Czytaj książkę: «The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop»

CHAPTER ONE
Friday, 14 February

‘It’s a wonderful life!’ the poster in the adjacent jeweller’s window boasted, displaying an array of pricey eternity rings mounted on velvety heart-shaped cushions.

Evie tried not to growl. It was a little hard to feel as though things were ‘wonderful’ when your ex-boyfriend had made your life so utterly miserable you’d had to up sticks and move area just to preserve your sanity. It was even harder to believe life was ‘wonderful’ when the rusty metal shutter on your shop front wouldn’t budge, causing a tirade of random expletives to fill the chilly morning air. But that was the reality of her situation and she just had to deal with it.

Evie rammed her shoulder against the slats, determined not to be outdone by a warped piece of aluminium. It was one thing to keep burglars out, it was quite another to deny the staff access, especially on the busiest day of the year.

Valentine’s Day was both a blessing and a curse. Although she was guaranteed to be busy, with a multitude of sales and a much-needed boost to her limited funds, it was also a day that required a good deal of pretending. As a florist, Evie was in the business of ‘selling romance’. It wouldn’t do to be cynical and bitter. She had to smile, radiate happiness and ensure that The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop was the place to buy your loved one the perfect Valentine’s gift.

The shutter finally relented, dislodging a blanket of snow from the wooden awning and sending it showering down on top of her. For a moment she stood there, shuddering as the sensation of wet crept down the back of her neck. Not the best start to the day.

Despite the inconvenience of an overnight snowstorm, the shop front looked like a picture postcard. The leaded bay window arching onto the quaint high street looked almost Dickensian with its frosted glass front and icicle topping. Whatever else in her life sucked, the little business opportunity that had landed in her lap was indeed ‘wonderful’.

When she’d made the decision to leave Surrey – in the hope that moving area would finally convince her ex their relationship was over – Evie had had no idea where she’d end up. She just knew she had to get away. It was only a chance viewing of an advert in the local paper that had led her to Heatherton.

The previous owner of The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop had found love in the guise of a Texan realtor and wanted someone to take over the management of her business whilst she decided whether or not to permanently settle in the US. Evie had often dreamt of owning her own florists, so this was an ideal opportunity, and Kent suited her just fine. Heatherton was a mixture of old-world cottages and historic interest with new-build development and a decent shopping centre. Small enough that she didn’t feel overwhelmed, big enough to feel anonymous. The perfect place to start afresh.

Her only hope was that Diana Smart wasn’t in any rush to sell. Evie needed time to make a profit and build up enough capital to make a business loan viable. She doubted any bank manager in their right mind would lend her the required funds in her present state of financial fragility.

Pushing open the front door, she was greeted by the familiar aroma of cut flowers. The air inside was almost as chilly as out. Within twenty seconds she’d started sneezing. Her hay fever never seemed to abate, no matter what the weather, which was highly annoying.

Despite the icy weather, it shouldn’t have been quite so cold inside. She checked her watch. Just after seven. The heating should have come on by now. She touched the radiator, fearing the worst. The pilot light must have gone out again.

Sighing, she went over to the boiler and gave it a smack. Nothing happened. Great. Just what she needed. Snow outside and no hot water or heating. The flowers wouldn’t object, but it would certainly make working conditions grim.

Delving inside the cramped cubbyhole under the sink, she dug out her padded body warmer and slipped it on over her fleece. Glancing down at her faded combats and boring trainers, she felt like the Michelin Man, all lumps and bumps. There was a time when she wouldn’t have chosen such non-descript clothing but now she owned nothing else. Well, apart from her collection of unusual shoes. Kyle might not have appreciated her love of novelty footwear, but he was no longer around to object, was he? Maybe it was time for her shoes to make a reappearance. She was tired of looking drab. Her wardrobe of army surplus gear and cheap sports attire was practical, but it did nothing for her self-esteem, or her figure, for that matter. No one would guess she was a size ten beneath all the layers.

The wholesaler’s van pulled up outside, preventing her from researching a local plumbing firm. She spent the next fifteen minutes helping to unload the array of roses and lilies into the shop, struggling to make room for all the varieties of bloom on the limited floor space and grumbling about the inflated prices. January had been a slow month. Other than a depressing increase in funerals there hadn’t been much other custom. Coupled with the impact of the big supermarkets undercutting her prices, her profit margins were taking a hit. More than ever she needed Valentine’s Day to be a success. Forget romance. This was about survival.

By seven thirty The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop was awash with colour, full to the brim with buckets of flowers, both inside and out. Eager to attract the morning commuters, she opened the doors early, trying to tempt any passers-by to call in and part with their cash.

Consequently, she’d already sold half a dozen bouquets, devoured two cups of lemon and ginger tea and had a book full of deliveries scheduled before the brass bell above the door chimed, announcing the arrival of her assistant. Saffy wasn’t a big fan of mornings, so Evie was greeted with about as much enthusiasm as a vampire welcoming the dawn.

‘Morning, Saffy.’

Evie was acknowledged with the usual dismissive wave of Saffy’s black-fingernailed hand as she passed through the shop front in search of caffeine.

‘Doesn’t the snow look gorgeous?’

There was a loud bang from the kitchen.

Apparently not.

Saffy might only be nineteen, but she was way beyond her years in terms of life experience. Her dad had walked out when she was ten years old and her mum had bounced from one relationship to another looking for the happy ever after, never quite finding it. Determined not to follow in her mother’s footsteps, Saffy was currently holding down three part-time jobs. Her goal was to attend university and ensure financial self-sufficiency. No way was she going to rely on a man to support her. Evie felt tolerating Saffy’s moody persona was the least she could do. And besides, underneath the surly sarcasm was a complex, vulnerable girl. Others might be wary of her angsty exterior, but Evie wasn’t. The goth clothing, long black hair and dramatic eye make-up was a mask, a way of keeping people at arm’s length. Evie understood this more than most.

Saffy appeared from the kitchen, her tattooed hands clasping a Minnie the Minx coffee mug. She leant against the wall, one booted foot crossed over the other, a scowl set firmly in place.

‘Sorry it’s so cold. The boiler’s playing up again.’ Evie rubbed her hands together, trying to restore blood flow. ‘I’ll get someone in as soon as possible.’

Saffy shrugged. ‘No drama. I’d rather be here than at home watching Mum swoon over Barry the Banker.’

Suffice to say, Saffy wasn’t the biggest fan of her mum’s latest beau.

‘How are the wedding plans coming along?’ Evie asked.

A scowl darkened Saffy’s brow. ‘Don’t know. Don’t care.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘It’s not like it’ll last. Did I tell you he’s twelve years younger than she is?’

Evie nodded. ‘Sometimes an age gap can be a good thing. You never know, maybe this time it’ll work.’

Saffy snorted. ‘Don’t hold your breath.’

When the doorbell chimed, Evie looked up to see a nervous-looking young man enter the shop. He hesitated before coming inside. First-timer. You could always tell. Evie gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Can I help you?’

He shoved his hands inside his pockets. ‘I wanna get my girlfriend flowers.’

Evie smiled. Who said romance was dead? ‘Do you know what she likes?’

His face creased into a frown. ‘Er … No.’

Evie headed over. ‘Roses are always well received.’ She gestured to the array of blooms covering the floor space. ‘As you can see, we have a variety of colours. The mauve Admiral Rodneys are my favourites, but they’re all delightful.’

He glanced around before nodding at one of the buckets. ‘Those red ones?’

Evie smiled. ‘Gorgeous, aren’t they? They’re called Deep Secret.’

Saffy tutted and muttered ‘Typical’ under her breath.

Evie shot her a glare.

He pointed to the pink floribunda instead, glancing at Saffy to gauge her approval. Her non-committal shrug seemed to appease him.

‘Sexy Rexy.’ Evie picked up the bucket. ‘Excellent choice. I’m sure your girlfriend will love them. Would you like them wrapped?’

His face coloured, matching the intensity of the rose petals. ‘No … thanks.’ He dug out a crumple of notes from his pocket. ‘How much?’

‘Twelve pounds for six stems. Twenty-two pounds for two bunches.’

He shoved fifteen quid at her as though they’d just partaken in an illegal drug transaction and grabbed the flowers. ‘Keep the change.’

‘I hope your girlfriend likes them,’ Evie called after him as he exited the shop.

Saffy sniffed. ‘Cliché, or what?’

Evie turned to her assistant. ‘May I remind you, I’m trying to run a business? Could you be a little more …’

Saffy raised an eyebrow. ‘What? Insincere?’

‘Encouraging. It takes a lot of nerve to buy flowers.’

Saffy looked perplexed. ‘Why? They’re only flowers.’

‘Maybe, but they carry meaning. That shouldn’t be taken lightly.’

‘Men are only after one thing. Once they’ve got it, they’re gone. Flowers or no flowers.’

Evie sighed and handed Saffy a bucket of golden Belle Epoque. ‘Cut the stems, please, they need a drink.’

Saffy took the bucket over to the sink. ‘I know the feeling.’

Evie tried to remember how it felt to be nineteen. She was only twenty-eight herself, but being a teenager felt like a lifetime ago. Unlike Saffy, she’d been a ‘believer’ at that age, unaware of the pitfalls of love. Her parents might have divorced when she was young, but Evie had entered adulthood relatively unscathed. Poor Saffy had experienced nothing but disappointment her entire life. Her views on relationships were based on watching her mum rely on shady men with empty bank accounts. But maybe Saffy was the lucky one. If Evie had been a little more streetwise she might have seen the signs earlier and not allowed the one serious relationship she’d had to deteriorate to such an extent that she’d lost all confidence and self-esteem.

The sound of the bell tinkling dragged her thoughts back to the present.

Standing in the doorway was another young guy, this one with the looks and confidence of someone who knew they’d won the lottery in terms of genetics, but had the good grace not to be arrogant.

Saffy dumped the half-cut flowers in the sink and went over to serve him.

‘Cool hat,’ he said, pointing to her knitted black beret.

Saffy shrugged, but the compliment seemed to thaw her a little. ‘How can I help you?’ She glanced over at Evie as if to say, ‘See? I can do polite.’ But her smile instantly faded when the bell chimed again and Josh from the local funeral firm came in to collect a pre-ordered wreath. Her sharp blue eyes stared at him with a mixture of venom and warning.

The poor guy had done nothing obviously wrong, as far as Evie knew, other than to show an interest in Saffy – something Saffy hadn’t taken kindly to.

‘Hey there, Saffy.’ As always, Josh remained completely unperturbed by her frosty demeanour. ‘Nice hat.’

‘That’s what I said,’ remarked Saffy’s customer.

Saffy looked between the two young men, her expression conflicted. She clearly wanted to be rude, as discussions about her appearance were never welcome, but she fought the urge and turned her attentions to her customer. ‘So, Dream Lover or Dusky Maiden?’ She gestured towards the buckets of red floribunda on the floor.

‘Which do you prefer?’ He examined both. ‘They’re for a special occasion. Big date. You’re a girl, which do you like?’

Evie caught Saffy’s eye, sending her a note of warning: Keep your opinions on love to yourself.

Saffy took a deep breath, seeming to steel herself. ‘Either would be perfect, in my opinion. Red roses are, after all, the symbol of love.’ Even though she managed to say this without any note of sarcasm, it didn’t stop Josh from laughing.

Ignoring Saffy’s glare, he headed out back with Evie to collect the large spray of white lilies ordered for a funeral later that day.

‘One day she’ll succumb to my charms,’ Josh said, handing Evie a purchase order.

Don’t hold your breath, Evie thought, channelling Saffy’s view on her mother’s relationship with Barry the Banker. But then she chastised herself. Just because she’d been bruised by the after-effects of a bad experience, she had no right to project that negativity onto others. It wasn’t fair. Josh was young, starting out in life, oblivious to the perils of love. And although she seriously doubted Saffy was going to overcome her aversion to men anytime soon, Evie would be happy to be proved wrong. There was no reason for both women to be down on love, was there?

Evie helped Josh pick up the heavy display of flowers, saddened by the fact that even on Valentine’s Day someone was being buried.

Josh admired the array of oriental lilies. ‘Cheers for doing this. The family weren’t up to organising flowers.’

‘I didn’t mind. It was thoughtful of you to help them out.’ It still confounded Evie that someone so young had chosen such a morbid profession. But Josh seemed made for easing the trauma of grief. He was tall and gangly with an antiquated sense of style. Frock coats and top hats weren’t normal attire for his generation, but somehow he carried it off. Evie guessed there weren’t many professions that catered for teenage emos. Burying people had to be one of them.

As Josh strode back though the shop, his black tailcoat flapping behind him, he nodded towards the large yellow hybrid tea roses. ‘I’d go for something a little less obvious myself.’ He glanced at Saffy, grinning in response to her scowling expression. ‘Isn’t she lovely?’

The young guy nodded, his apprehension evident. ‘Er, yeah, I guess so.’

Saffy poked her tongue out at Josh and picked up the yellow roses. ‘It’s the name of the flowers, Isn’t She Lovely. He wasn’t talking about me.’

The young guy looked relieved. ‘Oh, right. Yeah, I get it. Not that you’re not lovely – I mean, you are, it’s just …’ His olive skin covered most of his blush.

Josh reversed out the door, grinning. ‘Bye, Saffy. See you soon.’

Saffy ignored him.

Flustered, the young guy pulled out his wallet. ‘A bunch of those would be great.’

Evie shook her head. Her assistant’s interactions with Josh were entertaining, if not ideal customer service. Part of her wished Saffy would stop batting Josh away and take a chance on the guy. But then Evie reminded herself that she wouldn’t take kindly to someone telling her who to love, so she should butt out. Some wounds ran too deep to be overcome, even by someone as sweet as Josh.

While Saffy began wrapping the yellow roses by the sink, Evie headed for the counter. She settled in front of the computer, determined to find a plumber.

As if in protest, the pipes running along the ceiling started clanking.

Saffy looked over, but Evie waved away her concerns. ‘It’s just air in the system.’

The frequency and volume of banging increased.

Saffy encouraged her customer to make a speedy retreat. ‘Er, I don’t like to worry you, boss, but …’

The boiler started clicking. This was a new development. It sounded like the old-fashioned grandfather clock Evie’s dad had inherited from his father … click click click … It was like that moment in the films when the timer on a bomb is ticking down and the hero only has sixty seconds to save the world – or in this case Valentine’s Day.

Evie mentally slapped herself. ‘Stop being so bloody dramatic.’

Saffy looked affronted. ‘Charming.’

‘Not you – me.’ Evie held up a hand. ‘I was talking to myself.’

The banging stopped.

Evie waited. No explosion.

Panic over. For now.

Returning to the computer, she searched for local plumbers. She needed an urgent call-out before the system packed up completely and started leaking. She could not afford to close, not today, not on the most romantic day of the year.

Romantic, my arse.