Saffy’s distinctive footsteps approached from the kitchen. ‘I’ve been across to the taxi rank but they can’t help either …’ Her voice trailed off. ‘Any reason why you’re lying on the floor?’
Evie raised herself onto her elbows. ‘Not really.’
Saffy nodded at Evie’s shoes. ‘Did you fall off your hamburgers again?’
On the word ‘hamburgers’. Marlon sniffed at her feet, still confused as to why they looked like juicy slabs of beef topped with lettuce, tomato and relish, but didn’t smell or taste edible.
‘I’m not quite sure how I ended up down here.’ Evie eased herself onto her knees, holding onto Saffy as she stood up. The tablecloth heels supporting the decorative hamburgers boosted her up to her assistant’s height. ‘You were saying something about taxis?’
Saffy grimaced. ‘None of the local firms have a vehicle big enough to transport six boxes of flowers.’
Evie closed her eyes. ‘Bugger. That was my last hope.’ Her van had a flat tyre – she couldn’t even fetch the blasted things herself. It was like the universe was conspiring against her. Fighting the onslaught of tears, she shook her head. ‘That’s it, then. It’s over.’ It was an effort to get the words out. She felt like an overinflated balloon that had finally burst.
Saffy looked uncomfortable, focusing on Marlon as her boss went into meltdown.
When the doorbell chimed, Evie was about to advise whoever it was they were closed, but the sight rendered her speechless.
Saffy followed Evie’s startled gaze to the doorway. ‘What the …?’
The apparition stood in the doorway with one robotic arm raised. ‘I was passing and saw you were still open.’ His voice was muffled. ‘I thought I’d return the baskets we borrowed for the funeral fair. I left them in the car. It’s not easy to bend in this get-up.’
‘Josh, is that you in there?’ Evie stared at the white plastic suit, complete with helmet and large white gloves. ‘What are you, a Stormtrooper?’
Saffy went over to him, laughing. ‘He’s a Handbot.’
Evie frowned. ‘A what bot?’
Saffy knocked on Josh’s chest; it made a hollow sound. ‘One of the baddies from Doctor Who.’
Josh shuffled to face her. ‘I didn’t think you liked Doctor Who?’
‘I don’t.’ Saffy blushed. ‘I just know what a Handbot looks like.’
Josh removed his helmet. His cheeks were flushed, his hair filled with static. ‘I think you secretly like Doctor Who.’
Saffy shook her head, but she was smiling. ‘No way. Sci-fi is for losers.’ She laughed again, but there was no cruelty in her playful remark.
Evie went over to the door and turned the sign to closed. ‘Why are you dressed like that, anyhow?’ Even Marlon was intrigued, sniffing around Josh’s square white boots. ‘I assume you haven’t been to a funeral dressed like that.’
‘Fancy dress party at a mate’s place.’ He nudged Saffy with his plastic arm. ‘Why are you here so late? You normally finish early on a Friday.’
Bizarrely, she didn’t react to being nudged. Normally she would have floored him. ‘Waiting for a delivery, but the van broke down. Evie needs the flowers for a competition tomorrow.’
Josh stepped further into the shop, squeaking as he did so. ‘Don’t you have other flowers you could use?’
Evie shook her head. ‘They’re not regular stock. I ordered them weeks ago.’
Josh noticed Evie’s footwear. ‘Is that mustard?’
Evie angled her foot. ‘Melted cheese.’
‘Cool.’ He nodded. ‘Where’s the van now?’
Saffy picked up the discarded gold ribbon, winding it around her fingers. ‘M25. Near Clacket Lane.’
Realising he was standing on the end of the ribbon, Josh moved. ‘Can’t you go and collect the flowers from the roadside?’
‘Flat tyre,’ Saffy and Evie said in unison. ‘I’m waiting for roadside recovery,’ Evie added, still smarting at the annoyances in her life.
Josh gestured to the door. ‘Only one option then. Handbot to the rescue. Let’s go.’
Evie and Saffy exchanged glances.
‘Don’t look so surprised. I have appropriate size transportation and a willingness to serve my fellow men.’ He saluted. ‘My TARDIS awaits.’
Saffy laughed. ‘You’re such a nerd.’
Josh grinned. ‘You coming or what?’
‘Looks like the comps back on, boss,’ said Saffy. ‘You’d better get organised.’
Evie shook her head. ‘But what about your party, Josh? I can’t ask you to miss that.’
He shrugged. Or at least he tried – his shoulders wouldn’t actually lift. ‘You didn’t. I offered. I’ll pop in later.’ He gave Saffy a sly look. ‘You could always come with me. I have a Princess Leia costume in the hearse.’
Saffy wrinkled her nose. ‘OMG, that is sooo creepy. You sound like Barry the Banker.’
Josh crooked his finger. ‘How about a ride in my shaguar, baby.’ His Austin Powers impression sent Saffy into a fit of laughter. ‘Is that a yes?’
Saffy folded her arms. ‘I’ll think about it.’
Josh punched the air. ‘Finally! We have a date, Houston.’
Saffy removed her apron. ‘It is sooo not a date.’
Josh grinned. ‘Well, technically it is. We’re going to a party. As a couple. That is a date, my good woman.’ He held the door open for her.
Saffy swiped up her patchwork bag from the countertop. ‘Fine. But it’s a one-off. Never to be repeated. Just to shut you up.’
Evie followed them over to the door. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but she was going along with it. ‘I’ll call the driver and let him know you’re on your way. I’ll text you his number, okay?’
Saffy was too busy exchanging banter with Josh to pay attention. Evie watched them climb into the hearse. A strange sight if ever there was one. ‘I’ll stay here and wait for you. Call me when you’re heading back.’ Evie had no idea whether Saffy heard her. ‘Thank you, Josh. You’re my hero!’ Saffy definitely heard that – she poked her tongue out of the window.
The florist’s descended into silence. Evie rested her head against the glass, exhaustion catching up with her. The competition was back on. She needed to focus.
Her phone rang. The display lit up with Laura’s name. At last.
Evie answered it. ‘Hey … How are you?’
A pause followed. ‘I guess I’m the last person you want to hear from.’ There was a definite note of nervousness in Laura’s voice.
Evie sagged against the glass, relief sapping what little energy she had. ‘Of course not. It’s great to hear from you. I’ve missed you.’
Another pause. ‘I’ve missed you too. I’m sorry.’
‘Me too.’ Evie slid down onto the floor. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Not really. I could do with some advice.’
Evie rubbed her eyes. ‘Not sure I should be giving advice after last time.’
Laura sniffed. ‘What you said was right, I just didn’t want to hear it. I’m at the Bell Inn. David booked us a room.’
Silence filled the air. Evie tried to think of something insightful and non-inflammatory to say. ‘Oh.’ Wow, inspiring stuff, Evie.
‘He’s not here yet. I’m in the room, waiting for him. The honeymoon suite, would you believe.’ She tried to laugh, but Evie could hear the falseness of her efforts. ‘The thing is … The thing is, I’m not sure I want to do this.’
Evie tried to choose her words carefully. ‘Then don’t. It’s as simple as that, Laura.’
Laura sighed. ‘It doesn’t feel simple. It feels messy and confusing.’
Evie felt Marlon’s warm presence against her leg. She ruffled his ears. ‘Laura, the way I see it, you have a choice.’
‘I do?’
‘Sure. Martin or David?’
Laura didn’t respond.
Evie wished she had a clearer head so she could formulate a better strategy than bluntness
. She braced herself. ‘You can’t have both, Laura. It’s not fair on either to string them along. It’s time to decide.’ More silence. ‘Laura?’
For a moment Evie feared she’d blown it and her friend had hung up, but then a subdued voice whispered, ‘You’re right, I know you are. I have to go. Bye.’
‘Bye.’ But Laura had already hung up.
Resigned to a long wait, Evie snuggled up next to the radiator with Marlon on her lap and waited for her flowers to arrive, wondering which decision her friend would make.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Friday, 13 June, 6 p.m.
It had been a miserable couple of weeks. Patricia missed her daughter so much it physically hurt. She hadn’t realised quite how much Amy cushioned the impact of living with David. Without her presence in the house Patricia felt exposed and empty. She’d spoken to Amy several times, and met up with her and Ben for a meal to discuss wedding plans, but it wasn’t the same as having her daughter there, enjoying her endless energy and optimism. Even though Patricia knew her daughter wasn’t angry with her, it was her father she’d fallen out with, she still felt guilty. It was her inability to stand up to David that had allowed matters to escalate. Maybe if she’d been stronger, more assertive, she could have intervened. And now it was too late. Amy wasn’t coming home, of that Patricia was certain.
Martin pulled into the tennis club car park. He hadn’t spoken much during the journey, his mind elsewhere. Having parked up, he made no move to get out of the car or turn off the engine. ‘I don’t feel much like playing tennis tonight.’
Patricia glanced over. ‘Me neither.’
He gripped the steering wheel, the clenched tendons in his hands a contrast to his jaded expression. ‘Shall we skip practice and head straight to the pub?’
Patricia nodded. ‘Good idea.’
Martin reversed across the car park, sending gravel flying into the air.
Although Patricia hadn’t really wanted to play tennis, she’d forced herself out of the house because she needed to occupy her mind. David had a business dinner up in London and was staying over. Not wanting to spend another evening alone with her sorrowful thoughts for company, she’d forced herself to get ready for training. But the offer of a drink was more enticing. She might even have a few. David wasn’t around, so he couldn’t comment on her impropriety. Something he did on the rare occasions she had more than a solitary glass of wine. Sod David. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
Things hadn’t been good with David for a long time, but the atmosphere since Amy had left magnified the gaping holes in their marriage. David was a competitive bully, a charming persuader who didn’t like losing. His plan to blackmail his daughter into cancelling her wedding with the threat of removing financial support had failed big time. And he wasn’t taking defeat well. Far from running back to Daddy, Amy had shown a level of independence and self-sufficiency that put her mother to shame. She wouldn’t even let Patricia pay for her wedding dress. ‘Seriously, Mum. You hold onto your savings,’ she’d said over dinner earlier that week. ‘You might need the money for something else.’ Her daughter had inherited her father’s stubborn streak, so pursuing the matter was fruitless.
The Bell Inn was busy, a typical Friday evening. All the tables outside were occupied, so they headed inside in search of seats.
Patricia recognised a few of the patrons: a couple of women from the village fete committee and a group of friends from the local rumba class. They waved as she passed through the pub, inviting her to join them. She politely declined, gesturing to her company. Only Martin seemed to have disappeared. He was behind her a moment ago. She retraced her steps, wondering if he’d found somewhere to sit and was waiting for her to join him. And then she saw him standing in reception, his face creased in confusion.
She headed over. ‘Martin, is everything okay?’
‘No.’
‘Are you unwell?’
He shook his head.
She followed his gaze to the desk, instantly recognising the woman Martin was staring at. It was the owner of Truly Scrumptious, her striking auburn hair recognisable as she removed a pair of dark sunglasses from her handbag and slipped them on.
‘She told me she was meeting an old school friend in London.’ Martin’s words were barely audible above the Friday night chatter.
Patricia looked at the woman again realisation dawning. ‘Is that your wife?’
Martin nodded, his expression darkening.
Despite their close friendship, Martin had never spoken much about Laura, although he’d briefly mentioned that she owned a bridal boutique. Maybe if she’d attended the many tennis functions held at the club, Patricia would have made the connection. As it was, they’d never met.
Unaware of her husband watching, Martin’s wife handed something to the receptionist. It looked like a room key.
Patricia felt the need to comment. ‘Maybe her plans changed.’ After all, she was used to finding plausible explanations for a partner’s suspicious behaviour, practised in the art of denial. She could reason away even the most obvious signs of infidelity. To some people, the existence of a hotel room key might prove incriminating evidence. For Patricia, it was seen through a veil of misguided trust, an alternative universe where spouses remained faithful. It was the only thing that had kept her sane over the years.
However, her optimism rapidly disintegrated when the door opened and her husband walked in.
As David strode towards reception, all confidence and swagger, a tiny niggle of trepidation grew inside Patricia, almost as if her subconscious knew what was coming long before her eyes witnessed the inevitable car crash.
Bile crept into her throat as David reached the reception desk. Checking no one was watching, he slid his hand down Laura’s back and gently patted her bottom.
Martin must have heard Patricia’s agonised sound. ‘Do you know that man?’
Shame burned her face. ‘That’s … that’s my husband.’
Suspecting your husband was a cheat was one thing. Having it confirmed with such stark evidence was quite another. It felt like shock therapy. Like participating in the ice bucket challenge. In contrast to David’s flirtatious advances, Laura moved away from his hand. Her body language was different, agitated. When Laura made to leave, David caught her arm, dipping his face closer to hers. An animated exchange followed. David seemed to be doing most of the talking. Laura shook her head, one hand clutching the neck of her top.
As Patricia emerged from the shock of seeing David in full philandering mode, it dawned on her that her husband’s latest piece of skirt was the wife of her friend. It was such a cliché it was almost funny. She doubted Martin saw it that way.
Martin’s expression was unreadable. ‘She lied to me about where she was going tonight.’
Patricia didn’t say anything, she couldn’t. She felt too guilty. Somehow knowing how her husband operated and allowing it to continue had made her complicit.
Embroiled in their passionate exchange, David and Laura remained oblivious to their surroundings. Occasionally Laura moved away, as if trying to remain discreet, but neither spotted their respective partners standing a few feet away, watching their interaction.
David eased a reluctant-looking Laura towards the reception desk where he retrieved a door key. The same door key? Who knew? Patricia watched the inevitable – her husband leading his latest lover upstairs to a hotel room.
Perhaps it would have hurt more if she hadn’t always known what David was like. As it was she felt an odd mixture of disappointment, intense dislike and immense relief. She’d been made to feel paranoid, jealous and insecure. A suspicious wife constantly questioning her husband’s fidelity. It turned out she’d been right all along. Maybe she should feel more vindicated. Victorious in her discovery. As it was, she just felt sad. Her husband was nothing more than a cheating snake.
Martin bunched his fists into his hair. ‘Laura’s having an affair.’ He turned to Patricia. ‘Tell m
e I’m wrong. Tell me this is not what it looks like and there’s a plausible explanation.’ He must have seen the resigned look on her face because his expression switched to accusatory. ‘Did you know?’
Stung, Patricia shook her head. ‘Of course not.’ She took his hand, but he didn’t look convinced. ‘I promise you, Martin, if I’d known I would’ve told you. I had no idea they even knew each other.’ Like Laura, David had never come to any of the tennis functions. What supportive partners they had.
Martin withdrew his hand. ‘So that’s it then. My marriage is officially over. All this time I’ve been battling with how to repair things, assuming Laura didn’t want us to break up any more than I did. And this whole time she’s been screwing your husband behind my back.’
Patricia flinched. ‘Martin, I’m so sorry.’
‘Not as much as I am.’ He dug out his car keys. ‘Probably best if you find your own way home. Sorry.’
Patricia nodded. ‘Of course, yes. That’s fine.’
He strode off before she could say anything. But then, what more was there to say? David’s latest conquest was Martin’s wife. Unlike Patricia, Martin hadn’t become accustomed to the idea of his spouse being a cheat. He’d been blissfully unaware, unprepared, floored by the double whammy of discovering his wife had strayed and her lover was his tennis partner’s husband. It was the stuff of soap operas.
Patricia was about to follow Martin out of the pub and walk home, hanging her head in tearful shame, when she was struck by the realisation that she didn’t have to put up with this any more. Amy had left home. Her daughter had insinuated she knew her dad was a cheat. What possible justification could Patricia have for turning a blind eye now? Absolutely none.
Instead of exiting the building, she continued to push the revolving door, re-entering like Superman changing personas. How dare David destroy her life like this? Fuelled by anger, indignation and outrage, she approached the reception desk. ‘What room is David Robinson staying in?’
The woman, clearly used to dealing with such scenarios, smiled. ‘Is he expecting you, madam?’
The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop Page 29