Wildflowers Page 10

  ‘Hey! How are you?’ She pulls her Land Rover Discovery over and winds the window down.

  ‘Running off another nightmare wedding,’ I tell her. ‘It was all my fault, because there I was congratulating myself on a nice easy day – silly old me - and seconds later, the shit hits the fan. But actually it wasn’t my fault at all – it was a bride’s mother.’

  ‘Oh,’ says Lulubelle, flummoxed. ‘Things do seem to happen to you, Frankie.’

  ‘Oh, it’s just stuff,’ I say. ‘How are you and Cosmo?’ I look over to the back of her car, but there’s only an empty child seat.

  She sighs. ‘He’s staying in Briarwood for a bit. That chest infection came back and really knocked him sideways. But he’s turned the corner – at least, I think he has. I’m on my way back there now. I only went home to pick up some things for him.’

  Oh God… And here I am twittering on about weddings, of all things, which suddenly feel very small and unimportant compared to what Lulubelle and Cosmo are going through.

  ‘Can I do anything?’ I say uselessly. ‘Anything at all?’

  She smiles, a defeated, tired, aching kind of smile that pulls at my heartstrings. ‘Thank you, but actually, there isn’t really anything...’ She pauses. ‘Unless… well, I don’t suppose you’d like to come and see him?’

  ‘Of course I would! When’s a good time?’

  ‘Tomorrow? Say around three? But it doesn’t really matter when – it’s very relaxed there. I can pick you up?’

  ‘I’d really like that,’ I tell her.

  13

  The following afternoon as I wait for Lulubelle, I’m just a little apprehensive. All I know about Briarwood is that it’s a place where sick children go. Really sick children, who have life-limiting illnesses – a category which obviously includes Cosmo. Fortunately I don’t wait long before I hear her car pull up outside my flat.

  I wave from the window and run downstairs.

  ‘Haven’t changed your mind?’

  I smiles as I climb in. ‘Of course I haven’t!’

  ‘I’m so glad you’re coming! Cosmo will be really pleased to see you! I can guess what you’re thinking, Frankie, but I promise it won’t be at all how you expect.’

  ‘No? I’m just looking forward to seeing him, really…’ My voice tails off. ‘D’you know when’s he coming home?’

  ‘Hopefully by the end of the week, fingers crossed. But he loves it there – you’ll see for yourself. It’s like one great big family - I don’t know what I’d do without them.’

  ‘How long ago did you first find out?’ I ask, realising how little she’s actually told me.

  ‘It was four years ago. He was nearly two – there was all this bruising on his arms. That was the first sign. It sounds crazy, but I had this horrible feeling, even at that stage, that it was serious.’

  ‘It must have been terrible.’

  ‘It was. But we have good days. When he’s well, we can do things most families do. And the rest of the time… Yes, it’s scary and upsetting, but just when you think you can’t bear it, it gets better again.’

  ‘Oh,’ I’m gobsmacked.

  ‘I’m not brave,’ Lulubelle adds. ‘I could easily lapse into the most self-pitying wreck you’ve ever met! Why us and all that sort of thing. And to start with, I thought all those things…’ Her voice wobbles. ‘But, you know, it could be worse. So far, he’s responding to this latest treatment. And no-one knows – do they? What’s round the corner for any of us... You make the most of every day. Oh – we’re here.’

  Which is just as well, because it’s impossible for anyone to be that brave and there’s a huge lump in my throat.

  As we get out of the car, I pull myself together, taking my first look at Briarwood. And it’s not at all what I’m expecting. It’s massive, white-painted and weather-boarded, like a huge family home, rather than the hospital I was expecting.

  It’s glorious here, the sunlight filtering through the trees, the huge, lovely garden that as we walk round to the side of the house is full of life – of babies, children, teenagers and their families – albeit some in wheelchairs – throwing balls, on swings, climbing in a colourful play area. There’s a sandpit – a massive one – which is a hive of activity, but more than anything, there’s the noise. The same shouting and laughter you’d get anywhere with this many children.

  I turn to Lulubelle, amazed.

  ‘It’s wonderful! Is it always like this?’

  She nods. ‘Wonderful, isn’t it? Shall we go and see Cosmo?’

  Inside is only a little quieter. I follow her along a long, light corridor decorated with brightly patterned wallpaper to a large airy room which opens onto another corner of the garden. When we reach the door, Lulubelle pauses.

  ‘He’s in here,’ she whispers, so as not to disturb him, and just watches.

  At first, I’m puzzled but as she stands there, suddenly I understand what she’s doing. She’s collecting memories, good ones to call up when the going gets tough. Fragments of happier times.

  Even I can see he’s frail, but there’s a light in his eyes and a grin on his face as he concentrates on the picture he’s painting. There’s a nurse sitting beside him, smiling as she talks to him. Then she notices us, and nudges him and as he looks up at us, his face shines with love.

  ‘Hey, baby!’ She hurries over and scoops him up, burying her face in his neck. ‘Look who Mummy’s brought to see you! It’s that funny lady who keeps running into us!’

  Cosmo giggles then holds a hand out towards her, suddenly shy.

  ‘Hello, Cosmo! I’m Frankie.’

  ‘But that’s a boy’s name…’ So cheekily normal it tugs at my heartstrings. Funny how the smallest things can suddenly mean the world.

  ‘That’s exactly what I told my mother…’ I tell him, which makes him giggle. ‘But then you haven’t met my mother…’ He giggles again.

  It’s the most animated I’ve ever seen him. Then he takes Lulubelle’s hand before reaching for mine, and the three of us walk outside.

  And after a short while, I’ve completely forgotten why I’m here. There’s a gorgeous little girl called Florence wants me to push her on a swing. Her eyes are bright and apart from her little bald head under her sunhat, you’d have no idea she wasn’t the same as any other kid.

  After that, no-one will leave me alone. I get roped into a riotous game of football which Cosmo and Lulubelle watch, laughing loudly when I fail to stop a single goal. There’s the climbing frame. More swings. Eventually, worn out, I flop onto the grass next to them.

  ‘No more,’ I gasp. ‘I’m exhausted.’

  ‘You’re a natural,’ Lulubelle says. ‘They’d probably give you a job if you wanted one.’

  As I gaze up at the sky, I feel the grin on my face.

  ‘No way. Even brides are less demanding than this lot. And next time, you’re goalie, mate,’ I tell Cosmo, his eyes lighting up at the thought. ‘I’m too old and as you just saw, I’m really rubbish. I need a rest.’

  I lie there in the sunshine, but after a few seconds, Cosmo scrambles to his feet and I feel his featherweight on top of me. I wait, then sit up with a roar, half scaring the life out of him. Then he remembers.

  ‘We have to show Frankie the boats, Mumma. Come on. Now,’ he insists, jumping to his feet again.

  ‘Wow! You even have boats? I love boats!’ I leap up with him, impressed.

  We wander across the lawn to where the garden meanders down a gentle slope to the lake, surrounded by trees. It’s quieter here and we spend the rest of the afternoon in one of the brightly coloured boats, which I row, while Cosmo leans against Lulubelle, an expression of bliss on his face.

  ‘I didn’t expect this,’ I tell her. ‘Nothing like this, I swear.’

  Of course I had no idea. How could I?

  Everywhere I look, it’s there. The love, the invisible support system, the families packing every moment with happiness, none of them knowing quite what the future holds
but making the most of what they have.

  Lulubelle’s courage leaves me speechless. She’s spent most of Cosmo’s life not knowing how long she’ll have him, yet to look at her, you’d never guess.

  And then there’s Florence. How can someone burst with life yet be dying? On the way home, I had to ask. ‘Do you know what’s wrong with Florence?’

  ‘She has a brain tumour. You wouldn’t think so, would you? She was on good form today.’

  ‘So…’ I screw up my face, trying to find the words. ‘What treatment is she having?’

  ‘They can’t operate, because of where it is. She’s had radiotherapy – that’s why she’s lost her hair. It’s just a matter of time to see if it’s worked.’

  If it’s worked… So for Florence, it’s just like with Cosmo. On the outside, she’s stronger, more energetic. On the inside, she’s on a knife-edge. I’m silent. Once again, there are no words.

  14

  I don’t quite know how to explain the incredible feeling I came away with. I can still feel the remnants of it now, like a big, warm hug deep inside me. It’s anything but what I expected. Quite simply, to an outsider, it’s like the essence of what life is, concentrated.

  ‘Are you alright?’ my sister asks that evening. ‘Only you’re extremely quiet for you…’

  ‘Just thinking,’ I say. ‘Only I went to Briarwood today with Lulubelle. Cosmo’s in there for a few days.’

  ‘Nightmare,’ says Alice. ‘It must be so awful…’

  ‘Actually, it’s not at all how you’d expect,’ I tell her. ‘In fact, it’s brilliant, Al. Kind of like a camp for sick kids.’

  But Alice clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. She swiftly changes the subject.

  ‘Seen Greg?’

  ‘No, thank God.’ I mean it too. ‘I met quite a nice policeman though, when one of my weddings got sabotaged…’

  ‘What do you mean – sabotaged… Honestly Frankie, who in their right mind sabotages a wedding?’

  ‘Oh you’d be surprised,’ I tell her, warming to my subject. ‘Not only must I keep a vigilant eye out for mothers in law, mothers of the bride, not to mention bridezillas themselves, now it seems there are vengeful ex-boyfriends on the loose… I wonder sometimes why anyone bothers getting married. I mean, it brings out the worst in all of them…’

  ‘You watch far too much television,’ she tells me. ‘And I meant to ask you… Only have you met Maria yet? And Frankie, I do hope you’ve been keeping it quiet…’

  ‘Oh yes – she’s really nice actually. Someone did kind of get wind of it. He’s a journalist – works for one of those trashy magazines…’

  ‘Oh God,’ she says in horror. ‘You have to be careful, Frankie. If it gets out and it’s your fault, Maria might sue…’

  Holy shit. I’ve read about this happening. The thought fills me with panic.

  ‘Oh, it’s fine,’ I say, far more calmly than I’m feeling. ‘I’m onto him. He really fancies himself but I tell you, he’s a loser. Or he will be by the time I’ve finished with him. You know… qui audit adipitiscur…’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Alice frowns at me. ‘Here, have one of these.’

  She passes me her homemade cheese straws, which are yummy. ‘She who dares, wins, Al… And he hasn’t an inkling of what’s coming.’

  Talking of policemen, when I open the shop on Tuesday, I find a box outside the door. It’s my vase - and rolled up inside it, there’s a note.

  Sorry to have missed you, but thought you might be needing this. Hope you haven’t had any more psychotic exes to deal with.

  Alex

  Oh. A wave of disappointment washes through me. I’d been so hoping to see him again. And there’d been a flicker of interest on his part too which I’m sure I didn’t imagine. Oh well, maybe I read it wrong.

  And when I check the phone, there are several messages – from Maria, from Mrs Culleton, and the usual tedious sales calls.

  I call Maria first and she’s not happy.

  ‘Oh Frankie, I’m having such trouble…’

  I pin back my ears and listen. You see, florists are like hairdressers. Part time agony aunts, the lot of us – you wouldn’t believe what people tell us.

  ‘…Only it’s Pete’s family. They think I’m a gold digger, Frankie and they won’t come to the wedding. He’s dead upset... And it’s so unfair, nothing could be further from the truth. I really love him… How could anyone not?’

  Plenty - like his ex-wife for starters. And actually, a wrinkly, decrepit old rocker doesn’t quite do it for me either, but I can’t possibly tell her that.

  ‘Give them time,’ I say wisely. ‘Once they know you’re genuine, they’ll come round…’

  ‘But that could be years,’ she wails. ‘Oh Frankie, it’ll ruin everything…what am I going to do?’

  Mrs Culleton’s somewhat less emotional, as I expected.

  ‘I’m really not sure we shouldn’t look elsewhere,’ she tells me bluntly when I call her. ‘It’s only that you come highly recommended. Abigail knows exactly what she wants. And it’s her special day. It’s not your job to talk her out of it.’

  ‘All I’m trying to do is offer you the benefit of my experience, Mrs Culleton. That is my job. It’s entirely up to you what you do.’

  She ignores me. ‘Abigail and Roland can come and see you again this Friday. I’m busy I’m afraid. Two o’clock?’

  I pencil it in the diary. Thank God the old bat is busy. As no-one’s told me who Roland is, I’m assuming he must be the groom. And Friday’s not a good day at all because I’ve got a wedding on Saturday that’s full of sweet peas and garden roses, which can’t be arranged until the last minute. So I could really do without a meeting.

  But then I have an idea… I need to show her precisely what I have in mind for Abigail’s wedding, because clients like Mrs Culleton have no imagination. And so I start to make a posy. I’ve just a few stems of a delicate ivory rose, so I add lavender for luck and ivy for fidelity. While Mr Crowley isn’t looking, I sneak over the road to pick a sprig of olive from the bush outside Demelza’s as a peace offering, and tuck in a few sweet peas and freesia - and of course the hazel twigs as a conciliatory gesture. Then I find a few fronds of fern that I’d forgotten I had, and as I entwine them around the edge, something funny happens. Not only do I not hate Mrs Culleton, I’m not even finding her irritating. It’s revelationary. I glance over at Skye.

  ‘Skye! Think of someone you hate! Or really, really don’t like…’

  She looks across at me as though I’m mad. ‘What the fuck are you on about?’

  ‘Just try it,’ I persist. ‘Please… Only it’s an experiment…’

  Skye thinks for a moment. ‘Okay. There’s this geezer down the pub, who like really fancies himself and pinches my arse and shit…’

  ‘Okay,’ I interrupt. ‘That’s perfect, Skye. Only I want you to focus on just how much you really don’t like him for a whole minute….’

  I cast my eye at my watch and wait. ‘Okay… now have this.’ I thrust my posy into her hands.

  She stares into it, then sniffs it. ‘Bit rustic-like, inn’t it?’

  ‘How do you feel about the annoying geezer now?’

  Her face crinkles up, puzzled. ‘Who you talking about, Frankie?’

  Not exactly conclusive, but promising, I decide, then wrap said posy in crunchy paper and send Skye round to deliver it to Mrs Culleton. Needless to say, I hear nothing.

  Friday comes and after working hard on the flowers all morning, I’m moaning and complaining about yet another meeting with Culletons.

  ‘Honestly,’ I say to Skye, wondering if you could get as high on scented roses as on Pompeii lilies. ‘Don’t some people just make life difficult? Here they are, about to pay me for superior wisdom which they don’t want to hear. I ask you…’ I shrug, then notice a warning look on Skye’s face. I open my mouth to continue but she shakes her head, nodding pointedly over my shoulder.

  Th
ey’re early. Fuck. They must have heard me.

  With a sinking heart, I breeze out, smiling sweetly at them. ‘Abigail. And you must be Roland, how absolutely lovely to see you both. Sorry – it’s been a bit of a morning. I had a rather difficult customer…’

  As I glance anxiously from one to the other, I realise that actually, I don’t need to worry. Far from being a bride from hell, I don’t think Abigail’s brain works too quickly. Roland doesn’t look too sure of himself either. Suddenly I feel sorry for them. Having a mother like Mrs Culleton must be a nightmare. I think about suggesting they elope, just to get away from her.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ I ask them. They both shake their heads. ‘Come and sit down.’ I lead them over to the sofa. ‘And let’s see if we can sort out your flowers.’

  It’s a long meeting but at the end, dare I say it, Abbie, as she likes to be called, even looks happy.

  ‘So you think I can have calla lilies then?’ she says hopefully.

  ‘You can have whatever you like,’ I tell her firmly. ‘As long as the design elements in the different areas are cohesive…’ They stare blankly at me.

  ‘As long as it all goes, calla lilies will be just gorgeous,’ I drop the bullshit and smile triumphantly. ‘Honestly, guys - it’s going to look sensational.’

  ‘I almost forgot,’ says Abbie, as they leave. ‘Only Mummy got your flowers.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, it was strange. I think she liked them – at least, she must have, because she didn’t say. In fact, she didn’t say much at all…’

  Again, not conclusive, but most interesting.

  By the time Abigail’s gone, Skye has finished tomorrow’s centrepieces and looks so spaced out, I think my theory about scented flowers is correct. So I send her home - until sparrow’s fart tomorrow, we’re done. Then I fiddle around putting things away, until Mrs Orange walks in.

  ‘That fat girl, my lovely,’ she starts. ‘That one that came in earlier with short bloke… What’s she having?’