The Flower Shop on Foxley Street. Rachel Dove

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СКАЧАТЬ off, closed her green eyes and finished off her conversation with Michael Bublé. Or rather, she rested her head on the worn headrest and let the rest of his song, playing from the radio, wash over her as she finished her imaginary conversation. It was the same as usual, Bublé using his smooth silky tones to declare that he was leaving his life, and hopping on the nearest jet to Westfield to pick her up. She always played hard to get in her daydream, as any girl would, but today, if Mr Bean turned up in his mini with a bag of Haribo she would dive into his arms and chug off into the sunset.

      Home was horrible. It was a minefield of awkward silences, pointed barbs and downright open hostility. Going down to breakfast this morning felt like it needed a two-drink minimum. Lily had finally called it a day after the fourth insult and got breakfast on the go instead. If a banana salvaged from the bowl on her way past counted as a morning meal. She knew Roger would have the coffee machine going, and the thought of that java warming her bones thrilled her.

      Retailers as a rule hated the January slump, but Lily was optimistic. She knew January brought with it a new year of occasions, new loves, the promise that this year would be the one when her life changed. This year also heralded her thirtieth birthday, and she hoped that it would be an important year for other reasons too.

      She zipped her body warmer up to the top and, flicking an errant leaf off her blue jeans, she got out of the van, locked up, and half jogged to her shopfront. It was still early, only just after eight, but she knew that the fresh delivery would be in, and Roger would be hard at work with today’s orders.

      Thank God for Roger. As she opened her front door, she heard the familiar tinkle of the bell and was hit with the welcome scent of flowers and foliage. The radio was playing in the back, and she could hear her assistant and friend humming along to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. The weight in her shoulders lifted, and she worked her fingers on the knot at the base of her neck as she flicked the shop sign to open.

      ‘Morning! Happy 3rd of January!’ a happy voice trilled. Roger came around the corner, a large white lily in hand. ‘Coffee?’

      Lily beamed at him, nodding. ‘That would be great, thanks. Is that the Carson order?’

      Roger nodded at the flower sadly. ‘Yes, poor Mrs Carson. These winters in the countryside, poor old dears drop like flies.’

      Lily shook her head good-naturedly at his trademark bluntness. Roger didn’t have a nasty bone in his body, but he spoke as he found, which was precisely why he survived here, and why they got on so well. It took a strong character to stomach her parents, and Roger seemed to survive each event unscathed.

      Lily wished she could do the same. That morning had been terrible. Every morning, in fact, was pretty dire. It was like living in a battlefield. She fully expected to come down to breakfast one morning to find her parents in trenches at each side of the house.

      Roger made her a drink and they gravitated to the large solid woodwork island in the back. They both took a seat on their stools, pausing to sip at the warm brew. Roger was eyeing her over the top of his mug, and she was intentionally pretending not to see him. The flower shop looked great, and Lily never tired of looking at it. Since her parents retired six months ago, allowing her to buy them out, she had really made it her own, renaming it from Foxley Flowers, in honour of the street in Westfield it was on, to Love Blooms.

      She had overhauled the interior too, lightening the walls with lovely cream and eggshell blue colours, and buying a computer to take online orders. Not that many people in Westfield used the net to order, but orders from neighbouring towns and villages were increasing as word got around. Her parents were not thrilled with this modernization at first, but they pretty much left her alone now, realizing that they had sold the shop to her to do as she wished, and so they could enjoy their retirement. They were still guarantors for her huge loan, but she knew that one day it would be hers on paper as well as in her heart.

      Lily realized that Roger was still staring at her over his Kenco. She raised a brow at him.

      ‘What?’ she drawled.

      Roger pursed his lips and smiled slyly. For a man who constantly wore cardigans, he could pull some comical faces.

      ‘You know what, dear. I keep telling you, clean the flat out upstairs and move there! It’s yours – there is only crap up there. A bit of furniture from A New Lease of Life, a few cushions et cetera. A trip to IKEA, and you are sorted. Your own pad, close to work – and NO parents!’

      Lily nodded along, having heard this speech many times. ‘I know, I know, and I have thought about it, don’t get me wrong, but …’

      ‘But,’ Roger retorted, swilling his cup out in the sink and getting to work on the wreath again, ‘you are waiting for Mr Tiny Balls to man up and plan the wedding, and for your parents to be happy again.’

      Lily laughed. ‘Don’t call him that! He doesn’t have tiny balls!’

      Roger shrugged. ‘Does he not?’

      Lily shook her head in exasperation, draining her coffee and heading over to the order book.

      ‘No, he works with them, obviously, but the way you say it – and anyway, my parents need me at the moment. It’s a very delicate time in their lives –’

      ‘Delicate!’ Roger snorted. ‘Forgive me, dear, but they have retired, their amazingly talented and green-fingered only child has taken on their legacy, their house is paid for, and they have money in the bank. The world is their oyster! They have their health, time. People work to be in their positions all their lives! Excuse me if I don’t break out the violins.’

      Lily leant over the counter, resting her head on the order book’s white pages.

      ‘I know, I … I just can’t go yet; they are not seeing eye to eye at the minute, and it’s pretty bad.’

      Roger snipped a stem, thrusting it into the green oasis mount.

      ‘Honey,’ he said, flicking out a hip, ‘you are thirty this year. You have your own business, and you have talents. Stop waiting for other people to get a grip on their lives; take charge of your own. Trust me. I waited years to come out to my family, lived a lonely life of lies, and when I came out, my mother laughed as though I was telling her the sky was blue!’

      Lily looked across at her friend, who was arranging flowers while wearing a clothing combo of floral shirt, cardigan, fitted skinny jeans and blue glittery brogues. He lived in the village with his husband, James, who was a businessman and property developer, and their dog, a huge sloppy Great Dane called Bruno. She couldn’t imagine him dulling his light to make others feel comfortable.

      ‘It’s a bit different, Roger. I don’t have some big part of myself hidden, like you had to.’

      ‘Don’t you?’ he asked, pointing a length of baby’s breath at her in accusation. ‘You have plans, my dear, things you want to do. I follow your Pinterest boards, I see your sketches.’

      Lily darted a look at him. ‘Stalk much?’

      ‘Yes, I do,’ he said rather proudly, causing her to giggle.

      The trill of the bell announced the arrival of a customer, and as Lily walked to the front shop floor area, she heard him calling after her.

      ‘There you go, don’t ask who the bell tolls for – it tolls for you! Opportunity knocking!’

      ‘Ssshh.’ СКАЧАТЬ