It All Started With You, page 10
I don’t miss a beat. ‘Of course I would! When’s a good time?’
‘Tomorrow? Say around three? But it doesn’t really matter when – it’s very relaxed there. I can pick you up?’
I’m touched she’s invited me. ‘I’d really like that.’
The following afternoon as I wait for Lulubelle, if I’m honest, I’m a little anxious. All I really know about Briarwood is that it’s a place where sick children go. Really sick children who have life-limiting illnesses. A category, which up until now, I hadn’t appreciated included Cosmo. For a brief moment, I panic – what if it’s so heartbreaking, I can’t hold it together?
It doesn’t mean he can’t get better, I remind myself, just as Lulubelle beeps from outside.
‘Haven’t changed your mind?’ She glances at me as I climb into her car. ‘Only, I can guess what you’re thinking, Frankie. But it won’t be at all how you’re expecting.’
‘When’s he coming home?’ I ask, telling myself to trust her.
‘Hopefully by the end of the week, fingers crossed. But he’s quite happy there – you’ll see for yourself. It’s like one great big family. I don’t know what I’d do without them.’
‘How long has this been going on?’ I ask, realising how little I know about Cosmo’s illness, yet never finding the right time to ask.
‘Four years,’ she says briefly. ‘He was two – there was all this bruising on his arms. That was the first sign. It sounds crazy, but I knew straight away that it was serious.’
Most of his life, I’m registering slowly. She’s spent most of his life not knowing what lies ahead, or how long she’ll have him, even. I don’t know what to say.
‘I’ve no idea what that must feel like,’ I say quietly.
She nods. ‘You know, I have to keep believing he’ll get well. And there are good spells when we can do things most families do. And the rest of the time… I could easily be self-pitying. Why us and all that sort of thing. And in all honesty, to start with, I thought all those things. It’s so easy to think how horribly, cruelly unfair this is. But it could be worse. And the truth is, none of us know what’s round the corner. It just changes the way you think, and this way, you just make the most of each precious day. Oh – we’re here.’
Which is just as well, because her courage leaves me speechless.
We pull up in front of what looks like a massive family home rather than the hospital I was expecting, and as I get out, the first thing I notice is the huge, lovely garden with sunlight filtering through the trees. As we walk round to the side of the house, it’s full of life – of babies, children, teenagers – albeit some in wheelchairs – throwing balls, swinging and climbing in a colourful play area. There’s a sandpit – a massive one – which is a hive of activity, but more than anything I notice the noise. The same shouting and laughter you’d get anywhere with this many children.
Lulubelle’s watching me. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? It’s always like this. Would you like to come and see Cosmo?’
Inside is only a little quieter and I follow Lulubelle along a long, light corridor decorated with brightly patterned wallpaper – of butterflies and rainbows – to a large airy room opening onto another corner of the garden. She stops at the door.
‘He’s in here.’
She doesn’t rush over straight away, just stands there, watching him, a look of love stricken with heartache on her face. To me he looks as frail as ever, but there’s a light in his eyes and a grin on his face as he concentrates on the picture he’s painting. The nurse beside him is smiling as she talks to him.
Suddenly, I see what Lulubelle’s doing. She’s collecting memories, good ones to call up when the going gets tough. Fragments of happier times.
As I watch her, a new clarity comes to me as I forget about brides and weddings. Whatever else might be going on, there’s nothing more important than the people we love who mean everything to us.
Taking a deep breath, she walks over and scoops him up. ‘Look who Mummy’s brought to see you! It’s that funny lady who keeps running into us!’
Cosmo giggles then holds a hand out towards me, suddenly shy.
‘This is Frankie.’
‘But that’s a boy’s name…’ He grins at her, avoiding eye contact with me, but not for long.
‘That’s exactly what I told my mother…’ I tell him, which makes him giggle.
It’s the most animated I’ve ever seen him and I feel a lump in my throat when he takes first Lulubelle’s hand and then reaches for mine, before the three of us walk outside.
After a short while, I’ve completely forgotten why I’m here. In no time, I’m pushing a little girl called Florence on a swing. She has no hair but the brightest eyes I’ve ever seen. Then I’m roped into a riotous game of football while Lulubelle and Cosmo watch, laughing loudly when I fail to stop a single goal. Eventually, exhausted, I flop on the grass beside them.
‘Next time, you’re goalie, mate,’ I tell Cosmo, watching his eyes light up. ‘I’m too old, and as you just saw, I’m really rubbish. I need a rest.’ I collapse back in the sunshine, but then I feel him clamber on top of me. I sit up with a roar and he shrieks loudly.
‘Can we go on the boats?’ he says hopefully.
The garden meanders down a grassy slope to a lake, surrounded by trees. It’s quieter there, more tranquil and we spend the rest of the afternoon in a little rowing boat, which I get to row, while Cosmo leans back against Lulubelle.
‘I didn’t expect this,’ I tell her. ‘Nothing like this, I swear.’
Her face is briefly peaceful. ‘No one does. It’s no wonder the children don’t want to go home, but it’s not just for them, you know. It’s the families too. You can’t imagine the difference it makes, knowing he’s cared for and happy.’
She was right. I’d had no idea. But how could I?
‘Are you all right?’ my sister asks that evening. ‘You’re extremely quiet for you…’
‘Just thinking,’ I say. ‘Only I went to Briarwood today with Lulubelle. It’s a children’s hospice. Cosmo’s staying there for a few days.’
‘Nightmare,’ says Alice. ‘It must be so awful.’
‘Actually, it’s not at all how you’d expect,’ I tell her. ‘In fact, it’s brilliant, Al.’ I don’t quite know how to explain the incredible feeling I came away with. I can still feel the remnants of it now, like a big, warm hug deep inside me.
‘Seen Greg?’
‘No, thank God.’ I mean it too. ‘I’ve met quite a nice policeman though, when one of my weddings got sabotaged.’
‘Honestly, Frankie, who in their right mind sabotages a wedding?’
‘Oh you’d be surprised,’ I tell her, warming to my subject. ‘Not only must I keep an eye out for mothers-in-law, mothers of the bride, not to mention bridezillas themselves, now it seems there are vengeful ex-boyfriends on the loose. I wonder sometimes why anyone bothers getting married. I mean, it brings out the worst in all of them.’
‘Sounds bonkers if you ask me,’ she says, changing the subject. ‘And I meant to ask you… Only, have you met Maria yet? And, Frankie, I do hope you’ve been keeping it quiet…’
‘Oh yes – she’s really nice actually. Someone did kind of get wind of it. He’s a journalist – works for one of those trashy magazines.’
‘Oh God,’ she says in horror. ‘You have to be careful, Frankie. If it gets out and it’s your fault, Maria might sue…’
Holy shit. I hadn’t thought of that, though I’ve read about it happening. The thought fills me with panic. ‘Oh, it’s fine,’ I say, far more calmly than I’m feeling. ‘I’m onto him. He really fancies himself but I tell you, he’s a loser. Or he will be by the time I’ve finished with him. You know… qui audet adipiscitur…’
‘What are you talking about?’ Alice frowns at me. ‘Here, have one of these.’
She passes me her home-made cheese straws, which are yummy. ‘She who dares, wins, Al. And the best part is, he hasn’t an inkling.’
13
Talking of policemen, when I open the shop on Tuesday, I find a box outside the door. It’s my vase – and rolled up inside it, there’s a note.
Sorry to have missed you, but thought you might be needing this. Hope you haven’t had any more psychotic exes to deal with.
Alex
Oh. A wave of disappointment washes through me. I’d been so hoping to see him again. There’d been a flicker of interest on his part too, unless I imagined it – or maybe I read it wrong.
And when I check the phone, there are several messages – from Maria and Mrs Culleton, as well as the usual tedious sales calls.
I call Maria first and she’s not happy.
‘Oh, Frankie, I’m having such trouble…’
I pin back my ears and listen. You see, florists are like hairdressers. Part-time agony aunts, the lot of us – you wouldn’t believe what people tell us.
‘It isn’t just Pete’s daughter. His entire family think I’m a gold-digger and they won’t come to the wedding. He’s dead upset… It’s so unfair. Nothing could be further from the truth. I really love him… How could anyone not?’
Plenty – like his ex-wife for starters. And actually, a wrinkly, decrepit old rocker doesn’t quite do it for me either, but I can’t possibly tell her that. ‘Give them time,’ I say wisely. ‘Once they know you’re genuine, they’ll come round.’
‘But that could be years,’ she wails. ‘If they don’t come to the wedding, it’ll ruin everything. What am I going to do?’
Mrs Culleton’s somewhat less emotional, as I expected.
‘I’m really not sure we shouldn’t look elsewhere,’ she tells me bluntly when I call her. ‘It’s only that you come highly recommended. Abigail knows exactly what she wants. And it’s her special day. It’s not your job to talk her out of it.’
‘All I’m trying to do is offer you the benefit of my experience, Mrs Culleton. That is my job. It’s entirely up to you if you want it or not.’
She ignores me. ‘Abigail and Roland can come and see you again this Friday. I’m busy, I’m afraid. Two o’clock?’
I pencil it in the diary. Thank God the old bat is busy. As no one’s told me who Roland is, I’m assuming he must be the groom. And Friday’s not a good day at all because I’ve got a wedding on Saturday that’s full of sweet peas and garden roses, which can’t be arranged until the last minute. So I could really do without a meeting.
But then I have an idea… I need to show her precisely what I have in mind for Abigail’s wedding, because clients like Mrs Culleton have no imagination. And so I start to make a posy. I’ve just a few stems of a delicate ivory rose, so I add lavender for luck and ivy for fidelity. While Mr Crowley isn’t looking, I sneak over the road to pick a sprig of olive from the bush outside Demelza’s as a peace offering, and tuck in a few sweet peas and freesia – and of course the hazel twigs as a conciliatory gesture. Then I find a few fronds of fern that I’d forgotten I had, and as I entwine them around the edge, something funny happens. Not only do I not hate Mrs Culleton, I’m not even finding her irritating. It’s revelatory. Staring at the posy, I call over to Skye.
‘Skye! Think of someone you hate! Or really, really don’t like…’
She looks across at me as though I’m mad. ‘What the fuck are you on about?’
‘Just try it,’ I persist. ‘Please… It’s an experiment.’
Skye thinks for a moment. ‘Okay. There’s this bloke down the pub, who like really fancies himself and pinches my arse and shit.’
‘Okay,’ I interrupt. ‘That’s perfect, Skye. Only I want you to focus on just how much you really don’t like him for a whole minute.’
I cast my eye at my watch and wait. ‘Okay… now have this.’ I thrust my posy into her hands.
She stares into it, then sniffs it. ‘It’s a bit rustic-like.’
But she’s missing the point. ‘How do you feel about the annoying bloke now?’
Her face crinkles up, puzzled. ‘Who you talking about, Frankie?’
Not exactly conclusive, but promising, I decide, then wrap said posy in crunchy paper and send Skye round to deliver it to Mrs Culleton. Needless to say, I hear nothing.
Friday comes and after working hard on the flowers for tomorrow’s wedding all morning, I’m moaning and complaining about yet another meeting with Culletons.
‘Honestly,’ I say to Skye, wondering if you could get as high on scented roses as on Pompeii lilies. ‘Aren’t some people just hell-bent on making life difficult? Here they are, about to pay me for superior wisdom which they don’t want to hear. I ask you…’ I shrug, then notice a warning look on Skye’s face. I open my mouth to continue but she shakes her head, nodding pointedly over my shoulder.
They’re early. Shit. They must have heard me.
With a sinking heart, I breeze out, smiling sweetly at them. ‘Abigail. And you must be Roland, how absolutely lovely to see you both. Sorry – it’s been a bit of a morning. I had a rather difficult customer.’
As I glance anxiously from one to the other, I realise that actually, I don’t need to worry. Far from being a bride from hell, I don’t think Abigail’s brain works too quickly. Roland doesn’t look too sure of himself either. Suddenly I feel sorry for them. Having a mother like Mrs Culleton must be a nightmare. I think about suggesting they should elope, just to get away from her.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I ask them. They both shake their heads. ‘Come and sit down.’ I lead them over to the sofa. ‘And let’s see if we can sort out your flowers.’
It’s a long meeting but at the end, dare I say it, Abbie, as she likes to be called, even looks happy.
‘So you think I can have calla lilies then?’ she says hopefully.
‘You can have whatever you like,’ I tell her firmly. ‘As long as the design elements in the different areas are cohesive…’ They stare blankly at me.
‘As long as it all goes, calla lilies will be just gorgeous.’ I drop the bullshit and smile triumphantly. ‘Honestly, guys – it’s going to look sensational.’
‘I almost forgot,’ says Abbie, as they leave. ‘Only Mummy got your flowers.’
‘And?’
‘Well, it was strange. I think she liked them – at least, she must have, because she didn’t say. In fact, she didn’t say much at all.’
Again, not conclusive, but definitely interesting.
By the time Abigail’s gone, Skye has finished tomorrow’s centrepieces and looks so spaced out, I think my theory about scented flowers is correct. So I send her home – until sparrow’s fart tomorrow, we’re done. Then I fiddle around putting things away, until Mrs Orange walks in.
‘That girl, my lovely,’ she starts. ‘That one that came in earlier with the short bloke… What’s she having?’
‘Calla lilies, Mrs Orange,’ I tell her. ‘With meadow flowers and roses on the tables. Country style, but not too informal. They’re going in stemmed glass bowls.’
She nods wisely. ‘Colours?’
‘Crystal blush callas, ivory roses, cornflowers, daisies, cow parsley…’
To my amazement she doesn’t say anything, just lets a broad smile stretch across her weathered face.
‘What?’ I ask her, nonplussed.
‘I see you’re finally learnin’, ducks,’ is all she says, before shuffling out again.
As I tidy up, singing along to the radio, I don’t hear the car that pulls up and with my back to the sink, as I’m most elegantly scrubbing buckets, a voice makes me leap out of my skin.
‘Frankie?’
I turn round and feel a smile plaster itself across my face. It’s him. The policeman. Alex, in plain clothes.
‘Hello… You on surveillance or something? Staking out Dexter’s Green for lunatic ex-boyfriends or something?’ I grin at his clothes.
He looks puzzled, then frowns. ‘Oh – off duty. Actually being a policeman is mostly about standing with a mobile speed camera or filling out paperwork – not half as exciting as you seem to think… I – er – came to make sure you found your vase.’
Ha. Right. Of course. As if there were any doubt, what with it being left in a box labelled to Frankie, at Valentine’s Flowers, placed in the middle of my doorstep.
‘I did, thank you so much. It was very kind of you to drop it back. Would you like a cup of tea?’ Now he’s finally here, I can’t let him get away too easily.
‘Thanks.’ He looks around. ‘Actually…’
He pauses – and then I realise. He’s just being polite and is thinking of an excuse for a swift getaway.
‘Or coffee?’ I say quickly. ‘Or I think there’s juice in the fridge…’ Sounding ever so slightly mad again.
‘Actually,’ he looks at me. ‘If you’re finished in here, do you fancy going for a proper drink – not that there’s anything wrong with tea…’ he adds quickly. ‘But I meant at the pub. Maybe get some food?’
I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘That would be lovely.’
But after a hectic day, I really do need to change so I persuade him to call by mine first.
‘I won’t be long,’ I tell him, hoping he’ll say he’ll wait in his car. It’s a mess up there because I overslept this morning and everything is strewn where I left it. ‘It’s very tiny…’ I glance at his head. ‘With low doorways…’
But he isn’t put off. ‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘I’ll be careful… Unless you’d rather I didn’t, of course.’
‘Oh. No – of course not.’ God. Now he thinks I’m hiding something. He’s a policeman, I have to remember that. Naturally suspicious and watchful, not like Greg. Come to think of it, not remotely like Greg at all. ‘Follow me.’
I step inside ahead of him, and after grabbing handfuls of clothes off the floor and shuffling magazines into a neat pile, it’s not as bad as I’d imagined.
‘Welcome to my humble abode.’
‘I see what you mean.’ Alex ducks his head on the way into my tiny sitting room. ‘But it’s cute, Frankie.’ He wanders over to the window. ‘Great views.’
