Wildflowers (12 page)

My heart warms to him.  It’s exactly why I love it here.
  ‘Would you like a drink?  While I change?  A beer, maybe?’

‘That would be great.’

I leave him sitting on my sofa, hugging myself with glee as I dance around my room ripping clothes out of my wardrobe trying to decide what to wear.  Not too dressy, just relaxed, and of course, just a little bit sexy.

I
find a cotton dress in a faded shade of pink, which I love because I always feel like me in it.  With my flip flops that are a little too blingy to work in and a spritz of my seductive perfume. I look in the mirror.
God
. Lovely birds-nest hair.  I deal with that, slap on some mascara and my favourite lipstick, take a deep breath and sashay out to find him.  His eyes grow ever so slightly round.

‘You look
great.’

‘Thank you,’ I say demurely.  ‘Shall we go? 
Only if you’re ready, that is…’  In case he thinks I’m rushing him for nefarious reasons of my own. As I’m finding, you can’t be too careful with policemen.

We wander down the road together.  Every so often my arm brushes against his, and I feel little electric shocks z
ipping between us.  In the pub, we find a quiet table and Alex orders a bottle of Chablis, then surprise, surprise, we both choose the fish, which is delicious.  It’s a promising start to the evening.

‘So how did you get into wedding flowers?’ he asks
between mouthfuls, looking at me with dark eyes I could stare into for hours.  In fact I’m so busy staring at them, for a moment I don’t realise he’s asked a question.

‘Frankie?  Are you okay?’

‘Yes, yes… Fine.  Thank you… It all began with Honey’s wedding.  She’s my friend,’ I explain.  ‘Quite bossy lawyer with heart of gold.  I love her,’ I add, in case he thinks I’m being nasty.  ‘Her florist let her down and yours truly stepped into the breach.’

‘What – just like that? 
With no training?’

‘Believe
me, it was far from
just like that
.  It kept me awake at night.  I had to practice every bit of it and it was a nightmare.  Did you know for instance, that different roses open at different rates, that they’re not always the colour they’re supposed to be and that to rabbits, they’re the most delicious thing in the world?’

‘Rabbits?’
  He looks confused.

I continue, getting more and more heated for some reason.  ‘I had one – in my shop.  Don’t worry - it’s gone now.  Anyway, the point is, flowers are not a
nice little job for a girl
, they’re jolly stressful and hard work and if you get it wrong, you can completely ruin someone’s wedding…’

He’s looking at me as if I’m mad and then my cheeks flame as I realise what I’ve said. 

‘If it’s so stressful, why do you do it?’

‘
per aspera ad astra.’ Then I add helpfully, ‘through difficulties to…’

‘….the stars,’ he
says, then sits back and frowns.  ‘So that’s what you want, is it?  Fame?’

Gosh.  So he knows Latin too
. This is better than I hoped.  ‘Well, I quite like the idea of just a teensy little celebrity wedding – for advertising, really.’  Not because I have egocentric tendencies. 
Moi
? 
Egocentric?
I change the subject, to prove it.

‘
So, tell me about you.  When did you join the police force?’

‘After I’d grown up enough to realise there was more to life than getting drunk and working
in a bar.  I thought about uni, but after school, I just wanted to have a good time.  But you kind of grow out of that – don’t you think?’

‘Oh yes,’ I nod intelligently. 
‘Absolutely.  I couldn’t agree more.’

‘How’s your marathon training going?’ he a
sks.  ‘You didn’t tell me who you were raising money for.’

‘Well, I’m not – exactly.  It started as a bet.  My friend Honey got fed up with me getting pissed at her dinner parties, so she challenged me.  And I’m never one to shy away from things.  And it’s going well.  I’m running ten k easily these days.  It should be a walk in the park.’

But as I watch, he folds his arms across his chest and the frown intensifies and unless I’m imagining it, there’s the slightest hint of irritation on his face.

‘You do know, don’t you, that for
a lot of people, it’s a way of raising money?  They collect hundreds, if not thousands of pounds in sponsorship.’

‘Is that what you did?’  Suddenly I feel
rather small.

‘
Yes,’ he says simply.  ‘I raised three grand.  For MacMillan.’

‘Gosh,’ I say, shrinking lower in my seat,
feeling small-minded, shallow and a whole host of other, inadequate adjectives and thinking
shit, I’ve majorly screwed this up
. 

‘I’ll definitely be doing that too - I just haven’t made up my mind
who for, yet…’ 

But I’m n
ot convinced he believes me.  Come to think of it, Honey did mention about raising money for worthy causes – how could I possibly have forgotten?

It goes rather quiet after that and a short time later, he gets the bill.

And as if that wasn’t enough, when I get home, there’s a message on my mobile. 
From Julia.

As far as men are concerned, y
ou can’t win them all, I decide.  As for mothers… I didn’t call her back, though at some point I know I’ll have to.  But I haven’t got time to feel sorry for myself and anyway, a couple of hours in the company of divinely scented flowers, how could I possibly not be smiling.

‘You look happy,’ says Skye vaguely, as we assemble the bouquets for the bridesmaids.

‘I am,’ I tell her.  ‘Even after a disastrous date with a gorgeous man who thinks I’m an airhead, I feel fine.  I really do.’

The date wasn’t a complete disaster – but after I’d revealed my reasons for running the half-marathon, on top of my boasting about being famous, I got a distinct feeling
Alex hadn’t been impressed.  Instead of buying me another drink, he’d got the bill and offered to walk me home, refusing my invitation to come in for coffee – which kind of says it all.

S
kye frowns at the bouquet I’m putting together. ‘Frankie… for fuck’s sake.  You’ve got them colours wrong.  The pink ones are for the bride and the white ones for the bridesmaids…Give it here.’

She grabs
it away from me.  ‘I’ll finish these.  You go and load the van.’

Well, it’s why I pay her,
isn’t it.  To be useful – only a mistake like that isn’t like me at all.

As I carefully place the flowers in the van, it comes to me. 
Even more than the thought of talking to my mother, I’m distracted because of what Alex said.  There’s more to me than he thinks and there’s only one solution.  I have to do something to prove it.

‘You can be in charge today,’ I tell Skye.  ‘Think of it as practice for the day of a monster wedding when I keel over and die and you have to do
everything
, absolutely everything
, on your own.’

‘Yeah – right,’ she says, but looks pleased.  ‘Ok
ay, in that case, give me the list.  You got the addresses for the buttonholes?  Shit, Frankie – where are they?’

I bustle around at my desk and produce a manky piece of paper.  

‘Right.  We can go.’

With Skye at the helm, all goes swimmingly and I decide then, I really must do this more often. 
Quite simply, she refuses to get stressed and oddly, I don’t either, because today, I’m not in charge.  Even when she hands the bouquets to the bride, who says ‘
but I wanted silver ribbon, you promised me silver ribbon
’ in a manic, high-pitched sort of voice, she just calmly goes back to the van and rummages around for a few minutes, then returns with the bouquets tied with silver, at which point the bride flings her arms round her and bursts into tears. 

In my oddly
switched-off state, I go for a long run that afternoon.  It soon clouds over, followed by spots of rain which soon become a torrent, but the weather isn’t going to stop me.  I really need this.

I’ve
discovered that running clears my head and it’s only now, dripping wet with my feet pounding along the footpath, that I understand what Alex was getting at.  And that actually, last night didn’t go well at all.

In fact, I’ve written off expecting to hear from him
ever again.  And I don’t blame him, because I didn’t do myself any favours and instead just illuminated the most shallow, pointless facets of my personality.  And deep inside, I have to believe there’s more to me.  

But as I rack my brains, I struggle to come up with a single thing.  Everything I
like doing seems suddenly frivolous.  Shopping, parties, drinking too much, having a laugh with friends… Even wedding flowers. It’s all good fun but where’s the meaning in any of it?  And this marathon too – I could be raising funds for the worthiest of causes and look at me. Running just to prove a point.

Alex
was right.  The thought that I’ve already blown it with the nicest man I’ve met in years, brings self-pitying tears to my eyes, which roll down my cheeks until they’re washed away by the rain.  Then like a bolt of lightning it comes to me.

I do a detour so that t
he last half mile of my run takes me past Lulubelle’s house.  Not caring that I look like a drowned rat, I stop and hammer on her door.

Fortunately she
’s at home, looking as casually beautiful as she always does, peering at me with a frown.

‘
Frankie
?’ she says incredulously.  ‘Sorry – I didn’t realise it was you.’  She peers more closely.  ‘Are you ok?  You look soaked.  Do you want to come in?’

But
I can hear voices inside and anyway, I hadn’t planned to stay.

‘No
, thanks – it was just I wanted to ask you something.  Only do you think it would be ok?  If I ran the half marathon for Briarwood?’  Out of breath from running it all comes out in a rush.

Something odd happens to her face, then she takes a deep breath and looks at me and
when she smiles, her eyes are bright.

‘I
t would be more than ok,’ she says softly.  ‘Thank you, Frankie.’

I stand on her doorstep grinning back feeling inordinately pleased with myself.

‘Excellent!  That’s settled then.  Well, I better get back to my running… See you soon!’

And as I run off down the lane, I feel full of bounce and happiness.  M
uch more than that, I have a purpose.

Then as I shower and pull on warm, dry clothes, my mobile rings.  I glance at the screen, then take a deep breath.

‘Hello, Julia.’

‘Frankie, darling…Don’t sound so pleased to hear from me…’

‘Of course I’m pleased.’  I do my best to drum up some enthusiasm.  Only from experience I know, contact from my mother comes at a price.  I’m just wondering what it is this time.  ‘Where are you?’

‘In London, darling.  With Giles’s sister.  She’s awfully sweet.  I was hoping you and I could get together.’

For my mother, she’s slightly less breezy than usual
, which worries me.

‘I could do tomorrow?’ 

Such is life, I decide.  Just as you get one part of it sorted, another part goes into meltdown.

And now I have the grand process of fund raising to address, which is somewhat daunting, until Skye has a brilliant idea.

‘
Them brides,’ she says slowly.  ‘They spend a blinking fortune, don’t they?  Freakin’ stupid money - on flowers, which are only going to die, let’s be honest… Don’t you ever wonder, Frankie, why they do it?’

‘Of course
I do,’ I say impatiently.  ‘But the point is, they want to.  It’s one of those wedding rules – read the magazines.  They need on-trend flowers like everyone else’s - or their wedding will be doomed to disaster.  It’s total rubbish of course, but if they don’t get them from us, they’ll get them from another florist.  You’re not going to change the world, Skye.’

‘That wasn’t what I
meant.’ She puts down the bouquet she’s making.  ‘What I’m thinking is… what if you – we – have a collecting box?  For Briarwood… And we tell all the clients what you’re doing?  And you could donate a bit from the shop…’

I’m ashamed to say that m
y first thought is
I can’t just give money away
. This is a business and I still haven’t paid Honey back her deposit, but there might just be a way round it.

‘What if
, on every invoice, I add a small donation to Briarwood?’ I say slowly.  ‘The clients can cross it off if they want to – like a service charge in a restaurant… But I bet you, Skye!  You’d have to be a real hard-nosed old trout to begrudge a donation to a children’s hospice when you’re shelling out a fortune on a wedding.’ 

My voice
is getting squeakier and squeakier.  ‘It’s a fantastic idea!  You’re brilliant!’  I waltz over and kiss her on the cheek.

‘Yeah.
  Okay.’  But she looks pleased.

I’ve arranged to meet Julia in London, at a bar not far from the station.  It’s a safer option than her coming to me.  Last time she popped in for lunch, she was still there three weeks later.

Of course, she’s late.  She always
has been, always will be, for everything.  I order a coke and sit in a quiet corner.  The lull before the storm in my life that’s Julia.

Twenty minutes later, she bursts in and for the briefest moment, I see her as anyone else would. 
A middle-aged, too-thin, trying-too-hard woman who’s still desperately holding on to her youth.  In spite of everything, it fills me with sadness. 

‘Mum?’  I drop the Julia, getting up to walk over and put my arms round her.

‘You look beautiful, darling.’  There’s a tremor in her voice.

‘Thanks.  Shall I get us a drink?’

Hers is vodka and slimline tonic.  I order the same.  I’ve a feeling I’m going to need it.

‘So tell me about your little shop,’ she says, as if indulging a child about their favourite toy.  ‘It sounds awfully exciting…’

‘If you’re interested, you should come and see it,’ I say calmly, knowing that I haven’t been summoned for small-talk.  But it’s classic Julia to talk like that – she’s forgotten her babies have grown up.  ‘How long are you in London?’

‘Truth is, I’m not sure,’ she tells me
, a frown furrowing her smooth brow.  ‘It really depends on Giles, darling.’

Oh God,
I can’t help thinking. 
Please not another broken love affair
.  If she can’t sort her life out by her age, there’s not much hope for me.

‘What’s he been up to?’ I ask, on my guard, because
without Giles, I’m not sure she has anywhere else to go.

She hesitates, then the jolly façade vanishes and there’s just a sad, frightened person sitting in front of me. 

Her voice drops.  ‘Giles has cancer, Frankie.  We’re not sure how long he has.’  And then her shoulders begin to shake and her face crumples.

My reaction is unemotional.  I’ve never met Giles.  But as I sit there,
I try to compute what this means because in all the time I’ve known her, ever since our father died, Julia’s never been without a man.  But whatever our relationship, it’s a horrible situation for anyone.

‘I’m so sorry.’  I reach across the table to take one of her hands. 
‘How awful – for you both.  When did you find out?’

‘A few weeks ago… We were in Rio.  He was in terrible pain.  We cut it short and he was taken into
hospital as soon as we got home.’

‘Which one?’

‘Brighton.  Then they moved him to the Royal Marsden.  That’s why I’m staying with Angela.  She’s been marvellous.’

‘Hold on…’  I’m trying to work this out.  ‘
Are you telling me you’ve been living in Brighton?  And you didn’t tell me?’  Why else would Giles have been admitted there?

She looks sheepish.  ‘I was going to tell you, darling.  Only you know how it is. 
Giles bought this little house – about a year ago.  But we’re never in the country for long, so there didn’t seem any point in making plans…’

Or making time to see your own daughters, even though they’re both less than an hour away and you
haven’t seen them for years…’

‘You do understand, darling, don’t you?’

No I don’t
, I want to shout at her. 
Can’t she see how wrong it is?  That like it or not, she is a mother?
But a lifetime of conditioning kicks in and I bite my tongue. 

In the shop, I put my plan of asking for donations into action straight away, just a small, discrete line at the bottom of each and every invoice but of course, it gets a mixed reception.  First up, I get a phone call from Mrs Culleton.

‘Now, Frankie, I’ve been speaking to
Abigail,’ she says in that voice that makes my heart sink.  ‘Obviously I’m glad to see you’ve come to an agreement and seen sense about the calla lilies.’  The back of my neck starts to prickle.  ‘And I need to come in and see you myself nearer the time, but I suppose you want a deposit.’

‘So you’d like to go ahead after all?’ I say sweetly.

There’s a brief silence before she continues.  ‘There is one thing I simply must say.  I don’t feel it’s appropriate at all to add a donation to your invoice.  I make my own arrangements for charitable giving.  I really must say, this is not what I’d expect from a professional.  I’ll be sending the deposit, nothing more.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Culleton, so much.’  I put the phone down, thinking the
mean old bag.  She probably spends more in a month on her gin.  Suddenly I’m fuming.

‘People don’t stop and think do they,’ I say to Skye
, furiously.  ‘The tight old cow…’ 

Then
one of those rare flashes of inspiration comes to me.  ‘You know what I’m going to do?  Somewhere in Abigail’s flowers, I’m going to cut a corner, invisibly, so she won’t know – or charge her extra somehow, I haven’t decided how yet.  Anyway, she’ll be making her donation.  Whether she likes it or not,’ I add grimly.

‘Blimey Frankie, you’re getting all fired up again and it
’s only Tuesday.  Chill, man.  I’ll put the kettle on.’

S
kye’s right.  I’m cross – and I shouldn’t be.  But until Alex made me see the light, I, too, was a Mrs Culleton, sooner crossing the road than putting money in a collecting box and as for fund raising, it equated to cadging loans off my parents when my overdraft ran out.  Well.  Not anymore.  I am reformed.

Maria Bristow is
the opposite, of course, sending a generous donation with her deposit.  I email her to say thank you and her reply pings back at me immediately.

You’re really welcome – it’s a cause that’s close to home.  Maria x

Wow.  Maria must know someone who’s been there.  Even in the world of celebrity, there are sick children.  A vacuous thought, I know – but one that eats away at me nonetheless.

When I get a moment, I call Alice and tell her about Julia living in Brighton.
  For a year.

‘What did you honestly expect?’ is all she says but then Alice severed ties with
her a long time ago.  After all, if your own mother can’t take time out from her glamorous, globe-trotting highlife, even for your wedding, it tells you all you need to know.

I wish I could feel the same.

In all the
recent excitement though, I’ve been neglecting Honey and on impulse, I email her too.

Come for dinner.  I promise it will be edible.  Are you ok? F x

But when I don’t hear back, which is most out of character, in the end I call her mobile, which again, unusually goes straight to voicemail.

‘Honey?
  It’s me.  Call me.  Today.  I’m worried about you.’

Then just as I finish the call, Lulubelle walks in.

‘Hey Frankie!  I’m so glad you’re here… I just wanted to say thank you again!  About running the half marathon for Briarwood… I’ve already mentioned it to them and they’re thrilled… In fact, a few of the staff there are doing it too and they thought you should all meet.  So how about it?’

‘Love to,’ I tell her.  ‘Not tonight though – I’m trying to catch up with a friend.  After that, my diary’s empty.  You can pick your day.’

‘What – no dates, Frankie?  I thought you’d be fighting them off…’

‘You’ve got the wrong girl
, I’m afraid.  Greg’s now despatched to the realms of history. Josh – well, let’s just say it was over before it started but I haven’t quite finished with him - and as for Alex, really,
really
lovely guy but to cut a long story short, I’ve blown it.  So there you have it.  My big, fat, lovely, empty diary.’

Lulubelle looks slightly baffled.  ‘Ok… well, can I get back to you?’

‘Of course – but how’s Cosmo?  Is he home?’

‘He came home yesterday and he’s doing really well.’  She looks
less worried than she has in ages.

‘
I’m
so
pleased.  Could we have a day out together?’ I suggest.  ‘We could go rowing… He seemed to love the boats at Briarwood.  Actually, that’s given me the most brilliant idea….’

She raises her eyebrows questioningly.

‘You’ll have to trust me,’ I say, starting to feel excited.  ‘But I might just have thought of something perfect for him.’

I’m not sure whether she trusts me or not, but a
fter she’s gone, I make a phone call, because my brilliant idea is actually two-fold.

‘Johnny?  It’s me, Frankie.’

‘Frankie.  How are you?  Have you heard from Honey?’

Now
, why’s Johnny asking
me
if I’ve heard from
his
wife… I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. ‘No, actually.  Should I have?’

He sounds flustered.  ‘Erm, well, I thought
she’d have called you…’

‘Johnny.  What
are you both not telling me?’  But then his mobile goes all crackly and we get cut off.

‘Oh God,’ I say to Skye,
suddenly frantic.  ‘Something bad’s happened.  I know it has.  Look, I have to go out for a bit.  It’s an emergency.  You can cope, can’t you?  Milo should be here with the order soon, but I can’t wait that long. Are you sure you’ll be ok without me?’

Skye shakes her head at me.  ‘I think I’ll
like manage.’

‘Ok.  Thank you.’ 
This time I refrain from kissing her – I don’t want her getting any funny ideas, just leap into the van and go hurtling off.

As I pull up outside Honey and Johnny’s house, it looks as though m
y hunch is right.  There’s a dim light on in the kitchen which means Honey’s definitely in and on her own, because she’s anal about turning lights off and Johnny leaves everything switched on.  Gently I knock on the front door.

There’s no reply, so I press my face against the window
next to it, trying to peer in, but still I can’t see her.  Then I hear a noise inside and I dash back to the front door.

‘
Honey, it’s Frankie
.  I know you’re there, I heard you,’ I call through the letterbox.  ‘Come on, Honey… please let me in...’

As
I wait, I hear footsteps, then the latch clicks and she opens it.
And oh my God
. She looks terrible.

I step towards her, holding out my arms. 
‘Honey, sweetie, what is it?’

But my fearsome friend
can’t speak, just collapses onto my shoulder, sobbing her heart out.

‘Come on,’ I stroke her hair soothingly.  ‘Let’s sit down.’

By the time we make it to the sofa, my shoulder is sopping wet.  I leave her while I go and find a box of tissues, then come and sit back down next to her.  After sobbing pitifully for about half an hour, she wipes her face and starts to talk.

‘It’s awful, Frankie.  We had another row.  Johnny hates me, he really does.  He says
even at home it’s like I’m the lawyer and he’s the minion, because I’m always barking orders and being efficient, and bullying him when he leaves his socks on the floor or the loo seat up. 
I don’t mean to but I can’t help it….
’ she wails.  ‘And even worse he says I don’t have time for him.  It’s not true, you know it’s not – it’s just that work takes so much of me, when I come home, I’m empty. You understand what I mean, don’t you?’