THE MULBERRY-COLOURED 1950s Raleigh Cruiser bicycle leaned against the antique white storefront of Flowers for Fleur. The peonies in the front basket beamed their colourful happiness at everyone who ventured past. I leaned towards them to smell their scent—spicy and citrusy. The bicycle was a good sign. Gram was back. Whatever had made her ill must have gone. Maybe she had a bad case of food poisoning?
I pushed on the French doors and entered. Grampapa’s singing filled the shop. I’m certain his voice made the plants grow better!
‘Landi, good morning!’ Gram said, her voice as bright as the new day. ‘Did you see the Anna’s Hummingbird flitting around the blue sage? Such a delightful creation.’
I took quick steps over to her, my work boots thumping on the floor with each step. I gave her a hug. ‘Yes. I saw and heard the hummingbirds. Plural. Amazing! How are you feeling today?’ Gram was the colour of fuscia this morning, like helium filled balloons at a pink birthday party infused with wishes, then released to freedom with happiness and expectation, rising above the hollow dramas of the earth.
‘Never better. Help yourself to a cup of tea before you start on your job list.’ Gram stopped and stared at me, for more than a moment of stillness. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’ Her voice had lost its joy and her colour changed from fuscia to pale yellow, like butter that had started to melt in the hot sun.
Anxiety shot through me. Before she had a vertigo attack, she stared. ‘Me too,’ I said, sending up a silent prayer for her.
She moved again, like she had been in a freeze-frame and become unfrozen. ‘I’ll be fighting fit soon, and then you can go back to your flight simulators.’ She smiled at me. Sort of. But not her usual Gram smile that infused the entire store with light that bloomed in your heart until it felt full, with love.
‘I know ... would you like tea as well?’
There was no reply.
‘Gram. Would you like a cup of tea?’
She turned her head. ‘Say it again, dear?’
‘Would you like one of the many morning teas?’
‘Oh no. I haven’t had any tears this morning. It’s a good day.’
I frowned, then smiled at her. What an odd reply ... I put my hand on her shoulder, so she turned and faced me. ‘I’ll get you a cup of tea, Gram.’
‘Lovely, that would be nice.’
I walked over to the florist cafe. ‘Morning, Darcy!’
He gave a slight smile through his red manicured beard. ‘Tea?’
‘Actually, I’m tempted to have coffee. That brew you’re working on smells magnificent!’ Darcy was back to the colour of sky blue today—the colour of peace and stability, trustworthiness.
‘Thanks, Andi. I call this one the heart-starter. It’s a new concoction. I’ll make you one when you’re struggling with energy this afternoon.’ Darcy gave me an amused smile.
‘Hmmm. A test subject! Count me in!’ I gave him a thumbs-up. His barista handiwork and baking were becoming famous in the township of Tarrin. The township of “more”. Flowers for Fleur was not only the place to go to for flowers, but for hot beverages as well. Fortune rained down on Gram when she hired the good-looking, red-haired, hipster-bearded Darcy, on that fateful day. ‘Tea for Gram as well, please.’
I sat at a table and my tea soon arrived. I looked out the window while I savoured the calming brew. It was early morning and the main street was starting to come to life with shopkeepers opening stores.
When I finished my cup of tea, I collected my apron and commenced with the mundane daily jobs while Gram created bouquets of magnificence. The only consolation was that the time went quickly.
As I watered the plants on the sales desk, I saw the reply note I had written to the person who wanted to buy Gram’s bicycle. I picked it up and went outside and placed it into the peonies in the basket on the bicycle, with hope that the note writer would see it.
I waved to the baker up the road before I returned to the store. I glanced over at Gram at the workbench, smiling as she worked on orders while Grampapa’s voice filled every nook and cranny. I looked at my pre-opening job list. I had gift-ware to unpack and price tags to add before they went on display, as well as having to sort through the chocolates and fudges Gram had ordered from Lily’s Lollies, the candy store in Tarrin, as was the town policy.
I opened the double French doors at 8.30am to a multitude of “good mornings” and “hellos”, and placed silver buckets of flowers outside for sale. People streamed through the doors and headed to Darcy to feed their morning tea and coffee addiction, while others picked bouquets of flowers ready to purchase. I stepped behind the sales desk and pulled the top of my dress higher over my chest scar. Flowers for Fleur was open for business ...
‘Flowers, tea, coffee ... or books?’ The words rolled off my tongue for the seventeenth time this morning. I wished I could just say, “Can I help you?”, or “Hi!”, but Gram insisted I say all five words, each and every time, just like she had from the very first day she opened the store fifty years ago. “It’s tradition,” she had said.
‘Flowers, please.’ The middle-aged woman smiled at me. She looked like she was on top of the world. She was the colour of bright yellow—happy and triumphant.
‘I get the feeling you’re celebrating,’ I said.
‘Yes. My granddaughter was born at 2.13am.’ She gave a little squeal. ‘She’s so perfect ... so adorable.’
My heart melted. There was nothing more precious than the gift of a baby. ‘Congratulations! Gram makes the most amazing floral arrangements for new babies. Go over and tell her your good news, then head to Darcy for a celebratory coffee or tea, on the house!’
‘Thanks, Andi.’
‘You’re welcome, and you must visit with your granddaughter to introduce us sometime!’
‘Definitely!’
The moment she walked to Gram I dashed into the cold room to grab more bunches of flowers for outside the flower store. Flowers were in hot demand today. Gram would be ecstatic.
After I placed the blooms into the silver buckets, I stepped back to check their placement, then looked over at Gram’s bicycle. There, in the flowers, was another note. I grabbed it and opened it.
Dear Andi,
You misunderstand me.
I need that bike.
Name the price.
Xander
‘Wha? Does Xander not have manners?’ I strolled inside the store, thinking of an apt reply that would shut him down. I placed the note next to the laptop computer to reply to later when I had more time. He’ll keep.
I opened the “outside flowers” book to record the flowers I had placed in front of the store. When I looked up, the milkman stood in front of me. He was the colour of admiral blue—trust, responsibility, honesty and loyalty. ‘Good morning, Mr Wilson. Just take the milk and cream right over to Darcy.’
‘I know. But first I must apologize.’
I frowned. ‘Why’s that?’
‘The blood ... yesterday.’
My eyes widened. I touched each of my fingers on my right hand with my thumb, one by one—the hand that dripped with blood on that terrible day, three years ago...
A tingle of anxiety shot through me, threatening to grow into a full-blown panic attack. My head started to swim. Distraction. Move on with the conversation. ‘What happened?’ I asked.
‘It was dark, and I turned my head towards the noise down the street. I tripped and dropped a bottle. When I put my hand down to stop my fall, I cut myself. Sorry about the blood.’
I swallowed. Keep talking ... ‘Is your hand okay?’
‘Seven stitches. But I’ll survive.’
‘I hope it heals quickly. I’ll organise a light for the front of the store so you can see better.’ That was my workplace health and safety brain kicking in from working at the defence force base. I jotted it down on my job list, so I wouldn’t forget.
‘Oh. That’s not necessary. I carry a torch, most of the time.’
‘It’s not a problem, Mr Wilson. Consider it done.’ I turned towards Darcy. He gave me a questioning look. ‘Darcy’s eager for your milk delivery. Have a lovely day.’
I looked around the store trying to focus on things other than the conversation I just had with the milkman. There was a lull in customers. I stretched my back before I found some floral paper and a pen. It was time to respond to dear Xander’s request.
Dear Xander,
You misunderstand me.
The bike cannot be exchanged for $$$$.
Andi
That would do. Short. To the point.
I’ll put in the flowers in the bike basket early tomorrow morning.