Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Emma

Sweet Peas

That evening Emma and Betty walk past the scarlet door of the tapas bar. She's glad Betty said she fancied Italian so she doesn't have to feel guilty about not eating at Roberto's bar. She intends to call in and thank Roberto, but she doesn't think she can face it just yet. She doesn't know if she could ever look at the Baobab tree again, much less sit at it.

She asked if Clem wanted to join them, but Betty says it's her wedding anniversary, and she and her husband have gone away for a few days.

Betty's ringtone breaks in on their conversation and they slow down as Betty fumbles for her phone. Emma feels a jolt of concern– Betty rarely ever uses her mobile.

Betty frowns as she answers it, mouthing at Emma, ‘Les.'

‘Hello, love. Is everything okay?… Oh, I see … well that is odd … have you phoned the … Oh, I see.' A longer pause. ‘Ah, well maybe that's it … No, that's the only number I've got. Everything else okay? No … try not to worry, love. Bye then.'

Emma looks expectantly at Betty. ‘Is Les okay?'

‘Yes, he's fine, but Tamas didn't turn up today.'

‘Oh.' Emma thinks of Greta, and pushes away an image of Tamas holed up in some hotel room as she has been, lost in waves of grief. ‘He's probably just ill,' she says, not sure whether she is reassuring Betty or herself.

‘Les phoned the wholesale market and a few florists, and it looks like Tamas delivered some flowers this morning but then just disappeared.'

‘He's not answering his phone?'

‘Apparently not. Les is a bit worried in case he's had an accident. He wondered if I had a home number for Tamas, but I only have his mobile.'

Emma frowns. ‘Maybe his van broke down?'

‘Maybe,' Betty says slowly and doubtfully, ‘but why wouldn't he answer his phone?'

Because he doesn't want to be found, thinks Emma, looking back on her past few days. She's being foolish, of course; Tamas is nothing like her. There's probably a normal explanation. ‘Is Les worried?' she asks.

‘Um, I think he is, poor love.'

Emma is worried, too, and she can tell Betty feels the same.

They walk along in silence for a moment.

‘You'll need to get back to Les soon, I expect,' Emma says. She tries to keep her voice neutral. She isn't sure she will ever be able to let Betty go. Emma is looking forward to being back in the garden centre but she has enjoyed this time alone with Betty.

‘I can spare another day– perhaps we could have a look around some of the colleges? It's very quiet in the garden centre this time of year.'

Emma doesn't say what she's thinking– isn't summer your busiest time? Instead she asks, ‘Are you and Les worried about the business?'

Betty pauses as she looks up at the street name and starts searching for the restaurant Clem has recommended.

It is only when they are sat down with menus, wine and olives in front of them that Betty eventually answers. ‘It's just the number of people coming in. That dratted ring road. Things had been tootling along very nicely before that. I can't deny it, it's a worry, love. In fact…'

Oh God, Emma thinks, she's going to fire me. Then she can't decide which would be worse: being let go or being kept on through pity.

‘… it's no harm you having some days off now and then if you want to go on with your research– in fact it helps us, if that's okay with you?' Betty doesn't wait for Emma to answer. ‘And I've talked it over with Les…'

Here it comes.

‘… and in the autumn, we might have to drop you to two days a week.'

Emma is weak with relief. ‘You know, I could start to take photos of our funeral work. We have one funeral director on side, but there wouldn't be any harm in me going to call on a few more.' Betty is looking at her oddly, and she wonders if she has overstepped the mark. ‘I'd do that in my own time. I wouldn't expect you to pay me for it.'

Betty shakes her head, as if this isn't the issue. ‘Clem thinks you have the makings of a very good florist, you know,' she says eventually.

‘How on earth can she tell? She's never even seen me work.'

‘I know, but she said something about the flowers you chose for the bouquet she sent. And understanding a message? I have to say, she lost me.'

Emma grins, feeling like she has been awarded a prize from a favourite teacher. ‘Clem said something about people having a feeling for flowers, a connection. Well, look at Les and his begonias.'

‘Oh, he proper loves them,' Betty says, grinning back at Emma.

‘Why begonias? Why not roses or petunias?'

‘Well, his dad, Big Les, was a prize grower.'

Emma can't help wondering how tall Les's father was; Les himself stands well over six feet. ‘And he grew begonias?'

‘Begonias and sweet peas. He won prizes for them all over the county. My Les went with him, carrying the plants and helping his dad keep the displays tidy.'

‘It's funny though, love,' Betty goes on. ‘Les can't abide the smell of sweet peas. Won't have them in the house. Says they remind him too much of his dad. They make him too sad.'

There it is again: fragrance. Emma thinks of the smell of flower shops and of the lilies her mum sent to Will's funeral, and how the smell of burning leaves and Jasmine always brings her father back. With Will it was sandalwood. Something else occurs to her. ‘I was reading that one passenger said being on the Titanic was like being on the Riviera, because of the fragrance from the flowers.'

Betty looks up. ‘My goodness, I imagine that was wonderful.' She pauses. ‘It really is interesting, this research of yours. It feels like you have discovered something special.'

Emma shrugs. ‘I don't really know what I'm doing… Even if I did write a book, I'm not sure what angle I would take. But I know what you mean about the flowers– it brings the Titanic to life somehow.' She thinks of Guy's comment about how it changed how he imagined the ship. Perhaps the title of Les's talk would even fit: Secrets of the Titanic? After all, the scent and sight of a ship full of flowers was a secret known only to those who had been on board.

Betty interrupts her thoughts. ‘Emma, love, don't go all quiet on me again.'

She looks up at Betty. Thinking of Guy takes her back to her family, to her mother. ‘Betty, do you think we can choose who we are?'

Betty looks confused.

‘It was just something Clem said.'

Betty laughs. ‘Well, I can't choose to be a blonde with legs up to my armpits.' She pauses and twirls her wine glass in her hand. ‘But I can choose not to be a stuck-up madam who looks down on her family.'

Emma doesn't say, ‘like your sister?'; instead she asks, ‘So you think we can choose?'

‘Oh, love, I think most of us can. Not all the time perhaps, and maybe not those poor souls, children and the like, who've had it so bad they don't even know they've got a choice. But the rest of us? Well, as Les says, "You can't go much wrong, Betsy, if you always treat others as you'd like to be treated".'

Not for the first time, Emma thinks that Les is a very wise man. It makes her sad to think that he and Betty are so worried about the garden centre.

‘Look, thinking about the business, Christmas is coming– we could do door wreaths and arrangements? Surely that's a busy time?' She tries to keep her mind on this rather than Santa's Grotto.

‘Well, maybe. Yes, yes, I'm sure things will pick up.'

Clearly, Betty doesn't want to dwell on the garden centre, so Emma leaves it at that– for the time being, at least. Instead, she tells her what Clem concluded about the florist on board.

‘I see,' Betty responds with interest. ‘A part-time florist who worked on other things as well. Now that is fascinating. I'm glad Clem was of some help, love.'

‘Oh, she was,' Emma replies, thinking– in more ways than one . ‘She certainly gave me lots to think about.'

Betty doesn't ask any more, but there is a degree of understanding in her look.

The meal is good, and Betty decides to finish with a coffee. ‘I don't normally drink coffee this late, love, but that was such a nice meal, and I suppose I am on holiday, really. You know I haven't been able to go away for a while, what with Mum and everything. This has been such a treat.'

They finish their coffee and Emma insists on accompanying Betty back to Clem's flat. As they walk, they speculate on what might have happened to Tamas, both admitting to being uneasy, and then the conversation turns back to Will. Betty asks, ‘Did you ever suspect he was having an affair?'

Emma knows the answer to this one. ‘No.'

‘Or understand why it happened?'

Emma has shredded this one until there is nothing left of it, trying to find reasons, blame– alternately with Will, the associate or herself. ‘I don't know… I've thought about how absorbed I could get in my work and about the fact we couldn't have children, but I don't honestly think it was because of either of those. The only thing– and it's just a vague feeling– is I think Will found it hard when he turned forty. He was such an active man– I mean he still ran and everything like that– but I wonder if maybe he was anxious about getting older. I know it sounds ridiculous me saying this, but Will just wasn't the sort of man who had affairs.'

They have reached the door to Clem's flat, so Emma wishes Betty goodnight and walks away, dwelling on her and Les.

There is no way around it: whichever way she views it, she still can't believe Les used to be a punk.