It All Started With You, page 13
Nina and I simultaneously take one of her arms each and pull her back into her chair.
‘You’re staying,’ I tell her, topping up her glass and thrusting it under her nose. ‘Get this down you.’
‘It’s okay, Honey,’ says Nina, who’s kinder than I am. ‘You don’t have to tell us about it, but if you want to, that’s fine. You never know, it might just help.’
Honey looks as though she’s about to leap up again but then she slumps in her seat. ‘If you really want to know, I’ve single-handedly destroyed my marriage.’ She stares at the table, and when she looks up, her eyes glitter with tears. ‘There. Now – can I go?’
‘Poppycock,’ says Charlie. ‘I’m sure he’s not entirely blameless… Let’s face it, men never are.’ Which is extremely generous of her seeing as Honey’s never even given her the time of day.
‘Oh, you don’t know what I’m like,’ says Honey quietly.
Charlie raises one perfectly arched eyebrow, a gesture which doesn’t go unnoticed. I glare at her.
‘All marriages have problems,’ says Nina, metaphorically donning her white coat and stethoscope. ‘And not everyone’s as honest as you’re being. If you and Johnny can get through this, you’ll end up far stronger for it.’
‘I don’t think there’s any hope of that,’ says Honey sadly, the wine loosening her tongue. ‘I said some terrible things. Really terrible…’ Her voice drops to a whisper.
‘And he didn’t?’ says Charlie. ‘Come on… I bet he didn’t take it lying down.’
‘No…’ Honey brightens briefly. ‘No, I suppose he didn’t.’
‘Well, at least while you’re working, you can keep your mind on something else,’ says Nina. ‘It’s not a good idea to brood.’
‘But I can’t,’ says Honey pathetically. ‘Work, I mean. I can’t concentrate. I’ve told my boss I’m ill. I can hardly go in like this…’
‘She’s working with me,’ I say. ‘Another pair of hands is always useful.’
Honey looks vaguely pleased.
‘There’s just one little problem…’ I say, glancing at Charlie, then back at Honey. ‘Only, you don’t really have any suitable clothes, Honey. Everything is terribly smart and expensive and working with flowers is so messy…’
‘Oh…’ Honey looks nonplussed.
‘I’m going to All Hallows tomorrow,’ says Charlie casually. ‘I need one or two things before I go away. Come with me, if you like…’
Honey looks at her in horror, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.
‘She’d love to,’ I say hastily. ‘Wouldn’t you, Honey?’ I turn to Charlie and wink. ‘Really kind.’
‘I’ll meet you both for lunch,’ says Nina. ‘I’ve got a half day.’
‘Fantastic!’ I tell Honey. ‘That’s organised, then.’
She doesn’t look happy but for once in her life, she doesn’t argue.
17
And so the next day, Honey actually goes – without a murmur, much to my astonishment and without the faintest idea she’s been set up. Once she’s been safely whisked away from the shop by Charlie, Skye and I work much faster and the day’s flowers are delivered in double quick time.
Half-marathon training has been somewhat sidelined this week, so after work, I whizz home to change and get out for a run, only, just before I set off, Charlie delivers Honey home again.
She comes in wearing faded boyfriend jeans and a short cardigan, looking a much softer, younger version of herself. Better still, she’s smiling – and bless my soul if behind her, Charlie isn’t too.
‘Wow! Honey, you’re gorgeous!’
She blushes slightly but looks pleased. ‘Thank you!’
‘Make yourselves at home, girls. I’m just off out for my run.’
‘Good for you,’ says Charlie, settling herself on the sofa and kicking her shoes off. ‘When is this marathon?’
‘Not for ages – and it’s only a half-marathon, that’s all.’ This time my modesty isn’t false. Knowing how hard it is, I’m in total awe of those super-humans who run the whole twenty-six miles because I honestly think it would kill me. ‘Actually, I’m raising funds for Briarwood – the children’s hospice – if you fancy making a contribution?’
‘Of course I will – but leave it with me,’ says Charlie. ‘Only I know someone at work in the office – I might be able to persuade them to be quite generous.’
Gratitude fills me. ‘Oh, wow! Thank you!’
‘I’ll sponsor you – have you a form?’ asks Honey, gentler in her new, un-bossy clothes.
‘On the side over there. I’ve got to go out now – otherwise I’ll change my mind.’ As I leave Charlie and Honey in my flat, I’m wondering if this might be the beginning of an unlikely but beautiful friendship.
It looks a distinct possibility, because an hour later, when I return, the flat’s empty and there’s a note saying they’ve gone to the pub. And it’s just the two of them, because I know for a fact that Nina’s seeing Will tonight. I decide, just this once, not to join them. It’ll be a good bonding exercise and anyway, I want to see Lulubelle.
Just as I leave, there’s a call from Julia, which I choose not to answer. In a convoluted message, she tells me that it’s bad news about Giles and she’ll call me sometime soon. I can’t help but wonder just how bad and almost call her back. Of course I’m sorry about Giles, but the thing is it’s so typical of her, to draw everyone in when it suits her, then disappear without a word.
At some point I need to explain that I’d like her in my life for a change, not the other way round. But right now, it isn’t the time.
When I get to Lulubelle’s and knock on her door, she opens it almost immediately.
‘Are you busy?’
Her eyes are bright as she smiles at me. ‘No – come on in! We’re about to have tea in the garden, actually – come and join us!’
I love Lulubelle’s place. It’s really old, with a massive brick fireplace and comfy sofas and some quite cool prints on the walls. I follow her through her sitting room to the double doors thrown open onto her lovely cottage garden, edged with bright, happy coloured flowers. Cosmo’s out there, kicking a small football around, looking better than I’ve seen him in ages – his cheeks are fuller and his energy’s clearly coming back.
‘Hi. Want a goalie?’ I ask him hopefully. ‘I know I’m not very good, but you can teach me…’
‘Yaaay…’ He throws his skinny arms in the air and kicks the ball hard at me. Luckily, I catch it.
‘Hey, be kind,’ I tell him. ‘At least let me get warmed up.’
For a scrawny child, he has quite some power behind his kick, and time after time, he defeats me, until I give up and collapse on the grass. ‘No more, please,’ I beg, as he hurls himself on top of me, as behind us in the house, the phone rings.
‘Can you watch him,’ asks Lulubelle, ‘while I get that?’
As Cosmo clambers off me, I sit up again, but suddenly he goes pale and leans back against me. Gently, I put my arms round him, feeling his warm skin like paper and his heart pumping away just underneath. Next to mine, his limbs are so tiny and pale, even for a child and I’m aware of his frailty like never before.
It amazes me how Lulubelle keeps so strong, when every time she watches him, she must be wondering how much stronger he can get, or whether the illness has come back and, suddenly, I feel very humbled. I know she’s his mother but what she does is quietly heroic.
‘Sorry…’ She comes back out. ‘That was a real coincidence actually. It was one of the fundraisers from the hospice – saying would we like to meet them for a drink later.’
‘What about Cosmo?’
‘I’m sure Mum would come and look after him… What do you think?’
‘Cool,’ I say. ‘I’d love to.’
‘Great! We better get this boy some tea and into bed.’
I wander inside while she goes to retrieve him, glancing around her sitting room where a photograph catches my eye. It’s obviously Lulubelle, but much younger – with tangled hair and excitement in her eyes. There’s a wildness about her, a kind of recklessness. It’s an attitude that reminds me of someone, but I can’t think who. As I study it more closely, she comes back in carrying a struggling Cosmo.
‘Great photo,’ I tell her.
‘That one? It’s old, Frankie. It belongs in my old life… Come on. I’ll make us a cup of tea.’
With Cosmo finally settled in bed and her mum in situ, Lulubelle drives us to this pub a few winding miles of country lane away and not near anywhere I know. It’s a proper country pub and in a corner of the car park there’s even a small enclosure for tying horses up.
‘They’re a great bunch of guys – a bit mad when you get them away from work – but I know them quite well now. Just watch out – some of them don’t get out enough!’
As we go in she points them out. ‘That’s them, over there.’
There’s a group of about ten people, spread over a couple of tables and after collecting drinks, we wander over. Lulubelle introduces me and I try my hardest to remember everyone. I end up sitting between Casey, who’s a nurse, and Jessie, who works in reception.
‘Is this your first half-marathon?’ Casey asks me, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes.
‘It is,’ I reply. ‘And please don’t tell me you’re one of those hardened runners who does this all the time.’
He roars with laughter. ‘You have to be kidding! But Jess here, she’s another matter altogether. Heard of ultra-marathons?’
I shake my head, mystified.
‘Mega marathons in deserts and up mountains,’ he tells me while Jessie shakes her head at me. ‘Extreme temperatures, extreme mileage, multiple blisters and extremely ugly feet.’ He grimaces.
‘He’s exaggerating,’ she tells me. ‘Well, apart from the feet, maybe. They are quite long and sometimes in hot places, but it’s like any race – you just get into your stride and keep going. Your feet get really sore but it’s great for raising funds.’
I look at her in awe. ‘Sorry, but somehow I don’t believe it’s quite that easy.’ But then she looks past me and waves at someone who’s just walked in. And as I do a double take, my heart flips over. It’s Alex.
He comes over and kisses her on the cheek.
‘Alex, this is Frankie.’
‘I know.’ His eyes give away nothing as they meet mine. ‘We’ve met. What are you doing here?’
‘Oh, I came along with Lulubelle,’ I say casually, because I don’t need to explain myself to him and, against my will, feeling my fickle heart flutter. He may completely misunderstand me, but it doesn’t stop him being gorgeous. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘One of our team’s injured,’ explains Jessie. ‘So Alex’s kindly stepping in to take their place.’
‘Shouldn’t be too much of a challenge for you,’ I say airily. ‘It’s just a half-marathon after all. Sorry,’ I say to a mystified Jessie. ‘But I’ve just remembered something I have to tell Lulubelle.’
I can hear them talking amongst themselves as I get up and go to the other end of the table where I sit next to Lulubelle. I try not to imagine what they’re probably saying about me. Or what he’s saying, about that flaky florist who’s shallow and self-interested and can’t think of anyone but herself. Only I don’t have to sit there under his disapproving gaze – I have a choice.
Sadly, though, it looks as though I was right about him. He has completely the wrong idea about me. It clinches it. This is serious. Not only will I do this race, I’ll do it in a respectable time and prove something to myself. Moreover, I’ll show him, I think to myself. I’ll show them all…
18
After a lazy Sunday during which Honey continues to be much less bossy, the week gets off to a rip-roaring start. I spend the whole of Monday morning compiling orders for three weddings later in the week and then the phone starts ringing. And ringing.
It’s not just my current season’s brides either, but some calling about next year, which is fantastic for business, it’s just that calling in the middle of silly season means I don’t have time for long discussions about their vague ponderings on flowers. Mrs Culleton calls again, which has become a weekly occurrence and will no doubt continue to be so until her beloved Abigail is finally despatched down the aisle and off her hands for good. I’m a firm believer in details, but the nit-picking variety Mrs Culleton comes up with are completely ludicrous. I really do not need to know the exact shade of white of the table linen. Nor do I need a sample, thank you for asking. Nor do I need to know the colour of the groom’s boxers… Well, slight exaggeration, but that, it seems, is what it’s coming to.
Then Milo throws his bloody great spanner in the works.
‘Them roses, darlin’… Them Amnesia ones, you know the price is up, don’t you?’ And when he tells me how much by, I start to cry.
‘Oh Milo… it’s a disaster,’ I wail. ‘What will I do? All my profit will disappear if I pay that much…’
‘Blimey, Frankie, mate. Don’t stress – I’ll get you Hypnose. No one will be able to tell the difference.’
But I will, that’s the trouble, because Hypnose isn’t the same. Almost, but it’s a shade apart, which to my discerning designer’s eye is quite upsetting. I settle for half and half and make a note to self to never, ever again base a wedding on Amnesia roses.
Next time the phone rings, it’s Maria, wanting to arrange another meeting – this week – but seeing as she’s paying me squillions, I stupidly agree to meet her on Thursday. In the end, my workload gets so ridiculous, I call Honey. ‘Please. Come and answer my phones. I’ll even let you organise my diary, if you promise not to overdo it, only I’m desperate, Honey.’
She arrives ten minutes later in elegantly crumpled linen trousers, a long-sleeved T-shirt and polka dot pumps with a bow on the front.
‘Wow,’ I say, impressed. ‘Very cool. Quite the florist. But you better wear an apron or you’ll ruin them.’
She practically snatches the one I hand her, and underneath, just as I suspected, her long suppressed efficiency is bubbling up and raring to go. ‘Right, let me have your diary, Frankie. And while I’m here, I may as well get your books up to date, too.’
‘Gosh. Thanks.’ Meaning I’m free to focus on the flowers which is what I’m best at. Amazingly, it works – and by mid-afternoon, Skye and I have all the vases for the weddings laid out, the buckets ready, foliage cut, floor swept and all my lovely lists pinned up on the wall, while Honey has taken all the calls and organised my diary. She’s even dealt with those annoying sales people that I find so hard to get rid of. Completely ruthless with them, she tells them quite bluntly that if we require their services, we’ll be contacting them and not vice versa. And in the meantime, to take us off their database and never to call us again. Not ever.
Impressive. Trouble is, she’s getting everything so shipshape, she’s doing herself out of a job.
‘You are wonderful,’ I tell her admiringly. ‘Tell you what, I’ll buy you a Chinese.’
‘Actually, I’ll buy you one,’ she says. ‘I’ve been living off you since I got here and I shouldn’t be.’ Uncharacteristically, she shuts up. But as I stare at her, the penny drops. In getting my books up to date, she now knows what my turnover is. It’s more than enough for me and Skye, but clearly nowhere near what a hotshot lawyer makes and it’s shocked her.
‘I’m not exactly poor,’ I say tactfully.
‘No. But considering how hard you work, you don’t get paid enough, either. Ideally you’d up your prices by thirty per cent, Frankie. That would be far more reasonable.’
‘Thirty per cent?’ I splutter at her. ‘This is the real world, Honey. If I did that, I wouldn’t have a business.’
‘Actually,’ she says slowly. ‘I’ve been going through your notes. And there are quite a number of clients who seem to be spending a fortune on the venue and the dress – it’s all in your paperwork. Well, not in so many words, but everyone knows how much Roselin Castle and Vera Wang dresses set you back – yet when it comes to flowers, they beat you down to nothing. I was wondering…’
‘What?’ I’m curious.
‘Well, if you let me, I could single out the more expensive venues and set up some meetings. See if they’d be interested in some exclusive kind of deal with you. That way you’d be tapping into the top end of the market and you’d charge accordingly. You’d make far more money.’
‘But I like the tiny simple weddings, too,’ I protest. ‘They’re easy – and fun. The big ones can be a nightmare.’
‘Frankie, this isn’t a hobby, it’s your job. And if they pay you enough, it’ll be worth it.’
I go to meet Maria at the church, parking on the lane behind her enormous shiny Toyota with the personalised number plate, before taking the narrow leafy path that meanders downhill through the woods, over a stream and up the other side to the churchyard.
Except for the birds and the gentle rustling of leaves, it’s blissfully quiet, while beneath the canopy of the trees, the ground is carpeted with wildflowers.
It’s only as I walk across the grass towards the church, I notice Maria isn’t alone, she’s with Pete. My first thought is, Oh my God I’m in the presence of rock royalty. I can’t help it. My heart stops and my insides do a triple somersault.
In the flesh, he reminds me of Bill Nighy, only taller and with spiky hair and tanned, leathery skin. His faded jeans and cowboy boots contrasting with Maria’s floaty summer dress, her hand is entwined in his wrinkly one, and as he pulls her towards him, they look utterly, sweetly in love.
I clear my throat diplomatically as I approach them and they both look round.
‘Frankie!’ says Maria excitedly. ‘You haven’t met Pete, have you? Sweetie, this is Frankie! And she’s quite brilliant…’
And as I stand there smiling at them, I realise, in that single sentence lies everything I’ve ever dreamed of. I’m meeting two celebrities who are about to pay me a fortune to work on their high-profile wedding. More than that, they think I’m brilliant. Only all of a sudden, I don’t see it like that. The fact that they’re celebrities is suddenly irrelevant. Instead, they’re just a couple. Like any other couple, except unlike some of my clients, these two look really, properly in love. ‘Hello, lovely to meet you.’ I offer my hand and Pete shakes it.
