Chapter 18
Blake’s words echoed around my mind.
You could never be dark.
We hardly knew each other but he said those words with confidence regardless.
‘Thank you,’ I whispered. There was definitely something calming, something reassuring, about this man. I smiled. ‘Shall we?’ I was feeling more than a little unnerved at how he saw me. I wondered how long it had been since I felt like someone really did see me.
Jumping out of the car, I forced myself to focus on my surroundings and not Blake. I’d been in such frantic state when I first came back here, I hadn’t taken much in.
Birchbrook High Street was as quaint and pretty as it had been when I used to visit in my childhood.
Each shop and business had a hanging basket from a hook to the side of it bursting full of colourful flowers.
Birchbrook Café also had pots of pretty flowers outside the shop.
Hanging across the High Street, tied to the lampposts, was triangle bunting in pastel colours, the sky a perfect blue above it.
‘It’s so pretty here, I forgot,’ I said half to myself.
‘I can see why Dylan wanted to move here. My hometown is like this too. I do miss it being in the city now.’
I nodded. ‘Me too. I grew up not far from Birchbrook, and spent a lot of time here then. Henry and his family live on the edge of the city; it’s so different.’ My eyes fell on the florist. ‘Shall we meet back at the café when we’ve got what we came for? Say in an hour?’
‘Perfect,’ Blake agreed, lifting his hand in a wave as he headed off towards the hardware shop to find paint.
I turned to go to the flower shop, steeling myself for the inevitable memories it would stir up.
I had told Blake what my mother’s shop had been like.
I don’t think I’d ever told Henry that. He hadn’t asked me, though.
I realised then that he hadn’t asked much about my life before him.
It hadn’t really bothered me as my past was such that it was often easier to try not to even think about it.
But strangely, talking about my mum’s shop just now with Blake hadn’t wrecked me.
It had almost been nice to think about it again.
The trouble was grief and sadness had made me forget some of the happy times.
And I really didn’t want that to be the case.
Birchbrook Flowers was a haven for all pink lovers. The sign was dusky pink and cream, and the window was bordered with pink stencilling and white flowers. Outside was a pink bike covered with flowers bursting out of the basket.
Pushing open the door, the bell sounded just like it would have done if I had been walking into my mother’s old place.
It was also a small shop with buckets of flowers on all sides, the owner behind the counter tying a pink ribbon around a posy of daisies.
I did a double take. I wasn’t a massive believer in signs really. But that felt like one.
‘Good afternoon,’ the woman greeted from behind the counter, looking up from the flowers she was arranging with a warm smile. She had shoulder-length, grey hair and black-rimmed glasses, and I immediately warmed to her.
‘Your shop is so pretty,’ I said, looking around, the scent of roses and lilies mixed with lavender and gardenia filling my nostrils.
‘I’m helping out at Birch Tree Farm and I need flowers for an arch we’re putting up for the pick-your-own season.
A photo opportunity. I’d prefer not to use fake ones but they won’t stay fresh for long in the heat.
Willow said you might have some faux flowers or know where I could get some really good ones? ’
She smiled. ‘I went to Willow’s Pumpkin Hollow last year and it was lots of fun.
I knew she’d up her game this summer season.
’ She stepped out from behind the counter.
‘I carry faux flowers and can easily get more for you at my wholesaler. Come out back with me.’ She gestured to the room behind the counter.
‘I’ll give you business rates as I do for all the local businesses here.
We have to support each other.’ Then she peered more closely at me.
‘You look familiar, but you don’t live here? ’
Willow always said everyone in Birchbrook knew each other and could spot a newcomer a mile away. I smiled. ‘I spent some time here growing up, Willow is my cousin. I’m Daisy Connor.’
‘I knew your mother!’ She clapped her hands in delight. ‘I knew I recognised you; you look so much like she did.’ Her smile faded. ‘Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have…’
‘No, no, it’s fine, it’s nice,’ I assured her. ‘How did you know my mother?’ I asked, eager to hear about her suddenly.
‘I’ve run this shop for almost all my adult life, and I got friendly with Willow’s mother and father when they moved here.
So, when your mother came to stay, I would see her.
Your mother wanted to run her own flower shop so she used to grill me about this place a lot,’ she added with a fond smile.
‘One time, she showed up pregnant with you and asked if she could help out for free as she’d put in an offer for a shop and was nervous about it.
She thought if she spent a couple of weeks here not doing anything, she’d freak out, as she put it.
So, she came to help a couple of hours every day. A lovely woman.’
I nodded. ‘She was. She loved that shop she bought. It was sold after…’ I trailed off and turned to look at some roses to swallow the lump that had risen in my throat.
‘That’s a shame. Well, now, let’s see about these flowers,’ she said, gesturing for me to follow her, sensing I was getting emotional. ‘I’m Mary, by the way.’
‘Daisy,’ I said.
‘New beginnings.’
‘That’s right,’ I said, impressed she knew the meaning, especially the one that had meant so much to my mum.
Mary looked over at me, and seemed to be a bit misty-eyed herself. ‘We talked about what she might name her daughter. I’ve always loved the meaning of flowers, and your mum did too, so we discussed it a lot. I’m glad she went with Daisy. You suit it, dear.’
I smiled, pleased she thought so.
Mary led me then into the other room where there were pots of faux flowers stems. ‘I never thought I’d sell faux flowers but I kept being asked for them.
I make arrangements in vases for home décor and also sell stems for people who want to create their own displays.
It does brilliantly at Christmas and in spring.
Less in summer so I have a fair few in stock.
Did you have a colour scheme in mind for the arch? ’
‘Pink, purple and white with greenery mixed in,’ I said as I picked up one. It was really good quality for a faux stem. Some of them you’d be hard pressed to clock as being fake apart from the fact they didn’t have a fragrance. The eucalyptus was particularly convincing.
‘That will work perfectly on the farm. You could also have a couple of yellow in there maybe; that would look pretty…’ She bustled around, showing me various stems, and I stood for a moment, watching her.
The resemblance to my mother was uncanny.
My mother had obviously learned a lot from Mary.
The thought popped into my head that maybe I could learn from her too.
But that made no sense.
I didn’t need to learn anything about flowers, or a flower shop. I was just helping out Willow for a bit before going back to my office work life.
* * *
An hour later, I had to leave the shop to meet Blake.
It had been so fun choosing flowers but also listening to Mary talking about the shop and the town and sharing memories of my mother too.
Mary helped me load everything I had bought into Willow’s car and told me to call her if I needed any more and she’d go to her wholesaler for me.
I had pretty much cleared her out of faux flowers.
Mary also told me to come into the shop again while I was still in town, and I already knew I would go back. After she left me, I felt lighter.
When Blake joined me at the car, the afternoon sunshine was dazzling us.
‘Got the paint. How did you get on?’ he asked, gesturing to the tins of paint he held in each hand. I unlocked the car so he could put it in the boot.
‘Actually, it was nice. Mary met my mum years ago, she even worked in the shop for a bit, and she said we looked alike. That was nice to hear.’
‘You’ll have to show me a photo of your mum,’ he said, closing the boot. ‘Ready for coffee?’
‘Definitely.’
We walked over and Blake held the café door open for me to step inside.
It was still the quaint café it had been when I used to visit Birchbrook.
There were round tables with baby-blue gingham cloths on and a small vase of pretty flowers on each.
Like the High Street outside, colourful bunting was strung across the wall behind the counter where three people stood.
In front of them was an array of yummy-looking treats that instantly made my mouth water and stomach rumble.
‘Hi, Pat,’ Blake greeted the woman behind the counter, who smiled as we approached.
I raised an eyebrow. ‘You just arrived and you already know everyone?’
‘I chat to people,’ he replied with a shrug.
‘Hi again,’ I added to Pat, short for Patricia, who owned the café with her husband, who was also called Pat, short for Patrick. It was a bit confusing.
‘Daisy, we heard you were back in town,’ female Pat said to me.
‘Plus Daisy was in here the other day in her wedding dress,’ a dry voice said behind her. I glanced at the man who looked around our age with a scruffy beard and hair, making a coffee at the machine. I recognised him to be their son.
Pat turned around. ‘Yes, okay, Paul, I was trying not to refer to that, actually,’ she said crossly. ‘Sons, who would have them? Anyway, you’re both staying at Birch Tree Farm for a bit, I hear?’