It All Started With You, page 11
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. I look in the mirror. God. Lovely bird’s-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.
We wander down the road together. Every so often my arm brushes against his, and I feel little electric shocks zipping 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. Thank you. Absolutely fine. 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 practise 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?’
‘In my early twenties. I didn’t go to uni. 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 asks. ‘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 not 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. My heart sinks. It’s from Julia.
14
The date with Alex, if that’s what it was, went far from as I’d hoped it would, but for once I don’t beat myself up. As far as men are concerned, you can’t win them all, I decide. As for mothers… I don’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 the next morning, after 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 saying I wanted to be 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.
Skye 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.
Once, he might have been right. But there’s more to me than he thinks. When I haven’t exactly let him see that, 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. ‘Okay, in that case, give me the list. You got the addresses for the buttonholes? Shit, Frankie – where is it?’
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 bursts into tears and flings her arms around her.
In my oddly switched-off state, I go for a long run that afternoon. It soon clouds over, followed by spots of rain which quickly become a torrent, but the weather doesn’t 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 know 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 the last half-mile of my run takes me where Lulubelle told me she lived. 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 okay? 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 okay? 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.
‘It would be more than okay,’ she says softly. ‘Thank you.’
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. Much 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 hesitate, wondering what I’m getting myself into. But she’s still my mother. ‘I could do tomorrow?’
15
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 fundraising to address, which is both daunting and exciting, 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 my 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, that 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 stayed for weeks.
Of course, she’s late. She always is, 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 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.’
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 no hope for me.
‘What’s he been up to?’ I ask, on my guard, because I’m not sure she has anywhere to go.
She hesitates, then the jolly facade 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.
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. ‘I’m so sorry.’ It’s a horrible situation for anyone and 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. ‘Have you been living in Brighton, then?’ 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 arranging anything…’
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 but a lifetime of conditioning kicks in and I bite my tongue.
In the shop, I’m determined not to let Julia derail me. Instead, I put my plan of asking for donations into action straight away, just a small, discreet 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.’
‘It was a suggestion. That’s all. You’re perfectly free to remove it,’ I remind her.
It does nothing to assuage her. ‘I can assure you I will be.’
‘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… If she’s that mean, the shop can make a donation – on this occasion.’ If karma exists, maybe Abigail’s flowers will come in cheaper than I’ve costed. It happens sometimes.
‘Blimey, Frankie, you’re getting all fired up again and it’s only Tuesday. Chill, man. I’ll put the kettle on.’
Skye’s right. I’m cross – and I shouldn’t be.
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, globetrotting highlife, even for your wedding, it tells you all you need to know.
