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

Don’t hold your breath, Evie thought, channelling Saffy’s view on her mother’s relationship with Barry the Banker. But then she chastised herself. Just because she’d been bruised by the after-effects of a bad experience, she had no right to project that negativity onto others. It wasn’t fair. Josh was young, starting out in life, oblivious to the perils of love. And although she seriously doubted Saffy was going to overcome her aversion to men anytime soon, Evie would be happy to be proved wrong. There was no reason for both women to be down on love, was there?

Evie helped Josh pick up the heavy display of flowers, saddened by the fact that even on Valentine’s Day someone was being buried.

Josh admired the array of oriental lilies. ‘Cheers for doing this. The family weren’t up to organising flowers.’

‘I didn’t mind. It was thoughtful of you to help them out.’ It still confounded Evie that someone so young had chosen such a morbid profession. But Josh seemed made for easing the trauma of grief. He was tall and gangly with an antiquated sense of style. Frock coats and top hats weren’t normal attire for his generation, but somehow he carried it off. Evie guessed there weren’t many professions that catered for teenage emos. Burying people had to be one of them.

As Josh strode back though the shop, his black tailcoat flapping behind him, he nodded towards the large yellow hybrid tea roses. ‘I’d go for something a little less obvious myself.’ He glanced at Saffy, grinning in response to her scowling expression. ‘Isn’t she lovely?’

The young guy nodded, his apprehension evident. ‘Er, yeah, I guess so.’

Saffy poked her tongue out at Josh and picked up the yellow roses. ‘It’s the name of the flowers, Isn’t She Lovely. He wasn’t talking about me.’

The young guy looked relieved. ‘Oh, right. Yeah, I get it. Not that you’re not lovely – I mean, you are, it’s just …’ His olive skin covered most of his blush.

Josh reversed out the door, grinning. ‘Bye, Saffy. See you soon.’

Saffy ignored him.

Flustered, the young guy pulled out his wallet. ‘A bunch of those would be great.’

Evie shook her head. Her assistant’s interactions with Josh were entertaining, if not ideal customer service. Part of her wished Saffy would stop batting Josh away and take a chance on the guy. But then Evie reminded herself that she wouldn’t take kindly to someone telling her who to love, so she should butt out. Some wounds ran too deep to be overcome, even by someone as sweet as Josh.

While Saffy began wrapping the yellow roses by the sink, Evie headed for the counter. She settled in front of the computer, determined to find a plumber.

As if in protest, the pipes running along the ceiling started clanking.

Saffy looked over, but Evie waved away her concerns. ‘It’s just air in the system.’

The frequency and volume of banging increased.

Saffy encouraged her customer to make a speedy retreat. ‘Er, I don’t like to worry you, boss, but …’

The boiler started clicking. This was a new development. It sounded like the old-fashioned grandfather clock Evie’s dad had inherited from his father … click click click … It was like that moment in the films when the timer on a bomb is ticking down and the hero only has sixty seconds to save the world – or in this case Valentine’s Day.

Evie mentally slapped herself. ‘Stop being so bloody dramatic.’

Saffy looked affronted. ‘Charming.’

‘Not you – me.’ Evie held up a hand. ‘I was talking to myself.’

The banging stopped.

Evie waited. No explosion.

Panic over. For now.

Returning to the computer, she searched for local plumbers. She needed an urgent call-out before the system packed up completely and started leaking. She could not afford to close, not today, not on the most romantic day of the year.

Romantic, my arse.

CHAPTER TWO (#uaff43871-308d-5d9b-844a-0bd339fefdc3)

Tuesday, 18 February (#uaff43871-308d-5d9b-844a-0bd339fefdc3)

An almighty thump from the bedroom prevented Scott from walking out of the door. He paused, waiting for further noises or cries of help to emerge, but none came. He had a job booked at a local florist’s this morning and he really needed to leave. The woman was already pissed off with him, unimpressed at having to wait four days for a call-out, so being late wouldn’t go down well. But guilt rooted him to the spot. It was no good, there was no way he could walk out without knowing if there was a problem.

Dropping his tool bag on the floor, he went over and knocked on his mum’s bedroom door. ‘Everything okay in there?’

There was a pause before the door opened. His mum’s nurse stood there, pristine in her blue uniform, her cheerful smile in place as always, no matter the challenge.

Scott tried to look past her. ‘I heard a bang. Is Mum all right?’

Oshma ushered him into the room. ‘Yes, yes, we’re fine. But we could do with a hand, couldn’t we, Billie?’ Oshma always included his mum in any conversation, despite her lack of reply.

His mum was perched awkwardly on the side of the bed, her wheelchair upturned. He went over and eased her off the bed, holding her steady as she sagged against him. Losing the use of two of your limbs made it hard to hold your own body weight, so even with the use of her right side, it was difficult for his mum to stand, let alone manoeuvre herself around.

She managed a smile, one corner of her mouth rising, the other remaining frozen. She mumbled something, but he couldn’t make out what.

‘I know you need to get off, Scotty, love.’ Oshma fussed around, bending to pick up the wheelchair. ‘But if you could help me get her into the shower, I’d be very grateful. I’m all fingers and thumbs this morning.’ Her face winced as she righted the wheelchair, leading Scott to the conclusion that Oshma’s back was playing up again. ‘Nothing like a nice shower, is there, Billie?’

Scott lowered his mum into the chair and wheeled her through to the wet room.

He didn’t mind helping. But if he was honest, he was still struggling to come to terms with how his life had changed in the last two years. One minute he was holding down a promising job with a big plumbing firm in London, engaged to the girl of his dreams and buying his first home, and the next he was giving notice on his job, splitting up with Nicole and relocating to care-assisted housing in Kent. It was a lot to get his head around.

Oshma turned on the shower and unfastened the buttons on Billie’s nightie. ‘Let’s get you undressed, shall we?’

Scott looked the other way, trying to be respectful. He couldn’t imagine it was fun having everyone stare at your broken body. He usually left the intimate bits to Oshma, figuring this was preferable than having your son do it. He busied himself by fetching towels from the airing cupboard.

‘Let’s get a move on, shall we,’ he heard Oshma say. ‘Let Scotty get off to work.’

With no husband to support her it had fallen to Scott to look after Billie. And it was the right thing to do, despite its difficulties. After all, his mum had done the same for him and his sister when their dad had been killed in a motorbike accident aged thirty-four. She’d had to pick up the pieces and dig deep. It was his turn now. He had to show some mettle. But it wasn’t without a price.

Two years ago his life had been all about him. Five-a-side footy on a Sunday, holidays abroad, saving for a convertible. He’d socialised with mates, ate out at nice restaurants and enjoyed a disposable income. Now his days were spent organising Billie’s medical needs, tending to her care requirements and, thanks to his sister, playing guardian to his eighteen-year-old nephew. He was exhausted, suspended in a constant state of worry. But his mum didn’t need to know that. He couldn’t let his frustrations show. She deserved better.

He checked his watch, it was just gone 9 a.m. He was officially late. The woman at the florist’s wouldn’t be happy. Tough. She’d just have to wait a bit longer to get her boiler fixed. Family came first.

At least setting up as self-employed eased the burden of constantly taking time off work, if not his on-going issues with paperwork.

As he headed for the bathroom, Ben’s bedroom door opened. His nephew appeared carrying his new tablet. ‘I thought you’d left?’

‘Oshma needed a hand with Nanny. I think her back’s playing up again. How’s the gadget?’

Ben’s face broke into a grin. ‘It’s got so many cool apps. Did you know it’s currently twenty-nine degrees in Bangalore?’

Scott smiled. The device hadn’t been cheap, but his nephew worked hard at school and all the kids seemed to have tablets these days. He hadn’t wanted Ben to lose out by not having one. ‘I hope you’re getting some homework done.’

Ben laughed. ‘Chill, Uncle Scott. School is sorted. Need a hand with Nanny?’