Page 5 of The Little Flower Shop By the Sea
It’s still there.
In the upper left-hand corner of the desk is an inscription. It had been carved roughly with a pair of my grandmother’s floral shears in a moment of madness; it might well have been a dare – from me.
W & P was ’ere July 1995
That’s what Will had written. I smile at his correct use of an apostrophe to represent the missingh. Even graffiti had to be grammatically correct with Will.
Rebels together forever…
That’s what I had scribbled underneath.
Except we weren’t really rebels; we were good children, if sometimes a bit mischievous. I was ten when we wrote that, Will was twelve.
I never thought I’d still be rebellious twenty years later.
‘I… I don’t know,’ I’d stuttered to my expectant family as they had awaited my decision. ‘I hate flowers – you all know that, and I don’t like responsibility either, it’s just not my thing. Maybe I should sell the shop?’
There had been gasps from all round the room.
My mother had sighed heavily. ‘Give me a minute,’ she’d told the others before they could all jump on me. She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the hotel foyer.
‘Poppy, Poppy, Poppy,’ she’d said sadly, shaking her head, ‘what am I going to do with you?’
‘Well, I’m a bit too old to be spanked,’ I’d joked, my usual defence mechanism when faced with a serious situation. ‘You don’t see many thirty-year-olds being spanked with a hairbrush – well, not in the foyer of fancy hotels like this. Perhaps in the rooms…?’
My mother looked at me reprovingly. ‘This –’ she’d placed her finger gently on my mouth – ‘will get you into very big trouble one day. You’re feisty, Poppy, feisty with a sharp wit and a quick temper. It’s a dangerous combination.’
I’d smiled ruefully. ‘Already has, on a number of occasions.’
My mother had stepped back to look at me. ‘You probably get it from her, you know,’ she’d said reflectively, ‘your temperament. I remember your grandmother keeping my father in check with her sharp tongue. She never meant anything by it though, it was always in jest – same as with you.’ Then she’d reached out to stroke my hair. ‘When she was younger, your grandmother had a mane of raven hair just like yours. I remember spending ages combing it for her in front of her dressing-table mirror. In those days, she didn’t have the joy of straighteners to keep it tamed the way yours is – I guess that’s why I remember her wearing it up most of the time.’ She’d sighed as her pleasant memories made way for present concerns, which as usual involved me. ‘I don’t know what my mother was thinking of, leaving her precious shop to you, Poppy, really I don’t. She was under no illusions about what you’re like. But knowing Mum she had her reasons… and although I would never admit it when I was younger, she tended to be right about most things.’
She’d looked at me then; her dark eyes imploring me to change my mind.
‘OK, OK – I’ll go,’ I mumbled quietly, looking down at my Doc Marten-clad feet. There was an unusual gleam to them today because I’d polished them up especially for the funeral.
‘Really?’ Her face had lit up, like I’d just told her she’d won the lottery. ‘That’s wonderful news.’
‘But here’s the deal. I’ll go to St Felix and check the shop out, but if it’s not for me or I have any…problemswhile I’m there, then I’m selling it. OK? No guilt trip.’
My mother had flinched slightly, then nodded. ‘Sure, Poppy, you have a deal. I just hope St Felix can work its magic on you like it used to when you were small.’ Then she did something she hadn’t done in a long time: pulled me into her arms and held on to me tightly. ‘Maybe it can bring back my old Poppy. I do miss her.’
As I’d returned my mother’s embrace, I knew that, unless St Felix could turn back time, there was no way I’d ever bethatPoppy again.
Two
Camellia – My Destiny in Your Hands
‘Is anyone there?’
As I sit under the desk, comfortably wrapped in my memories, a voice breaking into my thoughts makes me jump up, banging my head.
‘F—iddle.’ I manage to say, as a male face looks questioningly at me over the top of the desk.
‘What are you doing down there?’ the concerned face, which is attached to a tall, broad body, asks.
‘Looking for something.’ I stand up, rubbing my head. ‘Why, what concern is it of yours?’
‘Should you be in here?’ he asks, his dark chocolate eyes looking me up and down suspiciously.
