The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop

by Tracy Corbett

He swallowed with some difficulty. Strange how something you normally did a thousand times a day could become so awkward. ‘I’ll go and talk to him.’ He paused when he reached the door. ‘Thanks, Amy. I’m glad you were here for him. He’s lucky to have you.’

  She filled up the kettle. ‘I’ll give you guys some space.’

  Scott left her to it, thinking how he’d only ever seen her as a kid before. His mistake. Some people rose to the challenge of adversity. Amy was one of them.

  Drawing a deep breath, Scott went to sit with his nephew. The kid was pale as paper, his eyes puffy and bloodshot as he clutched Billie’s blanket to his chest. ‘It smells of Nan.’

  Scott nodded, his throat constricting again. ‘I owe you an apology.’

  Ben blinked up at him. ‘You do?’

  Scott nodded. ‘I’ve been so fixated on how young you and Amy are that I failed to notice how strong you guys are together. She’s been amazing tonight.’

  Ben nodded, welling up again. ‘I don’t know what I would’ve done if she hadn’t been here.’ His face contorted as another sob rattled through his body. ‘It was awful … Nanny slumped … and then her tongue fell out … and …’

  Scott wrapped his arms around Ben. The kid might be as confident as they came, but at that moment he’d regressed to childhood, his body sagging against Scott’s, limp and helpless. For a good few minutes Scott let him cry, unable to recall the last time he’d held his nephew. It’d been a while.

  Eventually the sobbing subsided and Scott handed Ben a box of Billie’s scented tissues. ‘I don’t know whether you heard what the doctor said, mate, but your nan died instantly. Even if she’d been in hospital and the doctors had been standing right next to her they couldn’t have done anything.’ He held Ben’s hand. ‘I promise you, mate. There was nothing you or anyone else could’ve done.’

  ‘Then why do I feel so guilty?’ His face held so much pain, it was heartbreaking.

  Scott shrugged. ‘Human nature. I feel guilty too. I wasn’t here when it happened. Guilt is our minds wanting to blame someone or something for the world being unfair. Truth is, shit happens. No one’s to blame, especially not you. You looked after Nanny better than most adults twice your age. You loved her, cared for her. You were the best grandson she could’ve wished for. She was really proud of you. And so am I.’

  Amy appeared with the tea tray and a packet of chocolate biscuits. ‘Is there any other family you’d like me to call? Let them know what happened?’

  Scott rubbed his forehead. Shit. Someone had to tell his sister. He got up from the sofa. ‘Thanks for the offer but I’d better do it myself. I’ll call your mum, Ben. Unless you want to?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘I doubt Lisa will care.’

  Scott sighed. ‘Of course she’ll care.’ But he took his mobile into the bedroom, just in case.

  The evening’s trauma meant he hadn’t realised it was 5 a.m. Bangalore time until Lisa’s sleepy voice answered the phone. ‘This had better be important.’

  ‘Bitch’ was the first word that swam through Scott’s brain. But now wasn’t the time for fighting. ‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Lisa, but Mum died this evening. I thought you should know.’

  There was a moment’s silence. Or maybe a time delay, he wasn’t sure. Eventually she said, ‘Oh.’ That was it, plain and simple. Oh.

  ‘She had another stroke. She died instantly. Nothing anyone could’ve done.’

  Another pause. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  Scott strained to hear the grief in her voice, or at least dismay, but his sister sounded like her usual composed self. Maybe it was the shock? After all, it’d taken him a while to compute the news. He should cut her some slack. ‘Ben was with her when it happened. He’s pretty cut up.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  Could she? Not for the first time he wondered if Lisa had some kind of emotional disability. The same affliction he had, only with feelings not words. As he sat on the bed, it dawned on him he was in Billie’s room, not his own. Why had he done that? He looked around. Her frame was by the bed, her nightie neatly folded. The hoist was still attached to the wall. One slipper lay upturned on the floor. He couldn’t see the other one.

  ‘So what happens now? Is there paperwork to be completed?’ Lisa’s voice drew him back to the phone.

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ Who thought of paperwork at a time like this? ‘I’ll look into all that tomorrow. Right at this moment I’m more concerned about Ben.’

  ‘Of course, yes.’ Another delay. ‘Does he want to speak to me?’

  Scott softened a fraction. ‘Maybe not right now. He’s with Amy, she’s handling it.’

  ‘Okay … Well, that’s good. Thanks for letting me know.’ Was she brushing him off? But then, what more was there to say?

  ‘I’ll let you know about funeral arrangements as soon as possible, so you can organise flights.’

  A long, non-responsive delay.

  ‘Lisa? You will come back for the funeral, right?’ He heard the waver in his voice.

  Another pause. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  She’d do her best? Something cracked inside him. He didn’t know what, but he had two options. Yell at his sister, break down, scream abuse and hurl all his pent-up hurt and anger in her direction, or …

  ‘You do that, sis.’ He ended the call and stood up. Desperately holding everything inside, he walked out of the bedroom and forced normality as he checked on Ben.

  ‘We’ll get through this together,’ Amy was saying, stroking Ben’s hair as he lay with his head in her lap. His eyes were shut, no doubt from exhaustion. ‘One day at a time.’

  Somewhere along the line there’d been a shift in dynamics. Amy had become Ben’s primary support system. When had that happened? Scott guessed he should be grateful.

  Mouthing the words ‘thank you’ at Amy, Scott picked up his keys and headed out to the van. If Lisa didn’t feel the need to return for their mother’s funeral then that was her issue, not his. All he could do was look after Ben, help his nephew deal with the loss of yet another significant figure in his young life and be the parent the kid was lacking.

  But for tonight he needed to deal with his own grief.

  Unlocking the rear doors, Scott climbed into his van, where he was sure no one would bother him, and gave into the pain that had been building since answering Ben’s call just a few hours earlier.

  Clenching his fists, he screwed up his face and began pummelling a rolled-up length of lagging lying on the floor. Anger poured out of him. Anger at Lisa. Anger at the world. Anger at Nicole. Anger for the last two years. Anger at the unfairness of it all, the sacrifices, the heartache. It wasn’t long before anger morphed into self-pity and then guilt; and from wishing his mum hadn’t died to being glad her suffering was over. He wasn’t sure when he’d started crying, or when he’d stopped beating up the lagging, but at some point he ended up face down on the floor, sobbing his eyes out, wailing just as Ben had done, and grieving for the loss of his mother.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Tuesday, 20 May

  Evie turned to Marlon, hoping for a change of heart. He was looking out of the van window, eager to be released for his evening run. ‘We don’t have to do this,’ she said, trying to negotiate with her dog. ‘We could head home and curl up on the sofa. Wouldn’t that be nice? All cosy and warm.’

  His head tilted, one bushy eyebrow raised in disdain.

  ‘Would it help if I threw in some treats? Extended playtime?’

  He gave her the evil eye.

  ‘So that’s a no.’ She glanced outside to see if the weather had eased. It hadn’t.

  The glorious May sunshine had dissolved into incessant rain. She’d shut up shop early, no point in staying open. Miserable weather wasn’t conducive to selling flowers.

  Unfortunately, bad weather didn’t eradicate the need for walkies. So while she’d much rather be wallowing in a hot bubble bath, dunking chocolate biscuits into a mu
g of tea, she was forced to brave the elements for the sake of her hound. ‘Last chance to change your mind.’

  Marlon wagged his tail, a look of triumph in his eyes.

  ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’

  Slipping off her trainers, she pushed her feet into the colourful wellington boots Scott had given her. Had it really been four days since that kiss? In some ways it didn’t feel real, like her imagination was playing tricks. But then the recollection of his mouth on hers flared bright and strong and there was no mistaking that it had happened.

  Braving the rain, she zipped up her jacket and exited the van. ‘Just remember this was your idea.’

  Marlon leapt from the van, straight into a puddle, splashing water over her new wellies.

  ‘You did that on purpose.’

  Her dog feigned innocence.

  ‘Don’t come crying to me when you’re all wet and muddy.’

  His expression indicated getting wet and muddy was the idea. He bolted off, embracing his instinctive desire to chase rabbits.

  Securing her hood, Evie set off after him, hoping he kept to the track. With the wind pressing against her and the rain stinging her face, she had a sudden urge to break into a rendition of ‘Climb Ev’ry Mountain’ from The Sound of Music. Except she was more Dawn French than Julie Andrews, more likely to end up face down in a puddle than twirling around a hilltop dressed as a nun.

  Her new boots proved comfy and fun – and reminded her of the plumber. The urge to sing was over. Last thing she wanted to think about was … too late. She was thinking about him. Damn it.

  She hadn’t meant to kiss Scott Castillo. Far from it. But he was kind and funny, and he’d rescued Marlon and taken them home, brought gifts and fed them chips. Add in wine, gratitude, a tiny sofa and … well, she was only human. She might be off men, but she wasn’t immune to the enticement of physical contact. And it’d been lovely – passionate, tender, intoxicating … And then he was gone. One minute their bodies were entwined, limbs tangled, the next he’d answered his phone and was leaving, waving a brief apology.

  Had he got cold feet? Did he think she was a bad kisser? It was hard not to feel affronted. Whatever the reason, he’d left without explanation and she hadn’t heard a peep since. There was no point dwelling on it. Their brief … whatever … was over. It was done. Kaput. Finished. Dead in the water.

  Probably for the best. After all, if he hadn’t left things might have gone a lot further. So she should be feeling relieved, not disappointed. Pining over a man was pathetic – and certainly not part of her master plan to rebuild her life.

  Reaching the top of the grassy mound, she searched for her dog. A flash of sandy-coloured fur appeared in the distance near the tennis courts. She splashed her way through the long grass, trying to keep Marlon in view.

  Last night, gripped by the need to hear a friendly voice, she’d called Holly. Phone calls to her sister had become a regular occurrence of late. They’d spent over an hour discussing the unique bond between animals and humans, dogs in particular. It didn’t matter that Marlon was the feature presentation in their discussions. As long as something kept their relationship alive, Evie was happy to go along with it.

  The sight of a solitary figure hitting tennis balls on the public courts wouldn’t normally be surprising, but when the wind was gusting and the rain pelting down, it seemed a little odd. The man was dressed in tennis whites, his stance aggressive as he squared up to the machine launching the balls. His feet slipped on the surface as he stretched to reach the shots. A ball bounced off the rim of his racket, lobbing high over the fence. He didn’t seem to notice – unlike Marlon, who changed direction with the strength of a Formula One car and caught the ball mid-air, landing in the bushes. There was a flurry of activity in the undergrowth before Marlon appeared, ball in mouth, covered in green sludge.

  Evie scowled at her dog, knowing he was delighted to be the cause of further annoyance. Marlon responded by racing towards her, mud flying, ears pinned back. If he didn’t slow down soon he’d – ooofff!

  Upended, Evie lay in the grass nursing a sore bum, the feeling of wet seeping through the gap between her jacket and trousers. Marlon’s face appeared above, the smell of dank foliage matted into his fur. He dropped the ball onto her chest, eager for her to join in the fun.

  She eased herself into a sitting position. ‘Think you’re funny, don’t you?’

  Marlon nodded. Seriously. He nodded.

  ‘You want to play?’ She righted herself. ‘Then let’s play.’ Evie launched the tennis ball into the air, aiming for the lake. No way was Marlon getting into the van covered in gunge. It was bath time.

  There was something uplifting about the sight of Marlon landing with an ungainly belly flop in the water. He reappeared, ball in mouth, fur stuck to his body, but thankfully gunge free.

  Heading over to the lake, Evie’s satisfaction at a job well done faded when she glanced at the guy playing tennis. It was Martin Harper. She stopped walking, struggling to understand why Laura’s husband was playing tennis in the rain. He was hitting balls like he was out to destroy them, swinging the racket with such force he lost his footing with each shot. Another ball went crashing into the net. And then he sank to his knees, like someone had pulled a plug. Was he crying?

  Torn between approaching and scarpering, Evie watched as his anguish turned to fury. Figuring he wouldn’t appreciate his wife’s best friend seeing him in this state, Evie joined Marlon by the lake and they headed back to the van.

  Witnessing Martin’s breakdown stayed with her long after she’d discarded her wet outer layers and loaded Marlon into the van. The image of Martin dropping to his knees tumbled through her head as she drove to Peacock Court and unloaded Cordelia’s flower arrangements onto her makeshift trolley.

  Leaving Marlon in the van, Evie wheeled the trolley inside. Should she tell Laura what she’d seen? Would it help or hinder? It wasn’t as if Evie could offer an explanation. She didn’t know what had caused Martin’s meltdown. He could have been distressed over a bad business deal – or his lack of Andy Murray technique on the tennis court. Who knew? Attributing Martin’s behaviour to upset over the state of his marriage would be an assumption. An assumption that might cause more pain. But not saying anything might be worse. If Laura knew Martin was distraught would it change the way she felt about him?

  Cordelia answered the door, immaculate as always, a Chinese shawl tied around her shoulders.

  The same could not be said for Evie. ‘I got caught in the rain.’

  ‘So I see.’ Cordelia studied Evie’s bedraggled appearance, damp combats and threadbare hoodie.

  ‘You should see the other guy. Marlon’s so wet he needs tumble-drying.’

  Cordelia wasn’t amused. ‘And where is he?’ Her expression indicated disgust, but her eyes searched the hallway.

  Was her dog growing on the old lady? ‘I left him in the van.’

  ‘He’ll catch his death. Bring him inside.’ Cordelia gestured for Evie to go get him.

  ‘Seriously, Mrs Harrison-Walker—’

  ‘Cordelia.’

  ‘Cordelia. He’s a mess. There’s no way he’s fit to be brought inside your lovely home.’ Evie wasn’t sure she was fit to be let inside, let alone her sopping wet hound.

  Cordelia waved her away. ‘I’ll be the judge of that. Off you go. I won’t take no for an answer.’

  The customer is always right, Evie reminded herself as she unloaded Marlon from the van and headed back inside. Even if that customer was barking mad. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’ Her dog was looking smug. ‘If I had my way you’d still be in the van.’ He deliberately swerved in front of her, tripping her up. Yep, her dog was in serious need of therapy.

  Cordelia had covered the floor with a selection of towels. Unlike Evie’s threadbare collection, none of them looked worn enough to warrant using on a wet dog. Evie watched Cordelia wrap Marlon in a fluffy blue bath sheet and offer him a bowl of water. He shou
ld not be rewarded for his antics. Taking advantage of the role of ‘abused pet’, Marlon hung his head, leaning into Cordelia as she rubbed him dry. Why the little …

  ‘Have you heard from the bank regarding your mortgage application?’ Cordelia asked as she removed dried mud from Marlon’s ears.

  ‘They turned me down, I’m afraid.’ Evie unloaded a bucket of pre-cut flowers. ‘I didn’t even get past the initial credit check.’

  Cordelia lifted Marlon’s paw, carefully drying between each toe. Talk about pampered. ‘Do you know why?’

  ‘The perils of being self-employed,’ said Evie, assembling the dark blue irises. ‘No guaranteed income. It’s so frustrating. I have no debt. I pay all my bills. I even have savings, but because I’m not employed they consider me a credit risk.’

  ‘Can you appeal?’

  Evie added purple larkspur to the metal containers. ‘I doubt it. The likelihood of me being able to buy out Diana are slim.’ Somehow saying it aloud made the disappointment more acute. After last week’s rejection for a loan, she’d been crushed to receive the bank’s letter about the mortgage that morning. She was running out of options.

  Her last hope lay with Farah Bitar, who’d promised to talk to her husband about a loan. It’d been over two months since they’d spoken, so Evie would need to make contact in the hope Mrs Bitar was still willing to vouch for her.

  ‘I wondered why you were looking so glum.’ Cordelia removed Marlon’s collar, wiping it clean. For someone who professed not to like dogs, she was doing a fine job tending to her pooch.

  ‘It’s been a tough week.’ Evie felt this might be the understatement of the century. What with Marlon going AWOL, the bank rejecting her loan and mortgage applications, not to mention canoodling with her plumber …

  ‘Man trouble?’

  Exactly.

  Evie shrugged. ‘Nothing I won’t recover from. A momentary lapse in concentration, that’s all.’ Evie could sense Cordelia watching her, unsatisfied by her half-hearted explanation. ‘We kissed. It was a mistake. He left. No big deal.’