Page 25 of The Little Flower Shop By the Sea
‘She.’
‘Shecan sprinkle some Manhattan magic into your grandmother’s shop. It’s sure been lacking it of late.’
They exchange another glance.
‘I’m sure we’ll both give it a good go,’ I assure them, wondering again what all these looks were about.
‘It’ll need more than that, sweetie,’ Declan says. ‘The way things have been here lately, it’ll need a miracle.’
Eight
Monkswood – Chivalry
Amber and I stand and look up at the outside of the shop.
It’s 9.30 a.m. and we’ve breakfasted on custard tarts and more tea, and even though I’d suggested Amber stay and try and get some more sleep, she insisted on coming with me to visit the shop this morning, so she could see just what she was letting herself in for.
‘It needs work,’ Amber says. ‘A lot of work.’
‘Yes, I know that,’ I say, taking a step back to get a better view. ‘But in what way? I mean, we can’t just give it a lick of paint, can we? I’ve a feeling it needs more than that.’
‘I could tell you about your mom’s shop, if you like?’ Amber suggests.
‘I know what it’s like; I’ve seen it when I’ve been over there.’
‘I don’t remember you visiting,’ says Amber. ‘Was I there?’
‘No, I don’t think so. It was some time ago.’
The truth was I’d visited years ago when Mum first opened the shop. It had seemed super exciting, Mum opening a florist in New York, and I’d jumped at the chance of a free trip over to the Big Apple. I’d had such a great time seeing the sights and living it up in the city that never sleeps, that I hadn’t taken much interest in Mum’s flower shop at all. I feel guilty now as I stand looking up at my grandmother’s old store, as though a piece of my history has died along with a member of my family.
‘Anyway,’ I try to sound bright, ‘I don’t want to emulate one of my family’s many flower shops from around the globe. If I’m going to do this – and believe me, Amber, this isn’t coming easy to me – I’m going to do it my way.’
‘Would you two youngsters move aside please, we’ve flowers to get into the shop.’
We both turn to find three ladies of varying ages and builds unloading flowers from a small white van.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say to the one fast approaching the shop door carrying a large pot of carnations. ‘The shop isn’t open today, and it won’t be for a while until it’s refitted.’
‘What?’ a middle-aged woman, who’s wearing a Barbour jacket and a paisley headscarf tied jauntily around her neck, demands. ‘Don’t talk nonsense. We only close on Sundays and Mondays. Stand aside at once.’
‘No.’ I step in front of her. ‘You can’t come in today, I’m afraid. As I just said, the shopwon’tbe opening.’
Amber barricades herself across the doorway, her arms outstretched in a dramatic fashion, so the sleeves of her brightly coloured blouse billow like sails across the frame.
The woman regards Amber and then me as if we’re minor irritations she could do without.
She sighs. ‘Beryl, Willow!’ she calls to the women offloading the van. ‘Do you know anything about this?’
Beryl and Willow poke their heads around the side of the van.
‘Thesegirls,’she says with disdain, ‘won’t let us into the shop.’
Beryl, a well-built older lady with grey curly hair, and Willow, a tall, slim girl of about twenty, put down the boxes of flowers they’re holding and stand side by side in front of the van, folding their arms across their chests.
The woman in the Barbour turns her head back to me. ‘I don’t know what you think you’re doing,’ she says in a low voice, ‘but I suggest you both move. Beryl, Willow and I have work to do. We don’t take kindly to being held up.’
I defiantly fold my own arms now, and stare hard into her face. Is this woman really spoiling for a fight here in the middle of St Felix? Goodness, things have changed!
