down the steps to greet us.

  But I know that isn’t going to happen. After Amber and I had spoken about Stan the day we opened the shop, I’d made a few enquiries. According to the handful of people who remembered him, he’d left the castle years ago and Trecarlan has been standing empty ever since.

  I unhook Basil from his lead so he can pootle about on his own for a while, then I walk up the stone steps that lead to the entrance of the castle, hoping I might be able to peek through one of the windows. But although the curtains are pulled back, the interior of the house is dark so it’s difficult to see anything.

  ‘Basil!’ I call to a wandering Basil, currently cocking his leg against one of the gruff-looking gargoyles that guard the stone steps. ‘Come along, time we were moving on.’

  Basil begrudgingly trots along behind me as we wander through the grounds, and happy memories begin to return as I recognise the places where Will and I played as children. Stan used to let us come up here as often as we liked. To be honest, I think he quite liked having some company about the place. He had no family, just a few staff that worked for him – his helpers, Stan would call them. There was the lady that came in to clean for him… I rack my brains, trying to recall her name… Maggie, that’s it! I remember her now. Then there was a husband and wife team that took care of the cooking and gardening full-time… oh, what were their names? Suddenly these details seem very important and I’m irritated with myself for having forgotten.

  Bertie! That was the chap’s name, and the woman was Babs.

  I remember Babs was always nice to Will and me. She’d provide us with plates of cakes and juice, and sometimes, when she was baking for Stan, she’d let us sit and watch her. If we were good, she’d allow us to lick the bowl and the spoon clean when she’d finished.

  Happy memories…

  Sometimes we’d come to Trecarlan alone, and sometimes we’d come here with my grandmother. She was great friends with Stan, and she’d often bring him the leftover flowers from the shop at the end of the week to brighten up his ‘dreary old castle’ as she’d jokingly call it.

  ‘Something’s not right here, Basil,’ I tell him as we stop at the back of the castle and I look around. ‘If no one lives here any more, then why are the grounds so well kept?’

  I’d known something was amiss since we’d started exploring. Even though the castle appears to be shut up, the grass and bushes that surround it have all been pruned and beautifully maintained.

  ‘Hmm,’ I say to a disinterested Basil, who’s currently engrossed in sniffing the stem of an immaculate topiary bush trimmed into a cone. ‘I wonder…?’

  The walled area we’re standing in front of used to be the kitchen garden. Will and I would sometimes help Bertie plant vegetables here, and when we came back a few months later for another holiday, we’d find our tiny seeds had grown into tasty vegetables that Babs would make into stews and soups for Stan.

  I lift the rusty old latch on the wooden gate, praying it isn’t locked. To my joy the gate swings open. I call Basil and we enter a derelict kitchen garden that bears little resemblance to Bertie’s neat, well-tended vegetable patch of old.

  ‘OK, Basil, if I rem
ember rightly there always used to be a key…’ I lean down and lift a loose piece of paving slab, ‘right about here!’ I say triumphantly, lifting a rusty key in the air. ‘And it should fit…’ I put the key into the lock in the door in front of me and turn it. ‘Here! I was right!’

  I turn the handle of the kitchen door – which used to be blue, but so much paint has peeled away it’s hard to tell what colour it had once been – and step inside. ‘Come on, Basil!’ I call. ‘We’re going in.’

  The interior of Trecarlan Castle is much as I remember.

  It’s grand – in that the rooms are huge and in some cases ornately decorated, so you can imagine past owners living here with staff tending to their every need. But not so grand that it doesn’t seem like a home. That’s very much how I remember it – Stan’s home. A place we could come to play and feel safe.