Page 38 of The Little Flower Shop By the Sea
‘Just because she was Victorian doesn’t mean she didn’t hide a passion for life underneath all her corsets and long skirts,’ Amber says, brushing doughnut sugar from the tiny towel she has wrapped around her body. ‘She must have had some guts to stand up to her family and not go into service like all her sisters did. Hmm?’
Oh, now I see where Amber is going with this…
‘Youdidn’t do what your family wanted you to, did you? You stayed away from the family business for years, and —’
‘Amber,’ I hold up my hand. ‘Let me stop you there. I appreciate the sentiment, and what you’re trying to do. But you’re forgetting one thing. Where have we been all day?’
Amber thinks.
‘Ah.’
‘Yes: Ah. I’m not like Daisy at all. I’ve folded. Given in to it all. I’m joining the family business by reopening Daisy’s original flower shop. I’m not a leader like she was. I’m a follower like the rest of them.’
I sigh heavily, the weight of it all enveloping me like a straitjacket.
‘No,’ Amber says, not standing for my self-pity. ‘You’re wrong. You, Poppy, are here for a reason. Just like your great-great-great-grandmother was, and all the other generations that have had that little flower shop since.’ She stops to think, twiddling her long hair around her fingers while she does. ‘I didn’t know your grandmother Rose, but I’ve met enough people since I’ve been in St Felix that did know her, and it’s obvious she made a huge difference to people’s lives.’ Amber unwinds her hair from around her finger and swivels on the sofa to face me, an eager look on her face. ‘You’ve been sent here to change people’s lives too, Poppy, I know you have. And do you know how I know?’
‘You read my petals?’ I ask darkly.
Luckily, Amber smiles. ‘No. The reason I know is because I think I’ve been sent here to help you.’
Thirteen
St John’s Wort – Superstition
‘So what’s in the rest of your pile?’ Amber asks calmly, while I’m still staring at her.
Is she for real? All that stuff about me making a difference to people’s lives and being here in St Felix for a reason?
The only reason I’m here is because I had nothing better to do.
OK, that’s a bit harsh. St Felix is a nice enough town, the people have been nothing but kind to me since I arrived, and I have to admit it’s been nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be, coming back here after all these years. And I’m quite looking forward to opening up the shop with Amber – except for the flower part, but I’d deal with that when it happened.
‘Er…’ I shake my head and look down at my lap. I’d only got as far as the hardback flower book. ‘I’m not sure.’ I hand Amber one of the little brown notebooks, and I open one of the others.
Inside mine each double page is carefully ruled into four columns. In the first column, written in beautiful ornate handwriting that’s faded in places and has the occasional ink blot where the author’s fountain pen has leaked, is a list of names; the second column lists ailments and conditions; the third flowers; and the fourth comments. The entries all date from the late 1800s.
It’s the strangest list I’ve ever come across; from small turns in people’s financial fortunes, to their love lives changing for the better, even their health improving. It would appear that it was all down to a single visit to The Daisy Chain, and the flowers they were given.
‘What’s in yours?’ I ask, wondering if Amber’s book contains anything similar.
‘This picture fell out,’ she says, passing me a tiny embroidered picture of a purple rose. ‘It looks quite old. There’s also a quarter handwritten on the back, which is odd.’
I examine the embroidered card; the stitches on the rose are tiny, but perfectly sewn; it’s very sweet, and as I turn it over, handwritten on the back is indeed a number one over a number four.
‘Are those letters woven into the petals too?’ Amber asks, looking over my shoulder at the picture. ‘Look there.’
I look at where she’s pointing, and it does appear there’s a V and an R stitched into the flower.
‘Maybe it was the initials of the person that sewed it,’ I suggest. ‘That was the kind of thing they did back then, wasn’t it? So what about the book?’ I ask, more interested in the book than a picture of a rose. ‘Anything interesting there?’
‘It’s the cutest thing,’ Amber says, holding up the book. ‘It’s like a dictionary of flowers, but it lists things that can be cured with their petals. I’ve never seen anything like this before and I knowa lotabout alternative healing.’ She looks at me. ‘What do you have? Do you wanna swap?’
We exchange books, and silently examine the pages.
‘This is utter madness,’ I say, at the same time as Amber says, ‘This is so cool!’
‘How can it be cool?’ I ask. ‘It’s all nonsense! As if people’s lives could be changed just by coming into a flower shop. Even you can’t believe that, surely?’
