Chapter NINE
Lou
‘A new-build bungalow, yellow door, third house from the end of the lane. Yes, yes, I hear you, messages,’
I say to my bleeping phone as I drive along a very windy country lane, searching frantically for number 137 Old Forge Lane.
‘So much for Apple Maps taking me right to the door.’
It’s my final delivery of the day. I’m very conscious that I’m running behind on this one, and time is of the essence, according to the customer. I thrive on meeting deadlines for my small but growing customer base, but it’s fair to say the events of this afternoon have delayed me somewhat.
My tummy rumbles, and it dawns on me that I don’t have a lot in the fridge for dinner. I’ll stop and get some groceries on the way home, but firstly, I need to find this house.
After Ben and Ava left Buds and Beans about forty minutes ago, I managed to pull myself together and made every excuse under the sun to Nana Molly for my reddened eyes. She eventually decided it had to be an allergy to the pollen from a new delivery of flowers, which I ran with, thankful to get off the hook.
Ben and I don’t need closure. We don’t have unanswered questions. We weren’t engaged to be married, nor were we ever an official couple to the outside world, so why did seeing him again upset me so much? Perhaps it was how I saw myself in little Ava, now growing up with a huge hole in her heart for the parent she lost far too soon. Perhaps it was for Ben himself, for navigating the storms of life without the woman he’d pledged to be with forever. Or perhaps it was the truth. Perhaps it was because the woman he’d married, the one he’d planned a future with, wasn’t me, like we both somehow thought it would be a long time ago.
Maybe because, now that it’s almost Christmas in the Irish village we both grew up in, I’m being reminded once more that my hurt over him still stings.
‘For someone who suffers from hay fever almost all year round, I will never understand why you opened a florist’s, Lou,’
Nana Molly told me earlier as I pretended to sneeze into a tissue to conceal my puffy face.
‘There’s no way you can go out on deliveries looking like that. Sit down by the window and have a warm drink. I know it’s cold out, but if we open the door for even a couple of minutes it should hopefully pass.’
‘I’m fine,’
I told her.
‘I need to keep going or I’ll be late, and we can’t have that in this business. Timing is everything.’
‘Five minutes won’t make a huge difference,’
she said, physically plonking me down at a table.
‘Your health has to come first, Lou. End of story.’
I felt bad for lying to her, especially as she fussed over me like she has done since I was a child if I as much as whimper. She even called in next door to the mini supermarket to fetch me some over-the-counter medication, which I then pretended to take. She was so proud of herself when I eventually looked better, but it was her kindness, a little time and the soothing taste of a warm, milky decaffeinated latte that really did the job.
With the heater blasting in my car and a good old-fashioned country-music playlist keeping me company, I am more than glad to have this personal delivery to get me out and about.
The young lady who ordered the flowers was adamant that I left it to this time to deliver to make sure her husband was home from work. She herself was due home at around five-thirty today, and he was usually home a little earlier, and it was essential I give him the flowers before she arrived. As usual, I got much more information from the client than I needed. All I had to do was find the house, a mere ten-minute drive away, then turn up on the doorstep with a bunch of flowers – on time. Or so I initially thought.
‘We had a row, if truth be told,’
she confided over the phone this morning. I could hear what sounded like a busy schoolyard in the background.
‘We’ve never had a row like it before in all our six years together, especially not since we got married in June, so I don’t want to be going home this evening for more. It’s our first Christmas in our new home too. Aw, do you think a bunch of flowers will make things better?’
At first the hairs on the back of my neck bristled at the thought of what exactly she might be dreading going home to, but when I heard the rest of the story, I knew I’d nothing to worry about.
‘It depends on what it is you’re trying to mend,’
I replied.
‘I could give you a whole lecture on how I believe flowers can create intimacy and connection, making not only the receiver but the giver feel instantly uplifted. I could say how the scents and the colours brighten up someone’s world, even in the darkest moments, and I could also say that they can provide joy and well-being that lasts for days. But then I would say that, wouldn’t I, but I don’t know what it is you’re trying to fix.’
I hear a school bell ring then, suggesting she’d have to go very soon, but she seemed in no hurry.
‘This is embarrassing, but you see, there’s this TikTok thing my little sister said I should do,’
she told me.
‘She said it was fun.’
‘Uh-huh,’
I replied, putting her on loudspeaker so I could arrange my latest holly wreath masterpiece as she rambled on.
‘And I’m guessing it wasn’t fun after all?’
Mum, who was clipping fresh holly branches beside me, was rolling her eyes again at how I always heard the sad stories. I’d no doubt she had a point.
‘No, it wasn’t fun at all. In fact, it was an absolute disaster,’
the young lady, whose name was Beth, told me.
‘Do you know what an “ick” is?’
I had an idea where this was going. Mum was making faces as she did her best to keep up.
‘Yes, I do know what an “ick” is,’
I said with a smile.
‘I have a daughter who keeps me up to date with all the modern-day lingo. It’s something that irritates you or puts you off a person, is that right?’
Mum makes an ‘ooh’
sound and nods along. I must admit I never could comprehend the point of this so-calle.
‘trend’ either.
‘Exactly, that’s it in a nutshell,’
she continued.
‘Like, how was anything to do with an ick for me ever going to end well? He was so super offended when I said his dress sense didn’t really do anything for me, so then he told me that the Ralph Lauren shirt I bought him last Christmas, which cost me an arm and a leg, was now listed on his Vinted page because he’d never wear it in a month of Sundays! I had to stop recording the TikTok. I thought I was going to blow a gasket. The cheek!’
I had to tell my mother to stop laughing out loud beside me.
‘I totally lost it,’
she continued.
‘I called him every feckin’
name under the sun and told him he could spend the night in the spare room, which he ended up doing even though I didn’t really mean it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still mad at him for putting the shirt on Vinted, but I’m also sorry for starting the whole thing and for listening to my sister in the first place. No wonder she is single! Her and her stupid ick game. So anyhow, this is my attempt to say sorry. With flowers.’
I admired her efforts already. I was also very relieved her situation wasn’t a serious threat to her recent marriage.
‘You know, I’m not exactly one for dishing out relationship advice, Beth,’
I told her.
‘But I have an extra idea that might help? Along with the flowers, of course. You may or may not like it, but hear me out for a second.’
‘Go on, I’m all ears,’
she told me as a second bell rang in the background.
‘I swear I’ll do anything. Imagine telling someone what you don’t like about them! It doesn’t even make sense.’
I fully agreed and we set to work once she’d assured me that she wasn’t risking her job or abandoning her pupils while we talked it through. She was on a free period. Phew. And by the time we were finished, both of us were delighted with the end result.
‘I was going to say you’re wasted in that job, Lou, but no, you’re perfect for it! Totally perfect,’
she said.
‘I really need to get back to work now, but I’ll be recommending your florist’s to all my friends this Christmas and I’ll share on all my socials. Thank you!’
Even Mum was impressed.
‘You are wonderful,’
she told me, giving me a light hug on her way past.
‘You always did have a knack for seeing the bigger picture, Lou. I’m proud of you for that.’
So now here I am at a brand-new bungalow on a dark country lane, armed with a bunch of red roses and a card for a puzzled-looking young man who answers the door holding the cutest little puppy I ever did see.
‘Oh my goodness, how adorable,’
I say, before pulling myself together.
‘Sorry, I – I beg your pardon. These are for you.’
The man does his best to juggle the small dog under one arm and the flowers in the other hand, while I do my best to focus on the job at hand.
‘For me?’
he asks.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure,’
I reply.
‘You are Danny Sullivan? Gosh, sorry, I was so distracted by the dog I didn’t even think to check your name first. Beth’s husband? Danny?’
For the record I couldn’t see anything wrong with his dress sense – a suit which was a little formal, but then again, he was probably still in his work attire. Maybe he’d some weird fashion preferences on weekends.
‘I have a card to read out to you,’
I said, clearing my throat for my big moment.
‘Is this normal?’ he asks.
‘No, no, it’s not normal at all,’
I reply.
‘It’s not usually part of the service, but Beth and I agreed you deserved something a little bit extra, so here goes. I love the way you …’
He looks genuinely confused.
‘This is from Beth, right? Not you?’
‘Yes, yes, of course it’s from Beth,’
I reply. This isn’t going as well as I’d imagined.
‘It’s just a few words we put together to go along with the roses. It won’t take long.’
Remembering this telegram style of delivery was all my idea isn’t something I care to admit to him considering his reaction so far.
‘Great! It’s just I’m kind of letting all the heat out,’
he says, glancing around him.
‘Do you mind reading it in the hallway if I shut the front door?’
I look behind me, though I don’t know why. I make a guess that it’s about twenty-five minutes past five, so I should be safe enough to step inside knowing Beth can’t be far away, unless this is a plot to kidnap me.
‘Of course, thank you,’
I tell him.
‘OK, I’ll start again. Ahem.’
He is all ears at last, so I read out my and Beth’s attempt of salvaging their weekend ahead, and maybe their first Christmas too.
‘I love the way you share your food, even when I said I didn’t want any in the first place,’
I read aloud. He softens immediately.
‘I love the way you dance at weddings like no one’s watching, not that you’d care if they were because you are lost in your own carefree world. I love the way you always make others feel like they’re seen and heard, even strangers in your workplace or the little people that you teach in school. You make everyone feel special and unique. I love your generosity, your big heart and yes, even your big feet. Danny, let’s never mention that silly game again. I love how you love red roses and aren’t afraid to admit it, so I’ll keep sending them to you every birthday and Christmas we share. I’m sending them on this, our first Christmas, and I will do so on every single Christmas in future. I love you more than I love anyone else in the world, even Justin Timberlake and that’s saying something because he came first. I love you and Crumb, our little family. Now, what’s your Vinted password so I can take that lovely shirt off the market? Only joking. Keep being you. I don’t want to change a thing. Not even your ancient jeans that need to go in the bin. True love is forever, not just for Christmas. Beth.’
I’m very proud of that last line, which was all mine, and when I look up, Danny has his eyes closed. Maybe this hasn’t been a disaster after all? It seems he has been taking in every word as he holds their gorgeous puppy close to his face.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’
he says quietly.
‘That was – that was a lot better than I expected. Thank you.’
I hear a car in the driveway, so I carefully set the card down on the hall table and go to walk towards the front door.
‘Don’t thank me, thank your wife,’ I say.
He calls me back.
‘Do you often do this type of thing?’
he asks me.
‘Sorry?’
‘What I mean to say is,’
he continues.
‘if I called your shop tomorrow to go over it, could you send Beth something similar in return to her workplace on Monday? I’d like to do that.’
I feel a tingle of excitement. This could be the start of something.
‘Yes, I can do that,’
I reply. My whole insides glow.
‘But you’re going to have to give me some steer on the content, because I know don’t know nearly enough about your lovely wife.’
‘I’ve lots of nice things to say about her.’
‘That’s a great start, then.’
Beth comes through the door in that very moment, just as I’ve slipped my business card his way.
‘They arrived on time, thank you, Lou!’
she exclaims.
‘Thank goodness! Babe, are you OK?’
Danny puts the dog down on the hallway floor, then hands me the bouquet of roses. His wife falls into his arms, and with mumbles o.
‘I’m sorry’
an.
‘I love you’
from both of them, I tiptoe out and leave them to it. I set the flowers by the card first on the hall table and lean down for a sneaky pat of Crumb’s velvety brown head, making a mental note to ask Danny when he calls me tomorrow what type of dog she is. I’m guessing a dachshund. Oh, I’ve never seen anything as cute in my whole life. I can’t wait to tell Gracie, but there’s no way I’m mentioning it to my mother, or she’ll be ringing round to hook me up with the dog’s baby mama in the blink of an eye.
By the time I get to the car, I feel full of romance and hope for humanity, having witnessed the power that having the courage to say sorry o.
‘I love you’
can bring. I turn on the ignition, in wonder of love, and then remember that Ben Heaney is back in town.
My stomach sinks. Argh, why does he still have such a hold on me?
I need distraction and fast, so I pick up my phone, hoping for something, anything, to get me through what’s looking like a very long weekend ahead. There’s only so much reading I can try to do, or box sets I can try to watch, when I know he isn’t far away. Gracie is right. I need to find some new hobbies to occupy my free time now that my business is well on its feet. I need to reconnect with some old friends to see what they’re up to after all these years. I need to start living again, instead of existing to work, eat and sleep.
What I also need to do is charge my phone, but as I plug it in, the last thing I expect is to see Ben Heaney’s name at the end of a very sweet text message with an invitation that truly takes my breath away.
I grip the steering wheel, leaning forward in the front seat of the car while doing my best to concentrate on the short journey back to the village. The windscreen wipers swipe off the slush, and an oncoming driver flashes his lights to remind me to dip my headlights, but I’m doing my best under the circumstances.
I can’t stop shaking.
I glance at the clock on the dashboard. What time is it in New York? I do a quick calculation in my head. It’s just after twelve-thirty in the afternoon.
There’s no way I’m going to ask Gracie for advice of a personal nature, but I’d love to chat it through with my friend and former neighbour Michelle, who would certainly listen as I thrash out how I should reply.
Or I could ask Pete, my old running partner, who cried as I was leaving. Oh, but no, he cried because he finally admitted having a long-term crush on me, so he’s out of the question. You snooze, you lose, Pete. I’d been waiting for far too long, but he’d caught none of the hints I’d been dropping for months and months beforehand. Or I could chat to Dermot, an Irish friend I first met through my ex. He is the most kind and considerate soul and steps in to help me whenever I’m short-staffed or need an extra pair of hands at interior showcases.
Or maybe I’m overthinking it. Why do I need to discuss it with anyone at all? I can make up my own mind, thank you very much.
I’m sure Ben didn’t need to think for long about each word and syllable before he sent the message which came through only a few minutes before I knocked on the Sullivans’
door. Thank goodness I didn’t check my phone before I delivered the extra-special card and flowers to Beth’s husband, or I’d really have made a mess of it. If I’d been any earlier, I probably would have, so thank goodness I was running right down to the wire.
‘That’s the butterfly effect,’
I remember my mum explaining to me not so long ago.
‘A small single action or occurrence can set off a chain of actions that have a bigger consequence.’
‘A bit like sliding doors,’
I’d replied.
‘Exactly.’
Like my mother, I’ve always found it fascinating too, and on this occasion the butterfly effect was on my side it seems, because now I’ve to make up my mind and quickly.
Do I meet Ben Heaney for a drink later this evening like he’s asked me to, or do I protect my foolish heart from shattering all over again?
My heart tells me to go, but my head says I need to keep moving on.