Page 5 of Finding Love at Roseford Blooms
The driver, clearly realising that Lizzie had not been in the mood for conversation during their long trip from London, had left her to her own devices, only interjecting when they’d pulled over at a service station about an hour ago. Lizzie was grateful. If she’d been in a better mood, she would’ve worried that she had seemed rude, and as she finally exited the car she gave the driver the best smile she could muster and thanked him for bringing her safely to Roseford.
‘I’m sorry I’ve not been a big talker on this trip,’ she said.
‘I’ve had worse.’ The driver smiled back. ‘And given the state of your arm, I think I can let you off.’
He got out of the car himself and strode round to the boot, stretching his legs out in front of him as he walked. In no time at all, he pulled out her suitcase and the holdall she’d packed for her stay. ‘Would you like me to take this to the door for you?’ he said.
Lizzie nodded. ‘Thank you. That would be great.’ She trailed in his wake, having managed to close the car door by leaning back on it. As she navigated the slightly uneven path to Bee’s crimson-painted wooden front door, she took a deep breath and the scents of the vibrant array of flowers on either side of the path hit her like the perfume counter of some high-end department store. All of a sudden she was transported back to her teens, breathing in the air that had been such a contrast to the starchy, disinfected odour of the boarding school that she’d come from to spend the weekend in Roseford.
The memory was almost too much. Lizzie stumbled on the path and only just caught herself from falling flat on her face and doing herself more damage. The taxi driver, having dumped her bags on the small open porch by the front door, hurried to her side.
‘Are you all right, love?’ he said. He didn’t touch her, for which Lizzie was grateful, but she did meet his concerned gaze with another smile.
‘I’m fine,’ she said. Then, making a conscious decision to pull herself together as she had on so many other occasions, she raised her head. ‘Thank you again,’ she said. ‘I can take it from here.’
The driver was clearly about to suggest he waited until whoever owned the cottage opened the door, but there was something in Lizzie’s tone that deterred him. Bidding her farewell, he strode back down the path, got into his car and drove away.
Lizzie, left on the doorstep, tried to take another deep, steadying breath. Before she could contemplate her situation any further, though, the cottage door opened and on the other side stood the kindly, still beautiful, calm and wise Aunt Bee.
Lizzie, who until this point hadn’t realised how tightly wound she actually was, took one look at her aunt and burst into tears.
6
Having been ushered through a small, dark hallway into Aunt Bee’s charming and very cosy living room, Lizzie collapsed onto the brightly coloured patchwork-patterned sofa that was situated on the far wall. She was shaking so badly that for a moment she couldn’t get a grip on the bunch of tissues that Bee passed her from the box on the coffee table beside the sofa. Suddenly, all the trauma of the past few weeks had hit her again, and in one fell swoop she’d become a messy, blubbering blancmange.
‘I’m so sorry.’ She shuddered, before blowing her nose loudly and unceremoniously. ‘I don’t know what’s come over me.’
Bee, who up until this point had remained quiet, just put an arm around her and gave a supportive smile. Lizzie was grateful that Bee was obviously mindful of the cuff and sling that supported her arm and the fact that the slow careful way she’d moved through the hallway had shown Bee just how achy and tired she really was.
‘There’s nothing to apologise for,’ Bee said gently as Lizzie tried to get a grip. ‘You’ve really been through it, these past few weeks, haven’t you, darling?’
The gentleness in Bee’s tone only served to make another ugly sob rise up in Lizzie’s throat. It felt simultaneously like a release and a terrible admission. After a few moments, however, Lizzie’s internal voice grew too strong just to sit and cry.
It had been a long journey from London and, as Bee had observed, a long few weeks, but now she was in Roseford she should try to make the best of it. It was better than being alone in her flat, after all.
‘Tea?’ Bee asked, once Lizzie had blown her nose again.
Lizzie nodded, still not trusting herself to speak.
Once Bee had returned with two steaming, flower-patterned mugs of tea, Lizzie felt strong enough to recount the whole sorry story. As she finished, Bee cocked her head to one side and regarded her niece levelly.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘that is all rather unfortunate. But I’m sure your dear mother and father have already commiserated and come up with at least fifteen alternatives for you to consider about how you spend the rest of your life. So you’ll forgive me if I don’t offer any immediate solutions to your problems.’
Lizzie suppressed a smile. Bee’s full name was Verbena, although Lizzie had always known her just as Bee. The flower she was named after was said to have balm-like properties, and her calm, pragmatic approach to Lizzie’s current predicament definitely felt that way too. Her gentian-blue eyes regarded Lizzie with sympathy, but belied the determination she’d shown over the years to live her life on her own terms. While Bee and her sister, Lizzie’s mother, Cordelia, had shared many things in common as children, the two women had grown apart over the years as their lives had moved in different directions. The echoes of that in her own sibling relationship with Georgina were not lost on Lizzie.
‘It’s lovely enough that you’ve given me somewhere to recuperate for the next few weeks,’ Lizzie said, her voice still bearing the tremors of her recent crying fit. ‘I know I haven’t kept in touch as much as I should’ve over the years, but I do really appreciate it.’
‘It was the least I could do,’ Bee replied. She paused for a moment as if considering her next sentence carefully. ‘After all, I’m sure the last place you’d really want to be is recuperating at home with your parents. Well intentioned as they may be, I hardly see that house as an inducement to getting better, somehow.’
Lizzie gave a wry smile. ‘Believe it or not, Mum did offer, but I wasn’t sure if staying there would do me more harm than good.’ Then, remembering that Bee was Cordelia’s sister, she tried to back-pedal a little. ‘I know they mean well, but even so it just didn’t feel like the right thing to do.’
Bee looked at her shrewdly. Then, clearly deciding that it was better to change the subject than dwell on what potentially could be painful or at the very least frustrating family memories, she moved on.
‘I’ve made up the guest room on the ground floor for you,’ Bee said. ‘I wasn’t sure how you’d be, navigating the steep stairs to the first floor, but of course if you’d rather have the bedroom you stayed in when you were a teenager…’
‘No, thank you, the downstairs room will be lovely,’ Lizzie interjected hurriedly. She already felt pretty helpless having to wear the sling, and with a body covered in bruises. She didn’t really need to be reminded of the lanky, gangling teenager she used to be when she had stayed here with her sister in the holidays. Back then, she and Georgina had shared a room, giggling long into the night, even when Bee had come in to remind them that they had to get some sleep. But the last time she’d visited had been different. And painful…
Lizzie took another sip of her tea, which had gradually cooled. Looking around the living room, she felt immediately reassured to see that, bar updating a few pieces of technology, it felt and looked very much the same as it had the last time she’d visited. She was tickled to see an Amazon Alexa tucked away on the corner of the mantelshelf above the fireplace, and a medium-sized flat-screen television in one corner. Also on the mantel were various framed photographs, including, Lizzie realised with a pang of pain-infused nostalgia, one of herself and her sister, aged about sixteen, smiling broadly into the camera. She remembered it had been taken the afternoon before the night that, for her at least, had changed everything. That had shifted the balance in her relationship with Georgina and altered it irreparably.
