The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop Read online

  Don’t hold your breath, Evie thought, channelling Saffy’s view on her mother’s relationship with Barry the Banker. But then she chastised herself. Just because she’d been bruised by the after-effects of a bad experience, she had no right to project that negativity onto others. It wasn’t fair. Josh was young, starting out in life, oblivious to the perils of love. And although she seriously doubted Saffy was going to overcome her aversion to men anytime soon, Evie would be happy to be proved wrong. There was no reason for both women to be down on love, was there?

  Evie helped Josh pick up the heavy display of flowers, saddened by the fact that even on Valentine’s Day someone was being buried.

  Josh admired the array of oriental lilies. ‘Cheers for doing this. The family weren’t up to organising flowers.’

  ‘I didn’t mind. It was thoughtful of you to help them out.’ It still confounded Evie that someone so young had chosen such a morbid profession. But Josh seemed made for easing the trauma of grief. He was tall and gangly with an antiquated sense of style. Frock coats and top hats weren’t normal attire for his generation, but somehow he carried it off. Evie guessed there weren’t many professions that catered for teenage emos. Burying people had to be one of them.

  As Josh strode back though the shop, his black tailcoat flapping behind him, he nodded towards the large yellow hybrid tea roses. ‘I’d go for something a little less obvious myself.’ He glanced at Saffy, grinning in response to her scowling expression. ‘Isn’t she lovely?’

  The young guy nodded, his apprehension evident. ‘Er, yeah, I guess so.’

  Saffy poked her tongue out at Josh and picked up the yellow roses. ‘It’s the name of the flowers, Isn’t She Lovely. He wasn’t talking about me.’

  The young guy looked relieved. ‘Oh, right. Yeah, I get it. Not that you’re not lovely – I mean, you are, it’s just …’ His olive skin covered most of his blush.

  Josh reversed out the door, grinning. ‘Bye, Saffy. See you soon.’

  Saffy ignored him.

  Flustered, the young guy pulled out his wallet. ‘A bunch of those would be great.’

  Evie shook her head. Her assistant’s interactions with Josh were entertaining, if not ideal customer service. Part of her wished Saffy would stop batting Josh away and take a chance on the guy. But then Evie reminded herself that she wouldn’t take kindly to someone telling her who to love, so she should butt out. Some wounds ran too deep to be overcome, even by someone as sweet as Josh.

  While Saffy began wrapping the yellow roses by the sink, Evie headed for the counter. She settled in front of the computer, determined to find a plumber.

  As if in protest, the pipes running along the ceiling started clanking.

  Saffy looked over, but Evie waved away her concerns. ‘It’s just air in the system.’

  The frequency and volume of banging increased.

  Saffy encouraged her customer to make a speedy retreat. ‘Er, I don’t like to worry you, boss, but …’

  The boiler started clicking. This was a new development. It sounded like the old-fashioned grandfather clock Evie’s dad had inherited from his father … click click click … It was like that moment in the films when the timer on a bomb is ticking down and the hero only has sixty seconds to save the world – or in this case Valentine’s Day.

  Evie mentally slapped herself. ‘Stop being so bloody dramatic.’

  Saffy looked affronted. ‘Charming.’

  ‘Not you – me.’ Evie held up a hand. ‘I was talking to myself.’

  The banging stopped.

  Evie waited. No explosion.

  Panic over. For now.

  Returning to the computer, she searched for local plumbers. She needed an urgent call-out before the system packed up completely and started leaking. She could not afford to close, not today, not on the most romantic day of the year.

  Romantic, my arse.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tuesday, 18 February

  An almighty thump from the bedroom prevented Scott from walking out of the door. He paused, waiting for further noises or cries of help to emerge, but none came. He had a job booked at a local florist’s this morning and he really needed to leave. The woman was already pissed off with him, unimpressed at having to wait four days for a call-out, so being late wouldn’t go down well. But guilt rooted him to the spot. It was no good, there was no way he could walk out without knowing if there was a problem.

  Dropping his tool bag on the floor, he went over and knocked on his mum’s bedroom door. ‘Everything okay in there?’

  There was a pause before the door opened. His mum’s nurse stood there, pristine in her blue uniform, her cheerful smile in place as always, no matter the challenge.

  Scott tried to look past her. ‘I heard a bang. Is Mum all right?’

  Oshma ushered him into the room. ‘Yes, yes, we’re fine. But we could do with a hand, couldn’t we, Billie?’ Oshma always included his mum in any conversation, despite her lack of reply.

  His mum was perched awkwardly on the side of the bed, her wheelchair upturned. He went over and eased her off the bed, holding her steady as she sagged against him. Losing the use of two of your limbs made it hard to hold your own body weight, so even with the use of her right side, it was difficult for his mum to stand, let alone manoeuvre herself around.

  She managed a smile, one corner of her mouth rising, the other remaining frozen. She mumbled something, but he couldn’t make out what.

  ‘I know you need to get off, Scotty, love.’ Oshma fussed around, bending to pick up the wheelchair. ‘But if you could help me get her into the shower, I’d be very grateful. I’m all fingers and thumbs this morning.’ Her face winced as she righted the wheelchair, leading Scott to the conclusion that Oshma’s back was playing up again. ‘Nothing like a nice shower, is there, Billie?’

  Scott lowered his mum into the chair and wheeled her through to the wet room.

  He didn’t mind helping. But if he was honest, he was still struggling to come to terms with how his life had changed in the last two years. One minute he was holding down a promising job with a big plumbing firm in London, engaged to the girl of his dreams and buying his first home, and the next he was giving notice on his job, splitting up with Nicole and relocating to care-assisted housing in Kent. It was a lot to get his head around.

  Oshma turned on the shower and unfastened the buttons on Billie’s nightie. ‘Let’s get you undressed, shall we?’

  Scott looked the other way, trying to be respectful. He couldn’t imagine it was fun having everyone stare at your broken body. He usually left the intimate bits to Oshma, figuring this was preferable than having your son do it. He busied himself by fetching towels from the airing cupboard.

  ‘Let’s get a move on, shall we,’ he heard Oshma say. ‘Let Scotty get off to work.’

  With no husband to support her it had fallen to Scott to look after Billie. And it was the right thing to do, despite its difficulties. After all, his mum had done the same for him and his sister when their dad had been killed in a motorbike accident aged thirty-four. She’d had to pick up the pieces and dig deep. It was his turn now. He had to show some mettle. But it wasn’t without a price.

  Two years ago his life had been all about him. Five-a-side footy on a Sunday, holidays abroad, saving for a convertible. He’d socialised with mates, ate out at nice restaurants and enjoyed a disposable income. Now his days were spent organising Billie’s medical needs, tending to her care requirements and, thanks to his sister, playing guardian to his eighteen-year-old nephew. He was exhausted, suspended in a constant state of worry. But his mum didn’t need to know that. He couldn’t let his frustrations show. She deserved better.

  He checked his watch, it was just gone 9 a.m. He was officially late. The woman at the florist’s wouldn’t be happy. Tough. She’d just have to wait a bit longer to get her boiler fixed. Family came first.

  At least setting up as self-employed eased the burden of constantly taking time off
work, if not his on-going issues with paperwork.

  As he headed for the bathroom, Ben’s bedroom door opened. His nephew appeared carrying his new tablet. ‘I thought you’d left?’

  ‘Oshma needed a hand with Nanny. I think her back’s playing up again. How’s the gadget?’

  Ben’s face broke into a grin. ‘It’s got so many cool apps. Did you know it’s currently twenty-nine degrees in Bangalore?’

  Scott smiled. The device hadn’t been cheap, but his nephew worked hard at school and all the kids seemed to have tablets these days. He hadn’t wanted Ben to lose out by not having one. ‘I hope you’re getting some homework done.’

  Ben laughed. ‘Chill, Uncle Scott. School is sorted. Need a hand with Nanny?’

  On cue, the shower switched off. Before Scott could respond, Ben took the towel from him and headed into the bathroom. Scott often wondered who the adult was in their relationship and who was the kid. Still, he was grateful Ben was so mature. Parenting him otherwise might be far more challenging than it was.

  Scott went into the bathroom. Between them they lifted Billie out of the chair so Oshma could dry her.

  ‘Guess what, Nan? I’ve subscribed to Netflix on my tablet. That means we can download films directly onto the TV without needing the DVD. Cool, huh?’

  Billie nodded her agreement, although it was hard to tell how much she understood. She mumbled something Scott didn’t catch. Ben laughed and said, ‘Already ahead of you. Gladiator is downloading as we speak.’

  Scott was hit by another pang of guilt. He shouldn’t assume Billie’s brain was affected; it was only her body that betrayed her.

  ‘“My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius, commander of the Armies of the North.”’ Ben’s impersonation of Russell Crowe made his nanny laugh. ‘“And I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next.”’

  There was no doubt in Scott’s mind that Ben would indeed be commander of his own destiny. Luckily the kid had inherited his mother’s aptitude for study and didn’t have his uncle’s flawed intelligence. Scott had always struggled at school, unlike his sister, who’d aced her exams, gaining straight As in fourteen subjects before falling pregnant at sixteen following a drunken fumble at a school disco. But Lisa hadn’t let one mistake hold her back and, thanks to their mum, had achieved her goal of venturing into the world of academia. As a consequence, Ben’s progress had been mostly down to Billie, not his sister. Lisa had been working abroad since Ben was eleven, her career teaching applied mathematics far more important than playing mum. Something that still pissed Scott off.

  Ensuring the brake was engaged on the wheelchair, Scott lowered his mum into a sitting position, lifting her lifeless leg onto the footrest. ‘You smell nice, Mum.’

  Using her good hand, she reached out and stroked his cheek.

  Billie had never moaned or resented her daughter for putting her career ahead of bringing up her son, but Lisa’s lack of involvement in either Ben or Billie’s life certainly infuriated Scott. Especially since the stroke. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d wanted to confront his sister, demand to know why he’d had to give up his life and sacrifice everything he’d worked for to become guardian and carer, whilst she got to continue enjoying her prestigious career. But history had shown that no amount of persuading or pleading impacted on Lisa, so in Bangalore she stayed, working in a field he couldn’t even comprehend. She’d got the brains, he’d inherited a heart. You couldn’t win them all.

  As they wheeled Billie into the bedroom, Ben kept his nan entertained, updating her with news of his love life. ‘I’ve got a clip to show you of Amy, Nan.’ The kid had been struck by the thunderbolt of first romance. ‘I filmed one of her dance routines and posted it on YouTube.’ He grinned. ‘She’ll be on Strictly one day, you watch.’

  Oshma wiped away a tear. ‘You’re a lucky woman, Billie, having such beautiful young men caring for you.’

  Billie kissed Ben’s cheek.

  Scott checked his watch, and then felt bad when Oshma caught him and started waving him out the room. ‘Go, go, we can manage from here.’

  He hesitated, but Oshma was adamant, pushing him out the door. He sidestepped her, bending down to kiss his mum. ‘See you later. I won’t be late.’

  She mumbled something like, ‘Don’t worry,’ but he did, constantly.

  As he picked up his tool bag, Ben appeared in the lounge. ‘If you have time later can you help me with my UCAS application? I need a personal statement from someone who knows me.’

  Scott felt an instant rush of panic. He couldn’t write his Ns the right way around, let alone write a personal statement, whatever one of those was. ‘Depends what time I get back. Write out what you want me to say and I’ll sign it.’

  Ben looked disappointed, which made Scott feel like crap. He hated letting the kid down, but as writing a birthday card brought him out in a cold sweat, he wasn’t about to shame his nephew further by messing up his uni application.

  ‘Why don’t you search the net, see if you can find some examples and then we can use one as a template.’

  Ben perked up. ‘Yeah, good idea. I’ll do that.’

  Hopefully the kid would have sourced help elsewhere by the time Scott got home and he’d be off the hook. But for now he needed to get going. The bills kept piling up, and if he didn’t work, he didn’t earn. And they needed money, badly.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Tuesday, 18 February

  Evie had always known being a florist was hard work, and normally she was up for the challenge, but this morning she was flagging and it was only nine thirty. Her back was aching from lifting buckets of flowers to change the water, and her hands were sore and numb from the cold. She wished the plumber would hurry up – he’d been due half an hour ago. Bloody unreliable tradesmen. It was bad enough he couldn’t come out last Friday when she needed him, but there was no excuse for being late today. Was it too much to ask that people showed up when they were supposed to? She was trying to run a business.

  She stretched out her limbs, trying to loosen the muscles in her back. She hadn’t been running for a few days and was feeling it. Exercise seemed to be the only guaranteed way of keeping the stress at bay these days. She relied on her regular fix.

  Needing a break, she brewed up a pot of herbal tea and sat down at the counter to check her emails. The snow had all but melted outside, but the frosty conditions were keeping people indoors today. Hopefully business would pick up as the day warmed up – assuming the flaming plumber deigned to show up and provide them with some heat.

  She opened her inbox and scanned down the list of messages, looking for any orders or queries. At first she nearly missed it, but something in her brain must have registered the name, because she was drawn to a notification on Facebook.

  Kyle Caplin wanted to be friends.

  Was he serious? Shaking her head in disbelief, she declined the request. She’d been in Kent for almost a year and hadn’t heard from him. Foolishly, she’d started to believe he’d moved on. But it didn’t look that way. Or maybe this was his clumsy attempt at apologising, remorseful for all the hurt he’d caused. More likely he just wanted to keep track of her, check what she was doing and who she was doing it with. Well, tough. What she did with her life was no longer his concern.

  Frustrated, she pushed her chair backwards, away from the irritation of Kyle, only to collide with something solid. Yelping in surprise, she spun around, fearful of finding Kyle standing in the shop, but it wasn’t her ex-boyfriend filling the space, it was a tall, dark – she refused to use the word handsome – handyman carrying a tool bag.

  ‘Jesus, you made me jump.’ He removed his woollen hat, running his hand through his mess of dark, wavy hair.

  She’d made him jump? Defensiveness morphed into annoyance. ‘Well, if you will sneak up on people, what do you expect?’ She didn’t like people seeing her ruffled. Especially not men. Especially not attractive men.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I did ring the
bell and knock twice.’ He placed his tool bag on the floor. ‘I’m Scott Castillo from Round the Bend Plumbing. I’ve come to fix your boiler.’

  She ignored his outstretched hand. She wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. ‘You’re late.’

  ‘I’m really sorry. I was delayed by a damsel in distress.’ He grinned, no doubt trying to win her over. ‘What can I say, I’m a man who likes to help women.’

  Evie didn’t doubt it. He probably spent a good proportion of his life ‘helping’ women. She knew the type – she’d been involved with one. All smiles and flattery to begin with, until his victim succumbed, and then it was nothing but trouble. ‘Well, you can help this woman by fixing the boiler. The pilot light keeps going out.’ She walked towards the back of the shop, showing him where the water tank was.

  He lifted the cover away from the boiler. ‘I’d love a coffee. I left without breakfast this morning.’ He subjected her to another of his smiles, no doubt meant to charm. She guessed it worked on most women. She wasn’t most women.

  He picked up a screwdriver. ‘White, no sugar, please.’

  Biting down the urge to shove his screwdriver somewhere painful, she headed into the kitchen and grabbed the dirtiest mug she could find. Shoving a tablespoon of coffee granules in it, she mixed it with three-day old milk, added sugar just to be spiteful and took it back out to him. ‘There.’ She slammed the mug down. ‘As per your order.’

  He stared at the stone-cold concoction, no hint of boiling water.

  She waited for his eyes to lift to hers. ‘If you’d wanted a coffee you should’ve brought one with you. I’m paying you to fix my boiler, not stand around drinking my profits.’

  One of his dark eyebrows twitched. Was he trying not to laugh? ‘My apologies. I’ll get on with the repair.’

  ‘You do that.’ She left him to it. He was a distraction she didn’t need.

  It was gone ten by the time Saffy arrived, having worked a late shift at the pub the night before. Dressed in head-to-toe black, wearing huge sunglasses and a beanie pulled down low over her head, pushing her blunt fringe into her eyes, she slumped into the shop, her bag dragging on the floor behind her. ‘I need caffeine,’ she said, heading into the kitchen.