Page 16 of The Little Flower Shop By the Sea
‘I never said that.’ I notice his hand resting on the steering wheel. ‘It was your ring. I assumed you were married.’
‘Ah, my ring,’ Jake says, looking at it thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I suppose that is a pretty obvious sign.’
He looks at me, his earlier amusement now gone as his voice takes on a more sombre note. ‘The truth is, I was married, for quite some time. But my wife, she…’ he swallows, and immediately I feel his pain. ‘She died.’
‘I’m really sorry to hear that.’
He half smiles, in that way people do when it’s the last thing they feel like doing. ‘It’s one of those things, isn’t it? Happens every day to hundreds – no, make that thousands of people. The thing is, you never think it’s going to happen to you.’
I want to reach out and take his hand, tell him I know exactly how he feels. But I don’t. I sit very still in my seat and wait for him to continue.
Jake faces forward and stares at the rain falling on the windscreen.
‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,’ I tell him.
He shrugs. ‘You may as well know. Someone will fill you in at some point if you’re thinking of spending any time here in St Felix; I’d rather you heard it from me.’ He pauses for a moment. ‘Felicity – that was my wife – she had a rare heart condition. We never knew anything was wrong with her. One day she was here, and the next… she was gone.’ He looks at me again, his face now full of pain and anguish. ‘She was out jogging when it happened. Jogging – it’s supposed to be good for you. That’s what they tell you, don’t they?’
He seems to require an answer, so I nod.
‘They say it could have happened at any time – the fact she was running was probably not a factor. But you know, whenever I see someone jogging, I want to rush up and tell them: “Don’t do it. You could be on borrowed time.”’ He smiles wryly again. ‘Do you think I’m mad?’
I shake my head.
‘That’s something, I guess. A lot of people did for a while after. But it’s just the way I dealt with it. That’s how come I ended up with Miley.’
Suddenly I remember.
‘Oh, where is she?’ I ask, looking around, expecting her to pop up in the back of the van.
‘Do you really want to know?’ Jake asks, a genuine smile returning to his lips.
I nod.
‘Put your seat belt on then, and I’ll show you.’
I hesitate.
‘Sorry, I forgot about the perv thing.’ He pulls a silly face and crosses his eyes.
‘OK, stop with that now; I said I’m sorry, didn’t I?’ But I’m pleased to see him return to his normal self. I’m not very good at dealing with other people’s emotions.
Jake grins. ‘Yes, you did. Sorry, couldn’t resist.’
‘So… where is Miley?’
‘Seat belt first!’ Jake instructs. ‘And then we’ll be on our way…’
We drive out of the main town, up a hill and pull up outside a secondary school.
Jake gets out, so I follow him.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask, scuttling along to keep up with his long confident strides.
‘You’ll see,’ he says as we enter through the main school doors. ‘It’s just down here.’
We walk down the main corridor and through into an art block. There are examples of the students’ work framed and hung carefully on the walls we pass, some of which are really very good. We stop by a glass cabinet before we enter one of the classrooms. ‘That’s my daughter’s work,’ Jake says proudly, indicating a piece of pottery in the case. ‘She did that last year.’
‘Wow, that’s amazing,’ I say, looking at the intricate turquoise papier mâché pot. ‘It’s like something from a gallery.’
