quite so cold inside. She checked her watch. Just after seven. The heating should have come on by now. She touched the radiator, fearing the worst. The pilot light must have gone out again.
Sighing, she went over to the boiler and gave it a smack. Nothing happened. Great. Just what she needed. Snow outside and no hot water or heating. The flowers wouldn’t object, but it would certainly make working conditions grim.
Delving inside the cramped cubbyhole under the sink, she dug out her padded body warmer and slipped it on over her fleece. Glancing down at her faded combats and boring trainers, she felt like the Michelin Man, all lumps and bumps. There was a time when she wouldn’t have chosen such non-descript clothing but now she owned nothing else. Well, apart from her collection of unusual shoes. Kyle might not have appreciated her love of novelty footwear, but he was no longer around to object, was he? Maybe it was time for her shoes to make a reappearance. She was tired of looking drab. Her wardrobe of army surplus gear and cheap sports attire was practical, but it did nothing for her self-esteem, or her figure, for that matter. No one would guess she was a size ten beneath all the layers.
The wholesaler’s van pulled up outside, preventing her from researching a local plumbing firm. She spent the next fifteen minutes helping to unload the array of roses and lilies into the shop, struggling to make room for all the varieties of bloom on the limited floor space and grumbling about the inflated prices. January had been a slow month. Other than a depressing increase in funerals there hadn’t been much other custom. Coupled with the impact of the big supermarkets undercutting her prices, her profit margins were taking a hit. More than ever she needed Valentine’s Day to be a success. Forget romance. This was about survival.
By seven thirty The Forget-Me-Not Flower Shop was awash with colour, full to the brim with buckets of flowers, both inside and out. Eager to attract the morning commuters, she opened the doors early, trying to tempt any passers-by to call in and part with their cash.
Consequently, she’d already sold half a dozen bouquets, devoured two cups of lemon and ginger tea and had a book full of deliveries scheduled before the brass bell above the door chimed, announcing the arrival of her assistant. Saffy wasn’t a big fan of mornings, so Evie was greeted with about as much enthusiasm as a vampire welcoming the dawn.
‘Morning, Saffy.’
Evie was acknowledged with the usual dismissive wave of Saffy’s black-fingernailed hand as she passed through the shop front in search of caffeine.
‘Doesn’t the snow look gorgeous?’
There was a loud bang from the kitchen.
Apparently not.
Saffy might only be nineteen, but she was way beyond her years in terms of life experience. Her dad had walked out when she was ten years old and her mum had bounced from one relationship to another looking for the happy ever after, never quite finding it. Determined not to follow in her mother’s footsteps, Saffy was currently holding down three part-time jobs. Her goal was to attend university and ensure financial self-sufficiency. No way was she going to rely on a man to support her. Evie felt tolerating Saffy’s moody persona was the least she could do. And besides, underneath the surly sarcasm was a complex, vulnerable girl. Others might be wary of her angsty exterior, but Evie wasn’t. The goth clothing, long black hair and dramatic eye make-up was a mask, a way of keeping people at arm’s length. Evie understood this more than most.
Saffy appeared from the kitchen, her tattooed hands clasping a Minnie the Minx coffee mug. She leant against the wall, one booted foot crossed over the other, a scowl set firmly in place.
‘Sorry it’s so cold. The boiler’s playing up again.’ Evie rubbed her hands together, trying to restore blood flow. ‘I’ll get someone in as soon as possible.’
Saffy shrugged. ‘No drama. I’d rather be here than at home watching Mum swoon over Barry the Banker.’
Suffice to say, Saffy wasn’t the biggest fan of her mum’s latest beau.
‘How are the wedding plans coming along?’ Evie asked.
A scowl darkened Saffy’s brow. ‘Don’t know. Don’t care.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘It’s not like it’ll last. Did I tell you he’s twelve years younger than she is?’
Evie nodded. ‘Sometimes an age gap can be a good thing. You never know, maybe this time it’ll work.’
Saffy snorted. ‘Don’t hold your breath.’
When the doorbell chimed, Evie looked up to see a nervous-looking young man enter the shop. He hesitated before coming inside. First-timer. You could always tell. Evie gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Can I help you?’
He shoved his hands inside his pockets. ‘I wanna get my girlfriend flowers.’
Evie smiled. Who said romance was dead? ‘Do you know what she likes?’
His face creased into a frown. ‘Er … No.’
Evie headed over. ‘Roses are always well received.’ She gestured to the array of blooms covering the floor space. ‘As you can see, we have a variety of colours. The mauve Admiral Rodneys are my favourites, but they’re all delightful.’
He glanced around before nodding at one of the buckets. ‘Those red ones?’
Evie smiled. ‘Gorgeous, aren’t they? They’re called Deep Secret.’
Saffy tutted and muttered ‘Typical’ under her breath.
Evie shot her a glare.
He pointed to the pink floribunda instead, glancing at Saffy to gauge her approval. Her non-committal shrug seemed to appease him.
‘Sexy Rexy.’ Evie picked up the bucket. ‘Excellent choice. I’m sure your girlfriend will love them. Would you like them wrapped?’
His face coloured, matching the intensity of the rose petals. ‘No … thanks.’ He dug out a crumple of notes from his pocket. ‘How much?’
‘Twelve pounds for six stems. Twenty-two pounds for two bunches.’
He shoved fifteen quid at her as though they’d just partaken in an illegal drug transaction and grabbed the flowers. ‘Keep the change.’
‘I hope your girlfriend likes them,’ Evie called after him as he exited the shop.
Saffy sniffed. ‘Cliché, or what?’
Evie turned to her assistant. ‘May I remind you, I’m trying to run a business? Could you be a little more …’
Saffy raised an eyebrow. ‘What? Insincere?’
‘Encouraging. It takes a lot of nerve to buy flowers.’
Saffy looked perplexed. ‘Why? They’re only flowers.’
‘Maybe, but they carry meaning. That shouldn’t be taken lightly.’
‘Men are only after one thing. Once they’ve got it, they’re gone. Flowers or no flowers.’
Evie sighed and handed Saffy a bucket of golden Belle Epoque. ‘Cut the stems, please, they need a drink.’
Saffy took the bucket over to the sink. ‘I know the feeling.’
Evie tried to remember how it felt to be nineteen. She was only twenty-eight herself, but being a teenager felt like a lifetime ago. Unlike Saffy, she’d been a ‘believer’ at that age, unaware of the pitfalls of love. Her parents might have divorced when she was young, but Evie had entered adulthood relatively unscathed. Poor Saffy had experienced nothing but disappointment her entire life. Her views on relationships were based on watching her mum rely on shady men with empty bank accounts. But maybe Saffy was the lucky one. If Evie had been a little more streetwise she might have seen the signs earlier and not allowed the one serious relationship she’d had to deteriorate to such an extent that she’d lost all confidence and self-esteem.
The sound of the bell tinkling dragged her thoughts back to the present.