Thirty-six Potentilla – Beloved Daughter
Thirty-six
Potentilla – Beloved Daughter
The next day is a Sunday, but the shop still opens for business at midday.
It’s my turn to be on duty with Bronte, which is usually a lot of fun. I’ve been getting on really well with her since she started working at the shop, and I enjoy hearing all about her latest teenage exploits.
I’m out back making a cup of coffee when I hear the shop door open. ‘Hi, Bronte!’ I call.
Disappearing from the party for a long time last night meant I hadn’t had time to drink too much alcohol, so I’d been spared the hangover that many St Felix residents would have woken up with this morning.
But after a particularly rough night’s sleep – where I dreamt I’d been locked in a high tower like Rapunzel, and Jake and Ash, wearing huge silver suits of armour, had jousted on horseback, and the results hadn’t been too pretty – a shot or two of caffeine is going to be needed if I’m to get through the next few hours.
‘Howdy,’ Bronte calls, coming into the back room. ‘How are you today?’
‘Good, thanks. You?’
‘Yeah, I’m OK.’ Bronte hangs her bag on the peg behind the door. ‘Did you enjoy the party?’
Jake and I had returned to the party after our talk and attempted to sneak in quietly in the hope no one had noticed we’d been gone.
Except people had.
Jake had immediately been interrogated by his children. And I’d been questioned by Amber, and then Ash.
Amber hadn’t been too bad; I’d explained as quickly as I could what had happened and where I’d been, and as usual she’d taken it all on board with no drama. Ash, however, had not.
‘You’ve been where?’ he’d asked, astonished. ‘And with who?’
I try to explain again, except I was leaving out the part about the cellar. Ash was too close to Babs and Trecarlan to tell him the truth about the pictures yet.
‘And you expect me to believe that? You spend getting on for two hours away from this party, and part of that time you just happened to bump into Jake who just happened to be outside too? What do you take me for, Poppy, a fool?’
‘No, of course not,’ I’d protested.
‘What were you really up to, hmm? I know you and Jake are friends – but is that friends with benefits now?’
‘Stop it, Ash,’ I’d pleaded. ‘It wasn’t like that.’ I’d tried to placate him, suggesting that we go back to the cottage, sleep it off and then talk about it in the morning.
‘Na-ah!’ he said, pulling away as I gently tried to take hold of his arm. ‘I gotta get outta here and think for a bit. On my own.’
‘Ash!’ I called to his disappearing figure, as he strode towards the door of Trecarlan.
‘Later, Poppy!’ he called with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘Much later.’
‘Yes, it was good,’ I lie now. ‘Coffee?’ I offer.
‘Nah, I had a Red Bull on the way up here, thanks. What ya looking at?’ Bronte asks, seeing me staring at the embroidered picture of the purple rose I’d propped up on the side this morning.
‘Oh, it’s nothing really. Just something that was found here under the floorboards of the shop. It belonged to my grandmother.’
Bronte comes over. ‘May I?’ she asks, lifting the picture. ‘Hmm… that’s cool.’
‘Is it?’ I say, surprised she likes it. ‘I didn’t think it would be your sort of thing.’
I wander back into the shop, and Bronte follows me.
‘It isn’t. But I think we have something very similar hanging up on our landing at home.’
‘You do?’
‘Yeah, it’s not the same flower, ours is pink – a carnation, I reckon. But it looks just like this one, same embroidery, same initials stitched into the petals of the flower.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, definitely. It was Mum’s, I think. We had to pack a load of stuff up recently, ’cos Dad is going to decorate. I packed it into a box with the other pictures that were hanging on that wall.’
‘So where is it now?’ I ask, wondering how on earth the picture had ended up on Jake’s wall. Had Felicity bought it somewhere?
‘I guess it’s in one of the boxes of stuff stacked in the shed. I’ll ring Dad and see if he can take a look. He should be up by this time, but I think he’ll be nursing a pretty bad hangover. The party went on pretty late after you left with Ash. Did you know Ash took Charlie surfing this morning?’ Bronte asks as she hangs on her phone waiting for Jake to answer. ‘Charlie was well up for it when Ash called to tell him the surf was up.’
I’m pleased Ash had still taken Charlie out. After he’d stormed off, I was quite worried about him.
‘He’s not answering,’ Bronte says, pulling the phone away from her ear. ‘It’s going to voicemail. Told ya he was in a bad way last night! I’ll try again.’ But this time when she dials we hear the sound of a phone ringing outside the shop doorway.
‘Dad?’ Bronte jumps as Jake appears at the door. ‘I was just ringing you.’
‘I saw,’ Jake says, holding up his phone. ‘But I was close by, so I thought it would be easier to speak to you in person.’
Jake glances in my direction as he enters the shop properly.
‘Morning, Poppy, are you well?’
I nod hurriedly, still feeling a little awkward after Jake’s confession last night.
‘Dad!’ Bronte calls, trying to regain his attention.
‘Yes, my darling daughter,’ Jake says, rolling his eyes. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘You know those pictures that were at the top of the stairs? The ones I took down so you could decorate – they were Mum’s, right?’
Jake flinches slightly at the mention of Felicity. ‘Yes, some were. Why?’
‘’Cos Poppy has a picture just like one of them – look.’
Bronte hands Jake the embroidered picture.
‘If Bronte is right,’ I tell him, ‘it sounds as though you might have one of the missing pictures I was telling you about last night.’
‘You mean Stan’s pictures… which one?’
‘The pink carnation?’
Jake’s brow furrows. ‘Oh yes, I know the one you mean. I never thought anything of it when you were telling me last night. But seeing this –’ he holds up the picture of the purple rose – ‘I can see the resemblance. I think that picture belonged to Felicity’s mother. Felicity kept a number of her possessions when she died and we had to clear out her house. But why would Isabelle have had one of Stan’s pictures?’
‘Maybe she bought it somewhere?’
‘I don’t think so. For as long as I knew Felicity, her mum kept that picture in pride of place on her mantelpiece.’
A customer comes into the shop, so Bronte hurries over to serve them. I can see her still trying to listen to our conversation as she does.
‘Wait a minute, what did you say Felicity’s mother’s name was?’ I whisper, as something clicks in my mind.
‘Isabelle, why?’
‘Because that was the name of the girl Stan fell in love with, the person he gave his third picture to – it must be the same woman.’
‘It’s a mighty coincidence,’ Jake says, frowning.
Bronte is still trying to hear what we’re saying, so I guide Jake out into the back room.
‘Perhaps, but what was Felicity’s family background? If you don’t mind me asking, of course,’ I add, realising I could be treading on delicate ground here.
‘No, it’s fine, I don’t mind telling you. She grew up with her mother near Oxford, then —’
‘Mother?’ I interrupt. ‘What about a father?’
‘Isabelle brought Felicity up on her own as a single mother. Felicity never knew who her father was.’ Jake smiles. ‘I think I told you before how keen Felicity was for us to move back here because her mother had grown up in St Felix. Isabelle had to leave suddenly though; I think when she fell pregnant with Felicity. Having babies out of wedlock was frowned upon in small towns like this, even in the seventies.’
I stare at Jake.
‘What?’ he asks.
‘It all fits, doesn’t it? What you just said, with Stan’s story. He told me Isabelle had to leave St Felix suddenly and he never knew why.’
‘Oh…’ Jake says suddenly realising. ‘But if this Stan is Felicity’s father, that would mean…’
‘That Bronte and Charlie have a grandfather they’ve never met and –’ I swallow as a lump forms in my throat – ‘that Stan has the family he’s always longed for.’