The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop: The feel-good romantic comedy to read in 2018. Tracy Corbett
the good grace not to be arrogant.
Saffy dumped the half-cut flowers in the sink and went over to serve him.
‘Cool hat,’ he said, pointing to her knitted black beret.
Saffy shrugged, but the compliment seemed to thaw her a little. ‘How can I help you?’ She glanced over at Evie as if to say, ‘See? I can do polite.’ But her smile instantly faded when the bell chimed again and Josh from the local funeral firm came in to collect a pre-ordered wreath. Her sharp blue eyes stared at him with a mixture of venom and warning.
The poor guy had done nothing obviously wrong, as far as Evie knew, other than to show an interest in Saffy – something Saffy hadn’t taken kindly to.
‘Hey there, Saffy.’ As always, Josh remained completely unperturbed by her frosty demeanour. ‘Nice hat.’
‘That’s what I said,’ remarked Saffy’s customer.
Saffy looked between the two young men, her expression conflicted. She clearly wanted to be rude, as discussions about her appearance were never welcome, but she fought the urge and turned her attentions to her customer. ‘So, Dream Lover or Dusky Maiden?’ She gestured towards the buckets of red floribunda on the floor.
‘Which do you prefer?’ He examined both. ‘They’re for a special occasion. Big date. You’re a girl, which do you like?’
Evie caught Saffy’s eye, sending her a note of warning: Keep your opinions on love to yourself.
Saffy took a deep breath, seeming to steel herself. ‘Either would be perfect, in my opinion. Red roses are, after all, the symbol of love.’ Even though she managed to say this without any note of sarcasm, it didn’t stop Josh from laughing.
Ignoring Saffy’s glare, he headed out back with Evie to collect the large spray of white lilies ordered for a funeral later that day.
‘One day she’ll succumb to my charms,’ Josh said, handing Evie a purchase order.
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.
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,