The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop

by Tracy Corbett

  Oh, hip op. Right.

  ‘Done nothing for the woman’s swing though.’ Her burst of laughter hit Scott with hurricane force. He was left with ringing ears.

  Richard Deadman checked his watch. ‘Barbara, we need to proceed with the reading.’

  Barbara patted Scott’s shoulder. ‘Oh, sure, honey. You go right ahead.’ Seating herself down in the leather wing-backed chair, she clapped her hands. ‘I just love getting to witness these readings.’ Oblivious to her husband’s glare, she beamed, her cheeks glowing from the exertion of a round of golf. Or maybe she always looked like that, who knew? ‘Okay, I’m ready. Shoot.’

  A poor choice of words considering there was a stonking great musket hanging above her head. But in a strange way, Scott rather appreciated the bizarreness of the situation. Sitting in the home of his mother’s former lover, whilst his wife watched on against a backdrop of civil war memorabilia somehow helped lighten the moment. Scott almost laughed, and he hadn’t done a lot of that lately.

  Pushing a pair of spectacles onto his nose, the solicitor opened a sealed envelope and carefully smoothed out the contents. ‘Included in your mother’s will was an instruction for me to read out the contents of this letter. It was scribed in the presence of her consultant in February of this year via written communication.’

  Scott nodded, trying to keep his emotions in check. Even in death his mum was protecting him from the shame of having to read anything aloud. And then he was struck by the date of the letter. Why had Billie added to her will? Had she known her time was up? It was a sobering thought.

  Richard Deadman cleared his throat. ‘My darling son. By now you will have discovered there is a payout from the proceeds of my life insurance policy. I hope this proves helpful and eases the pain I imagine you are currently feeling.’

  Not really. But it did act as a reminder that his mother was always one step ahead, putting everyone else’s needs before her own. But he hadn’t banked on hearing her words spoken from the grave, especially not delivered by a man with a southern drawl – a man she’d been secretly involved with. Highly surreal.

  Scott glanced at Barbara. If she knew, she wasn’t letting on.

  ‘The money is to be split three ways. I’m hoping Lisa will use her portion to travel home from India regularly and visit you all. Something I’ve asked Richie to ensure is passed onto her.’

  Richie? The solicitor’s voice caught slightly at the endearment, making Scott wonder if Babs knew about her husband’s philandering. Or maybe it had happened before they were married. Who knew?

  His recovery was swift. ‘If I die before Ben turns twenty-one then you’ll have control over how his portion is spent. Help him enjoy life and use it in any way that makes him happy. As for you, my precious boy, I hope that you will use your portion to move on with your life. Start afresh. Have an adventure. Be spontaneous. You have been a wonderful son, the essence of family. I couldn’t have wished for more.’

  The solicitor turned a page. ‘You’ve more than done your duty by me, Scott. More than any mother could have asked. It’s time to let go of the pain and move on. Take a leap of faith. Live your life. Remember me, but don’t mourn me. I had everything I ever wanted. I had you.’

  Barbara rushed over and hugged him, smothering his face with her substantial bosom. Under such an onslaught his resolve cracked, but whether he was laughing or crying he couldn’t tell. Both, probably.

  Babs was peeled away by her embarrassed-looking husband, who shoved a pen in her hand and pointedly told her to sign the witness box.

  It took a further twenty minutes of Barbara’s hugs, chocolate-chip muffins and signing papers before Scott was able to leave the ranch-style property.

  What a strange day.

  Needing to formulate his thoughts, he headed for the river. The sun was out, which made strolling along the Thames quite enjoyable. A rowing team were out on the water, the shouts of the cox muffled through a loud-hailer, accompanied by a multitude of ducks quacking by the water. A group of school kids had rolled up their trousers and were paddling, screaming with delight as they splashed about.

  Scott had enjoyed living in London, but did he want to move back? Strange how he’d wished for nothing more than a return to his old life, but now that he could, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

  Nicole had asked him to move ‘home’, as she’d put it, picking up where they’d left off. As though it were that simple.

  He wasn’t sure it felt like home any more. Still, it was what he’d always wanted, so he’d be daft to knock it back … right? Add to that a job offer from his former employer and Ben and Amy making plans to travel before heading off to uni and he no longer had any reason to stay in Kent. So why did the thought of leaving twist his insides into such a knot?

  He stopped at a mobile food van and bought a bacon butty. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt hungry. Actually, he could. It was the night he’d gone back to Evie’s flat and they’d shared a bag of chips. Another wave of emotion hit, this one charged with physical longing. Any pleasant memories from that night had been usurped by the events that had followed. He wondered what would have happened if his phone hadn’t rung. Would he have stayed? Would they be together? There was no way of knowing. One more regret to add to the pile.

  Making his way to the water’s edge, he sat down on a rickety metal bench. As the gulls circled, eager for breadcrumbs, flapping and squawking, he replayed the words written in his mother’s letter.

  She’d given him permission to move on. To choose what he wanted out of life and go for it. So what did he want? There was only one thing he was definite about.

  He dug out his phone and called Lisa. He had no idea what time it was in India, but unsurprisingly her voicemail kicked in. ‘Hi, sis, it’s Scott. I just wanted you to know … I love you.’ He’d never said that to his sister before. ‘I don’t want us to be estranged. I need you. We’re all we’ve got. Ben and Amy’s wedding is in two weeks. Please be there. Just do this one thing for me. Ben will never forgive you if you don’t come. Do you really want that? Come home, Lisa. I’ll never ask you for another thing. Take care.’

  Ending the call, Scott took a bite of his butty. It was greasy and salty and heavenly. He closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his face. He felt lighter, despite the ache in his chest. People associate grief with death, but he’d been grieving for the loss of his mum for two years, ever since the stroke. It felt different now. Less … suffocating.

  He knew for the most part that following his mother’s wishes wouldn’t be hard. He’d pay for Ben’s wedding, his uni fees and flights to Australia out of his own portion and put Ben’s money into a trust for when the kid finished university and launched his directing career. That was the easy part.

  The difficult part was how to invest in his own future.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Friday, 13 June, 5 p.m.

  Laura spotted her optician leaving the pharmacy. Keen to avoid being sprung, she ducked inside the bakery doorway, feeling embarrassed by her foolishness. Her actions were attracting attention, not deflecting it. She’d make a terrible secret agent. So what if her optician saw her? It wasn’t like she was doing anything wrong. Well, not yet, anyhow. The fact that she was making her way to the Bell Inn to spend the night with her … whatever … was no one else’s concern. It didn’t matter if people saw. Why shouldn’t she visit the local hotel? And then she paused, realising the flaw in her plan. Why would anyone pay to stay the night in a hotel when they lived less than a mile down the road? She hadn’t thought this through.

  The door behind opened, knocking into her. As she turned, ready to chastise whoever it was for not looking where they were going, she came face to face with the vicar. ‘I do beg your pardon.’ He reached out to steady her. ‘I didn’t see you.’

  As if she wasn’t feeling conspicuous enough.

  ‘Please don’t apologise. It was my fault.’ She backed away, cursing the annoyances of small town
life. Living somewhere where everyone knew everyone had seemed like a charming ideal. Now it felt intrusive and conservative, especially whilst trying to be discreet.

  Deciding she was drawing more attention to herself by trying to be inconspicuous, she walked purposefully towards the hotel, attempting to supress the excitement she felt. But then she supposed that was the point of all this. Agreeing to meet up with David Robinson was an adventure. It was risky, naughty, thrilling. Perhaps that’s why she’d suggested the Bell Inn? Her subconscious had upped the ante by adding an element of danger to their already clandestine rendezvous. If they’d agreed to meet somewhere anonymous it might not have held the same level of anticipation.

  Teatime on a Friday night would equate to rush hour in most places, but in Heatherton you barely noticed the difference. A few cars were pulling up in front of the church, ready for the weekly bell-ringing practice, and the car park behind the Bell Inn was filling up with workers clocking off early for the weekend. Other than that, the village was its usual quiet self, the sign depicting the freaky Allsop twins stationary in the still evening air.

  Laura checked her appearance in the glass frontage. She’d wanted to make an effort without making it look as though she’d made an effort – which had taken longer to pull off than if she’d been intending to make an effort in the first place. Very confusing. Anyway, the combination of chocolate-coloured silk shirt, skinny jeans and wickedly high Red or Dead shoes oozed sex and class, with just enough cleavage to entice without looking cheap.

  Pleased, Laura pushed through the door and made her way to the desk.

  In her mind she wanted to look confident, totally at ease with her role as illicit lover and practised in the art of being a mistress. In truth, she felt slightly nauseous, conspicuous and awkward. Nervous excitement had given way to trepidation.

  A woman appeared, wearing one of the hotel’s blue blazers. With a practised corporate smile she gave Laura the once over. ‘Good evening, madam. How may I help you?’

  ‘I have a room booked.’ Laura hated the way guilt nudged her in the ribs. She felt like a giant arrow had descended from the sky, pointing at her with flashing lights: ‘She’s meeting a man who is NOT her husband.’

  The woman moved to the computer. ‘What name is the room booked under, madam?’

  Feeling foolish, Laura realised she didn’t know what name David had used to book the room. Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure he even knew her surname. Their encounters had been limited to brief flirtations and physical attraction. Discussing their personal lives would have burst the bubble, turning fantasy into reality. Neither of them wanted that. Deciding he must have used his name, Laura steadied her nerves. ‘David Robinson.’

  The woman raised a questioning eyebrow. Did she know something Laura didn’t? Maybe Laura wasn’t the first lover David Robinson had brought here. Talk about excruciating.

  A slightly sarcastic voice popped into Laura’s head, reminding her she was being pursued as an object, not a person, she was confusing love with lust and she was craving the excitement of a new relationship because her old one had turned sour. Blah, blah, blah. Nothing she didn’t already know.

  The receptionist’s smile remained fixed. ‘Your key, madam.’ She passed her a door card. ‘You’ll find the honeymoon suite on the first floor, overlooking the gardens. Enjoy your stay.’

  Surprise had Laura frowning in confusion. David had booked the honeymoon suite? Whatever for? As if this wasn’t shameful enough. Any hope she could sail in and out of here with her dignity intact had just evaporated. The woman’s face indicated she knew exactly what Laura was up to. She’d seen it before. Not helpful.

  Laura looked around for the stairs, eager to escape further indignity as quickly as possible. In doing so, she spotted a young couple leaving the dining area, animated in their laughter. A flicker of recognition drew Laura to the girl. It took a moment before she realised it was Amy Robinson, one of her brides. More significantly, David’s daughter. Shite. How would she explain why she was meeting her father here?

  Slipping into the shadows of a doorway, Laura waited for a diversion so she could hotfoot it upstairs and out of sight. She watched Amy and her equally young companion holding hands, their bodies touching as they listened to the manager detailing arrangements for their wedding. The image brought back memories of Laura’s wedding day five years earlier. They’d been just as happy, just as tactile as Amy and her groom. How Laura had enjoyed being chased by Martin, succumbing to his advances and falling in love. She wanted that again. Was that so bad?

  Finally, Amy and her fiancé left the premises, allowing Laura the opportunity to walk through reception.

  The receptionist smiled. ‘Do you require any help with your luggage, madam?’

  Laura was in no doubt the woman knew she had no luggage and was deliberately attempting to highlight Laura’s infidelity. The word jarred in Laura’s brain. Infidelity. Infidelity. Infidelity. Shut up! The voice in her head was not helping.

  Mumbling ‘No, thank you,’ Laura almost ran up the carpeted staircase. However she looked at it, she was about to embark on an affair. She was an adulteress. A cheat. A two-timer. It wasn’t a nice realisation.

  Fumbling with the door key, she pushed her way into the room, hoping to shut out the voice in her head as well as prying eyes. She fell back against the door, waiting for a sense of relief. It didn’t come. Maybe she needed a drink.

  Dropping her handbag onto the armchair, she explored the room. It was beautiful, decorated in pale silver and mauve with a silk throw on the bed to match the sequined cushions. A single rose lay in the middle of the king-sized bed. A bucket of ice complete with a bottle of champagne sat on a side table. Next to it was a large vase of red roses. Chocolates tied with a ribbon balanced against the vase. Propped against it was a small card addressed to Laura. For some reason she didn’t want to read it – not yet.

  Heading over to the window, she looked out. A circular water feature dominated the lawn below. Her phone beeped from inside her handbag. She didn’t check it. She’d told Martin she was visiting a girlfriend in London. Lying was bad enough, she didn’t want to have to embellish the untruth further by talking to him. Not when she was having doubts. Because however much she wanted excitement, passion, intimacy and attention, she still felt uncertain about hitting the final nail into her marriage. And sleeping with David would do that. Taking that next step, initiating a full-blown affair with a man who was also married … Well, as Evie had pointed out, there was no coming back from that.

  Laura turned away from the window. Was that really what she wanted? An end to her marriage?

  She needed to make up her mind – and fast.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Friday, 13 June, 5.30 p.m.

  Evie launched a reel of gold ribbon across the shop, sending it bouncing off the ceiling and ricocheting towards the window, leaving a shimmering gold trail in its wake.

  Assuming playtime had arrived early, Marlon scurried out from under the counter and gave chase. In his haste he knocked over a display of daisies, leaving squashed yellow pollen smeared across the floor. Sensing he was in trouble, he pulled up short, but obviously didn’t feel enough remorse to stop completely. Snatching up the empty reel, he darted behind the centre display.

  Shuffling after him in her clumpy, not-designed-for-running shoes, Evie picked up the discarded daisy bucket and pointed a finger at him. His tail wagged defiantly, as if to say ‘You started it’ – which was technically true. Damned dog. She was about to challenge him with one of her mother’s ‘do as I say, not as I do’ chants, before remembering she was talking to a dog, not a child. It wasn’t Marlon’s fault his owner was in a shitty mood.

  As the remaining energy drained out of her, Evie sank to her knees, letting herself flop onto the floor in an inelegant mess. She didn’t care. It was gone five thirty. The delivery truck had broken down on the M25. She had no flowers for the competition tomorrow. Her master plan to cre
ate publicity for her business lay in tatters. With no flowers she couldn’t compete. If she didn’t compete she couldn’t show off her designs. If she didn’t show off her designs then she couldn’t increase business and entice new investors. And if she couldn’t attract new investors then when Diana Smart called her next week for an answer, instead of being able to joyfully announce that she’d love to buy The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop, she’d have to admit that she couldn’t afford it, pack up her things and join the queue at the job centre.

  Kicking her legs in frustration, she pummelled the floor. It wasn’t fair!

  The sensation of a warm tongue licking her hand drew her out of her downward spiral. She opened her eyes to find Marlon staring at her. His expression told her that, despite severe reservations, he was willing to overlook her failings and offer his support. He flopped down, resting his head on her tummy.

  ‘What would I do without you, eh?’ Stroking his torn ear, she fixed her gaze on a cobweb dangling from the light fitting. The floor was uncomfortable, but she couldn’t be bothered to move.

  It wasn’t just the dismay of not being able to enter the competition. It was all the other stuff. Her agitation had been building all week. Longer, in fact. It had started when she’d fallen out with Laura. Her friend hadn’t reacted well to Evie’s advice regarding her marriage and it had been radio silence ever since. Evie’s texts had been ignored, as were her emails. Why had she interfered? Her history with men didn’t exactly place her in prime position to tell others what to do.

  The man she wanted was back with his former fiancée and no longer interested in her. And the man who had wanted her had put her off relationships entirely. She was obviously a poor judge of character when it came to men. Her friends had realised Kyle’s behaviour wasn’t healthy long before she’d cottoned on. In contrast, everyone who’d met Scott saw a kind, decent and trustworthy human being. All she’d seen were good looks and trouble waiting to happen. She’d got it horribly wrong.