The Flower Shop on Foxley Street. Rachel Dove
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played football for England. Golf, whilst still considered a sport by many, was frowned upon somewhat by his family. His father loved golf – watching it, and playing it on a Saturday – but as for making a career out of it? Not so much.
Stuart frowned as he pulled into his parking space. Thinking back to the summers of his childhood made him shudder, even more than the cold snap in the post-Christmas weather. He was distracted from thoughts of him being belittled in the garden with his little plastic golf set by a vibrating in his pants. He climbed out of the cart and answered the phone in one swift movement.
‘Stuart Woodward. I put the swwwwiinnggg in your swing!’ There was a little hesitation, and then he heard Lily’s soft voice.
‘Wayne’s World quotes again? We have spoken about this,’ she said teasingly, and he smiled into the phone at the sound of it. Just hearing her voice made him forget about his family pressures. She made him relax without even trying, and he loved her for that.
‘Hey, baby, sorry, I thought it was a work call.’
‘And that’s how you answer work calls?’ she asked, obviously amused. ‘I er, I just wanted to know if you were free for lunch today. I can’t meet tomorrow now, I have a meeting with a … supplier.’
Stuart caught the waver in her voice. ‘You okay? You sound weird.’ It was true – she didn’t sound herself. Stuart could hear it in her voice. Not for the first time, he wondered whether she was as happy as he had been assuming she was. In truth, even Stuart expected her to wake up one day and realize he was more Beast than Prince Charming.
He started to walk down the drive to the large gravel path that ran to the golf club. Even in this weather, it was beautiful – even if the greenery was a little worse for wear. He would have to get a gardener in. Since the last person left, he had struggled to fill the position. Probably because Amazonian women with big racks were not often chomping at the bit to work in gardening. His last hire looked like a budget version of Charlie Dimmock, minus the personality and the incredible natural scaffolding. And she didn’t know one end of a conifer from the other. He suddenly became aware that the line was quiet.
‘Sorry, babe, what was that?’
‘I said I am fine,’ Lily replied, sighing a little. ‘It was a little fraught this morning at home, that’s all. I really think we need to talk about getting this wedding started, maybe it will give them something to talk about, as well as improve my living situation.’
Stuart winced. The golf club, being an old-fashioned establishment, didn’t allow him to have permanent guests overnight in his accommodation, a small cottage on site, but when they married it would be a different matter. No more excuses to hide behind. No more free rein. Could he do well as a married man? He knew himself well enough to doubt it.
‘I know, Lily, but we can’t rush these things just to stop your parents killing each other, can we.’
He could hear the tut down the line, and as he walked to his office, he knew that Lily was mad. The tone of her voice confirmed it, and he nibbled his lip nervously.
‘I somehow don’t think a six-year engagement could be seen as rushing things, do you? Seriously, Stuart, sometimes I don’t know how we ever got together. Forget lunch, I just realized I would rather work.’ And with that she slammed down the phone at the shop. Stuart stared at his phone. It took a lot for Lily to get mad; in fact she was the nicest person he had met, which was lucky for him. She trusted him completely, which made his guts twist. Lately though, he had been noticing subtle changes, and her putting the phone down was a first.
Sitting down at his desk some time later, still in shock, he looked at his golf lesson bookings for the day. Please, he thought to himself. Let one of these people be my key to a new life. Judging by the list of members on the page, today was not the day. He perked up a little when he saw that Mrs Evesham – young trophy wife of the rather portly (and loaded) Mr Evesham – was his first booking. Nothing like a bit of a laugh to pass the day. A nice bucket of sand to dig his head into.
***
Back on Foxley Street, Lily slammed down the black portable shop phone into its cradle and forked it aggressively. Roger, surprised at Lily’s outburst, quietly clicked the kettle on and reached for the biscuit tin. Lily sat at the counter, head in hands.
The shop was in a lull, people heading to work now, dropping children at school. The deliveries were done, so now she had a slot of time to check the online orders for the day and work on any new designs she had on the go. Her head wasn’t in the game though; in fact her brain was heading to the golf club with a pair of garden shears and a thirst for blood.
‘I mean, is it me?!’ she suddenly shouted, throwing her hands in the air and rapping her knuckles on the desk. Roger shook his head, wide-eyed, bringing her a coffee and a delicious Garibaldi over. She took them gratefully, nodding her thanks to him as the cup warmed her chilled bones. Winter sucked.
‘No, darling, and pardon me for eavesdropping but, why ARE you with him?’
Lily opened her mouth to answer, but she floundered like a fish instead.
‘I, er, I … I love him, of course!’ She ignored the eye-roll she knew Roger was giving her, choosing not to look at him. ‘He is funny, and he can be sweet at times.’ She gurned a little as she thought of Stuart, cracking bad jokes and being generally insensitive to others. Not lately, maybe, but back when they were dating. First few dates, at least. She thought back to how they had met, when he had come into the florist’s to get some flowers for a client whose husband had taken ill. He was so sweet, going above and beyond like that. Lily had been impressed, despite her parents’ misgivings at the time. Lily had ignored them, believing their meeting to be fate. A nice meet-cute to tell their grandchildren about.
A bit like the one this morning, she thought to herself as she remembered the events of her day. What are you playing at, Lily? She tried to rationalize her conversation with the dishy dark-haired client less than an hour ago, but she knew she wanted to go meet him tomorrow, even if the meeting was arranged by accident. What worried her more was the fact that she had not only kept it from Stuart, but had even made sure he wouldn’t turn up. She realized that Roger was talking, and she snapped her head back into the conversation.
‘Funny and sweet are all well and good, but will it still be funny when you are seventy?’
‘Oh Christ, Rog, I am only thirty this year – give me a break! I have a hard time thinking past next year at the moment, let alone into my pension years. Who knows what the future holds, eh?’
Roger smiled sadly. ‘Who was it who said life is what happens when you are making other plans?’
Lily shrugged at him.
‘Whoever it was, they nailed it. And as far as I can see, you are not living your life or making other plans.’
Lily turned to him, the shock registering on her features at his words. She thought back to earlier. Take a chance, for once in your life.
He smiled kindly. ‘Now, shall I go and get us a sarnie?’
Roger’s cheeks had flushed, and she realized he was worried he had upset her. She nodded, flashing him a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘I’ll pay, and sod it, let’s have a bun too.’
Roger rubbed his tummy comically, making her giggle.
‘Deal. I can work it off at Zumba later.’
Lizzie Baxter stood on the back step, looking out of her conservatory doors to the garden beyond. It was a rather long, thin garden with a sprawling lawn and a ribbon of trees around it. Flowers filled the borders, although most were sleeping at this time of year. The leaves from the trees were blowing all over the frosty grass, and the contrast between the dark, empty trees and the blanket of colour underneath was quite striking