Fairytale of New York (2 page)

‘Finally, they understand!’ I looked heavenwards, hands outstretched in gratitude. I could hardly believe it—had I really averted the inevitable lecture?

Nope.

‘…Suffice to say, that Marnie and I are committed to bugging you on a regular basis about this—’ Ed was stopped mid-sentence, by Marnie, or rather by Marnie’s hand as it clamped firmly across his mouth.

‘Quiet, Steinmann, I need this job!’ she laughed.

After a brief struggle, she let him go and they both collapsed back, smirking like a pair of naughty schoolkids. Despite my recent discomfort, I had to smile at the pair of them. Ed likes to pretend he’s the serious, surrogate older brother in this terrible twosome, yet often he’s the worse culprit. They are forever swapping jokes, winding each other up or just acting like a couple of big kids—and I love them for it. It makes me feel I’m part of something positive and gives a real, beating heart to Kowalski’s. Most importantly, I know that, behind the humour, they are fiercely protective of each other—and of me.

Ed’s eyes twinkled and he flashed a wide grin at me.

‘Suitably chastened, m’lady,’ he said, giving a little bow as we got up to return to the store. But in the doorway he grabbed my sleeve and pulled me to him. ‘However, this topic won’t go away, Rosie Duncan. It’s definitely one To Be Continued.’

At the age of twelve and a half I decided I wasn’t going to be a florist.

I made this Important Life Decision whilst helping my mum to create buttonholes for a wedding at five o’clock one Saturday morning. The bride’s mother had called our home an hour before in a blind panic, after realising she hadn’t ordered enough for the groom’s family. I think this was the same day that I made my next Important Life Decision—I was never, ever,
ever
going to get married. Never. People just seemed to lose all common sense when they were tying the knot.

Mum said that she could separate the soon-to-be-married ladies who visited her shop into four categories: Neurotic, Laid-Back (but usually accompanied by neurotic mothers), Bossy (‘I-know-exactly-what-I-want so-you’d-better-do-what-I-say-or-else’), and Nice and Uncomplicated. It seemed to me that the last category was sadly lacking in members. As I grew older and was given a Saturday job in Mum’s shop, I saw three fistfights, countless heated arguments and one engagement broken, all over the matter of flowers. Totally crazy. What never ceased to amaze me, however, was the way Mum calmly and gently responded to each rude, obnoxious, or just plain
psychotic customer, managing to bring them to a satisfactory decision every time.

With a name like mine, the floristry connection was almost impossible to get away from. Mum called me Rose after my grandmother, but it’s also part of her name—Rosemary. My brother, James, often jokes that he should have been called Daisy to make the floristry theme complete. Nevertheless, as soon as I could, I got as far away from floristry as possible. I studied media and communications at university, got a good degree and moved south to work for a London advertising agency. It was a great job and I loved it. I loved the excitement. I revelled in the deadlines, the intense periods of high creativity and the fulfilment of seeing my finished campaigns on giant billboards across the city. Mum was incredibly proud of me and put a display of my adverts in one corner of her shop, just behind the stargazer lilies. ‘The stars are the limit for my little dreamer,’ she used to tell her customers. But every now and then she would remind me that, in her opinion, my design ability came from my gift for floristry. ‘You’re a natural designer,’ she would say, ‘and nothing will ever give you a thrill like creating something with living things.’ I would laugh at this, but Mum’s calm and knowing smile always left a little discomforting question mark at the back of my mind.

Then, just when I thought my life was complete, I found there was something missing. And one of my Important Life Decisions was put to the ultimate test. I fell in love.

That one, singular happening in my life changed everything. It led me to leave England and a family and career I loved, to move to America and chase my dream.

When my dream died, my other Important Life Decision was reversed and floristry became my saving grace. I rediscovered
the joy of creating something with living things; twisting, moulding and combining scents and colours, forms and foliage into something new, something worthwhile. I found that catching the fleeting beauty of flowers seemed to awaken something hidden deep within me: a need to celebrate
life
—however brief—after my own life had been exposed to so much death. As I placed my creations in the hands of my customers, I found my work marking their lives too—celebrations, commemorations, condolences—and the thrill it gave me to be part of their stories far surpassed anything I’d felt during my previous job. Just like Mum had told me. And now I can’t imagine ever doing anything else.

Celia arrived at noon on the day of her big event to inspect the progress of her order. I was proud to report that we were almost done—only two more arrangements to complete. She skipped around the workroom like a delirious three-year-old, squealing with delight at the ‘quaintness’ of the baskets, the ‘gorgeous English scent’ of the roses and the quality of craftsmanship ‘that Philippe himself could never equal’. After several minutes of gushing and promises of many future orders to come, she was gone again, racing off to her next interview.

Ed wiped his brow and flopped down onto a chair.

‘Rosie, that woman is a human whirlwind. How on earth do you keep up with her?’

I giggled. ‘Sometimes, I ask myself the same question. But her heart’s in the right place, you know.’

‘Sure, but where’s the rest of her?’

Marnie and I finished the final arrangements and stood back to view the wonderful spectacle that is a completed order. ‘Perfect!’ I said. ‘We’re done.’

Ed frowned. ‘Wait—we’ve got to have the Kowalski Ceremony before you can say that.’ He picked up an old, rusty pair of halfmoon spectacles from a shelf, placed them on the end of his nose and adopted a slow, gentle Polish accent. ‘So, I think maybe we are
done
now, everybody? Good! Let’s clear up and
deliver
!’

I smiled at him. Some days I miss Mr Kowalski so much my heart aches.

‘Can I go for my lunch break?’ asked Marnie, hopefully.

‘No problem,’ I said, checking my watch. ‘Take an hour, mate. You’ve worked so hard the last two days. Enjoy yourself.’

But before I’d finished speaking, Marnie had grabbed her bag and coat and was out of the door, shouting her thanks over her shoulder as she went.

Ed raised an amused eyebrow. ‘Now there’s another whirlwind in training,’ he said. ‘Must be the guy she met last week in drama class.’

I smiled as I began to collect the scrap foliage and raffia from the worktables. ‘Ah. Another chapter of Marnie’s life begins.’

‘Poor Marnie. Her love life reads like a plot of a daytime soap,’ Ed agreed, and began to carry completed arrangements to the cold store. ‘I was attempting to explain this to my mother the other day. Let me see if I remembered the highlights: there was the med student—he lasted four months, till he announced he wanted to become a gynaecologist…’

‘Always a passion-killer, that one.’

‘Then came the Italian stallion, who said he was on an exchange programme from romantic Sicily, when really he was from romantic Queens.’

‘Hmm, and he only told her that small detail of his life
after
she’d spent most of her money showing him the sights of New York for three weeks.’

‘And, of course, who could forget the guy she fell head over heels with, who turned out to be her long-lost half-brother?’

We both grimaced at that one. Ed shook his head and picked up the last two arrangements. ‘Now, you make the coffee and I’ll finish up here.’

My coffee machine is just about the best thing ever. It’s one work requirement that I’ve retained from my old days at the advertising agency—I need my coffee in order to be creative. Customers have told me that the comforting scent of coffee mingling with the flowers makes them feel at home when they enter the shop. It seems to encourage them to spend time making their decisions. Nowadays, it’s strictly decaf after 2 p.m.—not least because we all need our sleep at night, but also because Marnie under the influence of too much caffeine is downright
scary,
and I don’t want to frighten the customers away. My coffee machine doesn’t look or work like it used to, but its battered appearance and the strange noises it emits are all part of its endearing character. Marnie thinks it should be retired, but Ed agrees with me that it makes the best cup of coffee around, and that makes two votes to one. Motion carried. So Old Faithful (as he is affectionately known) remains an important member of my staff.

When the coffee was ready, after much huffing, puffing and weird clunking from Old F, Ed joined me behind the counter for lunch. Ed always eats the most enormous pastrami sandwiches at lunchtime. He buys them each morning from Schaeffer’s Deli, a few blocks down from his apartment in the East Village, on his way to work. I asked him once how he manages to eat so much without becoming the size of a small planet, and he informed me that he has an ‘excellent metabolism’. I reckon it’s more to do with the fact that he runs five
miles every day, goes to the gym regularly and seems to spend most of his free time running after (or being chased by) the beautiful women of New York.

After several minutes of happy munching, Ed gave the meat monstrosity a time out and shot me one of his serious looks.

‘So what about
your
dating history, Rosie?’

Uh-oh. This was one road trip I knew all too well:

YOU ARE NOW ENTERING UNCOMFORTABLE
Population: Just Me

I tried a detour. ‘Not much to tell, really.’

Of course, this wasn’t likely to put him off. In hindsight, it was probably the worst thing I could have said: there is nothing Ed Steinmann likes more than a challenge. I might just as well have slapped him in the face with a gauntlet.

‘Oh, come on, Rosie, there must have been guys you left back in old Blighty?’

‘Umm…’

‘Buzzzz! Hesitation!’ Only Ed could turn an embarrassing conversation into a quiz show. ‘Travelled across the Pond leaving a string of broken hearts behind you, eh?’

I swallowed hard. ‘Something like that.’

‘And then there was…where was it you came here from? DC? Chicago?’

‘Boston.’

‘Ah, Boston. So—any broken hearts there?’

‘I—
no,
OK? Can we change the subject, please?’

Ed held up his half-eaten sandwich in surrender. ‘Hey, I’m just making conversation. You’ve been here, what, six years and we’ve never seen you dating.’

I let out a long sigh. ‘I don’t have time to date.’

Ed took another bite and munched thoughtfully. ‘That’s because you spend half your life chasing the whims of that mad journalist friend of yours.’

‘Ed, that’s unfair. Celia’s a good friend.’

‘So how come she’s never set you up on a date then?’

‘Ed!
’

‘I’m just making an observation. I mean, there must be countless eligible hacks at the
Times.
’

I folded my arms in a vain attempt to feel less vulnerable. ‘Since when was my love life such an area of fascination for you?’

‘It’s not just me, it’s Marnie too. Actually, mainly Marnie, to be honest. She worries about you.’

Knowing that my staff were discussing my personal life was more than a little disconcerting. It wasn’t that I minded them caring for me—that’s something that I’d always found about my team and it was great to know we all looked out for one another. It was more that I didn’t want to discuss my love life with
anyone,
especially not my past in London or Boston. Believe me, I had my reasons.

‘Well, she shouldn’t worry. I’m fine. Besides, between the two of you I think we have the eligible contingent of Manhattan pretty much covered, don’t you?’

He nodded. ‘Good point. So, ask me about
my
love life then, seeing as
you
don’t have time for one.’ Ed has this amazing capacity for making you smile when you really should be hitting him
hard.
It is completely disarming but devastatingly effective.

‘Fine. Who’s the lucky lady tonight, pray tell?’

Ed looked like the cat that got the cream, sapphire blue eyes twinkling. ‘Lawyer.’

‘Oh, nice.’

‘Yep, she is.’

‘Name?’

‘Mona. I think she’s Italian.’

‘Let me guess: second name Lisa, can’t really tell what she’s thinking, bit of an oil painting?’

Ed was unmoved by my humour. ‘Maybe you should call 911, Rosie. My sides are in the process of splitting. No, she’s representing my cousin Klaus.’

‘What’s he up for?’

Ed rested his sandwich on the counter and wiped his hands with a paper napkin. ‘How come you instantly assume my family are all crooks?’

I looked sheepish. ‘Sorry.’ It was nice to be in control of the conversation at last.

‘Hmm. Well, don’t do it again, Duncan. No, he’s being sued by a former patient who claims Klaus hypnotised him during one session, causing him to make a series of disastrous business decisions, which led to the collapse of his company.’

‘Is your cousin a hypnotherapist?’

‘No—that’s the crazy thing. He’s a psychiatrist.
All
my family are psychiatrists, for pity’s sake, apart from me.’

‘Is this client likely to win?’

‘No way. The guy’s clearly a nut, but hey, this is New York: sneeze in the wrong place and someone’s going to sue your ass from here to eternity. Mona reckons the judge will take one look at him and throw the case out. But, while we’re waiting for that to happen, I owe it to my cousin to ensure that his lovely lawyer is as fully briefed as possible.’

‘Knowing you, it’s probably more a
lack
of briefs you’re interested in?’

‘Hey, so she just couldn’t resist me. What can I tell ya?’

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever,’ I laughed, taking our mugs to Old F for a refill.

‘See, Rosie? Look at all the fun you’re missing out on.’

‘Lawyers aren’t my type and I don’t know any psychiatrists.’

‘Then try a policeman, or a photographer—or a taxi driver, even. Heck,
anyone
would be worth a shot, if only to get you “out there” again! How about we get Marnie to recommend one of her exes?’

Bringing the filled mugs back, I gave one to Ed and sat down. ‘I don’t think so, thank you very much. Somehow I don’t think any of them will be my type. Now drop it and eat that cow in bread you’ve got there.’

‘Don’t try diversionary tactics. You know they won’t work on me. Just be prepared for us to keep bugging you about it, OK?’

I ignored a sinking feeling and attempted a breezy smile. ‘I wouldn’t expect anything less.’

‘Uh-huh,’ Ed agreed, resuming his one-man onslaught on the mountain of meat.

I watched him for a while. Ed is one of those people you instantly like. I love his quick wit and cheekiness, despite being on the receiving end of it more often than I’d like. Ed can deliver a one-liner faster than a speeding bullet and that always makes me smile. Maybe it’s this mischievous quality in him that the good ladies of Manhattan find so irresistible. I have to admit, when Steinmann puts his mind to something, it’s difficult to say no to him. Mind you, if I believe Ed and Marnie’s theory about me, I seem to have this problem with everybody on account of my
Malaise Anglais,
so perhaps that doesn’t count. Even when he’s tired or hungover, the charm is never far away; in fact, it is often particularly endearing when he’s looking more dishevelled than usual.