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Chapter 56

Chapter 56

Emma

A Bed of Roses

‘Do you have five minutes? There are some ideas I'd like to run past you both about the garden centre. I'm not trying to interfere– I just hoped I might be able to help a little.'

They are back in the Flower Cabin, sheltering from a thunderstorm, sharing coffee and a lemon cake that Emma brought in with her this morning– a better attempt than the cake she tried to make weeks ago, after she missed Les's Titanic talk.

It occurs to her that maybe Betty hasn't told Les she has discussed their business problems with her, and perhaps he will mind.

But Les appears to be smiling behind his beard. ‘Well, I always say, two heads are better than one.' Then, glancing out towards the rain, he says, ‘There's no time like the present. Just let me get something to sit on.' He reaches behind him for a large crate, which he places beside Betty's stool.

Despite Les's encouragement and Betty's smile, Emma's voice wavers as she starts. ‘Betty explained that the main problem is the drop in numbers since the ring road was built.'

Both nod solemnly at her.

‘I was wondering … well, instead of thinking of your location as a problem, it could be a real bonus for us.' She hopes they don't mind her saying ‘us'. ‘Every other garden centre in the area is on a very boring industrial estate or in a shopping complex– whereas we have the most beautiful backdrop.' She thinks of the mornings when she has sat on the bench looking across the allotments to the downs that rise up behind the garden centre. ‘The only problem is, just that: it's the backdrop. Everything faces the wrong way. The café windows look out on to the front and the car park. I just wondered– could we turn it all around?'

Les rubs his beard. ‘You mean open up the back?'

Betty chimes in. ‘It's only the wooden storage sheds behind the back wall.'

‘Exactly,' Emma rushes on. ‘If you could take out some of the end section and put in French windows, the whole café would look out over the garden centre and the downs. Who wouldn't want to look at that over coffee and cake? The café could be a venue for events too– for parties. perhaps evening classes. We could even start a book club for those interested in nature and gardens.'

‘Now, that I would really like,' Betty exclaims.

‘You could even move the flower shop near the café, Betty– people always like to watch as we make up bouquets. It's a bit like seeing someone cook.' She doesn't add that she would like to make their posies less formal. Slowly, slowly– one step at a time. ‘And we often have flowers we can't sell but still have some life left in them, so rather than throw them away, we could make up posies for the tables, and this would remind people we sell cut flowers as well as plants. And if we do events in the café, we can always suggest that we supply the flowers for those.' She glances down at the notes in her hand. ‘I've also been researching other industries, and it seems to be all about developing things people will talk to their friends about. I think a lot of it is about creating a bit of theatre. I was reading about an interior design show where they covered unexpected things in fabric– like the outside of a bath, or a beach hut. We could do it the other way round– take a sofa and instead of cushions, have flowers planted out in it. Anything that makes people stop and look.'

‘A bed of roses,' Les says, slowly.

‘Perfect.' Emma beams at him. ‘The other thing I know from being new to gardening is that people really need ideas. So maybe we could take some small plots– and I mean very small– plant them up and then have a display behind it selling what's in that patch. We could have different colour themes…'

‘Or gardens that attract bees and butterflies,' says Betty, with a glance down at her Red Admiral T-shirt.

‘Exactly. And we could support all of this kind of thing through social media.'

She is tempted to say more but decides to leave it at that.

‘Well, Emma, you've given us a lot of food for thought.' Les glances at Betty, who smiles encouragingly. ‘And you would be happy to help us with this?'

‘Of course– I'd love to. For example, I could set up an Instagram account for us and run it.'

Both Les and Betty are nodding now.

‘Well, you leave it with us to mull over,' Les says. ‘I need to get on now and see to the begonias– they won't be liking this downpour. Give us some time to think it through.'

Emma nods, but she can already tell that they like her ideas. Maybe it's not just about asking for the help you need; sometimes it's also about being prepared to offer specific help. She was worried about interfering, but this doesn't feel like that.

The moment Les steps out into the rain, Tamas comes running full pelt into the Flower Cabin, flower boxes held over his head. Tamas puts the boxes down and then stamps and shakes like a very large dog. Emma notices that both she and Betty are looking at him expectantly.

‘This is the weather the ducks like, I think,' he booms, taking the towel Betty is offering him. He rubs it vigorously over his bald head.

He emerges from under the towel and, seeing them both still looking at him, laughs. ‘I see you look at me. You women, you always want to know. But I am not going to say anything.' But he continues to smile.

‘You had a nice time with Berta though, love?' Betty asks a little anxiously.

‘I think that my Greta would say to her dad that he is not always such an old fool as he appears.' He laughs again. ‘She used to say this about her dad, he is not always a fool– often, but not always.' With that, he hands the delivery note to Betty with a nod. Then he turns abruptly and takes Emma's hand in his and with slow formality bends from the waist and kisses it. ‘This is for you, for reminding me that words should sometimes be written down.'

She is left astonished but smiling, hand still held out. He turns and, forgetting to pick up the empty flower boxes, throws open the door and runs back out into the storm.

Emma and Betty watch as he splashes down the path, leaping over flowerpots and making tidal waves in the puddles as he lands.

Betty gives a deep sigh. ‘Well, love, that looks very promising, I do have to say– a lot better than I had been expecting.' She chuckles. ‘And not one mention of you looking like his cow.' She pauses as she opens up the first flower box. ‘Now, what about you, love? What's next for you?'

It's not a question Emma can answer.

She is still thinking about it as she draws up outside her cottage later. Alistair said he would be in touch soon, but she really has no idea how long that will be. A few days? A week? A month? And then what?

She can't help feeling she should go and see her mother. Not for the party– God forbid– but she has all the old family photos and documents, stretching way back. She wants to get her hands on these.

But it is not just the photos. Emma hasn't spoken to her mother since her breakdown in Cambridge, but she increasingly feels that she needs to talk to her properly– not on the phone but face-to-face. She knows she doesn't want to, but sometime soon, she thinks she will have to.

A trip to Paris?

Paris is where Philippe, the retired perfumier, lives, so she could kill two birds with one stone (as Les would say).

Another thought brings a genuine smile to her face: maybe Betty would like to come with her?

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