The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop

by Tracy Corbett

  He managed a nod, his mind surfacing from the torrent. ‘I’ll take it away.’

  She slid the card across the counter.

  They’d reached a crossroads. There was so much he wanted to say. More than that, he wanted to hold her. To be held. But he knew all that warmth and softness would be his undoing. He’d drown, never to resurface. He had to stay strong. For Ben, for Billie, for himself. Another wave was building. He needed to leave. ‘Thank you for your help.’

  He barely made it to the van before succumbing to the storm, drowning in another surge of grief.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Saturday, 24 May

  Evie read the instructions again. ‘Take the long wire and wrap it around itself.’ Nope, it still didn’t make sense. Guesswork would have to suffice. In the absence of a live model, she was using a polystyrene head she’d acquired from the local wig shop to build a wire frame so she could attach flowers to it and bring her design to life. But with no hair and no stability to keep it upright, it kept toppling over. Far from creating an ethereal woodland tiara, it looked more like an anaemic corpse wearing an orthodontic head brace.

  ‘It’s not going well, Marlon.’ She inspected his poorly eye. It didn’t look quite so angry today. She checked her watch. ‘Time for your medicine.’ She fetched his eye drops.

  Saturdays were usually busy first thing, trailing off after lunch. Today had been no exception. She didn’t like to shut up shop too soon, just in case she missed any last-minute custom, but with no Saffy today she’d been bored and in need of something to occupy her mind. Hence practising for the competition, which was only three weeks away.

  Marlon raised his head as she approached, his expression solemn.

  ‘You look how I feel,’ she said. He’d scratched his eye whilst they been out running. The vet had assured her there was no major damage, but Marlon was still looking very sorry for himself.

  As much as she hated to admit it, she missed Scott. Despite all her attempts to keep him at bay and not allow her heart to be affected, she’d failed. She should have listened to Cordelia. Dealing with the aftermath of a crappy relationship was grim, but refusing to love again was just inflicting further unnecessary punishment. Did she just say love? Oh, hell.

  Marlon looked at her through one watery eye and rested his chin on her knee.

  ‘It’s sad, I know. You miss him too, don’t you?’

  Annoyingly, the new boiler had been working perfectly, so she didn’t have a reason to call on him in a professional capacity. Maybe she should sabotage the sink and cause a leak so she could book his services. Or was that too pathetic?

  She returned to designing her masterpiece, hoping time away would have improved its appearance. It hadn’t. Maybe she needed stronger wire? Or a plumber to weld the joints into place? Now there was an idea.

  ‘You cannot call Scott to help fix a tiara, you daft woman.’

  Marlon’s snort indicated he fully concurred with this statement.

  The phone rang. Grateful for the promise of a late order, Evie answered it, her brief elation deflating when she heard the tone of Farah Bitar’s voice, no doubt pre-empting the delivery of disappointing news. ‘I’m calling about the loan.’

  Evie tried not to feel gutted. It had always been a long shot. ‘I’m guessing Mr Bitar said no?’

  The bell above the door rang. Laura waved from the doorway, looking stylish in a short skirt and off-the-shoulder tunic.

  As if Evie wasn’t feeling frumpy enough. She hadn’t even bothered with entertaining shoes today; her outfit was as melancholy as her mood. She pointed to the phone.

  Laura nodded, wandering around the shop, avoiding Marlon. Her gait was more animated of late. Maybe things had improved with Martin. Evie hoped so.

  Mrs Bitar was still apologising. ‘If it was up to me then you would have the loan, but my husband, he is a very …’

  Evie could well imagine Mr B played hardball when it came to business. ‘It’s okay, Mrs Bitar. I’m just grateful you asked him. It was very kind of you.’

  Laura grimaced when she reached the severed head.

  ‘How are your designs coming along for the flower competition?’ Mrs Bitar politely enquired.

  ‘I’m working on the design now. It’s coming along really well.’ Liar.

  Laura pointed at the wired monstrosity. When Evie nodded, Laura raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

  ‘I wish you luck, Evie. I shall be praying you win first prize.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Bitar. It would certainly be nice to win.’ She ended the call, knowing that was highly unlikely.

  Laura snorted. ‘I hate to break it to you, but that ain’t no winning entry. What is it, anyway?’

  Evie joined her friend by the counter. ‘A work in progress. It needs a more stable base. Fancy loaning me your skull to practise on?’

  Laura frowned. ‘Can I remain attached to it while you’re doing it?’

  ‘Sure.’ Evie nodded. ‘I can adapt.’

  Laura poked the end of a lose wire. ‘Will it hurt?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  Laura fixed her with an intimidating look. ‘Then why are you crossing your fingers?’

  Evie tried for a reassuring tone. ‘I’ll do my best not to inflict injury.’ She pulled up a stool. ‘Have a seat. How’s business?’

  ‘Good.’ Laura sat down. ‘Well, apart from yesterday when I caught a woman taking photos of one of my dresses so her cousin in Beijing could knock off a copy at a fraction of the price.’

  Evie tutted. ‘Outrageous.’

  ‘Talk about cheek. I made her delete the photos and chased her out the shop.’

  Evie laughed. There was something different about her friend today. A change of perfume, perhaps? ‘You seem very chipper. Any particular reason?’

  Laura unclipped her hair. ‘Perhaps.’ A smile played on her lips. ‘I may have news on the romantic front.’

  Evie eased the wire frame onto Laura’s head. ‘Sounds promising.’

  The thought of Laura and Martin back on track almost made up for the disappointment of not seeing Scott again. It’d been horrible watching her friend suffer.

  Evie bent the base inwards to give it a better grip. ‘Come on, spill. Don’t leave a girl in suspenders.’ Evie checked the instructions again. ‘Wrap the wire around the indent to form a ledge.’ Eh? What indent?

  ‘Well, you remember a while back I quizzed you about who’d sent me flowers?’

  Evie couldn’t find an ‘indent’ and had no idea where she should be adding a ‘ledge’.

  ‘Turns out they were from the father of one of my brides. His name’s David. He’s a bit older than me, but dead sexy.’ The excitement in Laura’s voice dragged Evie’s attention away from the instructions. ‘He’s handsome, successful, tall …’ Laura rattled on, the frame on her head slipping backwards.

  Evie caught the frame before it fell off. ‘Sorry, Laura, but what has this got to do with you and Martin?’

  ‘Me and Martin?’ Laura twisted her body. ‘Absolutely nothing.’ And then she grinned. ‘I’ve met someone. And I really like him. He’s invited me out for a drink.’

  Evie tried to compute what Laura was saying. ‘You’re not thinking of going?’

  Laura’s smile faltered. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

  Evie felt it necessary to state the obvious. ‘Because you’re married.’

  Laura dismissed Evie’s concerns. ‘It’s not like we’re still together, not really. We’ve been drifting apart for months. You’ll cover for me, won’t you? I doubt Martin will check, but if he does can you say I’m with you, staying at your place?’

  Things were spiralling out of control. Evie shook her head. ‘No.’

  Laura swivelled on the stool to face Evie. ‘What do you mean, no? Why not?’

  A segment of wire had come loose. Evie bent it back into shape. ‘It’s cheating.’

  Laura frowned. ‘Technically, yes, but like I said …’

  ‘Is
this other man married?’ Evie knew damn well he was.

  Laura’s cheeks coloured. ‘On paper, yes, but—’

  ‘Either he’s married or not. And if he is, then he shouldn’t be messing around with you.’ Evie’s finger was bleeding. She must have caught it on the wire.

  Laura stood up, her annoyance palpable. ‘He’s only with his wife for the sake of their daughter.’

  Evie wiped her finger on her apron. ‘How many times have I heard that?’

  ‘I don’t know, Evie, how many?’ Laura loomed over Evie in her heeled boots, the head frame slipping to one side, making it look like some kind of bizarre Viking helmet. ‘When did you become such an expert on relationships?’

  Evie lifted the wire frame off her friend’s head. ‘I don’t claim to be an expert.’

  ‘Exactly, you don’t even like men. How dare you stand there judging me.’

  Stung, Evie took a step backwards. ‘I do like men.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Laura’s expression turned sarcastic. ‘So when was the last time you hooked up?’

  Last Friday night, Evie almost said, before changing her mind. ‘This is not about me.’

  ‘You’re right. It’s about me.’ Laura pointed to her chest. ‘For the first time in ages I feel wanted and desired. Do you know how good that feels?’

  Evie did. The pleasure of kissing Scott still filled her senses when she allowed her mind to wander back. But now was not the time for sharing that particular memory.

  Laura’s expression conveyed both vulnerability and anger. ‘I’m lonely. I miss Martin, but he’s made it clear he no longer wants me.’

  Evie thought back to the sight of Martin falling to the ground with his tennis racket. ‘Are you sure about that? What if he’s as unhappy as you are?’

  Laura let out an unladylike snort. ‘Then he’s got a bloody odd way of showing it. He barely comes home these days. He’s critical, short-tempered and about as interested in sex as this dummy.’ Laura picked up the polystyrene head. ‘Our marriage is over.’ Something seemed to catch in her voice. ‘I’m not happy about it, but that’s the reality. I want someone who isn’t tired of me and who doesn’t constantly find fault and badger me to grow up and have babies.’ Laura banged the polystyrene head against the countertop. It split in two.

  Marlon crawled out from under the table and growled at Laura, sensing his owner was being threatened.

  Evie caught him by the collar. She didn’t think he was a biter, but she wasn’t about to find out. ‘It’s all right, baby. Aunty Laura’s just upset.’

  ‘Can you blame me?’ Laura waved the dismembered head about. ‘My best friend isn’t supporting me.’

  Hurt gripped Evie. ‘Laura, it’s not that. I’m just worried. It’s one thing to have a rough patch in a marriage, it’s another thing altogether to have an affair. And before you say it, I’m well aware I’m not an expert. But this decision could be the point of no return. If you go ahead and meet up with this David bloke you run the risk of permanently damaging your marriage. It’ll be over, for good. Is that really what you want?’

  Laura switched from attack to defence. ‘Of course it’s not what I want. But I’m facing up to reality.’

  Using the distraction of Marlon growling, Evie moved away. ‘Even if what you say is true, I still don’t think starting an affair before you’ve formally separated from Martin is a good idea.’

  Laura looked exasperated. ‘It’s one lousy drink. A bit of harmless fun, that’s all.’

  Evie sucked on her sore finger. ‘Is that how this David fella sees it?’

  Laura picked at the remains of the polystyrene head. ‘What about what I want?’

  Evie loosened her grip on Marlon’s collar. ‘I think you want to be happily married to Martin. And I firmly believe that Martin wants that too.’

  Why else would he have been bawling his eyes out last Saturday? She didn’t say this, although wondered if she should.

  Laura folded her arms across her chest. ‘Then he has a funny way of showing it.’

  Evie gave Marlon a stern look. ‘Stay, boy.’ Waiting until she was certain he’d obeyed her command, she went over to Laura. ‘This won’t make you feel any happier, Laura, not really. It’ll only complicate things.’ She took Laura’s hand.

  Her friend wouldn’t look at her. ‘Are you saying you won’t cover for me?’

  Evie shook her head. ‘It’s not fair on Martin.’

  Laura pulled her hand free. ‘Thanks a bunch, Evie. Some friend you turned out to be.’

  Ouch.

  Evie watched Laura leave, flinching when the door slammed so hard the bell nearly fell off. Marlon appeared by her side.

  Evie didn’t normally cry. Today was an exception.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Saturday, 31 May

  It had been over two years since Scott had seen his sister. Lisa rarely visited the UK these days; Bangalore was now home, as she was keen to point out. Her last trip over had been after Billie’s stroke. She’d stayed four days on that occasion.

  She was already waiting for him outside the terminal building when he pulled into the lay-by. For some reason this annoyed him. He wasn’t sure why. She hadn’t changed much. Her hair was the same dark brown as his, or ‘brunette’, as his mum used to say. It was cut short and wavy. She’d never bothered with make-up, but still attracted attention with her swimmer’s shoulders and high cheekbones. He was quoting Billie again. She used to say Lisa had been ‘graced by nature’, whatever that meant.

  God, he missed his mum.

  His sister was standing by the pick-up point typing into a tablet, a single holdall by her feet. Dressed in casual sweats and trainers she looked younger than her thirty-four years. She continued typing even after he’d parked the van right in front of her.

  It was only after he’d climbed out and approached that she glanced up. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting by way of a greeting. She’d never been an outwardly affectionate person, but you’d have thought the death of their mother might spark something close to affection. A hug, maybe? A kiss on the cheek? Some show of a sibling bond? Nope. She simply nodded, like he was a hired taxi driver rather than her brother. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’ She returned to typing.

  Scott waited. It would be easy to react. Part of him wanted to, but he was determined to keep calm. The real battle would come later, when they met up with Ben and Amy. For the sake of his nephew, he’d bite his tongue.

  He picked up her holdall. ‘Your plane came in early then?’

  She continued typing. ‘The flight arrived on time.’

  He looked around for a further suitcase. ‘How did you get out here so fast?’

  ‘No checked luggage.’ She closed the case of her tablet.

  Was she kidding?

  She looked up, instantly frowning. ‘What?’

  He lifted the holdall. ‘Is this it?’

  She gave him one of her ‘are you stupid’ looks. ‘Is that a problem?’

  Dreading the answer, he asked, ‘How long are you staying?’

  She opened the passenger door, avoiding eye contact. ‘I fly back Tuesday.’ She climbed inside, shutting the door before he could comment.

  Nice.

  If he expected a wave of rage to engulf him, it didn’t come. Instead he was struck by a sense of complete and utter isolation. He was alone. He’d never been close to Lisa, but with Ben preparing to fly the nest and his mum gone, he had no one else to share his life with. Friendships had been sacrificed when he’d left London, as had work colleagues, not to mention Nicole. With no requirement to care for his family any more, he was adrift.

  Fuck, he was depressed.

  Placing the holdall inside the van, he walked around to the driver’s door. Three days. His sister, the mother of his only nephew, was staying three friggin’ days.

  Stunned into silence, he started the engine and pulled away. His sister didn’t say a word. ‘How are you?’ would have been nice. ‘How�
�s Ben?’ would have been better.

  Opting for the moral high ground, he overrode his disappointment and made a stab at conversation. ‘How have you been, Lisa?’

  She stared straight ahead. ‘Fine.’

  He waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. ‘How’s work?’

  ‘Busy.’

  Wow, the art of conversation was clearly alive and kicking in the Castillo family.

  He followed signs for the M25, his depression deepening. ‘Is there anything you’d like to ask me about Mum?’

  A hopeful beat passed before she said, ‘Like what?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. What happened the night she died? Medical details, stuff like that?’

  ‘No point. It won’t bring her back.’

  Scott was torn between outrage and envy. How could she be so … detached? Every detail tortured him like a scab that wouldn’t heal. Should he have been with her? Did she know what was happening? Did she know she was dying? Had he said goodbye before he’d left home? Questions, questions, questions, tormenting him with ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’. And there was Lisa, accepting the situation with no apparent distress or need for answers.

  He glanced over. Christ, was she … asleep?

  He gripped the steering wheel, grief bubbling to the surface once more.

  Forty minutes later he pulled up outside the Bell Inn. Like most Saturday nights it was busy. He was glad he’d booked.

  Nudging Lisa awake, he got out and took a moment to breathe in the warm night air, fragranced with curry spices. The aroma would normally be enticing but, like everything else in his life, food was a pleasure that had deserted him of late. His stomach was as knotted as the cables behind Ben’s computer. He could only hope Lisa would be a little happier to see her son than she had her brother.

  Ben and Amy were at the bar holding hands, their heads touching. Ben was already agitated, even before he spotted his mother. He’d switched from incessant crying to losing his temper at everything and anyone. Scott wasn’t sure which was worse.

  As they approached, Amy tugged on Ben’s hand, whispering something in his ear. Ben swivelled around to face his mother.