Page 31 of Forever Love at Fleur's Flower Shop

Shaking her head, Fleur pushed herself to standing. If she let Bea hug her, there was only one thing that would come next and that would be her tears. No, Fleur didn’t want to cry overher parents. She didn’t want to give them the satisfaction, even though she knew they’d never find out. She glanced towards the table. ‘Sorry, I need to go and clear my head. Can you sort these out, please?’

Getting to her feet, Bea frowned. ‘Yes, of course, but don’t you want to talk about this? I can put the kettle on...’

‘No. Thanks, but no. I just need to be alone.’ Shaking her head, Fleur pulled open the door to the backroom and hurried through the shop. She just needed some air, some space. She just needed something.

‘But Fleur, I don’t think you should be alone. I’ll call Matty, get him to come over.’ Bea’s voice filled the room as she called after her.

Reaching the door, Fleur tugged it open and stepped outside, the cold air wrapping itself around her and penetrating her thin jumper. She’d forgotten her coat, but she didn’t want to go back for it now. She just needed to get away. She quickly side-stepped around Gregory as he came rushing towards her.

‘Fleur, the flowers...’

Holding her hand up as she passed him, she forced herself to reply. ‘Not now, Gregory. They’re inside.’

Without waiting around to hear his words of admonishment for walking away from him, she picked up her speed and turned off the High Street. Plunging her hands into the pockets of her jeans, she walked quickly. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she just needed a bit of space. She just needed to let all that had happened in the past few minutes sink in.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Her parents had been receiving letters about her, personal stuff about her if the one she’d read was anything to go by. Her grandma had been updating them on her schoolwork, her friendship group, what she liked to watch on the TV, for goodness’ sake!

And the photos. They’d received letters about her.Photos and letters.

And they hadn’t bothered to open one single letter. Not one. They must have known what they were. They must have known the letters they were receiving from her grandma were about her. If they hadn’t, then they wouldn’t have sent them back to her.

With the town centre behind her, she took a shortcut down the next close and squeezed through the narrow alleyway running behind the houses. At the end of it, the tarmac gave way to grass until she came to a small metal gate leading into the farmer’s field she’d discovered in her first week in Nettleford.

From here, she followed the little known public right of way through Farmer Jackson’s fields. She was sure not many people knew about it, not many walked this way, not even the most hardy of dog walkers, because the pathway was just asovergrown with weeds as it had been back when she’d first walked down here.

The track led to the small copse in the middle of the field. It was tiny, twenty or so trees nestled into a slight dip, but they had been enough to give her the isolation she’d so craved back then and the same now. Weaving through the trees and working her way through the thick undergrowth, she paused when she came to the fallen tree trunk she remembered from her teenage years.

She’d not been here for years now. At least nine years. She’d visited once after the wedding-not-wedding and then she’d vowed never to return. She’d seen it as a weakness, an escape, and she’d been so determined to rebuild a life where she didn’t need an escape that she’d promised herself not to return.

But now, it felt like the perfect place to come. The perfect place to sit with her feelings, to digest what she’d just learned. Sitting down on the fallen tree trunk, she clasped her hands in her lap and stared ahead. She could just about see through the trees’ canopies into the field, and she watched as birds swooped down across the newly seeded land.

How could her parents be so cruel? What had possessed them to return the letters? To her? Why had felt that was a better decision to make rather than binning them, burning them even? At least she’d have been none-the-wiser.

Because they’d wanted to hurt her. They must have done. They’d wanted to remind her of who she was. Where she’d come from. That she still didn’t deserve their love, their time, their care.

That she didn’t deserve anything.

And what hurt the most, what really stabbed her in the heart, was that they’d sent the bundle of letters to her shop. Both her parents knew she’d inherited her grandparents’ cottage. And if they’d gone to the trouble of finding out she now owned herown flower shop, then a simple Internet search would have confirmed that she still lived in the cottage.

No, they wanted her to know they knew what she was doing with her life.

Bringing her thumb to her lips, she did what she always did when she felt stressed. She chewed the skin around her nail.

Just when she thought she had her life together - and with Matty coming back into her life too - they just had to rear their heads and try to ruin everything for her.

Her breath quickened as memories of all the hurtful things they’d ever said and done to her whirred around her mind.

Her grandparents, the ones who had begun the task of picking her up and rebuilding her, rebuilding her self-esteem, her confidence, had been feeding back to the very people who had broken her in the first place.

She covered her eyes with the heels of her hands, pressing down until all she could see was a background of black and brilliant white stars. She didn’t blame them; they’d only been doing what they thought was best. It was her parents’ reaction which stung.

A fierce rage filled her stomach, and she lowered her hands and screamed. She projected hervoiceinto the copse surrounding her, into the field and the countryside beyond.

There was one person she was most angry with. Moreangrywith than her parents. And that was herself forlettingthem bother her still. She was a grown adult and she still let themwaltzback into her life - okay not literally, but by sending the letters, by showing her they knew what she wasdoingwith her life they’dencroachedon that - and sheshouldn’thave. Her parents were in her past, and sheshouldbe strong enough toleavethem there.Despite the letters turning up.

She swiped at her eyes as her vision blurred from the tears streaking down her face, and she cried. She cried for the way her parents had treated her, fortheway they were still treating her by sending the letters. She cried for hergrandparents,and she cried for the future she onceagain could feel being ripped from her. Because Matty was wrong. She didn’t deserve happiness. She didn’t deserve him. Her own parents, her own flesh and blood, didn’t want her, so there must be something innately wrong with her. There must and she couldn’t bring Matty into it all again.

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