Page 23 of The Little Flower Shop By the Sea
‘Her flower petals; I gave her a flower reading. It’s like a cross between reading tea leaves and tarot cards.’
I blink hard. Could she be for real?
‘I may regret asking this,’ I say, sitting on the sofa opposite her, ‘but tell me: just how do you read someone’s flower petals?’
Amber smiles dreamily. ‘It’s a gift. I’ll read yours while I’m here, if you like?’
‘Er, no, that won’t be necessary, thank you.’
‘Why, what are you afraid of?’ Amber looks above my head with a glazed expression. ‘You know your aura is very muddy. I could cleanse that for you, if you like?’
Before I can politely reject her offer, Amber continues, ‘I see a lot of darkness around you, Poppy.’ She flinches slightly. ‘A lot of darkness and a lot of pain.’
‘What’s my mother been telling you?’ I shout, jumping up. ‘It’s no one’s business but my own!’
‘Whoa, easy, sister. Your mom said nothing. I’m just telling you what I see, that’s all.’
‘Well don’t.’ I walk back towards the open French windows and stare out at the wispy white specks of cloud in the bright blue sky. ‘I don’t mean to seem rude, Amber, because I’m happy you’re here to help me with the shop, really I am. I know nothing about running a florist.’
Actually I can’t believe my luck. This means I won’t have to look for someone. One item crossed off what I expect will turn out to be a very long list of things that need to be done before I can get the shop up and running again.
‘But I’d appreciate it if your flower knowledge is all you share. I have my reasons, but all this spiritual stuff – which I’m sure works for you – it’s not my scene at all.’ A giant gull lands right in front of me on the balcony. He flaps his wings a couple of times and stares at me as if to enquire why I’m onhislanding area, then decides to fly off again in search of food. ‘I’m sure your floristry skills will be a wonderful asset to The Daisy Chain,’ I say, watching the gulls dive into the water looking for fish. ‘I haven’t thought too much about what sort of shop it’s going to be when we re-open; you caught me unawares with your sudden arrival this morning. So if you’ve got any ideas that you want to share, I’d really appreciate hearing them…’
I turn to hear Amber’s response; but the chair has stopped rocking and she’s fast asleep.
Great!
There’s a blanket lying across the arm of the sofa, so I pick it up and gently cover her. She doesn’t stir, so I hurry back down to my bedroom to get dressed.
Leaving Amber still snoozing in the rocking chair I head out in search of breakfast. All I’d had time to do last night was buy fish and chips, so I head down to the supermarket and stock up on a few basic provisions – like milk, butter, jam and bread. I decide I’ll have to pop back later and stock up properly when I’ve had a chance to make a list.
On the way back I pause outside The Blue Canary bakery. The cakes in the window look delicious – just like they had when I was a child. The only difference was now I could see through the window with ease instead of having to stand on tiptoe.
A man wearing a pair of mustard-yellow trousers and a tight, white short-sleeved T-shirt with a blue canary on the front comes out of the shop carrying a sign. He places it down on the pavement, then smiles at me.
‘Howdy,’ he says jovially. ‘Can we tempt you into something naughty but nice?’
‘Yes, I think you might be able to.’ I grin back. ‘It all looks so good.’
‘What tickles your fancy – in the cake sense, that is!’
‘Erm…’ And then I remember. ‘I don’t suppose you do a custard tart, do you? I used to buy a lovely one here when I was small.’
‘My darling, of course we do! It’s one of our specialities! Come, come!’ He encourages me into the shop. ‘Declan!’ he calls, as we go into the shop together. ‘Are the tarts ready yet?’
‘Coming right up, Anthony!’ I hear a voice from the back respond merrily, and then another, slightly thinner man, this time wearing bright-red trousers and the same white T-shirt, with the addition of a blue apron, appears carrying a tray of freshly baked custard tarts.
‘How many would you like?’ Anthony asks, now behind the counter.
‘I’ll take two, please,’ I say, thinking of Amber back at the cottage.
‘Coming right up.’ Anthony begins to bag up the cakes. ‘So how long ago was it you used to buy the tarts?’ he asks.
‘Oh, many years ago. I used to holiday here in St Felix as a child.’
‘How lovely. You would have known Declan’s uncle then. Declan inherited the shop from him.’
‘And all his recipes!’ Declan calls, bringing through yet another tray of delicious-looking cakes – Chelsea buns this time – which he sets down on the counter. ‘Those tarts are made to his exact recipe.’
