11 The Teashop on the Corner (42 page)

‘Not whilst you’re buying all my stationery,’ laughed Leni.

‘I wish Molly and Harvey were here,’ said Mr Singh. ‘I would like to share my news with them also.’

*

Margaret unclipped her seat belt and was about to get out of the car when Molly’s hand on her arm stopped her.

‘Margaret. When you first walked into the lounge on Sunday with Graham and Sherry, when Harvey was sleeping, was there anyone with him? Is that why you sent Graham and Sherry
packing?’

Margaret opened her mouth to protest but she couldn’t. She had remembered what Harvey had said about wanting to know because it would be a comfort to him. She couldn’t deny her
sister the same.

‘You saw someone, didn’t you?’ pressed Molly.

‘Yes,’ Margaret sighed. ‘I saw an old lady. His grandmother, apparently. She died when he was five, Harvey said.’

‘A grandmother? I didn’t even know he’d met any of them,’ said Molly.

‘He said that she was a loving, kind woman.’

‘I didn’t think anyone was kind to him in his family,’ huffed Molly. ‘I know he didn’t have a lot of love.’ Tears spilled over her eyelids.

‘Well, his grandmother obviously loved him. She was the one who came for him,’ said Margaret. It hurt her to see her sister so sad. She’d been upset too many times in her
life.

‘Was he happy when you told him?’ asked Molly.

‘Yes darling. He was.’

‘I’m glad,’ nodded Molly and her face broke out into a smile. ‘Doesn’t it give you hope that there’s a place to move on to from here? I’ll see him
again, won’t I?’

‘I believe so,’ said Margaret, reaching for Molly’s hand, ‘unless I’ve been imagining these people all my life. Now come on and let’s see your
friends.’

Margaret linked Molly’s arm as they walked across the square to the Teashop on the Corner. Molly pushed open the door and saw Mr Singh standing with raised arms obviously waxing lyrically
and passionately about something.

Mr Singh and Margaret recognised each other immediately.

‘Matron!’ He bounced over and seized her hand to shake it vigorously. ‘How lovely to see you again after so many years.’

‘Mr Singh,’ smiled Margaret, real pleasure in her voice.

‘I don’t believe it,’ Mr Singh beamed at Molly. ‘I just wished you were here and here you are. Where is he? Where is Harvey?’

Carla noted that the woman with Molly, although stouter, was very like her. This must be Margaret, the sister Molly protected as a child, the woman who protected Molly as an adult. Harvey
wasn’t with them. She knew straightaway what must have happened.

‘He’s gone, Pavitar,’ said Molly.

‘Oh no. No no no,’ said Pavitar Singh, the smile seized and thrown from his lips. ‘Dear Molly.’ He strode forwards and put his arms around her. Molly felt his tears on
her cheek.

All the joy at hearing Pavitar’s news gave way to a heavy cloud of real sadness engulfing them. Leni looked felled.
Life is a bastard sometimes
, Carla thought. Harvey and Molly
had found each other after all those years and barely had the chance to enjoy it. She thought that if she happened to meet Life in the street, she just might have given it a hard kick in the
balls.

‘Carla, dear, would you do the flowers for Harvey’s funeral? It’s on Friday. I know he would have liked that.’

Carla’s mind flashed back to the smart elderly man telling her that he would be her first customer. She nodded and said as she wiped at her tears, ‘It would be an honour.’

After work that night, Shaun drove past Leni’s house to make sure that all looked peaceful and there weren’t any signs of O’Gowans. In a way he wished there
were. The boy was one of theirs and they should be turning up at Leni’s cottage and demanding he go back with them. What sort of family let one of their own go so easily? That familiar
picture of his mother crying, collapsed on the floor being held back from attacking the people who were taking away her children flitted across his mind. He had always wondered why he had never
seen her again. Did she fight to see him? In his imagination she had. No woman who was in such distress would have given up easily, he reasoned. He had convinced himself that she had been thwarted
at every turn by the authorities and then died of a broken heart. He hadn’t ever wanted to find out the truth was any different to that.

There was no sign of disturbances at Thorn Cottage. Through the large picture window he could see Ryan sitting on the sofa and Leni delivering a tray to his lap. The lad had landed on his feet
all right there.

He slipped the car into first gear and released the hand brake. What was it about the woman that was getting under his skin so much? He found he was thinking about her far more than he wanted
to. Even his house wasn’t the same since she had walked into it, as if she had left a residue of light and warmth behind when she left. He opened the door to his kitchen half expecting to see
her still sitting at the table, waiting for him. He didn’t want to admit to himself that she had shaken up something within him, changed him. He didn’t need a relationship, especially
with someone so bloody perfect for whom a glass wasn’t only half-full, it was brimming with hundreds and thousands and exploding confetti. He was a mess emotionally and no one would raise him
to their level, he could only drag them down. He would snuff out her light and her smile if he got too close. It had happened before and it would only happen again. It was better that he fought
against the bewitching attraction she held for him.

By five o’clock on Wednesday morning, Carla was in the market choosing flowers and she was in seventh heaven. She was not alone; Will had taken her in his van as she
could really stock up with the extra space the back of his vehicle afforded her. She would need to trade in her car for a more practical work vehicle as soon as possible. A picture of a white van
with ‘The Lucky Flower Company’ lettered on the side, and the image of a black cat, petals around his head, loomed up in her mind and she felt a delicious thrill tremble through her. It
didn’t feel real – she, Carla Martelli, with her own florist business.

Harvey’s funeral was going to be held on Friday and she needed to buy lots of white roses and scented lilies tomorrow, so she would check out what was on offer today. She wanted them to be
as fresh and sprightly as possible. She intended to do him proud. His floral tributes would be perfect – it was the least she could do for Molly.

Will was fascinated. ‘How do you know what to buy?’ he asked, looking around at the early morning trading.

‘You get a feel for it after a few years,’ answered Carla. ‘Obviously you have orders to fulfil and then you need to make sure that you have plenty, and a variety, of flowers
to make emergency bouquets if anyone calls in on spec.’

She was delighted to find that her gut instinct was still working and telling her to make sure she bought her gerberas from Daffo-Jill. Hers always seemed to last a couple of days more than
those obtained from anywhere else.

‘Lovely to see you again,’ called a few of the stall-holders. Daffo-Jill gave her a big hug and took some business cards from her. Carla felt snugly back in her old comfortable
niche.

‘Bloody ’ell. How many sorts of red roses are there?’ Will asked, seeing a stall that had lots of different varieties.

‘Ooh, quite a few,’ said Carla, pointing to a couple of boxes. ‘Those are very popular and are called “Passion” and these gorgeous full-headed velvet ones are
“Grand Prix”. They’re my favourites. Beautiful scent.’

Will recalled walking into his old house on Valentine’s Day with three dozen red roses for Nicole. She had raised an obligatory smile and said
thank you
and given him a peck on
the cheek, and hours later they’d still been wrapped up in their cellophane because she hadn’t transferred them to a vase. She had just had her nails done, was her excuse. The cleaner
had done it for her the following day.

At the same time Carla was thinking that Martin had never bought her a single flower in all the time they’d been together. She wondered if he had ever bought Julie any. She would never
know. She really ought to stop torturing herself with questions that would never be answered. Martin was almost totally out of her head. Time would remove the remaining stubborn vestiges.

‘Thanks for this, Will,’ said Carla as they carried boxes out to his vehicle. ‘I need to get a van.’

‘Happy to help until you do,’ replied Will. And he was, too. Carla was so grateful, and so careful to ensure that he knew she was grateful, and she was eager to do him a good turn as
payback. He wouldn’t have thought it presumptuous to say that they were friends.

‘I’ll make it up to you. Not quite sure how,’ smiled Carla. ‘Want a bouquet?’

Will laughed. ‘Bouquet of bacon and eggs would be good.’

‘I can do that,’ beamed Carla. ‘There’s a café down the road called The Greasy Spoon but it’s really nice and does a top breakfast.’

‘That’s the sort of payment I like,’ grinned Will, closing the back door on the van. He had no job, no money, no home of his own and just the prospect of a paid breakfast to
look forward to; but somehow he felt bloody marvellous.

What an enigma Shaun McCarthy was, thought Leni, watching him across the square through the window. Why did she feel that she annoyed him so much? And why, if she did annoy him
so much, was he looking out for her? She was sure she had spotted his car on the road where she lived the previous night. Was he checking that she was okay? It wasn’t normal behaviour. But
then, who really was she to know what the norm was?

Leni had made a cake for Carla which she intended to take over later. She had decorated it with many coloured sugar-paste flowers and iced the words ‘Welcome to Spring Hill Square’
on it. The four sides of the cake were studded with tiny edible black cats. She put the cake tin on the counter and made herself a strong coffee. She hadn’t slept particularly well, worrying
about visits from the O’Gowan brothers; but she put on her best perky face to get Ryan off to school with four Weetabix and a croissant inside him. That boy could eat for England. She decided
that she would close the shop for an hour that afternoon and go to Penistone Mill and buy some blue bedding for him. She had given him a key so he could get into the cottage after school. She could
imagine what Shaun McCarthy would say about that. He would expect her home to be overrun with drug dealers and emptied out within the day.

Shaun was shouting up at a man on a ladder who was doing something on the roof. She studied him. He wasn’t magazine-cover perfect: his nose had a bump in it as if he’d been in one
too many fights and his face was always cast in a glower, but he was handsome in a strange way, if not a traditional one. He was powerfully built with eyes that were as bright and piercing as
lasers and she knew that under that hard shell of an exterior was a caring soul, she could testify to that. Then again, he acted towards her as if she were a female version of ringworm. She
couldn’t work him out. He turned quickly to the shop as if sensing she was staring at him and Leni threw herself backwards so she wouldn’t be seen. She didn’t want him to even
suspect that he was on her mind. Whatever ripples of warmth the sight of him might bring to the insides of her, her heart was unavailable. There was no point in even pretending otherwise.

*

By nine-thirty a.m., Carla already had two orders for bouquets to be picked up at lunchtime: a florist in Maltstone had let the very annoyed customer down and he wouldn’t
allow them to make it up to him, choosing to shift his business instead. The advert she had taken out in the
Barnsley Chronicle
had paid for itself already.

‘You go and do your flower thing in the back, I’ll man the phones,’ commanded Will, seeing that Carla was on the verge of getting into a flap. Plus the sight of her in that
black dress and white apron was doing things to him that it shouldn’t. It wasn’t that it was low-cut or short, quite the opposite, but it did show off Carla’s Italian curves to
their very best. She managed to look classy and sexy and sweet all at the same time. ‘Go on,’ he urged when she didn’t move.

Carla opened her mouth to protest, heard a voice inside her brain say,
don’t you dare turn him down you silly cow,
and shut it again. If this first day was anything to go by,
Carla decided that she might need an assistant sooner rather than later.

She listened to Will take a call and smiled to herself. His chirpy cockney accent certainly helped amplify his charm.

‘What do you mean your old man doesn’t buy you flowers? You should treat yourself to a bouquet as well, love. Every woman deserves flowers . . . Course I buy my missus some blooms.
Way to a gel’s heart, you can keep your chocolates. Nothing more romantic than a nice big bunch.’

He put down the phone after closing the sale. ‘Kerching,’ he called to Carla. She laughed.

‘You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?’

‘I most certainly am,’ said Will. ‘Flirting for a living. I was born to it. Oh, here we go again.’ The phone was ringing. ‘The Lucky Flower Company, how can I help
you?’

Carla twisted some yellow ribbon around the first complete bouquet as she listened to Will’s half of the conversation. It was better than a radio play.

‘Well, that’s very kind of you to give us a go. My missus has been in the flower game since she was a kid . . . best in the business she is . . .’

Missus?

‘Totally agree wiv ya, love . . . Funny you should say that, we’ve just had some business from a firm who were let down . . . not good, not good . . . Well that is great to hear that
we can expect more business from you if we make your mum happy and we will . . . Yep . . . got that . . . she’s seventy on Friday . . . she must have had you in her fifties then from the
sound of your voice . . .’

Carla raised her eyes skyward. What cheese. But the customer was obviously loving it.

‘Two hundred quidsworth? That is one serious bouquet . . . Are we looking at any particular colours . . . ? A mix . . . nice traditional arrangement or something a bit avant garde . . . ?
Traditional – as I thought . . . Oh, I think we can throw the delivery in for nothing . . . Yep, let me get my pen and take down a few details . . . Mrs Ellen Jacobs, Chloe House . . . as in
the perfume? Love that . . . Maltstone . . . It’s off the main Maltstone Road to the left of the White Rose Corner Shop, private drive . . . we’ll find it, don’t you worry, my
darling . . . Certainly, Visa is fine . . . if you’d give me the long number on the front first.’