Chapter 54

Chapter 54

Emma

Hollyhocks

The walk up the hill to the field, plus a large mug of strong coffee has made little impression on her hangover. She descends to the garden, wondering if a bacon sandwich might help. She is meeting Betty, Les and Tamas at one o'clock, and she doesn't want to be feeling like this when she sees them.

And how is she feeling? The nagging thought sits behind her headache, a question that has been there before and has nothing to do with the number of cocktails she drank last night.

Her headache is now coming in waves. She wonders if she is ‘going down with something'. She repeats this in her head the way Granny Maria would have said it, a reassuring voice keeping greater concerns at bay– worries about serious illness that worm their way in. Since Will's death, these are more frequent visitors. She pushes against the panic. Everyone tells you that grief is exhausting.

Anyway, this morning isn't a day for dwelling on headaches; the sun is shining and her garden is, quite frankly, looking good. The honeysuckle is beginning to wrap green tendrils around the top of the new arch she has installed by the back door, and the hollyhocks, either side of it, are standing tall and proud– no flowers yet, but there are buds of cherry and peach tucked in between the broad, green leaves. She walks to the back door, the lavender bushes that border the path like a series of rolling waves, washing her legs in scent as she passes.

A bacon sandwich and two paracetamols later, she breathes more easily and pulls up the notes she has been making on her laptop. There is now a folder on her desktop entitled: Garden Centre Research . In it are examples taken from all over the country of success stories, new approaches. She has also looked at other industries, what trends are emerging, and she has explored the Instagram and Facebook posts of florists around the country. At least she has approached this research like the competent scientist she once was. She just hopes Betty and Les won't mind if she makes a few suggestions– won't think she is sticking her nose in.

She spots Betty and Les sitting at a table by double doors flung open onto the street. There is no sign of Tamas.

‘Tamas called and says he's sorry he can't make it,' Betty tells Emma as she sits down. ‘He and Berta are going to have a day out.'

Les leans forward. ‘We think that may be a good sign.' He nods a few times. ‘Anyway, Emma, tell us all about it. What did you find out?'

She looks at their expectant faces, and her nerves are back. She doesn't want to let them down. She notices that Betty is wearing her best glasses and has a dragonfly shirt on that she hasn't seen before. Her palms start to sweat.

Betty interrupts before she has a chance to start. ‘I must say, love, I like that top. The colour really suits you. You should wear turquoise more often.'

‘Oh, I … I thought a change…' She takes a deep breath, ‘Thank you,' she says. After a pause, she adds, ‘I have a lot to tell you, I just … I just don't want you to be disappointed.'

‘Oh, I don't think you need to worry about that, love,' says Betty. ‘Spit it out.'

‘Would you mind if we found out there wasn't a florist? Or not one main florist anyhow– just different people who had a way with flowers, each doing their bit?' And she goes on to explain about Alistair and his view that the Titanic was a series of countries within the ship. As she finishes, she can't stop herself adding, ‘I hate the thought of letting you down after everything you've done to help.'

‘Now, listen, love,' Betty says, ‘we are in this together and half the fun is the searching. When we were first married, Les and I used to go on treasure hunts– we would squeeze into our old Morris Minor and off we'd go. We won once, and we were cock-a-hoop.' She smiles at her husband. ‘But my favourite night was when we passed a restaurant Les knew I had a fancy for– dead expensive it was– and he'd booked a table. Even put my favourite dress in the boot.'

Les reaches out and takes Betty's hand. ‘Pale green it was– I'll never forget.'

Betty laughs. ‘You forgot the shoes and tights, though, didn't you?' When she sees Les's face fall, she adds, reassuringly, ‘It didn't matter a bit. I put the dress on, and we had a lovely time. And no one could see my Hush Puppies under the table.' She turns to Emma. ‘Anyway, love, what I'm trying to say is that we didn't find a single clue that night and it was the best treasure hunt we ever went on.'

Les pats his wife's hand, then turns to the waiter who has arrived to take their order. It's no good. Emma still can't see Les as a punk.

Over lunch, Emma tells them all about Violet Jessop. She feels now is not the time for secrets, and wonders fleetingly if Betty has told Les about Will's affair. She hopes she has.

When she shows them the photograph of Violet, Betty and Les study it for some time.

‘She's a pretty lass, isn't she?' Betty says. ‘There certainly is something about her. You know she reminds me of someone… maybe it's my old maths teacher. You would see all the dads lining up for a chat with her at parents' evenings.'

‘And you recognised her?' Les asks, rubbing his beard. ‘You think you might be related to her?'

‘I really don't know what I think anymore, Les– I just can't help feeling it's something to do with my family. Anyway, Alistair said he'll have a look into her background for me. Forus,' she corrects. ‘Violet surviving the three shipwrecks is what tends to get written about, so I really don't know if he's going to find anything that might link her to flowers. Or me.' She shrugs. ‘But it seems a shame to stop now. I've also been looking into my family tree. So far I can't find any link to anyone on the Titanic or any Irish blood– Violet's family were originally from Ireland. But you never know…'

Les asks her in detail about the sites she has been using. It seems that most of the Historical Society members have been busy exploring their ancestry– some going as far back as the Norman conquest. Les's family, it appears, were originally Cornish fisherman. This she can certainly imagine (much more than him ever being a punk).

As they are getting ready to leave, Betty rummages in her bag for her phone. ‘I wanted to show you something, love,' she says, and she starts to scroll through her photos. ‘Ah, there it is.' She turns the screen towards Emma. ‘I told our son Ben about your pillow post and he's been trying it out with our grandson, Zac. It seems he is not at all convinced that having a baby sister is a good thing, but Ben said the letters are really helping. I think it makes Zac feel he's doing something his sister can't. This is a picture of the last thing he left under hisdad's pillow.'

On the screen is a photo of a piece of pale blue paper. All around the edges are drawings of … dinosaurs? Birds? Emma is not quite sure. In the centre of the page in a bigger drawing, two figures are riding on a surfboard, one larger and one smaller. There are massive waves around the board and a bright yellow sun above it. An arrow drawn from the surfboard lists a maker's name.

Seeing Emma studying it, Betty declares, ‘I think that might be a bit of a hint. Zac's after a proper surfboard.' She smiles. ‘But don't you see?'

Emma knows she must look confused.

‘That's his sister on the back of the board with him.'

Emma smiles. ‘Ah.'

‘Well, it just shows you it's working,' Betty says with satisfaction. ‘Usually Zac draws her being eaten by a shark.'

As Emma walks away from the bistro, she realises she forgot to show Betty and Les the notes she brought with her in her bag. A document headed: Ideas for the Garden Centre .

These will just have to wait for another day.