Forty-three Lily of the Valley – Return to Happiness
Forty-three
Lily of the Valley – Return to Happiness
As I stand looking out over St Felix harbour, I feel something cold and wet nudging at my ankle, so I bend down to stroke it.
‘Hey, Bill,’ I say to the puppy at the end of a thin red lead. ‘Are you ready to go walkies again?’
A week or so after Basil’s death, Jake, Amber, Woody, Lou, Bronte, Charlie and I had walked up to the top of Pengarthen Hill where Basil and I used to take our daily walks together, to scatter his ashes over the cliffs into the bay.
We’d watched sadly as Basil was swept up by the strong wind that always blew on the cliffs, and was carried out to sea. Even little Miley was sombre and quiet as she watched, from the safety of Jake’s arms, her friend disappearing into the sunset.
It was a poignant day for many of us. Saying goodbye to Basil brought back all the pain of his death, and memories of goodbyes we’d said to loved ones before.
But after our impromptu ceremony, Lou had a surprise for me. We all walked back together to Lou’s house, where she told us she’d laid on a light supper.
Basil had been the last link between Lou and my grandmother, and his death had hit her hard. To comfort us both, we’d taken to walking the remaining two puppies from the litter – the others had all found new homes – up and over the cliffs every evening. They’d had all their inoculations and were excited to be allowed out; they didn’t have the stamina to go on the kind of long walks Basil and I used to do together, but they were a great comfort in my grieving process.
Yes, I’d been grieving for a dog. I would never have allowed myself to admit to that before, but Basil had been part of my St Felix family, and he was much missed.
‘I have an announcement to make,’ Lou called, as we stood in her kitchen enjoying soup and homemade bread. ‘I’ve finally found a home for the last puppy.’
Everyone turned to hear Lou’s announcement.
‘As you know, I always said I would keep one of Suzy and Basil’s pups, but I’ve struggled to find a home for the last one. Actually, I tell a lie,’ Lou had told us, her blue eyes glinting. ‘I never even looked for a home for this little fella.’ Lou bent down to stroke one of the puppies. The one with the look of a miniature Basil: the same multi-coloured markings, the same way of sitting with his long ears cocked to one side, trying to con you into giving him food. ‘Because I knew all along where he was going to go. Poppy,’ she looked up at me. ‘This one is all yours.’
I protested, of course, saying no one could ever take Basil’s place, but secretly I was thrilled to bits. This little fella had been my favourite from the start, back in the days when I would occasionally bring Basil to visit the puppies. He was a quiet, reflective pup and he reminded me a lot of the regal and dignified Basil.
So I’d named my new puppy Bill, after my brother William.
‘Right then,’ I say to Bill now, ‘if you want to go walkies, then that’s what we shall do!’
We walk back into the town and up along Harbour Street, squeezing through the crowds of people who’ve packed into St Felix today.
News of Amber’s special bouquets has spread beyond the Cornish borders. In part through word-of-mouth from delighted customers who’ve had amazing things happen to them after receiving one of her white-ribbon bouquets, and in part because Amber had unwittingly made up one of her ‘special’ bouquets for a journalist.
The cynical reporter had come into Daisy Chain one day asking for a white-ribbon bouquet, as they’d become known, and had taken Amber’s selection of flowers away thinking she’d be able to write a scathing report about a charlatan flower shop in Cornwall claiming their bouquets could work miracles. But to her amazement, after years of trying and failing to conceive a baby with her husband, within days of returning from St Felix she found out she was pregnant. They are expecting twins next spring.
Her miraculous story was first published in a local newspaper, and then picked up by a national broadsheet. Then we were asked to do an interview on This Morning – my mother nearly exploded with joy when I told her we’d met Philip Schofield. So now we had people arriving in St Felix by the busload to buy one of Amber’s bouquets, and to take photos of the ‘Enchanted Cornish Flower shop’ as the tabloids were calling us.
Daisy Chain’s new-found fame has changed St Felix from a sleepy Cornish town into a bustling tourist attraction, and it’s busier and happier than I’ve ever seen it before.
Prospective traders have flocked to the town to look at the empty shops on Harbour Street with a view to opening new establishments come spring next year, and the current owners of shops are rushed off their feet, and having to take on extra staff to cope with the sudden influx of tourists. But most importantly, everywhere I look, people are constantly smiling, whether they’re new to the joys of St Felix or they’ve lived here all their lives.
Today, as the sun shines joyfully down on a town packed with happy holidaymakers, I’m reminded of my time here as a child, and how Will and I would run through the busy streets with a pasty in a paper bag for Stan…
Pasties! That reminds me, I’m supposed to pick one up for Stan.
On the way back to the shop I stick my head around the door of The Blue Canary bakery so I don’t have to leave Bill outside. Ant, on seeing me, promptly fills one bag with a giant Cornish pasty, and a second with three custard tarts.
‘Wish Stan well for me,’ he says, as he hurries back into his shop, which has a rather long queue of hungry customers waiting. ‘Fantastic fella, he is, with some great tales of St Felix. I could listen to him all day!’
‘I’ll tell him that,’ I say, smiling. It’s great to know Stan’s stories are entertaining people again.
Back at Daisy Chain I’m happy to see we have a few customers, but not too many. So I take Bill in past the desk and give him a drink of water out back.
‘Where’s Stan?’ I ask Bronte, when she’s finished serving her customer.
‘I just sold three pairs of my earrings to that lady,’ Bronte says happily, putting some notes into the till. ‘Granddad? Charlie came and took him out for a stroll.’
Once we’d found out that Bronte and Charlie were more than likely Stan’s grandchildren, Jake and I had taken them to Camberley House a number of times to visit him. The day Stan first met his grandchildren is one I will remember for ever.
Over lunch Stan had entertained Bronte and Charlie with his tales of Trecarlan, and they in turn had told him stories about their own lives. They all got on so well, it was as if they’d always known each other. And seeing them with Stan brought back many happy memories of the time Will and I had spent with him. Except this was Stan’s real family, a family he never thought he’d have.
To give him a treat, and a break from Camberley, this week Stan has been staying with Jake at his house. I’d wanted him to come and stay with me at the cottage, but it just wasn’t big enough to accommodate the wheelchair Stan needed to get around. So he’d happily gone to stay with his ‘new family’, as he liked to call them, and I’d been spending as much time as I could with him while he was here.
Yesterday we’d visited Trecarlan Castle together for the first time in over fifteen years. It had been a very special moment for both of us. Then today we’d brought him along to the shop, so he could see how we were doing things at Daisy Chain these days.
I check on Bill, who’s already sparked out in his bed in the back of the shop.
‘I’m leaving Bill here, Bronte,’ I tell her, as I grab Stan’s pasty. ‘He’ll be asleep for a while. I’m off to find your granddad.’
‘Sure thing, boss!’ Bronte calls, as she makes another appointment for someone to see Amber. ‘See you at four o’clock then, Mrs Hurley.’
‘Wait a moment, Poppy!’ Amber calls as she finishes with her current customer, or client as we were now calling all our special appointments. ‘I have something for you.’
‘What?’ I ask, as Amber disappears out to the back room.
‘This,’ she says, producing a small bunch of blue, white and pink flowers tied with a white ribbon. ‘It was left on the doorstep this morning.’
I look at Amber suspiciously. ‘Did you do this?’ I ask her. ‘It looks like one of yours.’
She shakes her head. ‘No, nothing to do with me. Look –’ she points at the flowers, ‘there’s a card.’
I turn the posy around and pull out a small white envelope, the type we send out with our bouquets. The card inside is handwritten.
Want to know if this is good or bad? Then go and find the one we once thought mad…
I look at Amber. ‘What is all this about?’ I ask her suspiciously. ‘Are you sure this is nothing to do with you?’
Amber shakes her head again. ‘Definitely not. But it’s a lovely choice of flowers – there’s iris in there to denote a message; white stocks – you will always be beautiful to me, and delicate pink phlox – our souls are united.’
‘Hmm…’ I look at her suspiciously. ‘But what does the card mean? Go and find the one we once thought mad?’
‘It’s Granddad!’ Bronte shouts excitedly. ‘Everyone used to think he was mad, didn’t they?’
I sigh. ‘Well, I suppose I was going to find Stan anyway, so what difference is it going to make if I do as the card says?’
‘Oh, Poppy, do play along,’ Amber says disapprovingly. ‘Have some fun for once!’
‘OK, OK,’ I say, putting the flowers down on the table.
‘No, take them with you!’ Bronte insists.
I narrow my eyes at them both. ‘Don’t for one minute think I don’t know this is something to do with you two,’ I tell them. ‘OK, I’ll take the flowers. See you both later.’
As I leave the shop with Stan’s pasty and my flowers, I turn back to look at them, and I see them quickly high five each other.
‘Nothing to do with you,’ I mutter, weaving my way through the crowds. ‘Yeah right.’
I find Stan down by the harbour, sitting in his wheelchair surrounded by children. He appears to be enthralling them with an impromptu storytelling session. So I wander over and sit down on a bench next to Charlie, who seems to be enjoying the story as much as the children.
‘… and then when the pirates returned to Trecarlan they found their treasure was gone!’ he tells the children, who are sitting quietly in front of him, their eyes wide with anticipation.
The parents are hanging on his every word too. ‘Did you know all that went on up at Trecarlan Castle?’ one of the parents says to another.
‘Nah, he’s making it up, isn’t he. Word is, the fella’s a bit doolally.’
‘Yes, I heard that too, but he sounds coherent enough, and that castle does have some history, even if it’s not quite as exciting as he’s making out.’
‘I wonder what will happen to the place. It seems a shame for it to be left empty, doesn’t it?’
‘Yeah. My mother told me it was a lovely place years ago. Focal point of the town.’
‘And that,’ Stan says to the children, ‘is the story of how Trecarlan saved an Indian princess’s jewels.’
The children applaud enthusiastically, and call for more. But Stan holds up his hand. ‘Later perhaps, Stan needs his rest now, children.’ He waves at Charlie and me, and we go over to him.
‘Ah, more satisfied customers,’ Stan says, looking happier and more alive than I’ve seen him in ages.
‘They love you, Stan,’ I tell him. ‘And so do their parents, for keeping the little ones entertained.’
‘Never mind them, I was entertained too,’ Charlie says, grinning. ‘I love Granddad’s stories.’
Stan’s face lights up when Charlie calls him that.
‘Right, Charlie,’ he says, ‘how about you go get your granddad a little… no, make that a large pasty from the bakery?’
Charlie glances at me.
‘I’ll be fine, Charlie,’ I reassure him. ‘You go.’
Charlie winks at Stan then heads off in the direction of The Blue Canary.
‘You can never have too many, can you, Stan?’ I say, lifting my pasty up from behind my flowers.
‘That’s my girl!’ Stan says, taking the bag from me. He looks at the flowers. ‘Very nice, who gave you those?’
‘No idea.’ I shrug. ‘It’s some sort of mystery; I’m playing along though.’
‘Good, good,’ Stan says. He seems not overly surprised by this. ‘Now then, how are things?’
‘Just look at all the people.’ I wave a hand, indicating the crowds swarming all over the harbour with their chips, pasties and ice creams.
‘Yes, it’s like old times here today,’ Stan says, looking around him. ‘The magic is definitely working again.’
‘What?’
Stan grins up at me. ‘The flower magic. I assume you and Amber are still using your grandmother’s old books to make up the bouquets? I’ve seen Amber tying them with a white ribbon just like Rose used to.’
‘Yes, we are but —’
‘You must see it, Poppy, the connection?’
I look blankly at him.
‘St Felix was always a busy little town while the flower books were being used through the generations. It was only when your grandmother became ill and there was no one to create the magic that problems arose. As soon as you and Amber picked up the reins, St Felix started to recover.’
Now I think about it, the town did start to get busier about the same time as Amber began creating her white-ribbon bouquets, and the more she did, the busier it got. But surely that was coincidental. Wasn’t it?
‘Anyway, I wasn’t asking how the town’s doing,’ Stan continues. ‘Or even the shop, before you try that one. I meant with you ? How are things with Poppy?’
‘Good,’ I say hesitantly, still thinking about the flower books.
‘ Good ,’ Stan repeats. ‘Is that it? Come on, Poppy, I’m an old man – give me something to live for.’
I smile at him, and decide to let it go. What did it matter whether the upturn in St Felix’s fortunes was down to magic or not, it was happening, that was the main thing.
‘You’ll live for ever, Stan!’ I tell him, laughing. ‘Things are going great.’
‘Really, in which department?’
I blush. ‘You know full well, you tease: with me and Jake.’
‘Ah, you and Jake… I’m pleased to hear it. You make a fine couple.’
Jake and I had been getting on extremely well since the night of Basil’s death. We’d spent lots of time together, just as we had when I’d first come to St Felix, and it had been lovely. But it never seemed to go any further, and I was beginning to wonder, even after Jake’s declarations a few weeks ago, if it ever would.
‘Jake’s a good man,’ I tell Stan. ‘He’s a great friend to me.’
‘So you’re happy?’ Stan asks hopefully.
‘Yes, of course I am.’
‘Then I’m pleased for you, my dear. It’s about time – you can’t hold on to the past for ever. Which is why I’ve come to a decision.’ Stan takes hold of my hand. ‘Poppy, I don’t think you and Will ever truly realised how much joy you brought me coming to Trecarlan to spend time with me when you were small. It made my long lonely days in that castle bearable, and gave me something to look forward to.’
I’m about to speak, but Stan stops me by holding up his other hand.
‘No, let me finish. It was always my intention that one day you and Will would run Trecarlan. It was,’ he insists, ‘and actually it still is, in my will that you should both inherit it. Sadly, Will is not with us any more, so it falls to you, Poppy. I would like you to have Trecarlan to run as you see fit.’
‘What? No, Stan, you can’t do that. Trecarlan is your home.’
‘It’s not my home any more,’ Stan says. ‘It was many years ago, but Trecarlan needs new blood now, someone who will look after and nurture it, and put it to good use. And that person, Poppy, is you. I want you to go on with the good work you’ve already been doing over the past few months.’
‘But… what about your real family? What about Bronte and Charlie? Shouldn’t they inherit it?’
‘You are as much a part of my family as they are,’ Stan says, ‘if not more so. I’m sure we can sort something out with Jake so the children will be a part of Trecarlan if they wish to be. But I’ve always wanted you to have my home, Poppy, and I’d be very grateful if you’d do me the great honour of accepting my offer.’
I look at Stan, and then I look up at Trecarlan sitting high on the hill over St Felix Bay. I’d spent some of the happiest times of my life up at that castle, and now I didn’t see why I couldn’t spend many more there.
‘Yes,’ I say, kneeling down next to Stan. ‘If you really want me to look after Trecarlan for you, then I shall.’
‘Poppy, I knew you’d say yes,’ he says, his thin hand cupping my face. ‘You’ve made an old man very happy.’
‘Are you absolutely sure about this, Stan? What about the Parish Council – they might kick up a fuss?’
Stan shakes his head. ‘Now that Harrington woman has resigned they’ll be sweet . That’s what you youngsters say, isn’t it?’
I nod. After I’d given Caroline and Johnny my conditions for me not going to the police, they’d acted almost immediately. Caroline had resigned as chair of the Parish Council and president of the Women’s Guild, and Johnny had made sure the second part of my request was dealt with promptly too.
‘Poppy, I’ve never been surer of anything in my whole life. I want you to fill Trecarlan with joy and laughter. Make it come alive once more, like it was in the old days, before it became a lonely old man’s house.’
‘I will, Stan,’ I promise, leaning over his chair to give him a hug. ‘You have my word.’
‘I know you’ll do a good job with Trecarlan, Poppy,’ Stan assures me. ‘And if you make a profit, maybe you can help me fund my stay at Camberley. But I won’t have you selling the flower pictures for me. I gave them away as gifts. They’re not mine to sell any more.’
‘Of course, Stan. I wouldn’t dream of selling the pictures if you don’t want them sold. Maybe we can display them at the castle for future visitors to see and enjoy?’
‘That’s a wonderful idea!’ Stan says, his face lighting up. ‘I’d like that very much.’
I have a quick internal debate as to whether this would be a good time to tell Stan the other condition I’d negotiated with Caroline and Johnny for my silence. But I decide perhaps this isn’t the moment to let Stan know he’ll be able to stay at Camberley House if he wants to – because Caroline and Johnny Harrington-Smythe will be paying his fees there indefinitely…
‘I have something else for you, Poppy,’ Stan says, interrupting my thoughts. ‘I think you’ll find a rather delicate posy of flowers hanging off the back of my chair that have your name on them.’
‘What?’ I ask, looking around the back of his wheelchair. I unhook the bunch of colourful flowers that’s hanging there by a white ribbon, and look with suspicion at Stan.
‘Are you in on this too?’ I ask.
Stan just winks. ‘You now have two rather lovely posies. This one contains pansies, meaning think of me; alstroemeria, meaning devotion; and it’s entwined with ivy, meaning fidelity. So go on, open the card, lovely.’
I open the envelope, and there’s a card inside in the same handwriting. This time it says:
So you found the mad one, now you need to find me.
Come to the place where it’s like nothing else matters in the world, and together we can look out at the never-ending sea.
‘It’s the ledge,’ I tell Stan. ‘The secret ledge on Pengarthen cliffs.’
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ Stan says, encouraging me. ‘Go, go!’
‘But I can’t just leave you.’
‘Ah, here comes Charlie with my pasty,’ Stan says as Charlie wanders over almost on cue. ‘He’ll take it from here. Now go to the cliffs. I think you’ll find something there that will make you happy for a very long time to come.’