New Beginnings at Seaside Blooms

by Jessica Redland

  Dad dropped in to see how it was going and ended up staying for three hours to help us out. He became quite tearful, muttering about how proud he was that I’d returned home and accomplished so much, which set me off.

  ‘I don’t know about you three, but I’m exhausted,’ I said as the last customer of the day left and I was finally able to lock the door. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever worked so hard in my life. Thank you all so much for your help.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Elise said. ‘I’ve really enjoyed it.’

  ‘Busier than I’ve ever seen it,’ Cathy gushed. ‘Well done, you.’

  I stretched and rolled my head to try and relax my stiff neck and shoulders. ‘I have a proposal for you all. How about I get cashed up, one of you sweeps the floor, one of you puts some fresh water in the flowers and one of you washes the mugs, then I take you all out to Mario’s – my treat.’

  ‘Can I propose a toast?’ Mum raised her glass in Mario’s a little later. Elise and Cathy nodded in agreement and grabbed theirs. ‘To my beautiful daughter on the incredibly successful opening of her new business. To new beginnings at Seaside Blooms.’

  ‘To Sarah.’

  Mum took my hand in hers as she continued. ‘You know your dad and I have always been supportive of you wherever you’ve lived and if you’d stayed in London and asked Kay to sell the shop, we’d have supported you in that decision. But can I just say how proud and delighted we are that you decided to come home because we’ve loved being part of this and we’ve missed you so much.’

  ‘Hear hear,’ Elise said.

  I blushed as I raised my glass. ‘To Seaside Blooms. And to you all for your amazing support today. I couldn’t have done it without you.’

  A waiter cleared our plates and advised us that our main courses would be along shortly. ‘I think I’ll just nip to the ladies before our mains arrive,’ Mum said.

  Cathy stood up. ‘I’ll join you, Sandra.’

  Elise twisted in her chair. When they were clearly out of earshot, she said, ‘While your mum’s not here, what’s the latest online news?’

  ‘I’ve been so busy getting ready for the shop, I’ve hardly looked.’

  ‘Liar.’

  I laughed. ‘I’ve genuinely been too busy for the past few days.’

  ‘When was the last time you looked?’

  ‘Monday night.’

  ‘Were there any messages then?’

  ‘A few.’ I drained the last few sips of wine and raised an eyebrow at Elise who promptly refilled my glass.

  ‘Messaged anyone?’ she asked.

  ‘No. I’ve put a couple more Stevens down as favourites but I haven’t made contact. I thought I’d better get opening week out the way.’

  ‘Good plan. Are you all set for your hot date with Nick on Monday?’

  ‘Behave,’ I said. ‘It’s not a date.’

  ‘Of course it isn’t.’

  ‘Elise! It isn’t. And you know why. Stop looking at me like that. I’ve got Auntie Kay nagging me by text, Clare on at me over the phone, and now you.’

  Later that evening, on my way back from the ladies, I had a strong sensation of being watched. I turned slightly and caught the eye of a man two tables away. He looked to be in his mid-to-late-thirties with greasy hair and a dodgy goatee. He wore a deep maroon shirt that was at least two sizes too small if the bursting buttons were anything to go by. He stared for a bit longer then raised his hand and waved, revealing a large sweat patch under his arm. I frowned and looked round to see if he was waving at someone behind me but there was nobody there. He waved again and smiled. It was a sinister smile, the sort you’d expect to see on a photo-fit on the news. I shuddered.

  He stood up, still staring at me. Oh my God, he’s coming over. Do I know him? Maybe he was a customer today.

  ‘Sarah,’ he said, ‘it is you, isn’t it?’

  ‘Erm, yes.’ And you are…?

  ‘I thought it was. You’re even more beautiful in real life.’

  ‘Than what?’

  He laughed loudly and snorted. Several diners looked in our direction and I felt my whole face flush. ‘Than your photo, of course,’ he said.

  ‘My photo?’

  ‘I like to look at it before I go to sleep each night.’

  No! He isn’t…?

  ‘I meant to get in touch when you added me to your favourite list,’ he continued, ‘but I hoped you’d message me first. I’m not great at making first contact.’

  I could hardly bear to ask the question. ‘Your name’s Steven?’

  ‘Yes! Steven Bell. Ta-dah!’ He waved jazz-hands at me, the dandruff on his shoulders bouncing up and down as he moved. ‘How did you know? There’s no photo on my profile.’

  ‘Lucky guess.’ I tried to sidestep him but he had my route blocked.

  ‘Seeing as we’ve met now, would you like to go out tomorrow night?’

  Eek! Saying no online was one thing but being confronted with the anti-Steven on a night out with my mum was quite different. ‘I’ve just opened a new business today,’ I said. ‘I’ve got stacks to do tomorrow to get ready for my second day of trading.’

  ‘Monday night then?’

  ‘Sorry, I’ve got plans with friends.’ Thank goodness for Bay Trade.

  ‘Tuesday?’

  ‘Sorry, Steven, but this week really isn’t good for me.’

  ‘Next Saturday then?’

  No. Not next Saturday. Not ever. Please get the message. You’re creepy and telling me you look at my photo before you go to bed is not a chat-up line I’d recommend. Please leave me alone. But I was too polite to say any of that. I settled for a non-committal, ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes then,’ he gushed, showering me with spit.

  ‘It’s not a yes.’

  ‘But it wasn’t a no so that’s good enough for me.’

  Where was straight-talking Clare when I needed her? Why couldn’t I be strong like her? ‘Message me,’ I muttered. ‘I must go.’ I finally managed to squeeze past him and return to my table.

  ‘Who was that?’ asked Mum.

  ‘Just some guy who thinks he knows me.’

  ‘Does he?’

  ‘No. Definitely not.’ I didn’t dare catch Elise’s eye.

  I sat back in my chair and took a long glug of my wine as I listed off my Steven encounters in my head. My search for Steven hadn’t got off to the best start. Could I cope with a few more months of it? Or should I just give it all up as a bad job, conclude that Madame Louisa has given me the wrong name, and make it clear to Nick at the Bay Trade thing on Monday that my search was over. And if he’d like to retry that moment on the beach – without the playful Labrador – I wouldn’t push him off.

  19

  ✉︎ From Nick

  Hi you. Tomorrow night’s been rescheduled for a week on Thursday. Hope you can still make it then. I’ve been offered another week’s work in Edinburgh which I’d turned down for Bob’s do but might as well take seeing as it’s changed date. I need to do some prep or I’d have suggested a drink. Can’t wait to hear about your first day xx

  Damn! I slumped back on the sofa at Seashell Cottage on Sunday afternoon. Feeling my shoulders sag with disappointment, I had to check myself. ‘So much for re-living the beach moment,’ I muttered. But at least it gave me another week to search for Steven. I kept blowing hot and cold on it. One moment, I drifted into a fantasy about kissing Nick, but then I thought about the discovery of the lighthouse photo and Grandma’s bracelet and started fantasising about the Steven appearing imminently.

  ✉︎ To Nick

  That’s a shame. Have fun in Edinburgh. Next Thursday’s fine. Same time and place? First day exceeded expectations. Exhausted now xx

  * * *

  ✉︎ From Nick

  Glad you can still come. Everything’s the same but the date. Hope you get to relax today after all that prep for opening day. Have an amazing full first week. Will be thinking of you lots xx

  �
�Will you be thinking of me because you fancy me or thinking of me because it’s my first full week?’ I said to the phone. Auntie Kay and Elise were convinced he was into me, but I kept having doubts about that too. What if he just wanted friendship? I could make a fool of myself if I wasn’t careful. I shook my head and put the phone down before I typed an appropriate text for my pro-Nick moments that would be completely inappropriate for my search for Steven.

  Lying back on the sofa, I phoned Clare, figuring she was probably home from her working weekend.

  ‘Sounds like your first day was grand,’ she said. ‘So why do you sound so down just now?’

  ‘I’m not down. I’m just tired and stuffed full of Sunday lunch, courtesy of my Mum. I was fine when I was there but, now that I’m back at the cottage, I don’t really know what to do with myself.’

  ‘Once you get into a routine at the shop, I guarantee you’ll be grateful of Sundays off. No Elise?’

  ‘I don’t see her every day, you know. She helped in the shop yesterday but I probably won’t see her again till the end of the week.’

  ‘You know what you need?’ Clare said. ‘A night on the beers with me. I’m seeing my Leeds client on Friday so I’m coming to stay for the weekend whether you want me to or not. What time can you be home on Friday?’

  ‘Shop shuts at half five so about six.’

  ‘I’ll be there for six.’

  ‘I might have other plans.’

  ‘Do you have other plans?’ she asked. ‘Because I’d love to hear that you had plans for a night of steamy sex with a stranger.’

  ‘I might have.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Clearly dismissing that as a possibility, Clare continued, ‘Make me something full of calories for dinner.’

  ‘You’re on.’

  ‘I should let you cook for me more often.’ Clare spooned another huge dollop of lasagne onto her plate on Friday night. She’d already devoured an enormous plateful, a jacket potato, a side salad and most of a garlic ciabatta. ‘You’re not too shabby at it.’

  ‘Thanks. I think. Have you not been fed this week?’

  ‘I get sick of living off hotel food and pre-packed sarnies. This is real food. Lots of cheese. Lots of garlic. Yum.’ Clare broke off another piece of garlic bread. How the hell she stayed a perfect ten was beyond me.

  ‘So one of your online favourites turned out to be a sex offender?’ she said.

  ‘The bloke from Mario’s? I didn’t say that. I just said he was creepy.’

  ‘Have you had any more messages?’

  ‘I had a bad dream about creepy bloke and it put me off. I haven’t checked them all week.’

  ‘Sarah!’

  I grimaced. ‘I was a bit too busy the week before too.’

  ‘Sarah!’

  ‘It was opening week this week so it’s not like I haven’t been busy.’

  ‘And the week before?’

  ‘Getting ready for opening week. I looked on the Monday night but I honestly haven’t had the time since then.’

  She narrowed her eyes at me and sighed. ‘I suppose you do have a legitimate excuse, but the shop is open now which means excuse time is over. It’s time for a serious action plan, but before we log on, have you got any pudding in?’

  ‘Syrup sponge and homemade custard; your favourite.’

  ‘Oh my God, Sarah. Not only do you cook the most amazing lasagne in the world, you get old school puddings in, make your own custard and have a fridge full of wine. I think I may change my name to Steven and marry you myself.’

  ‘Thirty-eight messages.’ Clare whistled when we sat down on the sofa with my laptop a little later. ‘That’s a lot of admirers, young lady. We may have to forfeit a night out as it looks like we have a full evening’s work ahead of us, so we have.’ She grabbed the laptop off me and balanced it on her knee. ‘Are you sitting comfortably?’

  ‘Why are you in the driving seat again?’

  ‘Why do you bother asking? Ready?’

  It was a bit more promising this time. ‘This one’s from a Steven.’ Clare scrolled down the page. ‘And, at first glance, he seems fairly normal.’

  We both stared at the screen, reading the message:

  Dear Sarah, I’ve never joined a dating site before and was a bit dubious until I read your profile. There are some strange women out there but I’m sure you’ve come across some strange men too!

  Why did I join? I’m 32 and was happy with my single life until my friend Ade’s wedding a couple of weeks ago when it dawned on me that I was the only single one there.

  I’m an engineer and work is male-dominated and it’s not easy to meet someone when you’re out and none of your mates are single.

  I like your profile. We sound very similar. I’m intrigued as to what your business is.

  A week on Friday, I’ll be on a stag do in Whitsborough Bay. The stag is a massive Dr Who fan so we’re doing a pub crawl in Dr Who costumes. Don’t panic that we’re a bunch of geeks because I’m not into sci-fi myself. The stag is a Dalek and I’m Tom Baker’s version of Dr Who (if you’ve never watched it, he played the fourth Doctor in 1974–81 – I Googled it! He’s the one with the long striped scarf and curly hair). If you’re around, please come and say hi. We’re meeting at 7.30 and working our way down town. If you can’t make it or don’t fancy it, it would still be great to hear from you. In fact, even if you can make it, it would be great to hear from you first; break the ice and all that!

  If you do come, remember the hair is a wig – I don’t have a huge curly bouffant normally! I’m waffling so I’ll say goodbye. Steve.

  What do you think?’ Clare asked. ‘Not that I need to ask given that huge cheesy grin.’

  ‘He sounds nice. A week today, eh? Could be tempted.’

  ‘Er… no. It’s tonight your man’s talking about.’

  ‘It can’t be. He said a week on Friday.’

  ‘Look at the date.’ Clare jabbed the screen. ‘He sent it last week. That’ll teach you not to check your messages for nearly two weeks.’

  ‘Pants.’

  ‘How would you like to meet your doctor tonight?’

  ‘Sod it, why not? Is there a photo?’

  Clare clicked on the link back to his profile. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Oh well, I guess I won’t be able to miss the scarf and bouffant. Who else have we got?’

  ‘Don’t you want to get ready to meet him?’ Clare asked.

  ‘Yes, but it may look a bit desperate if we’re there right at the start. There’s a standard pub crawl down town so we’ll easily find him a few pubs in. And I’m dying to read my other responses. There may be someone even better.’

  ‘You’re the boss,’ she said. ‘But I’m still in control of your laptop.’

  An hour or so later, we had a shortlist and an action plan. My search for Steven was starting to feel more positive although I did feel my resolve crumbling when I spotted a message from someone called Nick, which instantly got me thinking about Nick Derbyshire.

  There were some tempting messages from non-Stevens, but Clare put her foot down and refused to let me even finish reading them, let alone make contact. I didn’t argue. I knew exactly who my first port of call would be if I deviated from Stevens.

  I didn’t tell Clare about Nick because it would provide her with the perfect excuse to call off the search for Steven. Despite the strong attraction to Nick, I still wasn’t ready to make that step. I wasn’t ready to dismiss the CD and I wasn’t prepared to risk hurting him and losing him as a friend.

  The shortlist read:

  Check out Steve Dennison on pub-crawl tonight

  Go to The Coffee Corner for take-out on way to shop tomorrow to check out the manager, Stéphan Marcell

  Message Stevie Barnes, Steve Berry, Ste Parker, Steve Masterson and Stephen Fitzpatrick

  Arrange dates with one or more of the above

  Get very drunk tonight. And probably tomorrow night too

  Buy bacon for sarnies on Sunday morning
. Buy ketchup for Clare

  Clare grabbed the list and marched into the kitchen. I followed her and watched as she stuck it to the middle of the fridge with some magnets. ‘This is your rulebook,’ she said. ‘You do not, under any circumstances, deviate from the list. You’re allowed to add new Stevens but you do not correspond with or meet anyone who is not called Steven or some variation of. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘It’s now eight-forty-five. I already look gorgeous but you seriously need to whack some make-up on as we’re off out to meet your man Dr Who.’

  My pulse quickened. Was I ready for this? ‘You don’t think it’s too late to go out?’

  ‘You were the one who wanted to wait. Don’t you dare think of bottling it now.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘But nothing. Look, you, there’s no need to be nervous. Auntie Clare’s with you every step of the way. If he’s grim, we’ll leave. If he’s gorgeous, we’ll stay and I’ll help you clinch the deal.’

  I smiled gratefully. ‘Okay. Steve Dennison, here we come.’

  ‘You have an absolute maximum of fifteen minutes to get ready. We need to be in our first pub by quarter past.’

  ‘I love it when you’re masterful.’ I winked at her as I headed for the stairs.

  20

  ‘I spy a Dalek.’ Clare nodded towards the group of men crowded near the bar of The Old Theatre. It was the third pub we’d tried but there was no way the group could be missed. Steve was easy to spot amongst them, thanks to the scarf and wig. ‘What’s the plan?’

  ‘We’ll get a drink then do a spot of person watching. See what he’s like and, if he seems okay, follow him to the next pub and introduce ourselves.’

  Like any stag do, the group attracted lots of female attention.

  ‘Any observations so far?’ Clare asked after about fifteen minutes of spying from a discreet distance.

  ‘He never approaches women. He seems more comfortable when it’s just the lads.’