Chapter 8
A s Rosie approached the Forget-Me-Knot , her heart heavy, she noticed something on the deck.
She hadn’t ordered anything to be delivered and from a distance couldn’t make out exactly what it was.
It was only as she approached she saw it was a small toolbox with a note attached. She opened it and read quickly.
Don’t get excited. These are extra tools I don’t need but they might be useful for you. You don’t owe me anything. Just don’t hit anything else with hammers, please.
Max
Well, that was unexpected. For a second, a small smile spread across her face, but as nice a gesture as it was, it didn’t make up for the absolute write-off of a day she’d had. Picking it up, she headed inside.
The door to the Forget-Me-Knot was still sticking and Rosie had to shove her shoulder into it harder than a rugby player tackling his opponent to get it open.
She managed it with a grunt of effort, and threw her keys onto the counter, placing the bag full of shopping on the floor.
She took out a bottle of wine and opened it, filling a glass with a hefty measure, and for a moment stared around her.
‘What are you even doing?’ she asked herself, picking up one of the new bright cushions she’d bought to cheer herself up and throwing it across the room. ‘This was such a stupid idea.’
Rosie caught her reflection in the mirror she’d taken from the tiny toilet and hung instead on the galley wall. Her short hair was beginning to need a trim, and she tucked a few strands behind her ears. Worst of all, she looked tired with unflattering smudges under her eyes.
‘Why did you ever think you could do this?’ she said to herself, before returning to her shopping and beginning to unpack.
‘I mean, you’ve never even held down a job longer than a year and you thought this was going to be easy?
You’re an idiot, Rosie Harper. A complete and utter idiot.
Like an A-plus idiot. An idiot with bells on.
The Queen of Idiot Kingdom and all the idiots who dwell within it. ’
After putting away the scant supplies she’d bought for her dinner, she flopped onto the sofa and this time, didn’t bother to stop the tears that came to her eyes.
For a second, the release as they fell down her cheeks made her feel better, but then she found she couldn’t stop.
For a few minutes, she let herself sob until there was nothing more to give.
Rosie wiped her nose and her eyes, smudging mascara across her cheeks.
The water that had flooded the boat had all dried, as had the rug and the towels.
It was almost as if it had never happened.
She’d added some colourful throws to the small sofa and it was now a lot more comfortable.
Her plants were flourishing, both inside and out, and she had to admit she liked it here.
Much more than she had any of her tiny flats in London.
But that wasn’t enough to stay. If she couldn’t make the business work, she’d have no choice but to return home with her tail between her legs.
Yet again failing at getting her life in order.
There was only ever one person Rosie wanted to speak to when she felt like this: her dad.
She quickly called him, keeping it to a phone call rather than a video chat so he didn’t see the state she was in.
She didn’t want to worry him. He’d worried enough about both her and her sister in place of their mum.
But she needed to hear his voice and know he was there.
‘Hello, my Rosie-Roo. How was your first big day?’
To think she’d been so excited about it when she’d spoken to him last made the back of her nose sting with more tears, but she refused to let them come.
‘It was fine,’ she replied, overly breezily, and the silence that met her on the other end of the line told her he hadn’t bought it for a second.
‘What’s happened?’ His tone was sharp and perceptive, and she could imagine the narrowing of his eyes behind his blue-framed glasses. ‘Something has. I can tell by your voice. What is it? That grumpy neighbour been griping at you again?’
Rosie had already given her dad the low-down on Max, though she’d left out how insanely attractive he was and how her body seemed to fizz with sexual tension whenever he was around.
That wasn’t generally the type of thing you talked to your dad about.
Rosie considered lying but despite her best efforts the tears had started again and there was no holding them back.
‘Oh, Dad,’ she sobbed, taking in a shaky breath.
‘It’s all going horribly wrong already.’
‘No, come on, Rosie-Roo, that’s not like you. Where’s my little ray of sunshine gone? Now, what’s going wrong?’
‘The supplier sent me the wrong flowers and I didn’t sell a single thing.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, rose petal. But come on, that’s not going to happen every day. Was it just a mix-up?’
‘I think so, but I feel like I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.’
‘What? Even bigger than when you cut your own hair?’
A slight giggle bubbled in her throat. ‘Even worse than that.’ At the age of twelve, when she’d first decided she w anted short hair, she’d thought she could cut it herself.
Unsurprisingly, she couldn’t. Her dad had to taken her to an emergency hairdressing appointment to fix the bald spot and uneven clumps sticking up here, there and everywhere.
She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. ‘I just don’t think this is going to work, Dad.
Maybe I should stop now and come home before I land myself in debt and end up homeless. ’
‘But is that the only thing that’s gone wrong? Because it’s not like you to get knocked back by one little mix-up.’
‘There’ve been other things too. My boat flooded.’ She didn’t add why. ‘I haven’t done half as much research as I should have and—’
‘Now you listen to me, rose petal. Things going wrong– that’s life!
Nothing goes smoothly. If it did, we’d all be walking around whistling show tunes and bursting into song all the time.
Life is full of problems and obstacles; that’s just how it is.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen you as excited as when you said you wanted to move there and start a flower shop.
I saw a spark in your eyes that reminded me of your mum whenever she talked about plants and botany.
You’ve got the same passion she had, and you owe it to yourself to explore it– to do what makes you happy.
It’s taken you a while to figure out what makes you tick and now you’ve found it, you’re just going to give up? What would your mum say?’
She sat in silence for a moment and glanced at one of the few photos she had of her mum and dad on their wedding day, which sat in a frame on the narrow windowsill.
The memory of her mum’s voice, the way she always encouraged them, sent a familiar raft of pain, and now confusingly, hope, through her. ‘She’d want me to keep trying.’
‘Of course she would. Do you know she was the first woman in her family to go to university? Her parents worked night and day to be able to send her and support her while she studied, and when she said she wanted to do a PhD, she worked every hour she could to afford it– we both did. We didn’t do that so you could take a job that didn’t make you happy. If you came home, what would you do?’
‘I don’t know. Go back to the design firm maybe.’
‘You hated that job. You said the person you sat next to smelled of tuna and onions.’
They had. It’d been gross– even worse than the damp and mildew had been when she’d first arrived. ‘So you think I should stay?’
There was no hesitation in her dad’s reply. ‘I do. You’ll work everything out; I know you will. You’ve got your mum’s gumption and my stubbornness. That’s a lethal combination. Why don’t you give it to the end of the summer? And if you still feel things aren’t working out, you can come home then.’
That wasn’t a bad idea. Rosie took a sip of her wine, almost spilling it as the glass was so full.
‘You just need to have some faith in yourself, Rosie-Roo. You’ve always held yourself back, well now’s the time to grow your wings and fly.’
‘But what if I crash and burn?’
‘I don’t think you will.’
She stared out of the window at the setting sun.
It had sent the sky a beautiful orangey-yellow and reflected in the canal as a delicious peach.
Birds bobbed along, occasionally speaking to each other.
She liked it here. Was she really going to give it all up after only a few days?
Leaving her decision to the end of the summer was a much better plan.
‘There’s a lovely saying, you know,’ her dad continued.
‘And I can’t remember who said it, but it was one of your mum’s favourites.
It went: “Shoot for the moon, because even if you fall, you’ll land among the stars”.
’ A great racking sob emerged from her as she couldn’t hold it in any longer, only to be met with her dad’s laughter.
‘There now, my rose petal. You can do this; I know you can.’ Emotion choked his voice, and he cleared his throat, putting on a much brighter tone.
‘So, what do you need to do to make tomorrow better than today?’
‘Get drunk?’
‘That’ll just give you a hangover and make tomorrow even worse. Come on, tell me one practical thing you can do right now to make tomorrow a good day?’
Rosie thought for a moment, biting her fingernails and watching the ducks float past on the canal.
Nearly all the blooms would be good for the next day, but what good was that when she still had nothing to pair them with?
Was it worth placing another order for delivery tomorrow morning?
Could she even afford to? She’d have to.
She definitely wasn’t going to make any sales if she didn’t.
‘I can order some more flowers that’ll complement the ones I have from today. It’s more expense but with any luck I’ll make it all back tomorrow and then some.’
‘Brilliant! Now, stop yapping to me and place that order. You can call me again later when it’s done.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ she said, the familiar feeling of comfort he gave emanating from the phone. ‘I shouldn’t still need my dad to give me a pep talk, should I?’
‘Of course you should. You and your sister have given me a few over the years. I only started going out again because you two nagged me into getting a life once you’d left home.’
‘We didn’t nag!’ she replied, pretending to be cross. ‘We were just looking out for you.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘Speaking of which, have you thought any more about joining a band or something?’
‘No, I haven’t. Now go, make that call. That’s an order.’
‘Yes, Dad,’ she replied. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you too, rose petal.’
Rosie placed her glass to the side and made a quick list of the flowers she wanted, then called the supplier.
This time in plain English, and ensuring the guy on the other end read the list back to her, she placed her order.
Things like this were bound to happen, she told herself, some of her normal positivity returning.
There were always going to be pro blems. That wouldn’t make her a failure, unless she let it.
She stood and took a swig of her wine, staring at her reflection once more and spotting the toolbox from Max, which lifted her spirits further.
‘Right, Queen of the Idiots, you’ve got till the end of the summer.
If things don’t go right by then, you can call it quits and go home with your head held high.
After all, it’s not like you’ve bought a house or anything; you’re renting a houseboat and have a tiny pitch at the flower market. That’s not much to give up. Got it?’
She nodded to herself, just as Max’s grumpy voice pierced the silence.
‘Will you stop talking to yourself! You sound like a crazy person and I’m trying to paint!’
Rosie watched her reflection as her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She peered out of the window to see him on the deck of his boat, standing at an easel, paintbrush in hand and glaring at her. Had he heard all that?
Oh no!
‘Sorry!’ she called. ‘I’m done now.’
‘Good!’
‘Thanks for the tools, by the way.’
There was a moment’s silence before he said, ‘You’re welcome.’
A swarm of butterflies were swirling in her stomach at the sound of his voice, and she pressed down the smile forcing its way onto her face.
Taking a deep breath, she took a big gulp of wine and began to plan the arrangements she’d make tomorrow and the offers she could give to shift some of the stock.
No matter how much Evil Finn laughed at her, she wasn’t going to give up that easily.
Rosie’s Blooms needed a chance to shine.
Rosie’s Blooms? It really did sound basic. She still wasn’t convinced by that name but that was a problem for another day.