Page 123 of The Little Flower Shop By the Sea
Everyone turned to hear Lou’s announcement.
‘As you know, I always said I would keep one of Suzy and Basil’s pups, but I’ve struggled to find a home for the last one. Actually, I tell a lie,’ Lou had told us, her blue eyes glinting. ‘I never even looked for a home for this little fella.’ Lou bent down to stroke one of the puppies. The one with the look of a miniature Basil: the same multi-coloured markings, the same way of sitting with his long ears cocked to one side, trying to con you into giving him food. ‘Because I knew all along where he was going to go. Poppy,’ she looked up at me. ‘This one is all yours.’
I protested, of course, saying no one could ever take Basil’s place, but secretly I was thrilled to bits. This little fella had been my favourite from the start, back in the days when I would occasionally bring Basil to visit the puppies. He was a quiet, reflective pup and he reminded me a lot of the regal and dignified Basil.
So I’d named my new puppy Bill, after my brother William.
‘Right then,’ I say to Bill now, ‘if you want to go walkies, then that’s what we shall do!’
We walk back into the town and up along Harbour Street, squeezing through the crowds of people who’ve packed into St Felix today.
News of Amber’s special bouquets has spread beyond the Cornish borders. In part through word-of-mouth from delighted customers who’ve had amazing things happen to them after receiving one of her white-ribbon bouquets, and in part because Amber had unwittingly made up one of her ‘special’ bouquets for a journalist.
The cynical reporter had come into Daisy Chain one day asking for a white-ribbon bouquet, as they’d become known, and had taken Amber’s selection of flowers away thinking she’d be able to write a scathing report about a charlatan flower shop in Cornwall claiming their bouquets could work miracles. But to her amazement, after years of trying and failing to conceive a baby with her husband, within days of returning from St Felix she found out she was pregnant. They are expecting twins next spring.
Her miraculous story was first published in a local newspaper, and then picked up by a national broadsheet. Then we were asked to do an interview onThis Morning– my mother nearly exploded with joy when I told her we’d met Philip Schofield. So now we had people arriving in St Felix by the busload to buy one of Amber’s bouquets, and to take photos of the ‘Enchanted Cornish Flower shop’ as the tabloids were calling us.
Daisy Chain’s new-found fame has changed St Felix from a sleepy Cornish town into a bustling tourist attraction, and it’s busier and happier than I’ve ever seen it before.
Prospective traders have flocked to the town to look at the empty shops on Harbour Street with a view to opening new establishments come spring next year, and the current owners of shops are rushed off their feet, and having to take on extra staff to cope with the sudden influx of tourists. But most importantly, everywhere I look, people are constantly smiling, whether they’re new to the joys of St Felix or they’ve lived here all their lives.
Today, as the sun shines joyfully down on a town packed with happy holidaymakers, I’m reminded of my time here as a child, and how Will and I would run through the busy streets with a pasty in a paper bag for Stan…
Pasties! That reminds me, I’m supposed to pick one up for Stan.
On the way back to the shop I stick my head around the door of The Blue Canary bakery so I don’t have to leave Bill outside. Ant, on seeing me, promptly fills one bag with a giant Cornish pasty, and a second with three custard tarts.
‘Wish Stan well for me,’ he says, as he hurries back into his shop, which has a rather long queue of hungry customers waiting. ‘Fantastic fella, he is, with some great tales of St Felix. I could listen to him all day!’
‘I’ll tell him that,’ I say, smiling. It’s great to know Stan’s stories are entertaining people again.
Back at Daisy Chain I’m happy to see we have a few customers, but not too many. So I take Bill in past the desk and give him a drink of water out back.
‘Where’s Stan?’ I ask Bronte, when she’s finished serving her customer.
‘I just sold three pairs of my earrings to that lady,’ Bronte says happily, putting some notes into the till. ‘Granddad? Charlie came and took him out for a stroll.’
Once we’d found out that Bronte and Charlie were more than likely Stan’s grandchildren, Jake and I had taken them to Camberley House a number of times to visit him. The day Stan first met his grandchildren is one I will remember for ever.
Over lunch Stan had entertained Bronte and Charlie with his tales of Trecarlan, and they in turn had told him stories about their own lives. They all got on so well, it was as if they’d always known each other. And seeing them with Stan brought back many happy memories of the time Will and I had spent with him. Except this was Stan’s real family, a family he never thought he’d have.
To give him a treat, and a break from Camberley, this week Stan has been staying with Jake at his house. I’d wanted him to come and stay with me at the cottage, but it just wasn’t big enough to accommodate the wheelchair Stan needed to get around. So he’d happily gone to stay with his ‘new family’, as he liked to call them, and I’d been spending as much time as I could with him while he was here.
Yesterday we’d visited Trecarlan Castle together for the first time in over fifteen years. It had been a very special moment for both of us. Then today we’d brought him along to the shop, so he could see how we were doing things at Daisy Chain these days.
I check on Bill, who’s already sparked out in his bed in the back of the shop.
‘I’m leaving Bill here, Bronte,’ I tell her, as I grab Stan’s pasty. ‘He’ll be asleep for a while. I’m off to find your granddad.’
‘Sure thing, boss!’ Bronte calls, as she makes another appointment for someone to see Amber. ‘See you at four o’clock then, Mrs Hurley.’
‘Wait a moment, Poppy!’ Amber calls as she finishes with her current customer, or client as we were now calling all our special appointments. ‘I have something for you.’
‘What?’ I ask, as Amber disappears out to the back room.
‘This,’ she says, producing a small bunch of blue, white and pink flowers tied with a white ribbon. ‘It was left on the doorstep this morning.’
I look at Amber suspiciously. ‘Did you do this?’ I ask her. ‘It looks like one of yours.’
