Page 65 of The Little Flower Shop By the Sea
‘But what if they don’t? I was talking to Ant and Dec the other day and they say there’s not a huge tourist influx in St Felix in July and August any more – the holidaymakers tend to stick to the bigger resorts up the road. They say if it wasn’t for the fact Dec owns their building, they wouldn’t be able to survive.’
Amber thinks about this. ‘Then we need to attract the touristshere, don’t we? Away from the big resorts.’ She reaches under the counter. ‘I know you don’t believe in these little books,’ she says, holding up the rest of the old notebooks we’d found hidden in the shop. ‘And I know you’ve resisted using them so far. But I think it’s worth a shot.’
I look sceptically at the books in her hand and try not to think about what Jake had said.
‘Really?’
Amber nods. ‘You’ve seen me reading them – and I’ve also been doing some of my own research on the net. I believe there’s something to this. I think your grandmother must have been using an early form of alternative healing when she had this shop, based around the Victorian meanings of flowers – it’s possible it’s a gift that’s been passed down through the generations since Daisy was first given this book and started her shop here.’
‘OK, let’s say we – or rather, you – started using these books when you make up bouquets and the like. Do you honestly think it’s going to make that much of a difference?’
‘Yup, I do,’ Amber says enthusiastically. ‘There’s something special about this shop, Poppy. I felt a magical energy the moment I walked in. I think if we tap into that magic, we might just be able to turn this shop’s fortunes around, and possibly the fortunes of St Felix too.’
‘OK, tell me,’ I sigh, knowing in my heart that both Amber and Jake could be right about this. Daisy Chain has always been a success in the past; there must be something we can do to replicate that.
‘Well,’ Amber begins, as the shop door, which we’ve had to close because of the rain, opens, and a lady wearing a red mac and fighting with a purple umbrella backs through the door.
‘Gosh, I’m sorry,’ she says as she drips water on to the floor, ‘but it’s awful weather out there.’
‘Here, let me help you,’ Amber says, hurrying over and taking her umbrella.
While the woman runs a hand over her damp hair, Amber stands the umbrella up in the stand we’ve installed at the front of the shop to prevent wet umbrellas – a common occurrence in St Felix – dripping all over the floor.
‘What can we do for you?’ I ask, as the woman removes her mac and water droplets fall to the ground.
‘Wait, don’t I know you?’ Amber asks, looking at the woman with interest.
The woman nods. ‘Yes, I came in a couple of weeks ago, and you gave me a special bouquet.’
‘That’s right, I remember you,’ Amber says eagerly. ‘So, did it work?’
The woman’s face, which until this moment has looked slightly worn and weary from battling the elements, lights up.
‘Yes,’ she beams. ‘It certainly did!’
I look back and forth at their excited faces.
‘What?’ I ask. ‘Did what work?’
‘Your magical flower shop!’ the woman gushes. ‘It’s simply amazing!’
Amber makes the woman, who I discover is called Marie, a cup of tea, and while she dries off she tells a delighted Amber, and an astounded me, all about what’s happened.
Apparently Marie had come into the shop one day a little upset. She was visiting her family in a nearby town and desperately wanted to make up with her sister, whom she hadn’t spoken to in over ten years. She’d come in simply to buy some flowers as a peace offering. But Amber had used the old books of my grandmother’s and come up with something a bit different – a bouquet that included purple hyacinth – meaning please forgive me, and hazel, which stood for reconciliation.
‘So,’ Marie says, after I’ve caught up on the beginning of the story. ‘When I knocked on my sister’s door and presented her with the flowers, I thought for one awful moment she was going to slam it in my face. But then the weirdest thing happened. She took the bouquet from me, leaned into it and smelled the flowers. Then she looked at me and said, “Marie, I’ve missed you. Please forgive me.”’ Marie reaches for a packet of tissues from her bag, pulls one free and dabs at her eyes with it. ‘Sorry,’ she apologises, ‘it’s all so raw still.’
Amber nods sympathetically.
‘So then Julie, that’s my sister, invites me in, and it’s as if we’ve never been apart. We’re like best friends again. We’re even going to Alicante together in October with our husbands. And it’s all thanks to you girls and your magical flower shop!’
After finishing her tea, Marie leaves the shop promising she will tell all her friends about us and insist that they come here to buy their flowers.
‘So,’ I ask Amber, after we’ve sent a dried-out Marie (tear-and rain-wise) on her way, ‘you’re justthinkingof using the flower books in the shop, are you?’
Amber grins. ‘I told you before, Poppy, the language of flowers is a wonderful, magical thing. You just have to believe…’
The next day is much brighter, both for St Felix and for me.
