The Little Flower Shop by the Sea (St Felix)
Prologue 1993
Prologue
1993
My brother and I run through the town, weaving our way through the holidaymakers as they bustle along Harbour Street. It’s a Saturday, and the town is packed with people; some eating ice creams and pasties, some choosing souvenirs from the many busy little shops, and some simply enjoying the fantastic sunny weather.
But Will and I don’t stop to browse in the shops or eat ice cream, though I do look longingly at a lady carrying a large, white, whippy ice cream with a chocolate flake. It’s a really hot day and I’d love an ice cream, even though we’ve just had our lunch. My grandmother says my tummy is an empty pit that she can never fill up, but I can’t help it, I’m always hungry, especially when we’re here at the seaside.
Today we don’t have time to stop for ice creams, however tasty they look. Because Will and I are on our way to see one of our favourite people.
As we run along together Will clutches a paper bag and I’m holding a posy of flowers my grandmother pressed into my hand moments before we left her flower shop and headed for the bakery.
‘Say hello to Stan for me,’ she’d said in the same way she always did. ‘Send him my love, won’t you.’
‘We will!’ we’d called before rushing out of the shop and up the street.
At last we escape the hustle and bustle of Harbour Street and run to the harbour, where people are crammed on benches soaking up the sun, trying to prevent the hovering seagulls from snatching their fish and chips, or their delicious cakes bought from the lovely bakers a few doors up from my grandmother’s shop.
Mmm, I think again as I see the cakes, I could just go a custard tart.
Finally we leave the holidaymakers and their tempting food smells behind, and begin climbing the narrow path up Pengarthen Hill.
‘Here you are, my lovely young friends,’ our old mate Stan says as we find him sitting high up on the hill, looking out over a glorious view of the town and harbour. ‘And you come bearing gifts – what might they be, I wonder?’
‘A pasty, of course!’ Will says happily, handing him the bag.
‘And flowers from my grandma,’ I say, handing him the posy.
‘Ah, they always brighten up my little home so well,’ Stan says, smelling the flowers. ‘So what would you like to do today? A story, perhaps? Or straight up to the castle?’
‘Story!’ I cry, at the same time as Will says, ‘Castle.’
Stan smiles. ‘How about we do both? I’ll tell you a story as we walk up the hill to Trecarlan.’
Will and I grin with anticipation as we walk side by side with Stan, and he begins to tell us one of his strange and glamorous tales about his wonderful home.
It was so exciting back then. We had a friend who lived in a castle! I thought I was a fairy princess.
As I recall us all walking happily up the hill together, I wish I’d known then that those precious summers we spent in St Felix would be the happiest time of my life.