HE WAS AT THE DOOR WHEN I ARRIVED at 7am, looking at his watch. He was a spectacular azure blue colour. I faltered in my step, remembering that I didn’t open his letter. I turned around and placed my hand on my forehead and closed my eyes for a moment. How should I explain why I haven’t read his damn letter?
I turned back to him. His dark hair was manicured. He stood tall and confident, today in jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. His broad shoulders gave the impression he was an athlete.
As I got closer he lifted his chin and looked down at me, his pupils large. A curious heat rushed through me.
‘You didn’t read my letter, did you?’ His tone was clipped.
I pushed past him to open the door. I was already twenty minutes late. The aroma of fresh coffee permeated the air and I took a welcoming deep breath.
‘Why didn’t you read it?’ He was behind me, and I could smell his citrusy scent with a hint of liquorice, vanilla and ... lavender, perhaps. It reminded me of fireplaces and winter and mulled wine—warm and comforting.
I stopped walking and closed my eyes. I wanted him gone. Do I tell him the truth or spin him an untruth to get rid of him?
Lie.
I stepped forward with determination towards the workbench of flower imagination and reached for my apron, turned around and tied it on while I looked up at him. I pulled the top of my dress up, ensuring the scar on my chest was covered, even though I knew it was. He was frowning, his face filled with ... sadness?
Truth.
‘Gram had vertigo and fell over. She split her head open. I went to the hospital with her.’ I looked down and shook my head. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll read it today.’ My eyes were wet, and tears gathered on my eyelashes. I blinked quickly to empty them from my eyes.
Xander put his hands into his pockets. ‘It’s me who’s sorry. Can I help in anyway? I know some good doctors. I—’
‘No. We have it sorted. Thank yo—’
‘It could be serious. Don’t wait to get the symptoms diagnosed. Your gram may ha—’
‘We have it sorted. Thank you,’ I said a little louder and sharper than I intended. He was annoying me.
Xander blinked at me. Not a slow calm blink. But short irregular blinks, like I had insulted him. I didn’t mean to.
‘Forget about the bike, and ah ...’ He looked down and tapped his finger on the wooden workbench. ‘I hope your gram is okay.’ He took a deep breath and gazed deeply into my eyes. And that curious heat was there again.
‘Me, too,’ I whispered, my throat constricted.
He pressed his lips together and walked toward the door, running his fingers through his thick dark hair, then disappeared.
I knotted my fingers together, then turned to find Gram’s famous bicycle.
It was in her office. I ran my fingers over it. It wasn’t just a bike. It was the romance of my grandparents. And an heir loom.
I wheeled it through the flower store, through the French doors and outside, then leaned it against the antique-white storefront of Flowers for Fleur where it had sat for the last fifty years.
I walked with quick steps back inside and orchestrated a symphony of white, light pink, dark pink and golden yellow old-fashioned peonies for good health and prosperity. They were Gram’s most favourite flowers. I returned outside and placed them into the basket. Just for Gram. I inhaled the scent—a heady mixture of sweet rose and clean citrus. I held my breath and closed my eyes, then blew out my scented breath with a prayer. Just for Gram.
The sound of running footsteps came close. I looked up and was greeted by a wide smile, framed by gorgeous flowing blonde locks, like mine once were, before I dyed my hair dark-brown.
My smile matched hers. ‘Lucy!’ Enthusiasm poured from each letter of her name as I said it. She was the colour of bright, energetic orange—radiating warmth, happiness and cheerfulness.
‘Yolande! Charlotte can’t make it today, so Gramps sent me. He’s at the hospital with Gram. They’re testing for a brain tumour.’
My heart missed a beat. No! I knew it could be a possibility, but I didn’t want it to be a reality for Gram! ‘I’m not surprised really ... vertigo ... vomiting ... loss of balance.’ I shook my head. ‘Whatever it is, they’ll be able to fix it!’ I added as a silent request, brimming with sparkling hope.
‘They will,’ said Lucy. ‘It could just be a virus, you know.’
‘Really? That would be great ... I mean, it’s bad, but, it’s good, because the virus will go away, and we’ll get our beautiful Gram back.’
My favourite cousin smiled at me. She linked her arm through mine and pulled me through the front door of Flowers for Fleur.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit me again. This time I let it caress me—comforting and soothing. Gram’s dream of flowers, tea, coffee and books was visionary for her time, and was a huge success in this town of Tarrin, this town of “more”.
The mad morning mayhem hadn’t started yet, so I put on my barista hat and made myself a kind of cappuccino to soothe my heart, much to the dislike of Darcy. I carried it to the sales desk and placed it down and focussed on the to-do list. I sighed. The flower truck would be here in twenty minutes. No rest for the weary.
When I lifted my coffee to my lips I caught sight of the unopened letter from Xander. He said he didn’t want the bike anymore, so I picked up the envelope and dropped it into the wastepaper basket. I wrapped both of my hands around the coffee mug and enjoyed the warmth of the brew before the day took over.
I frowned. Why would Xander deliver a letter in person instead of leaving it in the flowers of the bike like he had done previously?
There was only one way to answer that question. I retrieved the letter from the wastepaper basket and carried it over to the workbench, then flipped it over to open the seal. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Gramps. I placed the letter onto the workbench and looked at my phone ...
GRAMPS: Singing softly to Gram at the hospital.
I hope Lucy has arrived. xxx
I grinned and texted back: Lucky Gram!
Give her my love. Lucy is here with her
boundless energy. Thank you xxx
I pocketed my phone and opened the order book. I had ten orders of flower art to create and deliveries to be made. Not to mention the orders that had come in overnight—five of them. Gram had told me to start at 7am each day. Clearly, I would need to start much earlier to get everything done. At least Lucy was here today, and I had already given her my usual “to-do list”.
I leaned over the order book and cupped my forehead. My brain was used to logical processes and procedures. This creative gig was a struggle. Hopefully it would only be for a few more days after the doctors sorted out Gram’s medical issue.
I crouched down to grab the florist tools from under the bench. As I reached over for the basket with the trimmers, shapers, wire, pins, floral tape and foam, I spied a book I had never seen before.
Fleur’s Book of Fantastical Flower Designs
I pulled it out and opened it. Inside were the names of flower arrangements Gram had designed, with hand-drawn illustrations and labels. I flicked backwards through the pages of watercolour and ink beauty before I hovered over the contents page:
Flowers for ~
1 Fabulous - an astounding collection of flowers for
life-long friends
2 Fairy - an eclectic mix of blooms for one who thinks they
belong to a different realm, and wants to enchant another
3 Faith - a gorgeous congregation of florets reflecting the
glory of heaven
4 Fake - for folk focussing on portraying someone
they’re not. I smell a rat!
5 Family - an assortment of flowers to impress
6 Fancy - like grandmother Lawrence’s underwear!
7 Fantasy - a bouquet of blooms for one who appears
in your dreams and fantasies
8 Farewell - a combination of blossoms that gladden
the heart of either the giver or the recipient - sad
to see you go ... glad to see you go
9 Fatality - a garland of blooms for death caused by
an accident - never nice to create
10 Favourite - a selection of flowers of the favourite
colours of a person preferred over all others ...
11 Fearful - a posy of yellow flowers as reverse psychology
12 Fearless - an anthology of bold blooms that scream
13 Felonious - stolen moments in life. A combination
of florets for one stealing another’s love interest - boo!
14 Fertile - a gathering of blooms to invoke sensuality
to set the mood for baby making - ooh la-la!
15 Fervour - a collection of passionate flowers for
those eager for “more”
16 Festivity - an arrangement of flowers for religious,
birthday and other celebrations
17 Fetus - a gathering of baby breath to celebrate conception
18 Fibber - a posy of florets to conceal a lie
19 Fierce - an assortment of blooms from a fiercely
protective (and perhaps controlling) partner
20 Fiery - a gathering of blossoms for forgiveness
after a bitter and somewhat vicious disagreement
21 Fighter - an arrangement of flowers for someone
fighting to keep their love
22 Finish - an anthology of buds to celebrate finishing
education, work, retirement, a race, a difficult journey
23 Firsts - a selection of blooms to celebrate firsts
24 Fissure - a collection of flowers to mend a fracture
in a marriage or partnership
25 Fix - a bouquet of florets to fix a broken heart, or a mistake
26 Fixation - a combination of blossoms to present
to a person you have an obsession with
27 Flame - a selection of flowers for that special
someone who still lights your fire - perhaps an ex?
28 Flatter - a gathering of blooms to make someone
feel special
29 Flaunt - an anthology of buds that shout of wealth
30 Fleur - a superb creation of peonies of course!
30 Fling - an assortment of flowers for a short affair
31 Flirty - a selection of blossoms to win a heart
32 Florimania - an insane collection of 100 blooms
for those who have a craze for flowers
33 Flossie - Roman Goddess of Flowers - say no more!
34 Folly - an arrangement of buds for someone who
has more money than sense - ka-ching!
35 Fondness - an assortment of flowers for someone
you like, really like!
36 Fool - a posy of blooms for someone who is an idiot!
37 Forbidden - a collection of buds that lure a lust interest
38 Foreplay - a combination of blossoms to encourage sex
39 Forget - a bouquet of flowers when you are in deep
trouble, or you want to forget the deep trouble
40 Forgiveness - an arrangement of blooms that
whisper words of “please forgive me”
41 Fornication - a collection of florets = sex
42 Fractured - flowers for broken bones ...
43 Fraud - an arrangement of blooms for a deceitful giver
44 Frazzled - an assortment of blossoms that release
an intoxicating fragrance that clouds the mind
45 Freed - a selection of 50 shades of flowers for the
soul who wants to cut ties or release chains
46 Friends - an anthology of buds that sing of love
and good times and memories never to be forgotten
47 Frivolous - a combination of trivial, silly flowers
for a superficial person
48 Fruitcake - a gathering of blooms for an eccentric
or mad person that balances their energy and calms
49 Funeral - a garland of delicate flowers for man, woman,
child, baby or pet - always heartbreaking to make
50 to be created
I raised my eyebrows. Forty-nine flower arrangements that started with the letter “f”, alphabetically. Who knew that Gram created magic from flowers every day in her floral boutique, then used them in mind persuasion with her customers’ recipients. She certainly did have some fancy blooms and successful working formulas as a floriculturist.
I placed the book of flower secrets onto the wooden workbench and started matching flower formulas to orders. I hoped Gram didn’t mind. Then I prioritized according to time of delivery. My work was mapped out for me this morning.
The shop was buzzing with business as soon as the doors opened at 8.30. Again, I noted that normal flower shops were never busy like this. It must have been the Tarrin factor of “more”. Or perhaps, it was the coffee and tea that invited people in.
I glanced up from the workbench every now and again to see how Lucy was coping at the sales desk. She was fabulous.
By 10.30am, the last of the orders went out the door to their destination. I cleaned up the workbench and slid Xander’s letter to the centre of the workspace. I flipped it over to open the seal, and my phone buzzed.
GRAMPS: Good news. No brain tumour.
Talk to you later. x x x
ME: <3 Answered prayer x x x Thank goodness.
I couldn’t stop smiling. I went over to Lucy and held the phone message up for her to read.
She wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug. ‘Now, get out of here for a thirty-minute break. I need to leave at eleven. I’ll call you if I need you! But I won’t.’
I ran my hands down my apron and looked around the busy flower shop.
‘Go, Andi! Everything will be fine.’
I nodded to her, removed my work apron and put it on the back of the chair at the workbench, then touched the top of my dress to check that my scar was covered. The envelope from Xander caught my eye. I flipped it over to unseal it.
‘Go, Andi! Before I chase you out of here with thorns from the roses!’ Lucy called.
I held my hands up at my cousin, pushed Xander’s letter to the side, grabbed Gram’s Book of Fantastical Flower Designs, then left Flowers for Fleur and headed out into the sunshine. Tarrin’s sunshine of more.
The central park was across the road, and the black, wrought iron park bench under the ancient oak tree, looked like the perfect way to escape for a bit. Away from people. Away from flowers. But not too far that I couldn’t call for help for myself if I needed it.
I looked down at my chest. My scar was covered. Good.
I opened Gram’s flower design book to the first page, and the golden rays of the sun beamed onto it through the leaves of the aged tree. She had painted watercolour flowers and inked words in black:
* Flowers are love
* Flowers are created with love
* Love isn’t love until you give it away
* Actions speak louder than words
* Kind words conquer
I nodded my head, agreeing with her words. This is how Gram lived her life, every minute of every day. And this is how I used to be, before that terrible day of the scars. And that is all good and dandy, until you look evil in the face. Then it’s a matter of survival.
I stretched my fingers, stopping myself from touching the scar on my chest.
‘Don’t go there, I whispered to myself, and suppressed the hate that tried to rise from inside. I repeated my survival mantra with whispered words:
Forgiveness does far more for me than for them, and,
power over my own thoughts is my highest freedom.
Positive cognitive therapy could win.
I turned the page.
There were more flowers in an exquisite colour palette, and words about a smile.
* A smile is the universal welcome
* Use your smile to change the world;
don’t let the world change your smile
* A smile remains the most inexpensive gift I can
bestow on anyone and yet its powers can
vanquish kingdoms
* Today, give a stranger one of your smiles. It might
be the only sunshine they see all day
* Every time you smile at someone, it is an
action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing
I ran my fingers over the black ink script on the page ... smile ... my smile had disappeared that day. That day when I should have held on to Mia’s hand tighter. I should never have let our grip slip, even as my blood dripped from my body, down onto the jagged ocean rocks below.
Bile rose in my throat. I swallowed hard to push it back down to where it belonged.
I divided my life into before the event, and after the event. One was full of colour and laughter and music and love and life. The other, gray with an “a”, although, I wished it was grey with an “e”, like dark clouds and rain, like my heart was crying. But it was the colour of gray with an “a”. Nothing but tones of gray. My life was the colour of broken.
My psychologist had told me to “Smile in the mirror. Do it every morning and you’ll start to see a big difference in your life!”.
I doubted it. What would she know? Had she been through what I’d been through?
The sun disappeared behind a cloud. I looked up at the silver lining. Some people claimed it represented hope. I claimed it was time to return to the flower shop where I would stop looking inside of myself where the darkness lurked and threatened to pull me under.
I closed Gram’s book with care. This was surely an heirloom that would remain in the family until the end of earth time. And it was mine—for the pretend florist girl with the steel-capped work boots. I might start a fashion trend. You never know ...
I entered Flowers for Fleur with five minutes to spare. Lucy looked up and beamed me a captivating smile. Gram was right. A smile had power. Just like flowers. It touches your heart and soul and makes you think the world is perfect. Except it’s a lie. The world is not perfect. Nevertheless, I drank in every positive speck of energy Lucy’s smile offered me.
I walked to the workbench and donned my apron. There was Xander’s letter sitting on the bench waiting to be opened. I picked it up and started to slide my thumb under the seal, once again. Done. I reached in to pull out the piece of paper.
‘Yolande! I have a unique order for you to make up for Mrs Smith,’ Lucy called.
‘Great. I like unique orders,’ I said, hoping they didn’t pick up on my sarcasm. I closed the piece of paper and wriggled it back into the envelope.
Mrs Smith marched over to me at the workbench. I watched her carefully. Was she walking with confidence, or was she walking to confront me? She was the colour of crimson red—determination and triumph.
I decided to try out a smile. If she was walking to confront me, it might disarm her.
Smile. ‘Hi, Mrs Smith. How can I help you? Are you celebrating?’ Keep smiling ...
‘Yes, I am. Today I made a mistake!’
‘And you want to celebrate it?’ I raised my eyebrows at her. This was incredulous. Mistakes weren’t to be celebrated!
‘Absolutely. Normally, when I make a mistake, I have a meltdown and dwell on it for days and think of all the things I could have done to avoid making the mistake and I lose sleep and I beat myself up over it—’
‘That’s not uncommon,’ I interrupted. I bet it’s not as big as the mistake I made ...
‘Have you ever made a mistake, Yolande?’
At that moment, I wished Lucy had never called out my name to me. Mrs Smith used it like she was a teacher lecturing me. I looked down and smiled in a grimace type of way, hoping it didn’t look creepy. I looked back at her with a nice, pretend smile. ‘Everyday—what can I create for you,’ I said, trying to change the subject of mistakes, and trying to wash away her assumed accusation.
‘You know, I thought today, it’s okay to make mistakes ... it’s not as if my mistake has killed someone ...’
I stilled and swallowed my smile.
‘I think I would like to celebrate with a bouquet of ...’
Fruitcake, I thought, for the eccentric or mad person. She was making me mad! More than mad. She was making me angry. She deserved the fruitcake creation from Gram’s book of designs. Or was she frivolous? She was making such a kerfuffle over something so unimportant in the big scheme of things. She really needed some resilience.
What would Gram do? Kindness. The opposite of what I felt right now. But kindness is contagious, right? Just like a smile. Daisies, I decided. The blooms would just be daisies. They put sunshine into anyone’s life—mistake or no mistake.
‘Mrs Smith. Please wander over to Darcy and order a tea or coffee while you wait. It’s on the house. I have a wonderful creation of flowers in mind for you!’
Mrs Smith clasped her hands together in front of her chest. ‘Oh, thank you. That’s so wonderful, dear!’
I nodded and tried out another smile, hoping it would encourage her to walk away from me while I put together her concoction of daisies. I didn’t want her to watch me work. It would give away the fact that I’m a pretend florist. A fake.
It worked a treat. She about turned and marched over to see Darcy. When she ordered, Darcy looked over at me and raised his eyebrows. I nodded to him then disappeared into the cold room to collect a mixture of daisies for Mrs Smith and her “mistake”.
I returned to the workbench with ten yellow daisies, ten white daisies with a yellow centre, and a single pink gerbera daisy for her mistake. I wrapped the stems with Hessian and bound it with string before I bundled the bouquet in natural brown paper. It was brimming with the simplistic beauty of daisies, plus a pink mistake. I stepped back and admired my creation. “Mistake of Madness”—that’s what I’ll call it. I took out my phone and photographed it for Gram. She would be pleased.
I picked up the flowers and Xander’s letter and took them to the sales desk. I decided to read the letter while I waited for Mrs Smith to finish her cup of tea.
I pulled the note out of the envelope and opened it up. I gasped. Xander’s handwriting was flawless—every curl and swirl and dot and cross, written in black ink with a ... nib? Calligraphy. That’s what it was—unlike his earlier notes. Did he write it?
Arms wrapped around me from behind. ‘Time for me to go, my love,’ Lucy whispered into my ear, twenty minutes later than eleven o’clock.
I folded the letter, put it down and turned around to Lucy. ‘Of course it is. Thanks so much for helping out.’
‘Anything for Gram. Good news is coming!’
‘Yes. Yes, it is!’ I smiled at Lucy. This time it was genuine, and my heart was lighter. ‘See you later, alligator!’ I said—our childhood farewell.
‘In a while, crocodile!’ she finished, smiled and scrunched up her nose at me, then left the store. I watched the bounce in her step. Energy followed her. It was contagious. I was eternally thankful for the time she spent with me after the scars came into being.
Mrs Smith’s face appeared in my line of vision. ‘Ah—how was your cup of tea, Mrs Smith?’ People liked it when you used their name—apparently.
‘Delightful, thanks,’ she answered. She looked at the flowers I had prepared for her “mistake” celebration, and her eyes lit up. ‘Perfect, Yolande. Your grandmother would be proud!’
‘Naw ... thanks, Mrs Smith. Would you like to pay with cash or credit card?’
‘Cash please, dear. When you use your credit card, the government and Internet watchers know everything about your spending, hence your lifestyle, building a psychological profile about you,’ she said. ‘You watch. Buy something on credit card, and BING! advertising for the same product will come up everywhere on your computer as your browse the Internet! Sometimes I even wonder if they are listening in to our conversations ...’
I frowned. Mistake or no mistake, I think Mrs Smith was onto something. Could she be right? Scary if she was. ‘That’ll be $40.00, please,’ I said.
‘Really? I was expecting $50.00 for these gorgeous flowers.’
I smiled at her. ‘I’m celebrating owning and surviving your mistake with you. $40.00 is fine!’
‘Bless you, dear!’ Mrs Smith said, and handed over the money.
‘Enjoy your bouquet of sunshine, Mrs Smith,’ I said and smiled. Again. I wondered if it was possible to use up all of your stored smiles ...
Mrs Smith’s former determined march had transformed into a light step. Gram would be happy. I gave a customer smiles and sunshine. She’ll be back to purchase flowers, tea, coffee or books in the future. Happy customers = booming store.
At 11.45am the store became quiet. It was the calm before the storm when people rushed into Flowers for Fleur in a flower buying and ordering frenzy during their lunch break. I looked around at the jobs I had to do in fifteen minutes, but I really needed to read Xander’s letter. I looked over at Darcy. He was busy polishing glasses and coffee cups.
I leaned on my elbows and opened Xander’s letter.
Dear Fleur and Andi,
I am formally requesting the private use of your Raleigh Cruiser bicycle for the total time of four hours on Sunday.
It’s my mother’s 60th birthday. She means so many things to so many people. But mostly, she has been the greatest support of my life choices and I want to do something special for her.
Your bicycle is the exact same one she had in her twenties. Since I cannot give the bicycle as a gift, I would like to use it to help return her memories of that time in her life.
Your consideration of my request is much appreciated.
Yours sincerely,
Xander
My heart dropped. What a sweet thing for a son to do for his mother. I stood up straight. Formal letters are all good and dandy, but Gram won’t lend out her beloved bike if she hasn’t met him. In fact, she would never let anyone use her treasured bicycle. It was her most precious possession.
I carefully folded the letter and slipped it back inside the envelope, then texted Gram.
ME: Dear Gram. How are you?
She replied almost immediately.
GRAM: Darling Andi. I’m home and I’m tired
but my head feels better than it was. I hope
the flowers are behaving.
ME: They are blooming difficult! As soon as I have
them out on display, they are gone. Business is good.
Will you be here on Thursday?
GRAM: As long as I’m fit and able, dear.
ME: Great. I have someone you need to meet.
Will 9am be good for you?
GRAM: Hmmm. I’m intrigued ... looking forward to it.
ME: Excellent. Thanks Gram. Rest up and take care of you. xxx
GRAM: Will do. xxx
I found some floral paper and wrote to Xander.
Dear Xander,
Gram would like to meet you on Thursday, 9am.
Be prompt.
Andi
I folded the letter and placed it in an envelope, then wrote his name on the front. I hurried through the store to Gram’s bicycle and placed the envelope in amongst the symphony of coloured old-fashioned peonies in the basket. I hoped he hadn’t given up on the idea. A contact number would have been good.
I returned to the store just before the flurry of patrons. It was a madhouse. I needed to speak to Gram about employing another fake florist.
The afternoon went by in a blur of customers, flower cuttings, orders, deliveries and invoices. When I finally closed the doors at 5pm, I still had work to do, not to mention the tally of the days takings and ordering of flowers for the next day.
The sun had long set when I locked the shop doors behind me. The female only taxi was already waiting for me, as I always planned. It was safer that way. I blew air between my lips. I couldn’t wait to return to my own career and the cocoon and personal security it provided.