I gave her an encouraging smile. ‘I’m sure you will.’
‘That’s another good one,’ Claire nudged her sister. ‘You can put that on the business cards.’
‘Tell you what,’ said Karen, scribbling Harriet’s wise words on the back of her hand with a biro. ‘If your wedding business goes tits up, you can always go into writing motivational slogans.’
Harriet laughed. ‘I think that’s a compliment.’
‘If that’s your business ethos, Harriet, then I don’t see how you can possibly fail,’ I said, feeling proud of them all. ‘All of you have such good intentions for your floral skills. I’ve only done this course to make myself happy. I feel a bit selfish.’
‘Absolutely nothing wrong with that,’ said Fiona firmly. ‘As Oscar Wilde once said, “A flower blossoms for its own joy” and yes, Claire, you can have that one as well.’
We all hugged goodbye after that. Karen and Claire drove off first, followed by Harriet. As I started the engine in mine, Fiona knocked on the glass and gestured for me to open the window.
‘I hope you will cultivate your new skills, experiment with different containers and practise, practise, practise until you’re spiralling stems for a hand-tied bouquet in your sleep.’
I gave her a lopsided smile. ‘I will. I’ve learned so much this week, but I’ve only scratched the surface and I want to keep improving.’
‘We all carry on learning our whole lives,’ she replied. ‘But flowers have a way of making people smile, even when a project seems impossible. All you have to do is let the flowers do the talking and have a little faith.’
I drove back home feeling happier than I’d done in months. Fiona was right. Flowers had already made me smile and life seemed a lot brighter for it.
Chapter Seven
‘Over here!’ Laura waved to me across the crowds outside the busy café. I waved back and headed over to where she and Scamp were waiting at the only empty table.
It was Saturday, the day after the flower course had finished and much as I loved having flowers in every room, I decided to share the love. Scamp and I had already dropped in on Ethel and given her a jug arrangement for her room and then we’d called at Hamish and Laura’s house to give them one of the large bouquets for the dining table. I’d found Laura on her own, researching recipes for simnel cake ready for Easter weekend next week.
Hamish was stranded in Paris after a fire in the Channel Tunnel had delayed all the trains back to the UK. And as she was on her own, I’d suggested a walk in the sunshine to the nearest café.
‘One chai latte and a cinnamon bun for you,’ I said, setting the tray down. ‘Tea and a giant shortbread biscuit for me.’
Scamp’s ears pricked up at the ‘b’ word.
‘Of course I didn’t forget you.’ I took a Dentastix out of my bag, which the vet had suggested might help his antisocial breath, and held it out to him.
He eyed it glumly before ignoring it and slumping under the table next to it in disappointment.
‘Sorry, mate, you can sulk all you like,’ I said sticking it back in my bag. ‘But the honeymoon period is over, I’ve got to be a responsible dog owner now I’m providing your forever home.’
‘That’s how I feel about living with Hamish,’ said Laura.
‘Like a sulky dog?’ I said, accidentally-on-purpose knocking a chunk of my shortbread off my plate. Scamp hoovered it up before it hit the floor. Well, he was twelve years old, what harm could it do?
‘Haha,’ she said drily. ‘No, the honeymoon period bit. It still feels like I’m playing house, and the food he cooks! Oh my word! I think I’ve put on half a stone since moving in with him.’
‘In ten days?’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s some going. What’s he doing, force-feeding you?’
Laura eyes softened dreamily. ‘He’s cherishing me. That’s what it is, I feel cherished. And content. I love it.’
‘It shows,’ I said. ‘You look radiant. I’m happy for you. I’d have been happy for you months ago if you’d told me sooner.’
‘Really?’ She gave me a quizzical look.
‘OK, perhaps I’d have still behaved like a spoiled brat,’ I admitted, cringing at my full-on strop at the spa. ‘But let’s put that behind us. I’m glad it’s out in the open. Just don’t forget your best friend. We can do this whenever you’re at a loose end. I’m happy to fill the Hamish-shaped hole in your weekend.’
‘How could I forget you? Anyway, I’m not going to squeeze seeing you into the times when Hamish is busy,’ she said with an admonishing look. ‘Sisters before misters, remember? Although my weekends might have more Hamish-shaped holes than I’d like. With the number of football players he represents and the matches he has to attend, I’m already a Saturday sport widow.’
‘You’ve got to be married before you can be a widow, remember.’
She blushed and leaned forward. ‘I’ll let you into a secret. I’ve been practising my married signature. Mrs Laura McNamee.’
I snorted. ‘You’re not still doing that! Remember that boy—’
‘Paul Leggett! Don’t!’ Laura covered her face in embarrassment.
We both collapsed in a fit of giggles at the memory. Laura had been so obsessed with Paul Leggett in sixth form that she’d scribbled Laura Leggett everywhere. Which was absolutely fine until our English teacher held up a piece of homework at the front of the class and asked whether it was Paul’s or Laura’s or was it in fact a team effort. Paul never did ask her out after all that.
‘You haven’t changed,’ I said, shaking my head fondly.
Laura’s face grew serious for a moment. ‘But you have. I feel like I’m getting my best friend back. I’ve missed going places with you. Like book club and yoga and drinks with the girls.’
I smiled awkwardly. ‘You are getting your friend back. And I’m sorry I’ve been away so long. It’s just that it has been easier to avoid public situations.’
She covered my hand with hers; I knew she understood. It had been hideous for her when her mum died. ‘People are on your side,’ she said. ‘They just don’t always know how to show it, or what to say.’
‘And then it becomes the elephant in the room,’ I said with a shudder. ‘Until someone cracks and feels the need to address it. I can tell when they’re about to launch into some crappy platitude and I can feel my porcupine spikes ping into action.’
Laura pulled a piece off her cinnamon bun and laughed. ‘You have been a bit porcupine-y. Good image.’
I grinned. ‘I thought so. But seriously, how can someone think that telling a grieving sister that things happen for a reason was ever going to improve matters?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Ugh. Or my personal favourite, which made me want to stab them in the eye. “She did what she came here to do, it was her time to go.” If that was true, I wanted to yell in their faces, Mum would never have booked a holiday which she never got to go on, so put that in your patronising pipe and smoke it.’