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There was a loud bang from the kitchen.
Apparently not.
Saffy might only be nineteen, but she was way beyond her years in terms of life experience. Her dad had walked out when she was ten years old and her mum had bounced from one relationship to another looking for the happy ever after, never quite finding it. Determined not to follow in her mother’s footsteps, Saffy was currently holding down three part-time jobs. Her goal was to attend university and ensure financial self-sufficiency. No way was she going to rely on a man to support her. Evie felt tolerating Saffy’s moody persona was the least she could do. And besides, underneath the surly sarcasm was a complex, vulnerable girl. Others might be wary of her angsty exterior, but Evie wasn’t. The goth clothing, long black hair and dramatic eye make-up was a mask, a way of keeping people at arm’s length. Evie understood this more than most.
Saffy appeared from the kitchen, her tattooed hands clasping a Minnie the Minx coffee mug. She leant against the wall, one booted foot crossed over the other, a scowl set firmly in place.
‘Sorry it’s so cold. The boiler’s playing up again.’ Evie rubbed her hands together, trying to restore blood flow. ‘I’ll get someone in as soon as possible.’
Saffy shrugged. ‘No drama. I’d rather be here than at home watching Mum swoon over Barry the Banker.’
Suffice to say, Saffy wasn’t the biggest fan of her mum’s latest beau.
‘How are the wedding plans coming along?’ Evie asked.
A scowl darkened Saffy’s brow. ‘Don’t know. Don’t care.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘It’s not like it’ll last. Did I tell you he’s twelve years younger than she is?’
Evie nodded. ‘Sometimes an age gap can be a good thing. You never know, maybe this time it’ll work.’
Saffy snorted. ‘Don’t hold your breath.’
When the doorbell chimed, Evie looked up to see a nervous-looking young man enter the shop. He hesitated before coming inside. First-timer. You could always tell. Evie gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Can I help you?’
He shoved his hands inside his pockets. ‘I wanna get my girlfriend flowers.’
Evie smiled. Who said romance was dead? ‘Do you know what she likes?’
His face creased into a frown. ‘Er … No.’
Evie headed over. ‘Roses are always well received.’ She gestured to the array of blooms covering the floor space. ‘As you can see, we have a variety of colours. The mauve Admiral Rodneys are my favourites, but they’re all delightful.’
He glanced around before nodding at one of the buckets. ‘Those red ones?’
Evie smiled. ‘Gorgeous, aren’t they? They’re called Deep Secret.’
Saffy tutted and muttered ‘Typical’ under her breath.
Evie shot her a glare.
He pointed to the pink floribunda instead, glancing at Saffy to gauge her approval. Her non-committal shrug seemed to appease him.
‘Sexy Rexy.’ Evie picked up the bucket. ‘Excellent choice. I’m sure your girlfriend will love them. Would you like them wrapped?’
His face coloured, matching the intensity of the rose petals. ‘No … thanks.’ He dug out a crumple of notes from his pocket. ‘How much?’
‘Twelve pounds for six stems. Twenty-two pounds for two bunches.’
He shoved fifteen quid at her as though they’d just partaken in an illegal drug transaction and grabbed the flowers. ‘Keep the change.’
‘I hope your girlfriend likes them,’ Evie called after him as he exited the shop.
Saffy sniffed. ‘Cliché, or what?’
Evie turned to her assistant. ‘May I remind you, I’m trying to run a business? Could you be a little more …’
Saffy raised an eyebrow. ‘What? Insincere?’
‘Encouraging. It takes a lot of nerve to buy flowers.’
Saffy looked perplexed. ‘Why? They’re only flowers.’
‘Maybe, but they carry meaning. That shouldn’t be taken lightly.’
‘Men are only after one thing. Once they’ve got it, they’re gone. Flowers or no flowers.’
Evie sighed and handed Saffy a bucket of golden Belle Epoque. ‘Cut the stems, please, they need a drink.’
Saffy took the bucket over to the sink. ‘I know the feeling.’
Evie tried to remember how it felt to be nineteen. She was only twenty-eight herself, but being a teenager felt like a lifetime ago. Unlike Saffy, she’d been a ‘believer’ at that age, unaware of the pitfalls of love. Her parents might have divorced when she was young, but Evie had entered adulthood relatively unscathed. Poor Saffy had experienced nothing but disappointment her entire life. Her views on relationships were based on watching her mum rely on shady men with empty bank accounts. But maybe Saffy was the lucky one. If Evie had been a little more streetwise she might have seen the signs earlier and not allowed the one serious relationship she’d had to deteriorate to such an extent that she’d lost all confidence and self-esteem.
The sound of the bell tinkling dragged her thoughts back to the present.
Standing in the doorway was another young guy, this one with the looks and confidence of someone who knew they’d won the lottery in terms of genetics, but had 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.
CHAPTER TWO (#uaff43871-308d-5d9b-844a-0bd339fefdc3)
Tuesday, 18 February (#uaff43871-308d-5d9b-844a-0bd339fefdc3)
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?’
