Wildflowers (4 page)

As I stand in the doorway catching my breath, t
he girl with the pushchair walks up the road. She’s wearing a thin summer dress and a pair of well-worn Converse, and looks a little happier than when I saw her yesterday.  Children, I’m guessing, are a worry.  Probably even more so than brides. 

‘Hello!’ I wave
to her.  ‘Is he better?’

‘Yes.  Thank you – a bit…’  She wheels the buggy over.  ‘Is this your
shop?  I’ve been past a few times.  I always wondered what goes on in here.’

‘Wedding flowers,’ I tell her. 
‘My little emporium.’

‘
Wow…’  She looks interested.

‘Right now I can assure you it’s anything but.  Some horrible little rabbit has just had the gourmet weekend of its life demolishing my flowers.’

‘Oh.  That doesn’t sound good...’

‘It’s not,’ I say heatedly.  ‘It was only left-overs this time, but I don’t how it got in or if it’s coming back and if it gets the flowers before a wedding instead of after…’

I take a deep breath because I’m sounding mad again.  She looks amused.

‘I could help you look?’ she volunteers.

‘Oh no, I couldn’t possibly ask you to.’

‘Seriously.
  I’m not doing anything.  And I’d love to see inside…’

‘It doesn’t ever look like this,’ I tell her as she
comes to the door and looks in.  ‘Let me sweep it up quickly, only I’m finding this physically painful just looking at it.  Just give me a minute…’

When it’s
sufficiently tidy, I let her in.

‘I think that’s your problem,’ she points straight away to a small mound of earth along a back wall.  Sure enough, on closer inspection, I can see it’s the end of a veritable tunnel.  ‘It dug its way in.  It won’t be hard to keep it out.  Or you could always get a cat…’  She kicks the earth back into the hole,
then dusts off her shoe.  ‘You just need something heavy – like a paving slab over the top.’

‘Thank you,’ I say gratefully.  ‘That’s such a good idea.  Would you like some coffee, while you’re here?’

‘That would be great.’

I hold out my hand.  ‘I’m Frankie.  Frankie Valentine.’

Taking it, she smiles back properly for the first time.  ‘Lulubelle.  And this is Cosmo.’

I look down at her son and suddenly get a funny feeling inside that something’s not right. 
Nothing obvious, just an instinct. 

‘Is he okay?’  But
like last time, his eyes are blank as I smile at him and I notice his hair is thin and tufty.  Then as he turns to look at me, in spite of his fragility, I see he’s much older than I thought.

‘No,’ she says quietly.  ‘Not really.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I really hope he’s better soon.  They pick up everything at this age, don’t they?  My sister says that anyway, about my niece.  She’s five…’  I babble on.

She smiles
again, but it’s a tight smile which doesn’t reach her eyes. Then it’s like someone’s dunked my head in an ice bucket as her next words chill me to the bone.

‘I wish it was that simple - only the trouble is…’  She hesitates.  ‘
I may as well tell you.  You see, Cosmo has leukaemia.’

As
conversation stoppers go, it’s right up there, isn’t it? Telling someone your child is seriously ill… As I look at Cosmo, his eyes close and his breathing slows.  I feel a flicker of panic, but he’s only sleeping. Lulubelle must have moments like this all the time.

‘
Oh my God
…’

‘Sorry.  I don’t usually tell people quite so bluntly.  I forget it can be a shock,’ sa
ys Lulubelle, suddenly looking weary.  

‘No,
it’s fine,’ I tell her, still trying to get my head round it.  ‘I mean, don’t worry.  I’m glad you did - tell me, I mean.’

So
then she told me the rest and my head emptied of thoughts of anything else.  Apparently he has acute myeloid leukaemia and he’s just finished a course of chemotherapy.  Alien words I don’t fully understand the implication of.  How the chemo always wipes him out, but how slowly, he should start feeling more like himself again.  I didn’t know what to say.

‘You know, right up until they tell you, you have
hope.  That you, the doctors, everyone… you’re all wrong.  Then they tell you.’  She hesitates.  ‘That’s the hard bit.  Everything changes – everything.  And all you can think about is
cancer
.’

I can’t believe she’s telling me this.  I watch her wander over to a vase of roses and lean forward to inhale their scent.

‘Sorry.  I didn’t plan on telling you all this.  They’re beautiful,’ she says quietly, while I just stand there.

‘I’m so sorry
,’ I say in the end.  ‘I know it’s not like flu or anything – but I hope he feels better really soon.’

It’s painfully inadequate, only as I’m finding, there simply aren’t the words.

‘Thanks.’  Then she changes the subject.

‘So
, how long have you had this place?’

‘About three years.
  Which in some ways, feels like yesterday.  All completely accidental, of course.  I mean, I had this dream about doing wedding flowers.  Only I can tell you, I hadn’t a clue. 
Not a clue
…’  I shake my head, because it’s true.  ‘Honestly.  You wouldn’t believe what weddings do to people…’

I’m rambling
.  Brides are an occupational hazard of my life – I need them, though there are times I really wish I didn’t.

‘I
suppose it’s a big day,’ she shrugs. 

‘Mail order,’
I hear myself mutter.  ‘It’s the only answer.’  You know, I might be on to something. 

I watch Lulubelle go, deep in thought.  BC, as she puts it – before Cosmo – she was footloose and fancy-free and halfway round the world with a vague plan to come back and study.  Of course, when she found out she was pregnant, she decided she’d have her baby, then study.  Then she had Cosmo – and he was ill.

For a brief moment
in my shop thinking about something else, her troubles had melted away, but not for long.  No wonder she’s exhausted. It’s her life.  You don’t get a break from cancer.  And once it’s there, normal doesn’t exist.

I’m four days into my new, healthy life when I hit a pothole
.  You see, I’ve arranged to meet Charlie and Nina at the pub in the next village and they’ve no idea about the new, teetotal – well, almost teetotal - me.  And if I know my friends, they’ll laugh just like Alice did, so I decide my best hope is to keep it quiet.  If I have just one glass of wine and make it last, with any luck, by the time they’ve had a few, they won’t even notice how abstemious I’m being.  Needless to say, it doesn’t work quite the way I planned.

The three of us have been friends since school and though our lives have taken us in different directions,
whenever we meet up, it’s just like the old days, except now, Charlie’s a stewardess with a hedonistic lifestyle of which I’m jealous as hell.  She stays in swish hotels and tops up her tan on idyllic sandy beaches, with lots of shopping in between times.  She also has an enviable turnover of hot men. When I arrive, she’s already there, in Jackie Onassis shades and a tiny mini dress, carefully positioned to catch the evening sun.

‘Frankie!  Over here!’ 
There’s a bottle and three glasses on the table and as she waves a slim, tanned arm in my direction, every male head in the place turns to stare at her. 

She hugs me tight.  I know as all her friends do, that the femme fatale is a façade; underneath, she’s the most fiercely loyal of friends. 
Nina joins us only a few minutes later.  Pretty, in a studious, tidy kind of way, Nina’s gentle and extremely clever – she’s a doctor.

‘Hope you’ve been behaving yourself,’ she says to Charlie
as she kisses us on the cheek.  ‘And no drunken orgies like the last time.’  Which is only a slight exaggeration of the room parties Charlie’s always telling us about.

‘
I’ve been the epitome of good behaviour!  No drinking, early nights…’  She winks at me as she pours us a glass of wine.  ‘I can’t say the same for everyone though.  And the Captain flew inter-island stark bollock naked for a bet!’ she giggles.  Her long fair hair is sun-bleached and her eyes sparkle wickedly.  ‘Honest!  All he was wearing was a smile… We sent a newbie in with the coffee – you could hear her screams in economy!’

‘You are a mean and wicked woman,’ I tell her
, shaking my head, secretly envious of yet another outrageous story.  ‘You were new once, only you’re such an old hag, you’ve probably forgotten.’

‘True, sweetie,’ she says cheerfully.  ‘
But it’s character-building.  Anyone for champagne?  And while I think of it, give me your shopping lists – I’m in LA again next trip – it’ll give me something to do when I’m not sunbathing.’

I gasp with envy as she uses shopping and sunbathing in the same sentence and take a large gulp of
deliciously cold champagne.  This is going to be harder than I imagined.

‘Fab,’ says Nina, who
effortlessly exercises saintly self-restraint and will have two glasses and two glasses only, but then she does have a professional reputation to uphold.

The
y both turn to me.  ‘So, Frankie?  Anything we should know?’

‘No-er-
yes.’ It comes out as one word, as I throw up my hands in surrender.  It’s hopeless trying to hide anything from these two.  ‘One of Honey’s dinner parties, girls.  Only I got just a tiny bit carried away…’  I wince at the memory, ‘…and she’s just a little bit cross with me...’

‘Trout,’ says Charlie
, who can’t stand Honey.  It’s mutual – Honey thinks trolley dollies don’t have brains and actually told Charlie that once.  Big,
big
mistake.  ‘She doesn’t get enough, that’s her trouble.’

‘She
does have a point, you know,’ says Nina more kindly.  ‘Your poor liver can only take so much abuse.  Yours too,’ she says to Charlie, more sternly.  ‘And I don’t believe a word about the good behaviour.’

‘Spoilsport.
  I’ll get another, shall I?’ says Charlie, meaning bottle.  ‘I’m parched.’

One turns to two but no more, though without Nina’s steadying influence, I dread to think what
might have happened. When it comes to wine, something happens to my willpower.  But then we get on to business.

‘
So, men, Charlotte.  And naked airline Captains don’t count.’

‘Wouldn’t touch them.’
  She looks at us from under lowered lashes.

‘Ha!  What about Alan…’  I remind her. 

‘And Neil,’ adds Nina.  ‘Remember him?  Poor guy, you broke his heart.’

‘Irrelevant,’ says Charlie dismissively.  ‘Like you said, they don’t count. 
Actually, they were a load of stuffy old farts in suits and someone who reminded me of our old geography teacher.  Remember Mr Williams, Frankie?  God, wasn’t he boring?  Anyway, just like him… All they do is sleep these days, girls.  I might as well work in a bed shop –
now sir, this button reclines the seat
… You won’t believe how many times I get to say that.  Seriously.  It’s not really what I signed up for.’

‘Oh
, poor you.’ But I have a serious problem feeling sorry for her.  ‘My heart bleeds.  Never mind all those days lying on a Caribbean beach or drinking rum punches in the pool bar…’

‘
Okay.  So what about you?’ says Charlie, changing the subject and fixing her eyes on me, the length of our friendship granting her the right to complete honesty.  ‘At least I have relationships, which is more than I can say for you.  And when you’re surrounded by everyone else’s romance and wedding talk… don’t you fancy a taste of it yourself?  And please, don’t even mention
Greg
…’

She
sticks two fingers down her throat and I glare at her.  He’s one subject my friends are united on.

‘
Actually?  No,’ I say, meaning every word - almost.  ‘You should see what weddings do to the most normal people.  The sweetest, mildest bride becomes an axe murderer, a quiet saintly mother of the bride grows fangs and a third eye.  It’s completely hideous.  Girls, if you have to get married, please keep it small and simple, or elope.  Las Vegas would be perfect.  And I won’t mind in the slightest if you don’t invite me.’ 

‘You won’t catch me getting married,’ says Charlie.  ‘
Knowing me, I’d change my mind.  God, imagine, planning a big white wedding only to wake up a year later to find you can’t stand him…’

Does that happen
?    But then I know it does.   How many of my brides have been there before?  Not that it seems to put them off...

‘If it were me, I’d want a small, intimate gathering,’ says Nina, looking dreamy.  ‘
With no fuss, no politically contrived table plans… Just a gorgeous dress and my family and you two, obviously…’

I snort.  ‘Don’t kid
yourself that any wedding is simple,’ I tell her.  ‘It’s a myth.  Anyway, millions of people – including
moi
– depend on all the madness to make a living.  No, simple’s a terrible idea.’

Charlie looks disgusted.  ‘Weddings in general are a terrible idea.  Well, for me anyway.’  Then her eyes swivel round, fixing on me.  ‘But, you know, Frankie… I could imagine
you
, maybe.  Not yet, obviously, but one day, doing the big dress and the whole thing…’

I’d like bridesmaids too.  Just one or two, teeny ones like Martha. 
Or maybe a page boy… Like Cosmo…

‘
Not a chance,’ I tell her, shaking the image of me in a meringue from my head.  ‘Especially not while Honey keeps trying to fix me up with total losers. Though actually, the last one, he was quite hot…’

‘
AND…’  I feel two pairs of eyes boring into me.

‘Well, he’s Johnny’s brother in law and I snogged him once
– ages ago - and he’s quite dishy.  Anyway, it’s pointless because whether I like him or not, I am still with Greg…’

Charlie rolls her eyes at me
.  ‘Look, I’ve got nothing against Greg.  He’s a perfectly reasonable guy.  He has a nice car, and his jeans are quite cool.  It’s just…’  She frowns, lost for words.  ‘He has the emotional depth of an earthworm.  He shouldn’t be anyone’s boyfriend - especially not yours.  Can’t you see that, Frankie?’

‘He really
isn’t like that,’ I tell her, suddenly feeling cross.  I’m getting fed up with my friends’ criticism of him.  He may not be particularly exciting or fascinating or rich, but those types are distinctly lacking round here, in case Charlie hadn’t noticed.  Plus, Greg really likes me.

But suddenly the spotlight’s on Nina, who’s being uncharacteristically quiet this evening, just sitting there, slightly flushed and glowing, smiling a knowing little smile as though she’s hiding something precious.  It’s a look we’ve both seen before.

‘Nina?’ I quiz her.  ‘Is there something
you’d like to share with us?’

‘
I don’t think so...’  But her brown eyes are full of laughter and happiness and instantly I know. 
Wow
… This girl’s in
lurve
…

‘Who?’ demands Charlie
, who’s seen it too.  ‘Come on girl.  Spill.’

‘He’s a
physio,’ confesses Nina, burying her head in her hands.  ‘Damn it, Charlie!  I
so
wasn’t going to tell you!’

‘Ooh, lucky you.
  Think of all those deep tissue massages,’ says Charlie, practically drooling.  ‘Does he have any friends?’

Nina ignores
the comment.  ‘His name is Will.  He’s thirty five, single, completely gorgeous and he’s taking me out for dinner.  And that’s all I’m telling you!’

‘
So where’s he taking you?’ Charlie asks casually, but Nina just shakes her head at us.

‘Do you
really
think I’m stupid enough to tell you?’

‘It’s
so
cool,’ I tell her, really pleased for her.  Nina’s sweet – you could never say that about Charlie.  ‘Ignore the wrinkled old cow – she’s just jealous.’

‘I
so
am,’ says Charlie, resignedly.  ‘But never mind.  You and me Frankie, we’re two of a kind, aren’t we?  Us party girls have to stick together.’

Out of habit I nod
, but the idea doesn’t thrill me as much as it used to.  Charlie loves her shallow, high-flying life.  And ground-based as it is, mine isn’t much better, consisting as it does of mad brides, a flaky assistant and a distant boyfriend.  I never thought I’d say this, but it’s ever so slightly beginning to lose its gloss.

I raise my glass and
propose a toast.  ‘To Will!’ 

‘
Will
…’ we all chorus, chinking our glasses noisily.

As I lie in bed that night, I’m struck by the strangest mix of emotions as I think about Nina and Will.  I don’t know why, but I get the feeling that this is about as far from casual as you can get.  Early days or not, deep inside, don’t you
know
?  When you meet the man you’re destined to be with?

But it’s more than that. 
The truth is, I’m finding it hard to put Lulubelle and Cosmo out of my head.  I know that age has nothing to do with it, but it’s so unfair that someone so young should go through such a debilitating illness.  He should be running around, shrieking and giggling – just like Martha.  With pink cheeks and tangled hair, not pale and frail in a wheelchair. 

Not being a mother, it’s hard to imagine how hard it is for Lulubelle, but when I think of how I’d feel if it was Martha, it brings a lump to my throat that almost chokes me.

It explains why Lulubelle
looks as though she carries the cares of the world on her shoulders.  Narrow shoulders that belie her incredible strength, because actually, she really does. 

Statistically, t
he chances of Cosmo being cured are good, she told me.  But as with anything, there are no guarantees and so every day, Lulubelle watches him like a hawk, knowing it could go either way.

The following evening, after a busy day of unpacking into buckets what feels like a gazillion flowers, Greg’s number flashes up on my phone.  My heart does a little jump, then I remember.  In ten days, he hasn’t even bothered to reply to my texts, which isn’t on and I’m justifiably a little shirty.

‘Greg
who
?’ I say sniffily.

‘Don’t be like that, Frankie.  You know how it is.  I’ve been busy, babe. 
And it’s only been a few days.’

‘Ten, actually, Greg.
  Which is a week and a half,’ I add.  ‘That’s a third of a month.  Not that it matters, because, you know what? With all this time to think about it, I’ve realised something – I quite like being on my own...’

There’s
a brief silence at the other end.  ‘I’ve had a few things going on, babe, that’s all.  I was hoping I could come over later.’

My resolve to make this difficult for him wavers. 
Instead of flirting outrageously and making a joke about his absence, for once he sounds vaguely apologetic.  It’s enough for me to cave in without a fight.