Page 55 of Finding Love at Roseford Blooms
‘You don’t want to see me getting hurt?’ Lizzie echoed incredulously. ‘That’s bloody rich. Where were you when Paul and I broke up? When I sold the company I’d spent my professional life building? When Dad basically came here and told me to go to that job interview? I didn’t see you worrying then.’
‘I’m sorry, Lizzie, I really am, but please, promise me you’ll have a think about what I’ve said. Isn’t this all rather… convenient?’
‘And what the hell would you know about Simon anyway?’ The fire was in Lizzie’s blood now, and the temper that she tried so hard to keep under wraps normally was rising to the surface, prickling under her skin.
‘I know you, Lizzie, and I know that you have a bit of a blind spot for giving away your heart when you shouldn’t.’
‘You don’t know me at all!’ Lizzie was shouting now. ‘And don’t pretend, after all these years, that you really care, either. Simon was there for me when I needed him, not just recently but back when you were too caught up with being popular and shagging that week’s boy of your dreams to care what I was going through. So don’t presume to lecture me on my so-called blind spots, Georgina.’
Her sister’s silence on the other end of the phone spoke more than any words ever could. Eventually, she spoke again, and her voice was much quieter.
‘I’m sorry, Lizzie, if I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better sister. But please, please, think about what I’ve said. I just don’t want to see you getting hurt, after everything you’ve been through this year.’
Lizzie shook her head. Once again, the prevalence of the word ‘I’ in Georgina’s speech undermined every apparent good intention she had.
‘I appreciate the thought, Georgina, but I think I’m able to make up my own mind.’ Not giving her sister time to reply, she pressed the red button and ended the call.
Sinking back further onto the bed, Lizzie let out a long sigh, and battled with the urge to chuck her phone across the room. Georgina always had that effect on her. Lizzie had wished, for so many years, that the two of them could be closer, but she’d realised a long time ago that it wasn’t going to happen. They were two different people,toodifferent people. The best she could hope for was a kind of civility, and she was beginning to realise that even that might be out of the question.
But how the hell had she got wind of Simon’s business venture? She kicked herself for not pressing Georgina for a name, and briefly considered calling her back. She was knackered, though, and for the moment she just needed to get her head down. The old doubts were creeping in, too, as they had started to when Georgina had sent her the text. What if Georgina was right, and Simon was only after her for her investment potential? What if he was playing her, and when he’d got what he wanted he was going to end up relegating her to the role of silent partner? Why, if he was such a great guy, hadn’t he been snapped up by some gorgeous girl years ago? As she fought to clear her mind, and reassure herself, she couldn’t stop sleep from overwhelming her, and she finally crashed out, more confused than ever. The last thing she remembered before she dropped off was the sound of Simon’s voice, telling her he loved her. But now even that felt tainted.
46
The next morning, drained from the emotions of the weekend, Lizzie woke late, and feeling groggy. She glanced at the wind-up alarm clock on her bedside table and realised it had stopped in the night, so grabbed her phone instead. She was stunned to see it had gone 9 a.m. Sitting up abruptly in bed, she battled twin emotions of pleasure and doubt when she saw that Simon had sent her a text at ten o’clock last night, wishing her sweet dreams. But she couldn’t shake the worries that the conversation with Georgina had provoked. She knew she needed to see Simon, to try to talk things through with him, but she wasn’t sure where to start. Somehow, ‘Hey, I know you’ve told me you love me but are you just using me for my money?’ seemed like too crass a question to contemplate.
She knew she should ignore Georgina – she was hardly a reliable source – but Lizzie’s insecurities were playing havoc with her judgement. Sighing, she dragged herself out of bed, and mooched through to the kitchen to make a coffee. Bee had left her a note, saying that she’d be late back from work as she had a big order for another wedding to fulfil, and not to wait for her for dinner. Lizzie thought she might go down to Roseford Blooms and help – she’d found working with the flowers so therapeutic in the early days of her stay, and she wanted to be of use to her aunt.
Then she had another idea. She’d been turning things over in her head for the website for the flower shop ever since Bee had given her the go-ahead to design one, but she hadn’t actually done anything about it yet. Why didn’t she try to put something together to show Bee? It would take her mind off Simon, and she could take her laptop down to the shop later when she went in to help. Despite her worries, she felt a tingle of excitement. Lizzie poured a cup of strong coffee and went to find her laptop.
An hour and a half later, she leaned back in the kitchen chair and looked at mock-up of the logo and the website she’d created to advertise Roseford Blooms. Although Bee had made it clear that the flowers-by-post model wasn’t something she wanted to explore, Lizzie wanted to claim an online space for Roseford Blooms to give it the recognition she felt her aunt deserved. She thought carefully about the colours of the shop itself: Bee already had some pretty distinctive branding, and she wanted to keep things consistent. She realised she’d need to take some photographs of the shop, the flowers and possibly Bee herself if she was going to make a good job of it, and so she resolved to do that when she popped down to Roseford Blooms later. In the meantime, she browsed as many websites as she could created by florists, those who had an online delivery model and those who focused on the shopfront, and began a virtual mood board of themes and ideas.
After another hour, fired up with enthusiasm and another cup of coffee, Lizzie decided to head down to Roseford Blooms and show Bee her handiwork. She realised to her amazement that getting stuck back into work had really lifted her mood, and taken her mind off things, and she was definitely feeling more optimistic as she walked down the hill to the village centre.
Once she’d arrived at Roseford Blooms, she could barely see Bee for the arrangements of flowers that were positioned all over the counter. The scents of white roses, freesias, myrtle and rosemary sprigs all mingled in the air, and Lizzie sniffed appreciatively.
‘Hi, Aunt Bee,’ she said as she closed the shop door behind her.
‘Oh, hello, darling,’ Bee called back.
Lizzie could hear the stress in her aunt’s voice. She immediately put the laptop down on a patch of the counter that wasn’t covered in flowers, and headed behind it.
‘Can I help?’ she said as Bee hurriedly placed another long-stemmed white rose into the bouquet she was working on.
‘Oh, could you?’ Bee replied. ‘Do you remember how to do buttonholes? The delivery was late and I’m up against it if these are going to be ready by the time I close.’
‘Of course,’ Lizzie replied. She pulled the tray of rose heads towards her. Bee had already cut the stems to about an inch and a half long, and they’d been in water overnight to condition them ready for making the buttonholes. Carefully, she peeled off the weather petals, as Bee had taught her, making sure to remove any that had signs of damage or discolouration. Then, she carefully pinned the sepals, the small leaves between the base of the flower and the stem, with tiny hairpins of wire. Next, she carefully slid a piece of wire up the stem, and bound the stem with the fine silver rose wire to keep it in place.
Bee had chosen ivory wax flowers to go alongside the beautiful ivory-coloured roses, so the next step was to wire up that, and some delicate mimosa. The final piece of foliage was large leaf eucalyptus, which gave a wonderful contrast to the spriggy texture of the mimosa. Then came the taping. Lizzie had struggled a bit with taping the different flowers for Montana and Serena’s wedding, so she went slowly, and checked in with Bee frequently. Eventually, following the example that Bee had already made, she taped the components together, snipped the wires and then rounded off the bottom with more tape.
She held up her first attempt for Bee’s approval.
‘Not bad,’ Bee said. ‘Try to keep a flat edge on one side so that they sit nicely against a jacket lapel, if you can.’
‘Will do,’ Lizzie replied, diving into making the next one.
They worked alongside each other in companionable silence, Lizzie uttering the odd expletive under her breath when she pricked her fingers with the sharp ends of the rose wire, but gradually she got into a rhythm and had made a dent in the huge pile of buttonholes that needed to be assembled by the end of the day.
‘Thanks, love,’ Bee said as she looked approvingly over at Lizzie’s handiwork. ‘I always said you had an eye for this.’
