The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop

by Tracy Corbett

  Evie concentrated on arranging the tulips, but curiosity eventually got the better of her and she glanced over at Billie. Maybe he hadn’t corrected her because he was ashamed. Embarrassed by his mum’s condition. That’s why he hadn’t said anything.

  Oshma showed the photo to her charge. ‘Thoughtful boy, our Scottie. Billie’s very proud of him. Isn’t that right, Billie?’

  Billie nodded, her eyes conveying deep sadness. It was nice that she was proud of her son, but did he deserve it, Evie wondered. How many times did he visit, or take her out? The occasional bunch of flowers hardly made him son of the year. What had he said before – ‘no ties’ – depicting a commitment-free lifestyle, whilst his mum was stuck in a chair in this flat, being cared for by a nurse. Evie decided her first impression of Scottie-the-not-so-hottie had been spot on. He was a charming, superficial player. She’d been right to steer clear.

  When she left Billie’s place ten minutes later, having overridden her guilt at dragging Marlon away, she mulled over the randomness of how life dealt its cards. On one hand, Billie had been struck down with a debilitating illness at fifty-something. Yet in contrast, her neighbour was still functioning on full power at ninety-four. Who said life was fair?

  Cordelia Harrison-Walker opened the door wearing a navy jumpsuit, a large gold belt cinching her slender waist and multi-stringed pearl necklace adorning her décolletage, as Cordelia referred to it. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun at the side of her head, her lipstick shiny and pink.

  ‘My darling, how nice to see you. Do come in.’ She kissed Evie on both cheeks, stepping back to allow her in. It was then that Cordelia spotted Marlon. Unlike her neighbour Billie, she wasn’t instantly charmed. ‘And what do we have here?’

  Evie flinched. ‘This is Marlon, my dog.’

  Cordelia raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes, I can see that. But what’s it doing here?’

  ‘Sorry, yes. Stating the obvious, I know.’ Evie patted Marlon’s head, willing him to behave. He looked up at her as if to say ‘Stop that.’ ‘Would you prefer me to leave him in the hallway?’

  Cordelia’s expression said ‘definitely’ even though aloud she said, ‘No need,’ watching Marlon saunter into her perfect, spotless, animal hair-free abode.

  Evie wished she’d left Marlon in the van.

  This feeling only multiplied when Cordelia said, ‘Goodness me,’ in a shocked manner. Evie spun around, fearful of what crime Marlon had committed, but Cordelia was staring at her shoes. ‘What in heaven’s name are you wearing on your feet?’

  Evie glanced down. ‘Banana skins.’ She lifted the leg of her green combats, allowing Cordelia full view of her latest acquisition. ‘Fun, aren’t they?’

  Cordelia paused before speaking. ‘It strikes me that such attentiveness to your footwear, whilst admirable, might be better extended to your other attire.’ Her gaze travelled up over Evie’s baggy trousers to her plain black top and make-up-free face. ‘I don’t mean to criticise, my dear. But you are a stunning girl. It seems a shame to hide behind such neutrality when you clearly have a desire to express yourself visually.’

  Evie felt her cheeks redden. ‘I’ve had my hair cut since I last came.’

  Cordelia smiled. ‘I’m sure you have, but it’s difficult to tell when it’s scraped back into a ponytail. You should wear it down, allow those wonderful waves to run free.’ Then she shook her head. ‘Listen to me, how rude.’ She squeezed Evie’s arm. ‘I apologise, my dear. You ignore me. I’m just a silly old woman. You do what you want with your hair.’

  Evie ran her hand self-consciously over her ponytail. Part of her wanted to dress nicely, to wear colourful clothes and outwardly express who she was, but she felt more comfortable blending into the background. Plus there were her finances to consider. She was trying to save every penny so she could buy out Diana, and new clothes cost money. Stupid shoes bought off eBay didn’t, these had been less than two pounds. They’d felt like a bargain at the time. Now they just felt foolish and unsophisticated.

  Movement out of the corner of her eye increased Evie’s humiliation. Marlon had hold of one of Cordelia’s silk cushions. Like a stealth burglar, he crept towards the double French doors, hoping not to be noticed. ‘Marlon, no!’

  Cordelia gasped.

  Marlon stopped mid-stride, like a comic cartoon, his bum facing Evie, his face full of cushion. ‘Drop it.’ Evie tried to remember what Scott had said about using a commanding voice. She didn’t think her hound was going to obey but, miraculously, he lowered the cushion. Moving slowly, so as not to excite him into thinking it was a game, she picked up the cushion. ‘Good dog.’

  Cordelia raised an eyebrow. Their ideas of ‘good’ clearly differed.

  Evie brushed off the wet patch and placed the cushion back on the sofa. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She’d have liked to add that Marlon was normally much better behaved, but he wasn’t, so she didn’t. ‘Shall I get on with the flowers?’

  ‘I think that would be sensible.’ Cordelia pointed a finger at Marlon. ‘I have my eye on you.’ His tail wagged in response. Disrespectful hound.

  Needing to make amends, Evie began arranging the pink and white peonies in two vases, interspersing them with deep purple anemones. ‘I’d love to hear you play something on the piano, Mrs Harrison-Walker.’

  ‘I’ve told you before, it’s Cordelia. We’ve moved past such formalities.’ Cordelia sat down at the piano, her posture beautiful, and began to play. Evie recognised Glenn Miller’s ‘In the Mood’. It had been a favourite of her dad’s.

  ‘You play beautifully.’ Evie hoped flattery might work in her favour. Marlon was not good for custom. Not this custom, anyhow.

  ‘My first husband taught me. He was a fine musician.’ Her delicate hands danced over the keys. ‘After his death I didn’t play for several years.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Using a pair of scissors, Evie curled strands of decorative grass.

  ‘He was killed in the Second World War. Died at sea. They never found his body.’ Her playing didn’t waver, despite the gravity of her words.

  Evie sighed. ‘That’s so tragic.’ Today must be the day for customers divulging personal information, she decided. Maybe it was inappropriate for her not to discourage such intimate discussions, but the customer was always right. So if they wanted to share, who was she to deny them?

  ‘We were only married for four years. We lived in a tiny flat backing onto the railway tracks behind Clapham Junction.’ She smiled as she played, her expression enigmatic. ‘Drove the neighbours to distraction with our music and bouncing bedsprings.’

  Cordelia was certainly no shrinking violet. And then Evie realised Marlon was heading for the cushions again. Oh, crap.

  ‘My parents didn’t approve, of course. William Kelly wasn’t a suitable match in their eyes.’

  As subtly as she could, Evie moved to grab Marlon’s collar, trying to pull the cushion away from his mouth. He held firm, his tail wagging mischievously. ‘Bad dog,’ she whispered, trying to cover up her pet’s latest misdemeanour.

  Cordelia stopped playing. She pinned Marlon with a stare. His tail lost its swing. Letting go of the cushion, he jogged over to the piano and positioned himself by her feet. ‘You should know that I’m not a dog person.’

  Marlon did another of his shrugs.

  Cordelia resumed playing. ‘I never regretted marrying him. Willy was the love of my life. He taught me so much about love and intimacy. I owe everything to him. He was the one who encouraged my passion for photography.’ She nodded towards the framed photos sitting on top of the baby grand.

  Evie looked at the array of black-and-white photos. They spanned several decades, depicting everything from battle-worn cities to glamorous film stars. ‘You took these?’

  Cordelia nodded.

  Evie had assumed they were professional prints. ‘They’re incredible.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Cordelia smiled. ‘After the war I became a newspaper journalist and travelled the w
orld. Something I would never have done without Willy convincing me I could.’

  Evie placed one of the vases on top of the piano, thinking how wonderful it must be to have led such an amazing life. ‘It sounds like you’ve been very lucky with husbands.’

  Cordelia frowned. ‘Luck has nothing to do with it. I took chances and reaped the rewards.’

  Evie straightened the vase. The woman made it sound so easy. ‘Taking a chance doesn’t always result in a happy ever after.’

  Cordelia’s playing softened. ‘Of course it doesn’t. That’s why you shouldn’t restrict yourself to just the one. You need to increase the odds. The more attempts to seek out love, the greater chance of finding it.’

  Nice sales pitch, but Evie wasn’t so easily convinced. ‘Maybe. But a bad experience can cause irreparable damage. Not everyone is left unscathed.’

  Cordelia stopped playing. ‘You think I’ve survived unscathed?’ Her expression was challenging.

  Evie busied herself clearing up. ‘I’m merely saying that for some people one bad experience is enough to scare them off relationships for life.’

  Cordelia resumed playing. ‘Now that would be a tragedy.’

  ‘And besides, I do take risks,’ Evie responded, albeit a tad too defensively. ‘I’ve got a dog. I’m running my own business, saving up to buy The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop. I’m entering a prestigious floral competition …’ She’d run out of examples. It felt like she took numerous risks every day, but now she wondered if that was true. ‘It’s only with men that I’m cautious.’ Evie fiddled with her top self-consciously. ‘I’m not being risk averse, I just need to stay … safe.’

  Cordelia’s playing increased in volume. ‘Ships in the harbour are safe.’ She finished with a flurry. ‘But that’s not what ships are built for.’

  Evie shook her head. ‘It’s not the same thing.’

  Cordelia closed the lid on the piano. ‘Does this have something to do with the hunky Italian film star you mentioned last time?’

  Hunky Italian …? Oh, right – Scott. She’d forgotten she’d used that expression. No, Scott didn’t scare her. He just infuriated her. At least, she was pretty sure that’s what he did. How else would she describe that itch beneath her skin every time she saw him? Not to mention the flutter of butterflies the sound of his laugh created in her tummy. It was like her body was trying to tell her something.

  She carried the second vase over to the console table. ‘No, he was just a moment of weakness. A fleeting attraction. Nothing significant.’ Yeah, right.

  Even Cordelia didn’t look convinced.

  Ignoring her customer’s raised eyebrow, Evie centred the vase. ‘This is something that happened a while ago. A man I was in a long-term relationship with became very controlling. It’s one of the reasons I moved to Kent.’

  Cordelia seemed to mull this over. ‘And the reason you hide behind non-descript clothes, I suspect.’

  Evie shrugged. ‘I know what you say about love makes sense. And I agree with you to a certain extent, really, I do. But it’s hard to overrule your instincts when someone has dented your belief in the happy ever after.’

  Cordelia got up from the piano and took hold of Evie’s hands. ‘Your life will always be governed by anxiety if you allow this past relationship to be your last relationship. The only way of changing your habits is to create new experiences. New memories. New sensations.’ Letting go of Evie’s hand, she cupped her cheek. ‘Trust me. Men are the most wonderful of creatures.’

  Evie almost laughed. Try telling Laura that. And then Marlon walked between them, bold as brass, a silk cushion dangling from his mouth. Oh, God.

  Cordelia stared down at him. ‘You, on the other hand, I am not so sure about.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Thursday, 1 May

  Patricia checked the address again. She was definitely in the right place. She hadn’t known what to expect, but Peacock Court was nothing like she’d imagined. It looked like the sheltered housing adverts she’d seen on telly. Was this really where Ben lived? Maybe his parents were much older. The subject had never come up for discussion, which perhaps was remiss of her.

  Patricia had decided to take a different approach in her efforts to delay the wedding. She was hoping to enlist the help of Ben’s parents in persuading Ben and Amy to wait a while. However, in hindsight, it might have been sensible to quiz Ben a bit more about his home life first. The expensive bottle of Domaine Leflaive Montrachet Grand Cru taken from David’s prize collection, and valued at more than three thousand pounds per bottle, now seemed a little inappropriate as a gift.

  The name on the entrance intercom read Billie Castillo. This must be it. It wasn’t exactly a common surname. She pressed the buzzer and waited for someone to answer. She hadn’t told either Amy or David what she was doing. David would have insisted on coming along and would have taken over the negotiations. Any respect he once had for her had long since vanished, and she couldn’t risk him humiliating her in front of Ben’s family. His disdain used to be discreet. Not any more. Only the other week he’d unashamedly flirted with the woman from the wedding dress shop. Even Amy had noticed, something David had taken care never to let his daughter see before. It was an unnerving shift in his behaviour. Like he didn’t care any more.

  She also didn’t want to upset Amy. Her daughter had been so happy of late – Patricia couldn’t bring herself to spoil that. Not until she had to. There’d been a moment, when Amy had walked out of the changing room in her beautiful dress looking like a radiant goddess, when Patricia had wondered if perhaps this was the right thing for her daughter after all. And then David had ruined the moment, belittling his wife in front of the shop owner and reaffirming Patricia’s resolve to protect her precious daughter from the pain of getting married too young.

  This was one last-ditch attempt to make them both see sense.

  Ben was bound to tell Amy about her visit today. In fact, Patricia was surprised he hadn’t told her the moment she’d collared him in the kitchen and requested a secret meeting with his family on the pretence of planning a ‘surprise’ for Amy. Ben hadn’t been fooled. He’d known exactly what she was up to. ‘You’re hoping they’ll side with you and put pressure on us to wait, aren’t you?’ Flustered, she’d been about to deny it, when he’d added, ‘It’s okay, Mrs Robinson. I understand. It won’t work, but knock yourself out trying.’ And then he pinned her with a disarming smile and asked if he could help himself to a can of Coke from the fridge.

  Strangely, her respect for him had increased in that moment. He wasn’t lacking in confidence, she’d say that much for him. However, she was sure he would tell Amy at some point, so she needed to be prepared for the fallout.

  Ben answered the intercom and released the door lock, allowing her in. Patricia made her way down the dismal grey corridor, noticing the tired decor and worn carpet tiles. It was a far cry from The Pines. If Ben had felt uncomfortable visiting their home, with its multitude of bedrooms and spacious living quarters, he’d never shown it. Come to think of it, she’d never seen Ben fazed at all, even when David was being his usual arrogant self. She sighed. This would be so much easier if she didn’t like the boy.

  The flat door was opened by a man who couldn’t possibly be old enough to be Ben’s father – not unless he’d fathered a child in adolescence. In which case, persuading him to side with her views on the merits of waiting might prove a little tricky. Patricia forced a smile. ‘I believe you’re expecting me?’

  He offered his hand, returning her smile, albeit a little wearily. ‘Scott Castillo. Ben’s uncle. Please come in.’

  Patricia shook his hand. Ben had often mentioned his uncle, but she hadn’t realised he lived with him. How many other family members was she about to discover crammed into the place? Bringing expensive wine had definitely been a mistake. The last thing she wanted was to make anyone feel uncomfortable.

  The narrow entrance hall led to a cramped living area with barely enough roo
m for the large telly dominating the far corner. Sitting in front of the TV was a woman in a wheelchair.

  Ben appeared and switched off the telly. He was dressed in his usual low-slung jeans and too-tight T-shirt. He came over to Patricia and kissed her cheek. ‘Hey there, Mrs Robinson.’ Patricia tried to not flinch. This wasn’t a friendly social visit. But Ben knew that – he was probably trying to scupper her plans. He gestured for her to sit on the small couch. ‘I’m guessing you’ve met my Uncle Scott.’

  She nodded, noticing the uncle had joined them.

  ‘And this is my nan, Billie.’ Ben manoeuvred the wheelchair so it faced the sofa. ‘This is Amy’s mum,’ he said to the woman in the chair. ‘She’s come to talk to us about the wedding.’

  The woman smiled, but only one half of her face moved. Her arms were slack, resting in her lap. The clothes she wore looked too big. There were traces of life in her eyes, even though her body appeared to be immobile. Patricia smiled, covering for the loss of something profound to say.

  Ben kissed his grandmother’s cheek as if sensing Patricia’s unease. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Mrs Robinson?’

  Patricia shook her head. ‘No, thank you. Will your parents be joining us?’

  A moment of stillness descended.

  Patricia looked around, unsure of what she’d said wrong.

  The uncle cleared his throat.

  Keeping a hand on his grandmother’s shoulder, Ben said, ‘I don’t have any parents. I live with my nan and uncle.’

  This was news to Patricia. ‘You never mentioned this.’

  Ben frowned. ‘Actually, I did, many times. Maybe you never listened.’

  Patricia’s mortification sent heat spiralling to her face.

  The uncle broke the awkward silence that followed. ‘I’m Ben’s legal guardian.’