The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop: The feel-good romantic comedy to read in 2018

Eager to rid her mind of Kyle, Evie glanced over her shoulder. The man was still there. She ducked into the porch of the brightly lit Bell Inn, letting him run past and disappear into the distance.

Digging out her phone, she called Laura, needing a companionable voice as she set off at walking speed, needing to keep her muscles from seizing up.

The moment Laura picked up, Evie knew something was wrong. ‘You sound terrible. Are you ill?’

Laura sniffed. ‘I’ve been crying. Damon’s just been killed.’

Evie skidded to a halt, her brain frantically scrolling through Laura’s family, trying to place someone called Damon. ‘Laura, I’m so sorry to hear that.’ A beat passed before she added, ‘Er … Remind me again who Damon is?’

Laura sniffed. ‘The hot brother in The Vampire Diaries.’

Evie resumed jogging, albeit at a slower pace, relieved Laura wasn’t talking about a real person. ‘You’re crying over a TV programme?’

Laura sniffed again. ‘I’ve also downed half a bottle of Shiraz. Why are you panting?’

‘I’m running.’

Laura groaned. ‘God, why?’

Evie laughed. ‘Because it helps clear my head. You should try it.’

‘Don’t you start. Martin’s always on at me to exercise.’ Her voice sounded slurred.

Although Martin could be a grumpy sod at times, Evie didn’t feel he was as ‘off’ Laura as her friend imagined. ‘Maybe you should take up tennis. You said you wanted to spend more time with him.’

‘I do, but getting sweaty running around a bloody tennis court is not my idea of fun.’ She hiccupped. ‘I want to get hot and sweaty playing a different type of game, but he’s not interested. I’ve tried everything.’ Laura let out a big sigh. ‘My marriage is dead. Swept into the afterlife like Damon Salvatore, leaving Elena mourning for her loss, sucking blood from random strangers for eternity.’

Laura appeared to bordering on the delusional. ‘I’m not sure drinking wine and watching US teen horror shows is the best way of coping, Laura. Do you want me to come over?’

‘My head’s spinning. I’m going to bed.’

‘Sounds like a good idea.’ Laura was normally a happy drunk. Not tonight. ‘By the way, how was your anniversary dinner?’

‘Disaster. Martin slept in the spare bed.’ The slur in Laura’s voice became more pronounced.

Oh dear. The flowers Martin had purchased obviously hadn’t done the trick.

‘He doesn’t love me any more.’ Her friend sounded downright morose.

‘I’m sure that’s not true. Are you sure you don’t want company?’ Evie switched hands, trying to balance out her running rhythm.

‘No, thanks.’ She let out a sob. ‘You still love me, right?’

Definitely too much booze. ‘Yes, sweetie. I still love you. Stop watching programmes about dead people and go to bed. You’ll feel better in the morning.’ Laura had already hung up.

Evie pocketed her phone. Things were not good in the Harper household, which was a shame. She was sure Martin did still love Laura, they were just miscommunicating. Still, coming from the woman who’d failed to rectify her own flawed relationship, she was hardly equipped to pass judgement.

A noise behind made her jump. She spun around to find the jogger had returned. Where had he come from? He must have done a loop.

Instinct made her speed up, increasing her pace. He upped his stride too. Was he really following her, or was she being paranoid? Only one way to find out.

She swerved across the road, looping around the traffic island, trying to get behind him rather than in front so she had the upper hand. He was too quick, his pace keeping him behind her. She was at full stretch now, her lungs burning from sprinting. She was running out of steam. She couldn’t keep this up.

She had two options, try and make it to the police station a few streets away, or stop running and confront her pursuer. Her body made the decision for her, cramping her calves, warning that if she continued she was likely to end up on crutches.

She spun around and stopped dead. The man had to swerve to miss her. He stumbled off the pavement, landing heavily on the road.

Evie stood over him, struggling for air. ‘Why are you following me?’

He groaned, trying to right himself. ‘What the fuck?’

She waved a fist at him as he stood up. ‘I said, why are you following me?’

‘I’m not.’ He backed away, looking at her like she was all manner of crazy. ‘Why the fuck would I be following you?’

‘You sped up. Why did you do that if you weren’t following me?’

He looked bewildered. ‘I’m training for an Iron Man competition. You were setting a decent pace, it was a challenge to keep up.’

‘Well, next time think about how it looks to the person you’re chasing. I’m a woman. It’s dark. A man is behind me and when I speed up to get some distance, he speeds up too. How do you think that looks from my perspective, eh?’

His anger seemed to abate as he rubbed his arm. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’

Evie started to feel foolish. It was clear he wasn’t about to attack her. ‘How’s your shoulder?’

‘Sore.’ He turned and ran off, a distinctive limp in his gait. ‘Fucking nutter.’

Evie took a deep breath, trying to ease the panic from her system. Go home, she told herself. But when she tried to jog she discovered her legs were spent. Feeling a mixture of embarrassment and utter exhaustion, she ambled home, still routinely checking over her shoulder.

Not exactly the best start to her new confidence regime, was it?

CHAPTER NINE (#ulink_8697f713-440e-51a9-8925-642f483c16cf)

Sunday, 2 March (#ulink_8697f713-440e-51a9-8925-642f483c16cf)

Anyone watching Patricia Robinson playing tennis would be full of admiration. Aged forty-five she was still a trim size ten, her hair tinted several shades of warm blonde, her youthful exuberance around the court keeping her opponents fully on the back foot. It was only after the game had finished and she was in the privacy of the changing rooms that her carefully honed veneer slipped. Stepping into the hot shower she allowed her face to display the discomfort she felt, rubbing away the ache in her left knee. But as her mother had always reminded her, appearance was everything. Like animals in the wild, it was imperative to hide any pain. It was the only way to avoid being eaten. Patricia’s mother had always favoured the dramatic. The sentiment, however, was clear enough. Never let your guard down.

Which was particularly testing when your joints had started to wear and your husband was a philandering charmer. But no one’s life was without challenges, and adversity only served to strengthen her resolve. After all, she had a daughter to protect. Amy’s happiness was far more important than her own.

On cue her mobile rang, allowing her just enough time to wrap herself in a towel. Lifting the phone to her ear, she forced a smile, checking her complexion in the harsh changing room mirrors. Time was definitely catching up with her.

‘Amy, love. How did you get on?’ Her daughter had been competing in a dance competition in London. It was the first time in eighteen years Patricia hadn’t been present at a key event in her daughter’s life. Amy had invited her boyfriend to go with her instead, and although the rejection stung, Patricia would never let on. Amy wasn’t being deliberately cruel. Far from it. She was just growing up, flying the nest, being the independent, talented, resourceful woman Patricia had raised her to be. Patricia could hardly complain, could she?

‘Mum, it was brilliant! I won both solo categories and placed second in the group section.’ The background noise was deafening.

Patricia battled with the conflicting emotions rising in within her. How she would’ve loved to see her daughter perform. ‘Darling, that’s amazing. Well done. I’m so proud. I’ll bet Miss Leigh is over the moon.’

Her daughter laughed. ‘You’d think! She’s accusing the judges of favouritism. The Jayne Middle dance team placed first. Miss Leigh’s furious.’