The Florist

Chapter 1: Monday

Green paint peeled around the door frame and condensation dripped down the inside of the shop window. Leaves of all shapes and shades pressed against the glass, straining to reach the light. Julia brushed a wave of dark hair back from her face as she leant forward, struggling with the unfamiliar lock, and then applied her shoulder to the swollen door. It yielded under the pressure, setting a small brass bell jingling. Stepping over a pile of unopened letters, she coughed inhaling a lungful of warm, damp air. The room smelled of soil and mould, like a forest floor. Before the door had swung closed behind her, Julia felt a vibration at her hip. She slid her phone out of her pocket and stared for a moment at the words ‘private number’ illuminated on the screen before she answered.

“Carmen?”

“Hey sis,” came the lazy drawl. “You find the place OK?”

“Well it’s hardly obvious is it? I did a couple of laps of The Calls first. You could do with like some fresh paint and a dehumidifier,” she ran her index finger down the wall and it came away wet.

“Plants have to breath sis, just open a window for a few minutes and the glass will clear. Don’t touch the thermostat, it’s set just the way they like it.”

“How long are you going to be away?”

“Oh, I don’t know, a few weeks.”

“Could you be just a little more specific? Two weeks? Three?”

“Why? Do you have something else to do?” Carmen laughed her low throaty chuckle.

“I have things to do… a life,” Julia lied.

“No you don’t. You quit your uni course, Sammy’s in school now and mum told me you’ve not had a job since that cute little café you worked at closed down.”

“That doesn’t mean you control me.”

“Always so dramatic, I’m paying you aren’t I?”

“Yes…I mean thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Carmen purred “Though you should squeeze that bastard David harder, I’m sure he could cough up more, you are bringing up his only child. You don’t need to be renting in that shithole if he can afford five bedrooms for him and his new bit of fun.”

“Angela,” said Julia through gritted teeth, “they’re engaged now.”

“I don’t care what her name is. Now listen, the watering schedule is by the till. Remember the plants on the windowsill are just for display, the ones for sale are on the shelves. Now do you have any more questions?”

“I can’t think of any right now. If you’d just give me your number, this would be a lot easier.”

“And have you calling me whenever you felt like it?” Carmen laughed and Julia felt neck flush. “Any questions to do with the shop you can ask Nick, he’ll be around …somewhere.”

“The man with the tattoos and the leather jacket?”

“He’s a rough diamond but he knows how this place works. Anything unusual he’ll explain it to you.”

“I can handle this. It’s not like I’ve never worked in a shop before.”

“I have every faith in you, sis, just remember to be polite to my customers and maybe ditch those baggy jumpers you always wear. You’re quite pretty under all that wool.”

“What’s wrong with my…”

“…and try not to hunch your shoulders.”

“What do you mean hunch? Carmen?”

The line was dead. With a grunt of frustration, Julia slipped the phone back into her pocket, closed her eyes, and took two long deep breaths in through her nose, a technique she relied on to deal with the after effects of talking to her sister.

Re-composed, she looked around taking stock of her surroundings. The naked brick walls lined with shelves, the rustic floorboards and the long counter-come-workbench dominating one side of the room. A Belfast sink was set into far end of the hardwood worktop whilst the till sat atop the near end. The live plants grew only in the front of the shop where the window and three well-placed mirrors gave enough light for them to thrive. Towards the back of the shop, the dimly lit shelves held only cut or dried flowers, bulbs, pots and accessories.

Feeling the place would look less Victorian with bit of natural light, Julia found a cloth and wiped what parts of the glass she could reach through the tangled foliage. Her efforts only served to illuminate the layer of dust that lay over every surface. Wringing out the sodden rag into a plant pot she dragged it along the nearest shelf and then stared at it. Surely this was more than a weekend’s worth of grime? When had Carmen last been here? Perhaps, like most manual chores, her sister thought cleaning was for other people? It would certainly dirty those manicured fingers of hers. Julia found herself smiling as another thought struck her, maybe she’d found one thing that Carmen just wasn’t good at?

With half an hour until she needed to open the shop door, Julia thought she could at least make a start on getting the place ready for customers. Under the counter she found everything she needed; buckets, a couple of empty spray bottles and a long handled broom. She rolled up her sleeves and set the bucket down in the base of the sink and ran the tap over her hand until the water warmed. She reached out towards a bottle of detergent and then froze, listening intently. She hadn’t imagined it. There was the noise again. A soft thump. She straightened up quickly and looked around but there was no one in the room. The brass bell hung still. After a few moments she heard a different sound, a muffled rustling. Adrenaline prickling the tips of her fingers she turned her head slowly to face the back wall of the shop where a second door presumably led to a storeroom.

“Hello?” she called out, standing up. No one answered. Could it be mice? No. It sounded louder than mice. Rats? She picked up the broom and quickly filled a spray bottle with water as a weapon against rodents. The noise sounded again, even louder. How big would a rat have to be to make a thump like that? Julia advanced forward slowly holding the broom out in front of her. She reached for the handle and pulled it down letting the door swing a little ajar, then kicked it open with her foot.

“Oh my god!” she stopped, broom still raised. In front of her was a small unlit storeroom and beyond that a narrow kitchen. The light was on in the kitchen and she could see shabby orange lino, cream and brown cupboards, and a man, pulling on his jeans. “What the… Who the hell are you?”

He turned quickly and held up his hands. “It’s not what it looks like? Carmen said I could stay here.”

“You know my sister?”

“Yeah,” the man grunted as he fastened his belt, dragged his hand across his stubbly chin and picked up a long leather coat from the floor. As he swung the jacket about his shoulders Julia could make out what looked like the head of a snake inked on the side of his neck.

“Are you Nick?”

“Talked about me has she?” he grinned.

“She didn’t say you’d be sleeping in the shop!” Julia glanced past the man at a nest of blankets on the floor.

“Listen, your sister wouldn’t have minded, she knows how it is. I just needed a place to crash, got a leak at mine.”

Julia nodded towards a pile of takeaway meal cartons by the sink. “You've been here a while?”

“I meant to clear those up.”

“Do you work here?”

“I don’t work in the shop sweetheart,” he picked up a metal oven tray and turned his head to check his reflection. He seemed to find several days of stubble and untidy hair acceptable because, after smoothing down some of the wilder strands with his hand, he replaced the tray on the worktop. “Now why don’t you put the broom down before you poke your own eye out, yeah?”

Julia scowled. David used to call her sweetheart and the word still made her toes curl. Still, if Nick was dangerous, a broom handle probably wasn’t going to be of much use.

“Fine,” she agreed, leaning the broom against the cooker and setting the spray bottle down on the floor. Empty handed she folded her arms defensively. “If you don’t work Carmen then what are you doing here?”

“I do work for Carmen; I just don’t sell flowers. Christ, she really hasn’t told you anything has she?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, look, I’m sure your sister knows what she’s doing leaving you in charge.”

“Listen,” said Julia, irritated, “as you don’t work here, I think you should probably leave. There might be customers soon…What?” Nick was staring at her curiously, fixing her with piecing blue eyes and a strange smile.

“You know you really do look like your sister.”

“Do I?” she said, putting her hand up self-consciously to her hair.

“You don’t act like her though,” he frowned and rubbed his chin, then laughed when he saw Julia’s expression change. “Don’t look so disappointed. I meant it as a compliment. Something to be proud of. You don’t dress like her either.”

“I’m not the one who’s been sleeping in my clothes,” Julia retorted plucking self-consciously at the sleeve of her jumper.

“Actually, sweet pea, I’ve been sleeping naked, but I thought I’d better put this lot on to preserve your modesty.” He smiled at her as she blushed. “Hey, I could do with a shower,” he continued hopefully, encouraged by the temporary lull in hostility. “There’s one out back. If you hold on throwing me out a few minutes I could…” Julia shook her head. “No... OK then. Well, I’ll be going…”

Julia stepped aside to let him pass and then followed him out into the main shop to make sure he was really leaving. Instead of heading for the door he ducked behind the counter and opened a draw below the till. Seeing her mouth open in protest he held up a notepad and pen.

“Just giving you my number darling, just in case you have any questions about the shop… or anything at all… anything at all… any requests from customers you don’t understand, you just call me anytime.”

“What will I need to ask you about?”

Nick shrugged his shoulders and backed away towards the door. “Just in case yeah?”

His heavy boots clunked on the wooden floor and the door banged shut with a cheerful tinkle.

Julia leant back against the counter and exhaled slowly, re-running the exchange in her mind. Maybe she had been a bit hasty? Was it possible that Carmen really had said that he could sleep on the shop floor? She dropped Nicks phone number into the draw behind the till. Returning to the now empty kitchen she picked up his blankets, holding them between finger and thumb and deposited them in the small shower cubicle. Then she opened the front and back doors to let the place air.

Julia didn’t set out to open her sister’s letters, but after an afternoon with only three customers she had run out of shop to clean. She leafed through the pile of post she had retrieved from beneath the letterbox, just to make sure nothing looked too urgent. Then, deciding it was hard to tell whether something was important or not from the envelopes blank exteriors, she inserted a thumb into the corner of the first letter. Carmen wouldn’t mind, she had left her in charge after all.

Julia gasped as she read the invoice for this month’s rent. Today she had taken less than fifty pounds on the till. Some quick mental maths left her chewing worriedly at her thumbnail. But of course the shop floor must be only part of the business right? Maybe, Carmen did events? Weddings? Funerals? Parties? Or whatever it was that Nick did for her? Except on Valentines or Mother’s day, a florist couldn’t expect more than a few passing customers picking up hasty bouquets for missed anniversaries, she must make up the shortfall another way. For her sister to afford her expensive lifestyle, take an extended holiday and to pay Julia as well, the business must be doing just fine. She replaced the invoice carefully, then opened the rest of the letters. The council tax, a bill for gas and electrics and finally, a single sheet of paper folded neatly in half.

This one must have been hand delivered because there was no address. She unfolded it and read.

Delivery for Marshall, Bowman Tower, The Dockside, Leeds Dock.

18.30, 24th May.

She flipped the note over again but there was no further information. Was this one of those unusual tasks she was meant to call Nick about? She read the note again, the name Marshall sounded familiar. Recollection dawning, she hurried to the back of the shop and unstacked a pile of parcels wrapped in brown paper that she had noticed whilst dusting the storeroom shelves. She held one up in triumph. Marshall was printed across the brown paper wrapping in neat capital letters. There was no need to call Nick, Julia had this covered. The 24th May, that was tomorrow. Even if Carmen’s business wasn’t doing as well as she made out, Julia could help. At the very least she would make sure her sister didn’t lose this customer.

Chapter 2: Tuesday

Telling herself it had nothing whatever to do with Carmen or Nick’s comments about her baggy jumpers, Julia dressed for work in a smart skirt and a tailored jacket she usually saved for interviews. She’d washed her hair, located a matching pair of earrings and checked the whole ensemble for ketchup and jam before leaving the house. Julia dropped Sam at school and caught the train from Morley into town, feeling like a woman with purpose again. Her enthusiasm was only slightly dampened by a second day with only five customers, only two of which could find anything worth buying.

Perhaps footfall was just slow in picking up? Julia guessed it took time to build up a client base and Carmen had only been here two months after all. Her sister had left London suddenly and, as she did everything, apparently on a whim. Vaguely, she had told their parents that she needed a change of scene and some fresh air. As usual, they had chorused their approval. If they had ever hoped their older daughter would use her doctorate for something more than selling flowers, they voiced their feeling in private.

Despite the lack of customers, stock was slowly diminishing, as more and more was condemned to the wilted bucket. Carmen had not left instructions on how to order fresh flowers or even where she had an account. Tomorrow she would ring Nick and find out if this was the sort of thing that he did. She was relieved to find no sign that he, or anyone else, had spent the night in the back of the shop.

At five thirty, Julia checked the watering schedule, locked up, and tucked the parcel bearing the name Marshall into a shoulder bag. The letter had been very specific about time, it had said 18.30, so she didn’t want to arrive too early. Instead she ambled slowly down towards the Dock, circling the Corn exchange and dawdling alongside the river to look at the boats.

Out of recent habit her eyes were drawn to every moving object with wheels and she silently pointed out trains, cranes and construction vehicles to an absent Sam. Slowly though, she let herself see other things, flashy shop fronts, gin bars, people dressed for attention wearing skinny jeans and low cut tops and adverts for films and shows, things she had forgotten existed. Things that happened at night, when she and Sam were long in bed.

The city had changed even in the last five years, red bricked industrial warehouses flashed smart modern glazing as did the arches under the railway, now converted into stylish offices and shops. She passed familiar landmarks too, echoes of her past life. There was the sandwich shop she had worked in when she first moved out of her parents’ house and into a house share with four other girls. There was the dockside cocktail bar where she’d clocked up evening shifts to afford the rent. That was where she had first met David, rich and handsome-ish, if you liked older men whose idea of dressing casually was a different coloured suit. Perhaps she had meant him to be her status symbol, something to rival Carmen’s PhD, though if that had been her subconscious aim, the plan had backfired. Nine months after David had started to subsidise her city lifestyle she had had to quit it altogether. Julia’s recent memories of the city all came with Sam attached and involved ice cream and museums.

It wasn’t just the scenery that had altered, it was Julia herself. The day Sam was born, she felt she had died and awoken in someone else’s life. Things were not dramatically better or unbearably worse, but they were irreparably different. None of the things she used to do, or places she used to go, belonged to this new person. She still wasn’t quite sure what did. Her friends moved on whilst she had seemed to stand still, unable to gain momentum. She had once heard her mother remark, when she thought she wasn't listening, that of course Carmen was the sort of person to own a shop, whereas poor Julia would probably always work in one.