Chapter 5
5
LONDON, PRESENT DAY
Dora was awake early. She liked to peruse the flower market at Columbia Road. Taking in its heady scents and beautiful blooms never failed to chase the cobwebs away. She hadn’t slept very well; she’d had vivid dreams about being chased through the woods by men with dogs and had woken several times. Eventually, she’d given in and got up for a cold shower to wash the lingering memories away.
The thought of grabbing a hazelnut latte and wandering along the road through the bustling stalls was already making her feel better. The smells were overpowering, but in a good way. She could have taken her van, but she didn’t really need any stock unless something took her fancy. She just wanted to be out there doing what she loved in a place that made her feel warm and fuzzy.
As she dressed, Lenny’s offer of a holiday to the States lingered on in her mind. She was tempted. How amazing would it be to visit Salem? She’d always had this deep longing inside her to go visit there though she’d never told anyone about it. It was strange that Lenny suddenly had a work trip that was going to involve a visit to Salem. She got off the tube at Queensbridge Road and headed for Queens Deli to grab her coffee. Waiting in the queue, the faintest whiff of Bleu de Chanel filled her nostrils and she tried to ignore it. There must be thousands of men in London who wore that particular brand of aftershave. It didn’t mean anything at all. Ordering her coffee and a cinnamon roll to go, she couldn’t ignore the sensation of eyes prickling the soft skin on the back of her neck and she knew she was being watched and gave in. She turned around slowly and saw him sitting at a table not too far from her. She wouldn’t say he was staring at her, but he was looking in her direction. She smiled at him then turned away, wondering what he was doing here. Of all the places he could be eating breakfast in a city the size of London, what were the chances that he just happened to be here?
‘Hazelnut latte, warm cinnamon roll to go.’ The barista shouted so loud it made her jump.
‘Yes, please, that’s me.’ She took the cup and warm bag and, turning around, she realised that she couldn’t avoid him, he was sitting at the table nearest the exit. He looked up again at her and this time she waited until their eyes met, he smiled.
‘Dora, isn’t it? From the flower shop.’
She nodded. ‘Yep, guilty as charged. How are you, George?’
‘I’m okay, why don’t you take a seat and eat your breakfast. Or are you in a rush?’
Dora couldn’t think of anything worse than having to eat in front of a complete stranger. She wasn’t sure if she could make small talk without mentioning his recently deceased girlfriend and the awful mess she’d made of yesterday, but she was a pushover and didn’t want to offend him, so she pulled out the chair opposite and sat down.
‘I don’t want to disturb you.’
‘You’re not, so what are you doing here? Let me guess, this place makes the best coffee in London.’
She laughed. ‘Well, it’s pretty good, but not even close.’
He looked perturbed. ‘Oh, do you live around here then? It’s quite some way from your shop?’
It was an innocent question, but it prickled at her skin, like some uncomfortable needle scratching at the surface. She shook her head.
‘I’ve come to take a look at the flower market.’
‘Of course, I’m such an idiot. I completely forgot it was Sunday.’
‘Well, that’s understandable, you have a lot going on.’
She sipped at the coffee, inhaling the aroma deeply before each sip and savouring it. He was attractive, there was no doubt about it. She burned her lip on the hot coffee and managed to spit it all over herself in the most unladylike manner. He pushed some napkins towards her and she blotted the brown liquid off her cream scarf.
‘I’m so clumsy. Sorry, did I get you?’
He laughed. ‘No, I’m good but thanks for asking.’
She stood up, feeling the heat radiating from her cheeks in waves. ‘Well, it was lovely to see you again, take care.’
‘You’re not going already, are you? How about I come to the flower market with you? I need a change of scenery and some fresh air.’
Dora wanted to say no, she was happy on her own, but he was already standing and downing the last of his flat white. She should refuse. She didn’t know him; she had come here to clear her own head and now she was going to be stuck with him making awkward conversation until she could get rid of him.
‘Of course.’
Leading the way out of the shop she forgot her cinnamon roll, but he followed her out waving the brown paper bag at her. ‘Your breakfast, it’s the most important meal of the day.’
Nodding, she took it from him, opened her handbag and dropped it inside. She began walking towards Columbia Street and he followed.
‘How long have you been a florist?’
‘Since I was four, possibly younger.’
He stopped walking. ‘What, how can you have been one then?’
‘I’ve always loved flowers and plants. Lenny used to let me grow seeds on the windowsill and choose the plants and flowers for the apartment, it’s something we used to do together, and I loved it. I’d even grow those little pots of chillies and peppers.’
‘Lenny, is he your father?’
Dora laughed. ‘God, no she’s my aunt, although sometimes I wonder because she can be so strict.’
‘That’s a strange name for a woman.’
‘Not really, it’s short for Lenora which she hates because it’s so ladylike, she shortens it to Lenny. If you saw her, you’d realise that she is definitely not a Lenora.’
He grinned at her. ‘She sounds like quite a woman, I’d like to meet her.’
She nodded, wondering at his strange reply. Why would he want to meet Lenny because she disliked her name? ‘She’s quite something.’ She decided not to tell him anything else about her family.
An abundance of floral scents filled Dora’s nostrils, making her sneeze and signalling their arrival at the flower market. She led the way among the stalls, pausing to look at everything but not buying anything at all. George stopped at a stall selling cottage garden plants and flowers and picked up a bunch of beautiful periwinkles and forget-me-nots so blue they looked out of place against the gloomy sky. Plucking up some fern leaves and sprigs of rosemary, he passed them to the vendor, and Dora wondered at his strange choice of blooms. When they reached the end of the market, he handed them to her.
‘What are these for?’
‘Pretty flowers for a beautiful lady.’
‘Thank you, but there’s no need.’ She tried to pass them back to him, but he held up his hands.
‘I insist you have them; I have no need for them. I have no one else to gift them to and I thought that they suited your personality just right.’
‘Thank you, that’s very kind.’ Dora was wondering what peculiar behaviour he was exhibiting for a recently bereaved boyfriend, but she didn’t say it. She had heard that grief made people do all sorts of weird things, maybe he was in denial.
‘How about I come back to your shop with you, and we can try to think of a more appropriate floral arrangement for the funeral?’
She thought George was handsome, and he definitely smelled good, but there was something about him that she couldn’t put her finger on, and she shook her head.
‘I’m sorry, I’m meeting my friend. The shop isn’t open until tomorrow, it’s Sunday, I don’t work them, got to have a day off now and again.’
‘I’ll pay you double, triple, what the cost of the arrangement is.’
Dora paused. The money would be very handy after the month she’d had and it was tempting, but her heart never listened to her head.
‘Don’t be silly, come tomorrow morning and we’ll sort it out then.’
He stared at her a little too intensely with his big brown eyes but nodded.
‘Of course, sorry. I keep forgetting what day it is, tomorrow it is then.’
He turned and walked away. She finished her latte and threw the cup into the recycling bin outside the tube station. Looking around to see where he was, she couldn’t spot him, but she felt as if he was still there somewhere, and he was watching her. A cold shiver ran down her spine, and taking out her phone she rang Katie.
‘Hey, what are you doing right now?’
‘Dora, it’s not even nine o’clock and it’s Sunday morning. I’m not doing anything, I’m in bed.’
‘Oh, sorry, I forgot it was so early. I wanted to ask you a favour, but I’ll speak to you later.’
‘No, you never ask for a favour. What do you want?’
‘How do you fancy running the shop for me for a few weeks while I go on holiday?’
Laughter filled her ear. ‘You’re funny, you never go on holiday, and I know nothing about flowers. You’re not being serious, are you?’
‘Yes, I am. Lenny has to go to the States for work and I thought I might tag along if you could manage the shop. I can show you how to make basic bouquets and arrangements, I’ll put a post up on Facebook and Instagram saying collections from shop only while I’m away. What do you think?’
‘I think you’re nuts, Dora, but does this position pay?’
Dora smiled. ‘Of course.’
‘Then I’ll give it a go, but don’t turn around and blame me if it all goes horribly wrong and your customers start buying their flowers from M&S online. I’m not ashamed to tell you that I will honestly only be doing this for the money, not because of some weird friendship loyalty that I owe you.’
Dora laughed but at the same time hoped to God that Katie wouldn’t be that bad at basic flower arranging. She was always the arty one at school so she should be okay.
‘I won’t and you’ll be fine. When can you come to the shop so I can show you?’
‘Ooh, in an hour. I need to shower and eat something, is that okay?’
‘Perfect, thanks, Katie.’
Katie hung up and Dora wasn’t quite sure what else was going to happen to her today because up until to now it had been the strangest Sunday morning that she had ever spent. What was it that Lenny was always saying, Be careful what you wish for ? Hadn’t she been wishing for her mundane life to be more interesting and to maybe meet a handsome man, go on holiday? What she hadn’t wished for was a handsome man who was grieving, not to mention a little bit weird, plus a holiday with her aunt, but she supposed she’d take what she could get and be thankful at the same time. She didn’t know how she felt about George and his strange behaviour but at least if she went on holiday, he would lose interest in her. He would be a distant memory.