The Flower Shop on Foxley Street. Rachel Dove
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it, Irvin, we are not getting on.’
Irvin went to shake his head, but Lizzie held up a hand to silence him. ‘You know I’m right.’ Irvin nodded slowly, dropping his slice of toast back onto his plate, with a ching on the bone china.
‘This retirement was supposed to be a new start – our time. We had so many plans, and what happened? Nothing!’
Irvin stood up from the stool, walking over to his wife. They stood a foot apart, but Irvin didn’t come any further. They looked each other up and down, neither knowing what to say next. He broke first.
‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
Lizzie looked at her husband in shock. Had it really come to this? Them offering each other food and beverages in perpetuity, till one of them shuffled off the mortal coil? She suddenly pictured them, wizened and grey, sat like bookends at each end of the fireplace, rotund from too many biscuits. She looked around, realizing that Lily was gone. She felt a pang of shame. Their poor daughter had obviously fled after yet another awkward morning.
She took a step back, shaking her head. ‘No, Irvin, I bloody well do not.’ She looked at him one more time, like he had just stepped out of a spaceship before her eyes, and flounced off down the hall.
***
Irvin was left in the kitchen, listening to the kettle click off in the silence. Like an automaton, he walked to the appliance, pouring the hot water onto the teabag in his favourite cup. As he stirred in the milk, he had a pang for his old life, the one where they rushed about, busy lives intertwined. Many a time they had snuggled on the sofa together, exhausted from work and raising their daughter, and been content to just read a book or watch a film together.
Now, they sat in separate rooms, their house sterile, impersonal. Funny how things changed. Irvin wasn’t a fan, it had to be said. He sighed, sitting back down at the island stool. He just didn’t know how to fix it. The thing was, retirement was terrifying him. He didn’t feel ready to curl up and coast through the rest of his life reading the paper. Five minutes later, he was still nursing his tea when the front door slammed shut.
***
Lily crept out of the house like a stealth ninja, almost snagging her thick tights on the rosebush as she darted across the drive to her van. Looking at the expansive front drive, she clicked her car open. Quietly closing the door behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief. Her little pink van was always sandwiched between her parents’ cars these days. Mum’s smart little Mini and Dad’s Volvo were normally tucked up together on the drive, but now even her van was some kind of referee between their warring vehicles.
At this point, Lily was glad that she was an only child for the first time in her life. Having brothers and sisters would have been lovely, but given this situation, she wasn’t sure that other casualties of war would have been a good thing. She turned on the engine and flicked on the radio. Reaching for a battered CD case in her door pocket, she pulled out a black CD and fed it into the player. A moment later, heavy metal blared out of the speakers and Lily pulled off the drive. A nice bit of music to blast the anger out of her before she started work.
Heading further into Westfield, Lily waved at various people as normal. Heading past the greengrocer’s, she saw Simon writing the day’s offers on the blackboard outside. Pulling up, she wound her window down. Simon jumped up, pretending like a mime artist to be blasted away with the force of the music. Lily laughed and flicked the stereo off.
‘Sorry,’ she tittered. ‘I forgot you have no taste in music.’
Simon held his hands to his chest like she had shot him. ‘Your words hurt you know, Lilypad.’
Lily rolled her eyes. ‘Oh go and cry to your One Direction records,’ she countered, pretending to wipe her teary eyes with her closed fists.
Simon snorted. ‘What can I do for you this fine morning? You still needing those jobs doing? ’Cos I tell you, I am a little busy at the minute, but I will try at the end of the month.’
Lily nodded. ‘I figured as much. So much for having my friend back from the fast lane. How’s it going with your girlfriend?’
Simon blushed and Lily realized that her friend must really be smitten. Since school, she had only seen him act that way before when Mrs Lambert had popped a button on her blouse during chemistry. It was quite a scandal, she remembered. Howard Lee had fainted, although the school had put that down to the heat from the Bunsen burners. Everyone in 9C knew different, of course. He had been nicknamed ‘Wooey Howey’ for a whole year after. Not surprising that he was a plastic surgeon now. He probably owed his career to Mrs Lambert’s breasts.
‘It’s going well,’ he stammered, clearing his throat. Lily smiled at him, and he grinned back sheepishly. He never really dated while he was away studying; Simon wasn’t the type to be a player. This girl meant something, and they both knew it.
‘I need to meet her!’ she said before she could stop herself. ‘Let’s have a night out!’
Simon looked surprised. ‘What, you mean an actual night out, with drinks and dancing?’
‘Don’t be a git,’ she scolded. ‘I mean it – let’s arrange it. I would love to meet her, and we haven’t caught up in ages.’
Simon shifted from foot to foot, looking at the ground.
‘What’s wrong?’ Lily asked, suddenly concerned. ‘You and her okay?’
‘Me and Elaine?’ His face lit up at the mention of her name, and she was so happy for her friend. When all the others had left, Simon had stayed in touch, learning his trade as an architect, nipping back when he could to pitch in with the business and see his parents. He was always there to talk to, and she was so pleased he had met someone. As kids, they had a lot in common with their parents’ businesses and expectations, and they had soon fallen into an easy friendship that had lasted through puberty and beyond.
Their parents did think that they might get together at one point, with the amount of time they spent together, but for Lily and Simon, it was unthinkable. They were as like brother and sister as two friends could be. Simon knew her as well as she knew herself, most of the time.
‘No, we are great, it’s just …’ He looked so awkward, and she realized just what had caught his tongue.
‘It’s Stuart, isn’t it,’ she stated flatly. Simon shrugged, pulling an apologetic grimace.
‘It’s just, you know, me and him, together … all night …’ He looked so nervous, and Lily knew he was not trying to upset her. Simon and Stuart had spent a fair bit of time together over the years, but they had never really gelled. It was still at the polite ‘hey up’ stage, and then the words pretty much dried up. Not even sport, the universal conversation opener of men worldwide, had bridged the gap between them.
There had been no thrown punches or beaten chests, but the nights always ended up being damp squibs when the two of them were in a room together. Not even Lily could get them to interact in any meaningful way, and she had resigned herself to having them only meet on special occasions. Given that she would want Simon as her ‘male of honour’ should the wedding ever actually happen, it was a touchy subject for everyone.
‘Okay, okay, no Stuart,’ Lily concurred. ‘I can play third wheel, be worth it to meet her.’
Simon looked relieved. ‘Great, shall we say Friday?’
Lily nodded. ‘Sounds great. Let’s do it.’
She waved goodbye, pulling away as Simon held up his hands in mock horror at her music. She flipped him the bird and turned it higher. What was it about Stuart that seemed to rub people up the wrong way?
Will Singer looked every inch the thirty-two-year-old man he was. The bathroom mirror rarely did anyone any favours, but this particular