The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop

by Tracy Corbett

  ‘Let’s just say it’s a surprise visit.’ Patricia held the receptionist’s gaze. ‘And unless you want me knocking on the door of every room in this building and asking whether my husband is inside shagging his latest conquest, then I suggest you save the hotel a lot of embarrassment by telling me which room David Robinson has booked.’

  A momentary flicker of something that looked like respect flashed across the woman’s eyes. ‘Room five. First floor. The honeymoon suite.’

  The honeymoon …? A sharp pain jabbed Patricia’s side. David’s audacity only served to increase her determination.

  ‘Shall I call ahead and let Mr Robinson know to expect you, madam?’

  Patricia straightened her shoulders. ‘That won’t be necessary. I’d like to surprise him.’

  Heading for the stairs, Patricia faintly heard the receptionist say, ‘Good for you. I hope you squash his balls in a vice.’

  Patricia’s sentiments exactly. She ran up the stairs, thinking of everything David had taken from her. Not just her self-esteem and confidence, but the right to be loved and adored, to be cherished and respected – not to be treated like something attached to the bottom of his shoe. He treated his PA better than he treated her. At least Siobhan got six weeks’ holiday each year. Patricia’s torment was endless.

  With shaking hands and a burning face, Patricia searched for the honeymoon suite, her outrage causing pins and needles in her legs. She’d tolerated his disdain, his rudeness, his derision of her thoughts and feelings for all these years. She’d turned a blind eye to his philandering, accepted his pathetic excuses for playing away from home, all because she didn’t want to hurt her daughter’s chances of a happy life. Well, no more. David had driven away her daughter, and now he was sleeping with her friend’s wife. Enough was enough.

  On reaching the room, she banged on the door. When it opened she pushed past David so he couldn’t slam the door in her face and marched into the room. She felt a glimmer of satisfaction at seeing the shock on his face.

  Patricia wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting to find – Laura clad in sexy lingerie, spreadeagled on the bed, David standing over her, bare chested, with a rose in his mouth. In contrast, both parties were fully dressed. Laura was tear-stained, standing on the opposite side of the room. Patricia wasn’t in the mood for empathy. She couldn’t give two hoots if they’d had a lovers’ tiff. Served them bloody well right.

  ‘Well, this is cosy.’ Patricia needed to retain the upper hand before David could collect his thoughts. ‘What a pleasant room. How utterly charming.’

  David looked flustered. His eyes flickered between Laura and his wife. ‘Patricia, this isn’t how it looks. I can explain.’

  She couldn’t help laughing at his ludicrous response. ‘That’s the best you’ve got?’

  He moved towards her. ‘Laura is a friend. She was upset. She’s having marital problems. I was consoling her.’

  Patricia pushed him in the chest. ‘Is that what you call it? Consoling?’ She grabbed a handful of the silk sheets and shook a fist at him. ‘And you booked the honeymoon suite to do this consoling? How very generous of you. Although a little insensitive. If Laura’s having marital problems then bringing her to the bridal suite is a little crass, David, even for you.’ She wagged a finger. ‘You’re losing your touch.’

  He had the good grace to look embarrassed.

  Laura covered her mouth. She looked mortified. Good. Just as she should. Martin didn’t deserve this.

  ‘And flowers too …’ Patricia pushed the vase off the table, sending it crashing to the floor, soaking the plush carpet.

  ‘Christ, Patricia. Are you crazy?’

  She picked up the chocolates. ‘Truffles too? And all in a bid to console your friend. Well, lucky you.’ She emptied the chocolates onto the white silk sheets, praying David would be landed with an extortionate cleaning bill.

  Having recovered from the shock of his wife bursting in, David’s confidence returned. ‘Fine. You caught me. What exactly are you going to do about it?’

  Laura made a noise of protest, but David ignored her.

  He approached Patricia. ‘You’ve known for years about my affairs. You’ve always been too weak and pathetic to do anything about it. So why kick up a fuss now?’

  Laura burst out crying.

  David jabbed a finger at Patricia. ‘You wanted the lifestyle, the money, the house. You’ve never done a day’s work in your life, just sponged off my salary. You could’ve left years ago and you didn’t. Why? Because you’re as shallow as I am. You didn’t stay because you loved me, you stayed because you didn’t want to walk away from a cushy life. Your behaviour is no better than mine. And you wonder why I look for affection elsewhere?’

  The cruelty of David’s words hurt, but not as much as the truth behind them. He was right. She’d stayed because she was too afraid to leave, of what a divorce would do to Amy, of surviving on her own. She was as guilty as he was. Except the only person Patricia had cheated was herself.

  Mustering as much dignity as she could, she headed for the door. She turned back one last time to address Laura. ‘I might’ve deserved this, but Martin didn’t. He was with me, you know, downstairs. We both saw you. He’s devastated.’

  Laura’s crying turned into horrified wailing.

  Patricia felt a smidgeon of sympathy. ‘You threw away your marriage for nothing.’ She looked her husband squarely in the eye. ‘Because that’s what he is. A big fat nothing.’ She closed the door behind her and walked away, knowing her life had just irrevocably changed.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Saturday, 14 June

  Making an impact at the flower competition had always been Evie’s intended goal. However, drawing attention to herself by unloading boxes of flowers from the back of a hearse aided by Princess Leia and a Doctor Who Handbot wasn’t quite the impact she’d had in mind. Although this was nothing compared to the embarrassment of her next task – trying to remove the naked mannequin dummy from where a coffin would normally lie without looking like a dodgy body-snatcher.

  It was barely 8 a.m. The unloading area was already packed full of vans and SUVs, all vying for space near the entrance, trying to reduce the carrying distance into the marquee. The car park attendants directed drivers into available slots. Most ignored them, bumping up onto kerbs and squeezing delivery vans into non-existent spaces.

  Throwing a hearse into the mix had already caused mayhem. Josh had skilfully wedged himself between an Interflora van and an open-top pick-up, his front end almost taking out a bloke with a clipboard.

  With the boxes lined up along the floor, they were now battling with the leggy mannequin. Evie was inside the vehicle, holding the head while Josh tugged on the dummy’s legs, pulling it from the hearse. A woman walked by with her child, covering the kid’s eyes with her hand. Evie realised she should have clothed the mannequin. With Josh standing between the dummy’s legs, Evie could appreciate the visual wasn’t exactly PG.

  Marlon wasn’t helping. Assuming this was another of his owner’s bizarre games, he licked Evie’s face, his tail wagging manically.

  In a bid to fight off the exhaustion of a stressful night, and in keeping with the grandeur of the occasion, Evie had made an effort with her appearance. Wearing her puppy-dog shoes for good luck, she’d tied Cordelia’s beautiful silk scarf around her neck and teamed it with a plain black top, hoping for French chic. Unfortunately, she was kneeling on the scarf, cutting off the blood supply to her face as she tried to unload the mannequin. She lost her grip and the dummy’s head dropped from the hearse, leaving its body behind. Evie watched as the severed head rolled towards the feet of the bloke with the clipboard.

  Saffy chased after the runaway head. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got it.’

  The other competitors gasped.

  The child with its mother screamed.

  The bloke with the clipboard spilt his coffee, splashing it over the mannequin’s face.

  Evie sc
rambled out of the hearse. ‘Sorry!’

  The bloke with the clipboard picked up the head and handed it to Evie. ‘Yours, I believe?’

  ‘Yes, sorry. Thanks.’ Embarrassed, Evie went over to Josh. ‘You’d better move the hearse before we cause any more mayhem. Saffy can help me in with the boxes.’

  ‘Okay. Break a leg. Knock ’em dead.’ He ran over to the hearse. ‘I’ll wait for you by the exit, Saffy.’

  Evie hugged Marlon, signalling for him to go with Josh. ‘I owe you big time, Josh.’ She turned her attentions to the dummy, shoving its head back on and wiping away drops of coffee.

  Josh caused more disruption as he reversed the hearse out of the drop-off zone.

  Laying the mannequin on top of the boxes, Evie and Saffy carried everything inside the marquee.

  ‘So how was the party?’ Based on the fact that neither Saffy nor Josh had changed out of their fancy dress costumes, Evie surmised they’d been out all night.

  ‘Good, yeah. Fun.’ Saffy’s eyes dipped away from Evie’s.

  Evie decided not to push it. ‘Will you be okay running the shop today, as well as looking after Marlon?’

  Saffy rolled her eyes. ‘For the hundredth time, stop worrying, I’ve got it covered.’

  ‘There’s a spare fleece in the kitchen, if you need to change.’

  Evie was subjected to an ‘over my dead body’ stare. ‘I’ll pass. We’re stopping off at my place on the way back so I can change.’

  We. That was a new development. ‘Well, call if you have any problems.’ Evie looked around. ‘Can you see booth four?’

  Saffy nodded. ‘Straight behind you.’

  ‘Good. My arms are killing me.’ As they lowered the load onto the floor, Evie heard a man laugh. Dressed in a powder-blue suit, accompanied by a woman wearing a shocking pink shift dress and yellow stilettoes, they paused as they reached Evie’s booth.

  ‘Goodness me, Fi-fi. What have we here?’ The man feigned a shocked expression. The phrase ‘camper than a row of tents’ sprang to mind.

  The woman laughed at the spread-eagled mannequin lying face down on the floor. ‘Should I call 999?’

  Powder-blue suit man nudged her arm. ‘Reminds me of you last New Year’s Eve.’

  The woman playfully slapped him. ‘You had a few too many yourself.’

  ‘Yes, but darling, I kept my clothes on.’ More raucous laughter as they walked off, their interest shifting to the next entrant.

  Evie turned to see her neighbour unpacking a box of white hybrid tea roses. ‘The judges,’ the woman said, nodding to the couples retreating backs. ‘Julian West and Fiona Pound. Don’t be fooled by their gaiety, they’re picky as hell. They make Craig Revel Horwood look like the Easter bunny.’

  ‘Right. Thanks.’ Evie wasn’t sure what else to say.

  Saffy pulled her to one side, lowering her voice to a whisper. ‘She’s trying to psych you out. Take the bitch down.’

  Hoping the woman hadn’t heard, Evie steered Saffy over to the door. ‘It’s not that kind of competition, Saffy.’

  Saffy scoffed. ‘Are you kidding me? This is worse than cage fighting. Take no prisoners. Be ruthless.’

  Evie gestured to the decorative fairy lights. ‘This isn’t Fight Club, Saffy. It’s run by the National Guild of Floristry.’

  ‘Exactly. They probably have Mafia links. Want me to sabotage your rivals? I could spray weed killer on their foliage.’

  Evie placed her hands on her hips. ‘I’ll do this by myself, thanks. You’d better go. Josh will be waiting.’

  Saffy rolled her eyes. ‘Great. A day spent running the shop with a geek for an assistant, hearing all about his Marvel comic collection.’ But Evie suspected Saffy was secretly looking forward to spending the day with him. ‘We’ll be back in time for prize-giving. I want to see you lift that trophy.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath.’ Christ, she was sounding more like her assistant every day. ‘I’m not expecting to win.’

  Saffy frowned. ‘Not with that attitude you won’t. Your design is fab.’ She punched Evie’s arm. ‘Go smash it!’

  ‘Ouch. Fine. I’ll go … smash it. Now go.’ She shoved Saffy towards the exit.

  Saffy poked her tongue out. ‘Okay, I’m gone. Look how I’m gone.’ Saffy disappeared out of the door.

  Taking a deep breath, Evie returned to her booth. She had less than five hours to complete her design before judging began.

  A loud klaxon announced the start of the competition. The show didn’t open to the public until ten, so Evie had almost two hours to get underway before people started arriving. Her booth was one of many that circled the perimeter, all filled with florists of different ages and experience competing for a range of coveted trophies. A large sign was pinned to the canvas behind her, showing her name and category: ‘Class A – Bridal Competition’. The organisers had supplied a table, nothing else. Having spent several hours at the shop last night waiting for Saffy and Josh to return, she’d been able to check her toolkit several times, ensuring she hadn’t forgotten anything.

  ‘What’s the mannequin for?’ The woman next to her draped an ivory cloth over the table.

  Evie picked up ‘Valerie’, as she’d named her, and placed her in the centre of the booth. ‘I thought it might be nice to use something other than a table as a base.’

  The woman didn’t look impressed. ‘I doubt the judges will like it.’

  Evie shrugged. ‘Oh, well. Guess I’ll find out soon enough.’ She refused to be drawn into defending her creation.

  The woman turned back to her design. ‘I’m just saying. No skin off my nose.’

  Evie shook away the smidgeon of doubt raised by her fellow competitor’s remarks and unwrapped a roll of satin material. She’d expanded her design because after each trial run there’d been something amiss. Her design was top-heavy. By using a mannequin, acquired from the local cancer charity shop, she’d been able to create height and add a frame for the headpiece, which worked much better.

  And anyway, what did it matter what others thought? She’d entered the competition in the hope of adding a much-needed boost to her business and raising her profile. Sure, she’d like to place and use the kudos to secure a loan, but it was as much about unleashing her inner creativity as it was about winning. She’d been bound by fear for too long, hiding in the shadows. She needed to emerge from the shrivelled, scared mass she’d become and … What was the word she was looking for? Flourish? Bloom? Yes, that was it. Bloom, like one of her flowers.

  ‘Your design has to be two thirds natural plant, you know.’

  Wrenched from her bubble of blissful thinking, Evie turned to her neighbour. ‘I’m sure you mean well, but how about you concentrate on your own design and let me worry about mine?’ She picked up her scissors and snipped off a loose thread.

  The woman bristled. ‘Pardon me for trying to help. If you want to get yourself disqualified then more fool you.’

  Much to Evie’s relief, the woman turned back to arranging her roses.

  Now, where was she? Ah, yes, likening herself to a blossoming flower. Very poetic.

  The fact was, after leaving Kyle she could easily have sunk into a cowardly state, but she wasn’t prepared to do that. She’d spent a long time last night thinking, accepting she might have to relocate again. But it wasn’t all bad. She might move to Edinburgh, to be near her sister. Holly would love Marlon. And having a shared interest might help them bond.

  Evie shook out the white netting and fastened it around Valerie’s waist.

  Ignoring inquisitive glances from her neighbour, she sat cross-legged on the floor and trimmed the hem into a sloping edge.

  For a while, it looked as though life in Heatherton might have worked out. She loved running The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop, adored her stroppy teenage assistant, had made a friend in Laura and had met a man who she’d grown to trust. Just the thought of Scott made her lips tingle.

  Those precious moments spent kissing passionately
on her couch had been enough to reawaken hope, and give her a reminder that love didn’t have to be about manipulation. It wasn’t about one dominant partner, or obsession and jealousy, but two people liking each other enough to enhance the other’s life. Scott Castillo held that potential. Evie might be devastated that someone else was benefiting from his shapely arms and generosity of heart, but she’d always be grateful to him for switching back on her ability to fall for a guy. She just hoped Nicole appreciated what a sweetheart he was.

  Evie got up from the floor and checked her watch. Thirty minutes gone.

  Standing on an upturned box, she dressed Valerie’s hair, backcombing the lengths of synthetic strands into a huge bird’s nest. She then weaved through strips of white ribbon adorned with silver crystals, another task she had completed last night whilst waiting for her flower delivery. See? There was always a positive.

  It was time to attach the flowers. Evie used the table to lay out her mixture of silver eucalyptus, white ranunculus, lily of the valley, Aztec Gold plumeria, Camellia japonica and delicate lilac cattleya orchids. Even lying on the table they looked stunning.

  The woman next to her made a point of looking. Evie could feel her eyes boring into her. Thankfully she didn’t offer any further advice or comment.

  Evie attached the wire frame to Valerie’s head, securing it with bulldog clips hidden beneath her hair. Happy that her base was sturdy enough to take the weight of the foliage, she began working her way up from the bottom, layering the flowers, building her design, enjoying the process of seeing her creation take shape. She used twigs to form a long train, winding the orchids around the strands of wood. She tied the ranunculus into a bouquet and attached it to the small of Valerie’s back to form a bustle.

  As time went on, she became vaguely aware of visitors arriving. The tannoy system announced various demonstrations taking place on the main stage. The noise level increased. Evie remained focused on her design, pinning a small spray of Aztec Gold plumeria to the bodice. The dress was complete. Now for the headdress.