It All Started With You, page 18
Her eyes meet mine anxiously. And while all my ideas for impressive towering creations bedecked with roses come tumbling down, I completely get where she’s coming from. It’s authentic, straight from her heart and rather than impressing, she’s celebrating – and I really like that.
‘You know what? I love it, Maria! It sounds amazing! So what are you wearing?’
‘Well…’ Her face lights up. ‘I’ve found a theatrical company that makes bespoke dresses… Here – I’ll show you the sketch… It’s medieval looking, with a tight bodice and big skirt and with all these colours in…’
She shows me the sketch and then gives me the fabric swatches and I gasp, because I’ve never seen anything like it. If you could dream up a grown-up flower fairy dress, this would be it, with all these gorgeous shimmering fabrics in muted greens, blues, pinks and silver.
‘Hair?’ I squeak, completely buying into this.
‘Some up, some loose…’ She grabs a handful and scrunches it up on her head and instantly I can see her on the day, not stiff, formal and bridal but looking like a fairy princess from the woods. It’s going to be a wedding to die for.
‘Oh, Maria, I’m speechless. Thank you so much for showing me this…’ My voice has gone funny.
‘The question now…’ she says, her cheeks glowing with excitement, ‘is flowers, Frankie. Because honestly, I haven’t a clue.’
‘Wild,’ I say instantly. ‘Wilder than wild. Things that move when the wind blows, that smell like flowers should smell – branches of the last little red garden roses, arching stems of rosehips. Thistles, grasses, berries… long trails of old man’s beard and honeysuckle, larch, big rusty hydrangeas, rosemary…’ My voice is rising higher and higher. ‘What do you think?’
Her eyes shine back at me. ‘Perfect!’
And it is. It’s flowers as they should look, as they actually do look whether in rambling country gardens or wild in the woods and fields, a million miles from the moulded, perfect, structured little shapes most brides want these days. In fact, Maria’s so sure I’ve bought into this, I’ve got a free hand and the same massive budget. It’ll be hard work, but I can’t wait to get started on it.
On the way back to the shop, I pull over and call Charlie from my mobile to give her an update. ‘Phase one is under way!’ I tell her. ‘She’s got through at least three books so far… I’d even go so far as to say she’s enjoying them…’
It’s true – Honey’s taken to having early nights, but I see from the crack of light under her door, she isn’t sleeping. She’s going through those books like a dose of salts and along with the magic posy sitting surreptitiously on the side, this time I’m quietly optimistic.
Then there’s more good news back at the shop.
‘I’ve found us a new venue,’ says Honey proudly. ‘Brand spanking new, in fact. A converted manor house and it’s gorgeous inside and very expensive. Perfect for us!’
‘Well done! And I’ve just had the most fantastic wedding meeting ever and Maria’s dropped the idea of white roses for wild flowers! It’ll be amazing…’
‘Why?’ Honey’s puzzled.
‘I think she just decided that she wasn’t trying to impress anyone and she just wanted it all to be fun and colourful and informal. Great – don’t you think?’
‘Still be a blinking nightmare getting it all over to the church,’ grumbles Skye.
‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ says Honey airily. ‘I forgot to tell you. At college, they all want work experience. Tell me the dates you need the help and I’ll sort it out.’
So just like that, all our problems are solved. Only I should know by now, shouldn’t I? Real life doesn’t quite go like that.
When the phone rings, Honey takes the call and I can tell, straight away, something’s happened. She starts calm but I can hear her getting more and more annoyed.
‘I’m terribly sorry, Mr Sengupta, but there’s really nothing we can do about that… Yes… yes… I understand… I appreciate you’re giving us notice, but it is only three days and your flowers are already here… That’s completely out of the question, of course… That’s up to you but I don’t think you’ll have a leg to stand on… Terms and conditions… Yes they’re all there on the invoice, if you read the small print at the bottom… Well, I’ll be surprised if you can find one to take you on… I do beg your pardon, Mr Sengupta… Well – perhaps that’s because I am one.’
She slams the phone down. ‘Rude bugger. Mr Sengupta’s cancelled and is demanding a full refund, threatening us with lawyers if we don’t pay up. Where’s his invoice, Frankie? I need to check something.’
‘He can’t, can he?’ I scrabble around on my desk and hand it to her.
‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ she says grimly.
‘Does this mean the wedding’s off?’ says Skye, slightly vacantly.
‘It looks that way.’
Honey’s still scouring through the small print. ‘That’s fine. You state that the deposit’s non-refundable and that any changes must be confirmed at least two weeks before the wedding, not three bloody days like he has… Actually, I’m going to call a colleague, just to be sure.’
I can’t bear to listen. The thought of having to refund their money will mean I’m potentially hundreds of pounds out of pocket, which for a business the size of mine, would cripple us. So I sit on the doorstep, thanking my lucky stars that firstly I have a friend who’s a lawyer, and secondly, that she just so happens to be right here in my shop.
The call drags on a bit, but then she comes outside to find me.
‘Frankie? It’s fine – we’ve nothing to worry about. I’m going to call Sengupta back right now and tell him that. I’ll suggest that if he wants his flowers, he’s got until tomorrow to collect them, and after that, we’ll be giving them all to a local charity.’
I half listen in to the call and Honey’s very cool and collected. He obviously puts up a fight about it, which she wins – at least, for now.
But then this horrible thought occurs to me. ‘Honey… how do we know this is for real? That it’s really Mr Sengupta you’ve been talking to and not an imposter trying to sabotage another wedding?’
She stares at me. ‘You’ve been watching too much television, Frankie. I’m almost positive it was him…’ But she’s frowning.
‘No, seriously, Honey… The ex-fiancé, who sabotaged my flowers a while back, tried to cancel the venue too. You can’t be too careful,’ I persist, imagining poor Karima turning up to get married with no flowers.
‘Oh God… Look, you have Karima’s number, don’t you? Okay – I’ll phone her, make an excuse of some sort, like passing on our condolences…’
Honey really is great at all this stuff. Calls like that would leave me completely sick with nerves, but then after years of being a lawyer, she’s used to dealing with break-ups and traumas of various kinds, and takes it all in her stride.
‘Right,’ she says afterwards. ‘It seems condolences weren’t actually appropriate. Karima dumped the groom for a white boy, apparently. Came to her senses, she says, and that we weren’t to worry about a thing because her father’s filthy rich, just tight as a Yorkshireman. And please do give the flowers to somewhere worthy, with her compliments. Oh – and she said if this latest one works out, she’ll be in touch. She really liked you!’
‘How lovely of her!’ I cry, hugely relieved and imagining turning up at Briarwood with all those flowers.
‘Well, I think we should give them until tomorrow to collect any they want,’ says Honey. ‘Just in case. I told Mr Sengupta we would. Then after that…’
‘Briarwood?’
That evening, out of the blue, Julia turns up at the shop.
‘I came to settle up,’ she says. ‘The flowers you did for Giles were so lovely. And knowing they’d been made by my daughter was quite special. What do I owe you?’
Her emotions tightly reined in, she’s so brittle I fear she could snap. I tell her a figure which is about half what it ought to be.
‘That’s not enough.’ She counts out a wad of notes. ‘Here – please take it. Frankie, we both know you don’t owe me any favours.’
‘Well, at least come and have a cup of tea. Everyone’s gone home. Our wedding this week has been cancelled. Bride bottled out at the last minute.’
‘Goodness.’ She looks at all the flowers, quite shocked. ‘So what happens to all of these?’
‘The bride’s father will take some. The rest are going to a local children’s hospice.’
As I make the tea, she’s silent.
‘What will you do now?’ I ask her.
She shrugs. ‘I have the Brighton house. At the moment, I’m not sure, but I might just stay there for a while. Take some time to think. I thought Giles and I would have years together.’
‘It must be hard. You never know, do you,’ I say, more kindly. ‘My friend’s son has leukaemia. He’s six.’
She shakes her head, then what she says next astounds me. ‘I’m very proud of you,’ she says quietly. ‘I want you to know that. And also, that I take no credit whatsoever. What you and Alice have achieved, you’ve done in spite of me.’ She laughs but it’s hollow.
I’m gobsmacked. Is this her attempt at an apology? But I’m also torn. It would be easy just to say it’s fine, to just let this go, or I could take the opportunity to really talk to her, maybe the only opportunity I’ll ever get. ‘It hasn’t always been easy,’ I tell her quietly, pulling up a chair. ‘You were never there. Even when we were little, you were in and out of the house all the time. You know, I don’t we’ve ever sat down and talked – like this.’
She shakes her head. ‘It was hard on me, too, when your father died. He looked after everything you know.’ She looks at me, her eyes glittering with tears.
‘I know. But we were kids. Kids should come first, don’t you think?’
And there in those few words lies the crux of what’s haunted me almost my entire life. My mother emotionally abandoned me and I’m not worthy enough. Of course, logically I know what went on, but that feeling of insignificance has become bound into my psyche.
‘You’re right,’ she says simply.
It changes none of what happened, but actually, hearing her say that, makes a difference, because none of it was my fault, nor was it Alice’s, just a mixture of unfortunate timing and a mother who wasn’t strong enough to cope.
‘I know it’s too late to come waltzing back in and be a mother, but I’d like it if we could talk – maybe see each other now and then.’ Her voice is very quiet.
‘I would too,’ I say, finding I mean it. ‘I’m not sure about Alice, though. She’s such a devoted mother to Martha, she can’t understand why anyone wouldn’t be the same.’
‘I don’t blame her,’ Julia says. ‘Perhaps you could talk to her?’
‘I could,’ I say slowly, but then she’s just admitted this is all single-handedly her doing. If she wants Alice to meet her, Julia needs to do the legwork. ‘But you know? It might be better if you did. She might be angry at first, but I think she’d really respect you for it. And Martha is a darling.’
She starts when I mention Martha, then sits up straighter. ‘You know, you’re right.’ Then she gets up and picks up her bag. ‘Thank you for the tea. And the flowers. And the chat, too.’
I follow her to the door. We’ll never have a mother–daughter relationship, but who knows. Perhaps, now, we will at least stay in touch.
‘Thanks for coming by.’ I kiss her on both cheeks. ‘Take care. And please call me.’
She pulls herself upright and pins on that fake Julia smile I know so well. ‘I will, darling. See you.’
25
With Honey in college learning the latest in high-tech floristry skills, what should have been a hectic day passes slowly, as Skye and I wait and wait for the Senguptas to arrive.
‘I know I don’t pay her enough, but she’s getting quite annoying,’ I tell Skye. ‘She comes home at night and tells me that I’m getting slack and I ought to do a refresher course on wiring techniques.’
‘Just get her to do it all,’ says Skye, meaning the wiring. ‘That’d keep her busy… ’Ere – this must be Karima’s old man…’
A fleet of shiny black cars has drawn up outside and Karima’s entire family, plus a few, are getting out.
‘Shit! I was hoping Honey would be back to deal with them!’ My heart is pounding in my chest as I get up to meet them, suddenly feeling shaky and taking a deep breath to steady myself.
‘Mr Sengupta! How lovely to see you! Would you like to, er, come in?’
But he just stands there and glares imperiously down his nose at me, while his entourage scuttle in ahead of him.
‘Um, they’re over here.’ I lead them over to the buckets and buckets of beautiful, vibrantly coloured flowers, just beginning to open, petal by petal.
‘Is this all there is?’ he says condescendingly.
‘Oh no, this is just a few. The rest are through here.’ I lead him into the prep room, which is wall to wall with more flowers. For the first time he looks slightly disconcerted.
‘Now – would you like us to help you carry them out to your cars?’ I offer helpfully. ‘Though it might be a bit of a squash…’
He does this arrogant wave with one of his hands and clicks his fingers, at which point some of his party come rushing over. There’s a gabbled conversation in Hindi, which sounds like an argument, and then he stalks out without saying a word.
At this point, all the women start grabbing the flowers at super-speed, chattering loudly, loading each other up until their arms are full of them, then they cram themselves back in their cars. It’s hilarious watching them. Eventually, they too drive off and Skye and I just stare at each other, speechless.
‘What was all that about?’ says Skye, shaking her head.
‘I haven’t a freaking clue, but the question now is… what are we going to do with all of these?’
For all the frantic armfuls they’ve grabbed, it’s barely made a difference. There are masses of flowers here – too many for Briarwood, that’s quite clear – then I have a brainwave.
‘I need to make a call,’ I tell Skye. ‘Won’t be a minute…’ I dash to the door to keep a lookout for Honey.
‘Johnny? I need to see you – can you come to mine, about eight? Yes, I think she’s going out, but to tell you the truth, I’m really worried about her… Look, I’ll tell you everything later…’
‘Right,’ I say to Skye. ‘You and I are going to take this lot and turn my flat into the most magical setting on the planet – all before Honey gets back.’ I glance at my watch. ‘God, we don’t have long. Get those candles, can you…’ I point to some part-used ones left over from a wedding. ‘Right – let’s get this lot into the van.’
It’s no mean feat just loading the van up, then unloading it again, all the while keeping an eye out for Honey. If she came back now, it would completely ruin the surprise.
For once I’m glad my flat is so small, because it’s easy to turn it into the most romantic setting I’ve ever seen. In fact so much so, I wish someone would do this for me. The flowers, still in their buckets, are piled up to the ceiling, making what looks like a wall of flowers around my dining table, which Skye and I cover with petals and arrange candles on.
‘Looks really cool and all that, and I don’t mean to pick holes, but what about the food?’
‘Shit, Skye – I’ve got a bottle of champagne in the fridge, but…’
‘Chinese…’ she says impatiently. ‘From that posh place in All Hallows. They deliver. ’Ere – want me to order?’
‘Oh – would you? Here, use my card to pay and ask them to get it here for eight thirty…’
While she does it, I fetch the new and improved posy Mrs Orange made and set it quietly on the side. Amongst the candles and flowers, it seems to take on a new potency. This can’t fail, I suddenly realise. I know it can’t. Once Honey and Johnny are encircled by those tendrils of magic, their fates will be sealed. There will be no going back for either of them.
Of course, I reckon without Honey being late. Really late. Apparently she’s gone for a drink with her course mates, she tells me when I text her.
I text her back straight away.
Dinner at 8 f x
The reply comes:
I might be l8
Don’t you dare, emergency, I need you here NOW.
I’m hoping that’s suitably frantic to get her hotfooting it back here pronto, then I’m forced to wait. She makes it back at a minute to eight and I hurry her from the small hallway straight into my room.
Miraculously, she doesn’t see the flowers. ‘What’s wrong?’ she says breathlessly.
‘You’ll see. Now change,’ I order bossily, pointing at the clothes I’ve picked out for her. ‘Here. Into these. Hurry.’
‘Frankie, I don’t want to – I’m really tired and I just want a cup of tea. We did double triple leg mounts today by the way…’
‘I don’t care if you did double-triple-quadruple leg mounts,’ I tell her grimly. ‘Please, Honey – just for once, hurry…’
Then the doorbell goes. ‘Stay here,’ I tell her, handing her a bottle. ‘Perfume. Do your hair – and not too neat.’
I shut the door and go to let Johnny in.
‘Hi!’ He kisses me on the cheek. ‘Here – I thought we could have this.’ He hands me a bottle of red – Honey’s favourite, I note. A promising start to the evening.
‘Thank you. It’s lovely to see you! Do come through,’ I say and lead the way to my sitting room.
