Chapter 7
Before long, men and women carrying flowers, crates of bulbs, pots and boxes of garden accessories were scurrying backwards and forwards between the different stalls. A young man arrived and turned on the spot a few times.
‘Harper?’ he called out, looking between the piece of paper in his hand and staring at the stallholders in the market. ‘Harper?’
‘That’s me!’ Rosie cried, leaping forwards in response to her surname and waving to get his attention. ‘Over here.’
With a nod of acknowledgement, he marched forwards, deposited the first bunch of flowers he’d been holding and then went off to collect more.
Rosie looked down at what he’d left on the ground in front of her and frowned.
A horrible sinking sensation climbed up from her stomach, gripping her throat.
These weren’t the flowers she’d ordered.
For some reason, she lifted them up and moved them around as if magically the ones she’d requested would be hidden underneath. They weren’t. The man appeared again with more flowers she hadn’t asked for. He tried to place them down but Rosie grabbed them and forced them back into his arms.
‘ Tjongejongejonge! ’ he exclaimed, pulling away from her as if she was about to hit him.
‘I have no idea what that means, but—’ He started backing away, looking absolutely terrified. ‘No! Wait! I’m sorry but these– these aren’t the flowers I ordered.’
He stared at her wearily, clearly not understanding her English.
She tried again, frantically loading up her translation app on her phone and trying to type it in. He edged forwards and tried putting the flowers down. Rosie leapt in to stop him.
‘No, no, no—’ She picked them up and gave them back to him. He shook his head and moved backwards. Rosie held up her phone trying to show him the screen, but her hands were shaking so much all she did was wave her phone in front of his face. The poor boy looked even more confused.
‘Is everything all right?’ Emma asked, coming to her side.
Rosie could have wept with relief, but only for a second as she recited what was happening. ‘No, there’s been some mistake. These aren’t the flowers I ordered.’
‘What did you order?’
‘Roses, carnations . . .’ She listed a few more and Emma began to translate for her.
The young man responded but Rosie couldn’t make out anything he’d said. He showed Emma the screen of his small handheld tracker and Emma took it, showing it to Rosie.
‘This is what they have down for you.’
Rosie shook her head. ‘I don’t know what’s happened, but I didn’t ask for these—’ She signalled to the arum lilies at her feet.
‘Could you have maybe...’ Emma didn’t finish, but her meaning was clear.
Rosie thought for a moment. ‘I said the Latin names of some of them, maybe they didn’t catch them.
’ Rosie raised her eyes to the sky, urging her brain to start working.
There had to be a solution to this but if there was, she had no idea what it was.
Emma was staring at her worriedly. ‘Between Latin, English and Dutch, it looks like there’s been some mistake. ’
The young man took his device back and spoke again. Emma translated.
‘He said he’s sorry, but he has other deliveries to make. Do you want the flowers or not? There won’t be a refund though.’
‘But this isn’t what I wanted.’ This couldn’t be happening on her first day of trading.
Everything was supposed to be perfect, but just like the other jobs she’d had through the years, everything was going wrong.
Like when she’d started at a temp job in the city and the fire alarm had gone off while she was in the loo.
By the time she’d yanked up her knickers and made it out into the corridor there was no else around, and she’d got so lost trying to find her way out that she was the last one to leave and everyone had given her a round of applause.
Other vendors were beginning to stare at her, wondering what was going on. She didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself on her first day. All she wanted was to sell some flowers.
‘I guess I’ll have to take them,’ Rosie replied, her shoulders falling and tears stinging the backs of her eyes.
Emma gave the man the message and he quickly delivered the rest of her unusual order.
Instead of the beautiful array of blooms she’d been hoping for, launching her stall along the lines of an English country garden to stand out from the c rowd, she was left with a mishmash of plants and flowers that didn’t really go together.
‘It’ll be all right,’ Emma said, rubbing her shoulder. ‘Can you make some flower arrangements or something? I don’t really know much about flowers.’
Rosie swiped at an escaping tear and sniffed, forcing the others back. ‘And you work in the world’s only floating flower market?’
‘It’s bad, I know.’
‘I might be able to make a couple but there’s so much to consider when making an arrangement, like the different scents and how they complement each other, the balance of colours and the size of the flowers, the vase life and weight of the blooms, the—’
‘I get it,’ Emma said gently, rubbing her shoulder again. ‘So what can we do?’
That she’d said we made Rosie feel a little less alone.
‘There’s got to be a solution,’ Rosie replied. She just had to calm down and think straight. She still had time before they opened to the public to do something. But what? Perhaps someone in the market would swap with her?
She tried Fenna first, who kindly swapped a small bunch of lilies for some tulips, but couldn’t really do much more.
Rosie then approached a number of other stallholders who either pretended they couldn’t understand her English, or just said no and scurried back into their much bigger stalls.
She looked around and spied Finn, the man she’d stolen the pitch from, who was clearly as miserable as Max.
He had su ch a large pitch, full to the brim of flowers, and with such huge variety, he could surely swap a few bunches with her, or perhaps she could pay for some of his.
Not that she could really afford to. Rosie rolled her shoulders back to brace herself and began walking.
Seeing the direction she was headed in, Emma sprang in front of her. ‘No, Rosie, I—’
‘I need to, Em. I haven’t got much choice.’
‘Rosie—’ she hissed. But Rosie kept on walking.
‘Hi,’ she said to the man who everyone seemed to dislike. Obviously, he had reason to dislike her most of all, but she ignored that and carried on regardless. ‘I’m Rosie, I’ve just taken over Grietje’s stall.’
Finn was older than she’d thought from a distance, clearly in his mid-forties from the gentle lines around his eyes and on his forehead.
His hair was greying at the temples, silver strands taking over from a soft, sandy blond.
He was tanned from days working in the sun and, she suspected, possibly the odd sunbed or two.
There was a slight discolouration around his eyes where the goggles went, and his skin had a thick, worn look about it.
Most people at the market were dressed in jeans or shorts, but Finn was clad in a fitted beige suit and crisp white shirt.
Rosie thrust her hand out and smiled. They were going to be working alongside each other for the foreseeable and there was no better time to start things off on the right foot. Finn’s lip curled. He didn’t take her hand and after a second of it hanging in the air, she withdrew it.
‘Umm, so... hi– I’ve already said that, haven’t I?
Sorry. So, I’m Rosie– I said that too, didn’t I?
Sorry... again! Look, I know we’ve just met and it’s incredibly cheeky of me, but I’ve had a bit of a disaster, and I was wondering if you could help me.
I don’t really know what happened, but none of the flowers I requested have been delivered, apart from some lavender, and well, this is a bit of a mad request but—’ She was babbling and had to rapidly draw in a breath.
He watched her, cold eyes staring mercilessly.
‘I was wondering if we can possibly swap some flowers.’
‘You want to swap flowers?’ His English was perfect, and she blew out a breath, relieved he’d understood her, and she hadn’t had to attempt all that again using the translation app. An app she was beginning to mistrust intensely. He laughed and then instantly stopped. ‘You stole my stall!’
‘I didn’t mean to steal it,’ she replied. She totally had but didn’t think saying so was going to help at that moment.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I know you’re probably cross but if I can just explain. You see—’
‘I don’t care.’
‘Wow! At least you’re honest, I suppose. But you’ve already got a shop—’
‘Two shops.’ His smug smile made her want to punch him.
‘There you go! Two shops. And this—’ She motioned behind him. ‘This huge, amazing, gorgeous stall here. You don’t need that tiny pitch, but for me– this is the start of my life, of me making something of myself and—’
She was over-sharing again, and he clearly didn’t care for it. ‘You want to swap some flowers?’
‘Yes!’ Hope began to rise, lifting her spirits, perhaps her over-sharing had shown him she wasn’t here to try and sabotage his business, but simply start her own. ‘Just a few bunches. Or I could buy some.’
‘Look around you.’ He gestured to the width of his stall and the breadth of his displays. ‘I already have all the flowers you have and more. Why would I want extra?’
Rosie felt herself shrinking. Heat burned her cheeks, and she knew she was turning pinker with every passing second. ‘I know you don’t need them but—’
‘You want me to take more flowers than I need– flowers I already have– just to help you out when it won’t actually help me at all?’