She’d always been so mature for her age, a determined child who’d achieved everything she’d ever set out to do. Telling her not to do something would never work. David should realise that. After all, he was exactly the same. And who was to say Amy wouldn’t succeed just as predicted? If anyone could do it, her daughter could. But still, it didn’t alter the fact that getting married before you’d finished education wasn’t the best idea.
Patricia needed to reason with her daughter, not dictate. ‘Weddings cost a lot of money, darling. Not to mention all this talk of travelling and living abroad after university. How are you planning to pay for all this?’
‘It doesn’t matter how they’re planning to pay for it, it’s not happening.’ David’s yelling made her jump. ‘Stop asking stupid questions and tell her to grow up.’
Sadness and humiliation settled over Patricia, weighing her down. It was one thing to put up with David’s rudeness in private, but allowing him to be so dismissive in front of Amy was no example to set for her daughter.
‘Don’t speak to Mum like that.’ Amy stood up. ‘How dare you be so rude to her? At least she’s trying to be reasonable. If anyone’s acting childishly it’s you.’
Oh, God. This was just getting worse. Her eighteen-year-old daughter had more gumption than she did. No wonder Amy couldn’t wait to fly the nest and make a life of her own. Look at her role models.
‘I’ll talk to your mother any way I choose.’ David shook his fist at Amy.
‘And you do, don’t you? You’re always putting her down and making unkind remarks. Well, you’re not going to bully me the way you do Mum. I’m out of here.’
‘Come back, I haven’t finished,’ David shouted to Amy’s retreating back.
‘Yes, you have!’ Amy stormed out of the front door, followed by David.
And then there was silence.
Patricia slumped against the sofa, alone with her thoughts, the unfinished dusting and flaming Sky Sports.
Scott had learnt long ago that life was full of surprises. The latest one was being called back to the florist’s in Heatherton to fix the boiler, which had packed up again. It’d been three weeks since his last visit. The owner hadn’t exactly warmed to him or his plumbing skills during his previous call-out, so why she was engaging his services again he wasn’t sure. But business was business and he wasn’t about to refuse.
The gentle tinkle of the bell above the door announced his arrival. Despite the warming spring weather outside it was chilly inside, and he was glad he’d worn his fleece. The smell of cut flowers was potent and heady, the floor space covered with buckets of roses and various other blooms.
As the proprietor appeared from the rear of the shop, he could almost sense the air temperature drop another few degrees. She looked far from pleased. He tried not to feel affronted.
Her long, dark hair was clipped up, a tumble of messy waves framed her unsmiling face. She was dressed in faded jeans and jumper, her petite figure hidden underneath a shapeless apron. And then he spotted her shoes.
The shock of such contrasting footwear caught him off guard. He openly laughed, tapering his reaction when she folded her arms across her chest. ‘Something amusing?’
He nodded at her pink and white wedges. ‘You can’t blame me for laughing. What are they, anyhow?’
She shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Kittens.’
‘Kittens?’ He peered closer. True enough, two cute faces smiled back, complete with whiskers and woeful button eyes. ‘They’re very … unique.’
She made a derisive noise. ‘I booked you to mend my boiler, not comment on my footwear.’
He sighed. It was going to be a long day. ‘I was surprised to hear from you.’
‘Yeah, well, you were the only plumber available and I need it mended urgently.’ She gestured for him to follow. ‘Maybe this time you could fix it so it lasts.’
Talk about unreasonable. ‘Like I said last time, it’s an old boiler. You’re lucky it’s still working at all.’ He dropped his bag on the floor. ‘I’ll do what I can, but I’m not making any promises.’
She shrugged. ‘Fine. Do what you can. Please,’ she added, almost as an afterthought. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
He hesitated. Was this a trick question? Last time he’d been served up brown sludge.
He nodded, cautiously. ‘Tea would be great, thank you … Evie. I assume you remember how I like it?’ He smiled, hoping remembering her first name might thaw her frostiness.
His efforts were met with a stony response. Okay, maybe not.
‘White, no sugar, please.’
She sneezed and disappeared into the kitchen.
He scratched his head. When had he lost the ability to make a woman smile? He might not be looking for a deep and meaningful relationship, but it would be nice to know he wasn’t repugnant to the opposite sex. The idea that he was past his prime was highly disturbing.
As he unloaded his tools, Evie’s assistant arrived. She was wearing huge sunglasses and a woollen hat pulled low over her head. Dragging her feet in typical teenage fashion, she crossed the shop floor, her gait straightening when she spotted Scott. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you again.’
He returned her smile, grateful someone seemed pleased to see him. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to see me again, either.’
Evie appeared from the kitchen carrying a mug of tea. She placed it on the countertop without looking at him. ‘Morning, Saffy.’
Saffy removed her sunglasses and stared at the mug of tea. ‘Blimey. That’s a first.’
Scott sniffed the contents, checking for signs of cyanide. At least it was warm this time. ‘I’ll need to turn off the mains. You might want to fill the kettle so you have water for later.’
Evie glared at him. ‘I won’t be on hand to make you tea all morning, you know. I am trying to run a business.’
Flipping heck she was testy. ‘I wasn’t suggesting you fill the kettle so you could make me tea. You might want a general store of water on hand whilst the main supply is turned off.’
Her cheeks coloured. ‘Right, okay. I’ll do that. Sorry.’ She went into the kitchen.
Jesus. Scott removed the boiler cover. ‘Is she like this with all men, or just me?’
Saffy removed her coat, leaving her hat on. ‘Just you. She’s very polite to everyone else.’
Scott wasn’t sure this was helpful. ‘Makes you wonder why she booked me to come again.’ He aimed his torch at the panel on the side of the boiler, trying to make out the faded writing on the instruction sticker.
Saffy hopped onto the countertop and crossed her legs. ‘The firm she tried last week were too expensive and the one she contacted yesterday never bothered turning up.’
Scott laughed. He was more amused than offended, even if he did feel a little put out she’d taken such a dislike to him. What the hell was wrong with him? He was a nice guy … Wasn’t he?
The doorbell tinkled. A young guy entered wearing funeral attire, a top hat tucked under his arm. ‘Hey there, Saffy-with-the-hat.’ His grin was toothy and enthusiastic, his interest in Saffy as apparent as the nature of his employment.
Saffy’s