Page 40 of The Little Flower Shop By the Sea
‘Keep it local,’ Belle advises me as she sits at her desk painting a piece of pottery in the colours of the sea. ‘The few tourists we get here want to buy things made by local people. They don’t want something that’s been made in some awful sweatshop in India.’
I’m about to protest, indignant at the suggestion I’d sell goods that had been made in that way, when I realise she’s only trying to help. Belle’s colourful studio-cum-shop is filled with her own creations; she of all people knows what sells.
So I bite my lip. ‘Yes, of course, that’s what I was hoping to do. But it’s so difficult to find people that want to supply you. Most of them want money up front, and we’ve used most of our budget on doing the shop up.’
‘When do you open?’ Belle asks, putting down her paintbrush and wiping her hands on a cloth.
‘Saturday first of May.’
‘That’s just over a week away!’ she exclaims.
I pull a face. ‘Yes, I know, but I have been trying. Amber is doing all the real flower stuff, she’s been really good liaising with Jake about supplying us the way he used to my grandmother.’ I notice her eyelashes flicker when I mention Jake’s name.
‘Jake’s involved in your shop?’ she asks innocently.
‘He’s supplying us with flowers – yes.’
Belle nods. ‘I see…’ She stands up and wanders over to the shop window. She’s so willowy and graceful as she stands there silhouetted against the sunlight streaming in through the glass. In her tight white vest, long blue skirt and bejewelled sandals, she makes me feel very dark and heavy standing in a corner of her shop in my usual attire of black on black. I have mixed it up a little today, I’m wearing dungarees – black, obviously – with bottle-green DM boots and a black-and-grey-striped long-sleeved top.
‘I think I might be able to help you,’ she offers, like a queen offering her subject a pardon.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. How about I ask my students at evening class if they can produce some flower-related items for you to sell in the shop? Before you say no,’ she adds, seeing me about to say just that, ‘I’m only talking about my top class. They’re very good, and it would be such an honour for them to have work for sale in a real shop.’
‘It’s very kind of you to offer, Belle,’ I begin. I’m not sure a local evening class is quite what we’re looking for. ‘But —’
‘And I’ll do you some pieces myself,’ she continues, looking around her. ‘I usually work with the sea as inspiration, but flowers… hmm. Yes, I could go with that. It would be a challenge, especially with the timescale involved. That’s sorted then. Problem solved!’
I have no choice but to smile politely, thank her, and promise to pop along in a few days to see how she’s getting along.
I walk back to the flower shop and Amber feeling as if I’ve just been ambushed. I’d thought these artistic, spiritual types were supposed to be relaxed, easygoing people, but both Belle and Amber have turned out to have more drive, tenacity and determination than I have black leggings.
As Amber and I put a few last-minute finishing touches to the shop ahead of our grand opening at 10 a.m., I’m surprised at how nervous I feel.
I’m not sure if it’s the thought of the shop opening to real people that’s freaking me out, or the fact that the whitewashed cabinets lining the sea-blue walls are now filled to the brim with brightly coloured fresh flowers and the assortment of flower-inspired knick-knacks – some of which are stunning, but some of which are somewhat…unconventional, to put it politely – provided by Belle and her students.
‘What’s wrong?’ Amber asks as she expertly winds floristry wire around some delicate pinks and gypsophila, turning them into the little posies we’re to give away to our first customers. ‘You’re very jumpy this morning. Are you nervous about the shop? Let me give you my amethyst pendant to wear, that will help calm you.’ She puts the flowers down and begins to reach around her neck.
‘No, really!’ I protest, waving my hand at her. ‘I’m fine, honestly.’ I manage a nervous smile. ‘But thanks for the offer, Amber.’
While Amber rests the amethyst back on her chest, my eyes dart anxiously towards the flowers for about the hundredth time. Did we have to get so many types of roses in for today? There were pink ones, yellow, deep blood-red…
I swallow hard.
Amber notices.
‘What is it with you and flowers?’ she asks as she pops yet another posy into a small trough of water to join the others. ‘You’ve been on edge since Jake brought them in this morning.’
‘Nothing. There’s just a lot of them, that’s all. I didn’t realise there’d be quite so many.’
Amber laughs. ‘This is a florist’s, Poppy, what did you expect?’
I shake my head. ‘It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.’
‘No,’ Amber says, leaving the desk to come over to me. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed. What’s wrong, tell me.’
‘Morning, ladies!’ Harriet cheerily bangs on the shop window. ‘How are we feeling? All ready for the off?’
