Page 8 of The Vanishing Bookstore
It was an innocent question, but it prickled at her skin, like some uncomfortable needle scratching at the surface. She shook her head.
‘I’ve come to take a look at the flower market.’
‘Of course, I’m such an idiot. I completely forgot it was Sunday.’
‘Well, that’s understandable, you have a lot going on.’
She sipped at the coffee, inhaling the aroma deeply before each sip and savouring it. He was attractive, there was no doubt about it. She burned her lip on the hot coffee and managed to spit it all over herself in the most unladylike manner. He pushed some napkins towards her and she blotted the brown liquid off her cream scarf.
‘I’m so clumsy. Sorry, did I get you?’
He laughed. ‘No, I’m good but thanks for asking.’
She stood up, feeling the heat radiating from her cheeks in waves. ‘Well, it was lovely to see you again, take care.’
‘You’re not going already, are you? How about I come to the flower market with you? I need a change of scenery and some fresh air.’
Dora wanted to say no, she was happy on her own, but he was already standing and downing the last of his flat white. She should refuse. She didn’t know him; she had come here to clear her own head and now she was going to be stuck with him making awkward conversation until she could get rid of him.
‘Of course.’
Leading the way out of the shop she forgot her cinnamon roll, but he followed her out waving the brown paper bag at her. ‘Your breakfast, it’s the most important meal of the day.’
Nodding, she took it from him, opened her handbag and dropped it inside. She began walking towards Columbia Street and he followed.
‘How long have you been a florist?’
‘Since I was four, possibly younger.’
He stopped walking. ‘What, how can you have been one then?’
‘I’ve always loved flowers and plants. Lenny used to let me grow seeds on the windowsill and choose the plants and flowers for the apartment, it’s something we used to do together, and I loved it. I’d even grow those little pots of chillies and peppers.’
‘Lenny, is he your father?’
Dora laughed. ‘God, no she’s my aunt, although sometimes I wonder because she can be so strict.’
‘That’s a strange name for a woman.’
‘Not really, it’s short for Lenora which she hates because it’s so ladylike, she shortens it to Lenny. If you saw her, you’d realise that she is definitely not a Lenora.’
He grinned at her. ‘She sounds like quite a woman, I’d like to meet her.’
She nodded, wondering at his strange reply. Why would he want to meet Lenny because she disliked her name? ‘She’s quite something.’ She decided not to tell him anything else about her family.
An abundance of floral scents filled Dora’s nostrils, making her sneeze and signalling their arrival at the flower market. She led the way among the stalls, pausing to look at everything but not buying anything at all. George stopped at a stall selling cottage garden plants and flowers and picked up a bunch of beautiful periwinkles and forget-me-nots so blue they looked out of place against the gloomy sky. Plucking up some fern leaves and sprigs of rosemary, he passed them to the vendor, and Dorawondered at his strange choice of blooms. When they reached the end of the market, he handed them to her.
‘What are these for?’
‘Pretty flowers for a beautiful lady.’
‘Thank you, but there’s no need.’ She tried to pass them back to him, but he held up his hands.
‘I insist you have them; I have no need for them. I have no one else to gift them to and I thought that they suited your personality just right.’
‘Thank you, that’s very kind.’ Dora was wondering what peculiar behaviour he was exhibiting for a recently bereaved boyfriend, but she didn’t say it. She had heard that grief made people do all sorts of weird things, maybe he was in denial.
‘How about I come back to your shop with you, and we can try to think of a more appropriate floral arrangement for the funeral?’
