Wildflowers (10 page)

Before I know it, the big day has loomed.  Not Abigail’s wedding – that’s eighteen months away which is as well, not just so she can lose some weight but because it’s going to be a slow, painful process reaching any kind of agreement that doesn’t compromise my creative integrity.  No, tonight’s the night that Josh is coming for supper and I’ve one or two careful preparations I need to make.

And
on this occasion, I’m not talking about leg-shaving and bikini waxing.  Firstly, there’s the food and I call on Honey’s expertise, checking too that all is quiet on the marital front – which it is, for now.  I’m not sure what they’ve actually resolved, but at least they’re speaking to each other.  She’s mystified when I tell her about Josh.  It’s seems he hasn’t mentioned my invitation.

‘But why?’
  she asks.  ‘I don’t understand.  You don’t even fancy him. 
Why
?’  For someone so clever, she seems inordinately short of words.

‘I
t’s all in the interest of interfamilial relations,’ I say carefully.

There’s silence.  ‘But, you’re not related, Frankie.’

Duh
… ‘Yes, I know that, but you are and you’re my best friend.  I’m doing it for you.’  Then I add, ‘there might be one little tiny other reason but I can’t say over the phone in case it’s bugged.  But that’s not why I’m calling you.  I need a recipe, Honey.  A nice, easy one that looks as though I’ve gone to so much trouble and will impress him.’

‘
Oh.  Okay.  I still don’t understand but I’ll email you something.’

I have one more thing to prepare, which takes half an hour of poring over my computer and one or two slight amendments, after which I carefully print Maria’s wedding details, leaving them casually on the side of my desk.

Then there’s just me to thin
k about.  I dress up a just a little, careful not to overdo it because I don’t want to give him the wrong idea – a touch of makeup, my light daytime perfume not the seductive, sensual one I wear when I mean business.  And jeans and a flirty top.  Perfect.

With
food smells wafting deliciously from the kitchen, I look carefully around – yes, everything’s in place.

Josh arrives on the dot, complete with bottle of wine.  Middle of the range, I notice. 
Obviously not expecting too much, then.

‘
You know, I have to say you surprised me,’ says Josh.  A glass of wine later, we’re both starting to relax.

‘Well, I know I left in a hurry
that night.  It was a lovely evening but I really was exhausted, Josh and I just thought I owed you an explanation.’

He leans back in his chair, a self-satisfied look
creeping over his face.  I manage to resist the urge to slap him.

 
‘You see, it really wasn’t you, it’s me…’  That old chestnut – will he fall for it?

And he does, just as I knew he would.  H
is head swells visibly and he nods patronisingly.

‘
You see, I’m just so busy… I don’t really have time for a relationship,’ I continue.  ‘I’m sure you know how it is,
in your line of work
….’

To my delight, he tenses when I say that – obviously I touched on a nerve. 

‘What do you mean?’ he says abruptly.

‘Well, it’s just that, when you put heart and soul into your work,
Josh, as we both do, and it’s so creative, as you were telling me the other night, it doesn’t leave much of you for anything.  Or anyone… don’t you find that?  And hopefully that’s why we’re both so good at what we do, don’t you agree?’  I wink at him.

Oh, was that overdoing it?

‘Oh gosh, I must check on the food.  I’ll be two ticks...’  I smile sweetly at him.  ‘You just, er, relax, in here…’

The food is great
, which thanks to Honey, I knew it would be and when I peep round the corner into my sitting room, Josh is walking around having a good old nosy at all my things, the cheeky so and so, looking at my photographs, my books and then… He moves to my desk and picks up Maria’s quote.  Bingo!

I
give him a minute to read it, then cough before I walk back in.  He leaps out of his skin.

‘
Gosh, I have such a tickly throat,’ I say, smiling cherubically at him.  ‘Anyway, dinner’s served!’

Actually, we have a reasonable evening after that
, with witty and scintillating conversation until I get him onto his favourite topic - himself.  From there on, just like the last time, it’s downhill all the way.  But the food is tasty – not quite as good as Honey’s but a success, nonetheless and he doesn’t drink more than a couple of glasses of wine so there’s no embarrassing end of the evening conversation.  In fact, he can’t get away soon enough.

‘Thanks, Frankie.  I had a great evening…’  He leans towards me and because I’m sober, I see it coming a mile off
, turning, so he gets my cheek.

I beam back at him. 
‘Me too.  Well, see you around, Josh!  Bye!’

He wanders out to his car.  Actually, he walks quite fast and I
spy on him from a window as he gets in and scribbles something on some paper.  Good thing he can’t see me pour myself a large glass of wine and dance around my sitting room with glee!

If my hunch is right and his trashy magazine plans on crashing Maria and Pete’s wedding, I’ve just done something awfully clever. 
The bait has been swallowed!  And if I pull this off, Josh won’t be anywhere near it.

This weekend is an easy one for me and Skye, with just a small village church to decorate on the Friday, and the wedding bouquets for the Saturday.  Our biggest problem is negotiating the sheep in the churchyard who’ve decided that they’re bored with eating grass and for a change, they want flowers for their breakfast.  They even follow us into the church, but after we shoo them out, it’s a doddle, thank goodness.  Not too many arrangements to make up, then back to the shop, the invoice double and triple checked before we start the short drive on Saturday morning.  Nothing can possibly go wrong.  But I never learn, do I?  As we get back from our deliveries, my mobile goes off.  It’s the bride’s mother.

‘
Oh Frankie!  Thank goodness I caught you!  Only you haven’t delivered the table flowers!’ 

My blood runs cold.  ‘
I’m sure you cancelled them.  Don’t you remember?  They weren’t on your invoice…’

‘I didn’t think that meant you weren’t bringing them…’ she says indignantly.  ‘I thought you’d made a mistake!’

I want to scream
so why the bleeding hell did you leave it to now to check?
What I actually say, surprisingly calmly, is ‘I’ll just go inside and check your notes.  Can I call you back?’

I
sprint inside, stressed out of my brain, fully believing I’ve made the most massive error and wondering how the hell we can scrape together enough flowers in the few hours before the wedding - but in the wodge of notes on my desk, it’s there in black and white.  I slump into my chair.  Auntie Dora, God bless her.  She’s doing the table flowers as her wedding present.

The relief I feel is indescribable
as I call the bride’s mother back and tell her.  She doesn’t apologise, nor has she any idea that in just ten minutes she raised my stress levels a thousand fold.  All she says is ‘oh.’

Oh
… when I will probably wake up tomorrow with white hair and die years earlier from high blood pressure or from some terrible stress related illness.  All because of people like her.

But I’m a new and reformed me these days,
so I walk home, holding myself tall and breathing in lungfuls of grass-scented, meadowy summer air, feeling them soothe me.  Then I don my trainers, forget about weddings and run it off.  And for the first time in ages, see Lulubelle.

‘Hey!  How are you?’  She pulls her Land Rover Discovery over and winds the window down.

‘Running off another nightmare wedding,’ I tell her.  ‘It was all my fault, because there I was congratulating myself on a nice easy day – silly old me - and seconds later, the shit hits the fan.  But actually it wasn’t my fault at all – it was a bride’s mother.’

‘Oh,’ says Lulubelle, flummoxed.  ‘Things do seem to happen to you, Frankie.’

‘Oh, it’s just stuff,’ I say.  ‘How are you and Cosmo?’  I look over to the back of her car, but there’s only an empty child seat.

She sighs.  ‘He’s staying in Briarwood
for a bit.  That chest infection came back and really knocked him sideways.  But he’s turned the corner – at least, I think he has.  I’m on my way back there now.  I only went home to pick up some things for him.’

Oh God
…  And here I am twittering on about weddings, of all things, which suddenly feel very small and unimportant compared to what Lulubelle and Cosmo are going through. 

‘Can I do anything?’ I say uselessly. 
‘Anything at all?’

She smiles, a defeated, tired, aching kind of smile
that pulls at my heartstrings.  ‘Thank you, but actually, there isn’t really anything...’  She pauses.  ‘Unless… well, I don’t suppose you’d like to come and see him?’

‘Of course I would! When’s a good time?’

‘Tomorrow?  Say around three?  But it doesn’t really matter when – it’s very relaxed there.  I can pick you up?’

‘
I’d really like that,’ I tell her.

The following
afternoon as I wait for Lulubelle, I’m just a little apprehensive.  All I know about Briarwood is that it’s a place where sick children go.  Really sick children, who have life-limiting illnesses – a category which obviously includes Cosmo.  Fortunately I don’t wait long before I hear her car pull up outside my flat.

I wave
from the window and run downstairs.

‘Haven’t changed your mind?’ 

I smiles as I climb in.  ‘Of course I haven’t!’

‘
I’m so glad you’re coming!  Cosmo will be really pleased to see you!  I can guess what you’re thinking, Frankie, but I promise it won’t be at all how you expect.’

‘No?  I’m just looking forward to seeing him, really…’ 
My voice tails off.  ‘D’you know when’s he coming home?’ 

‘Hopefully by the end of the week, fingers crossed.  But he
loves it there – you’ll see for yourself.  It’s like one great big family - I don’t know what I’d do without them.’

‘
How long ago did you first find out?’ I ask, realising how little she’s actually told me.

‘
It was four years ago.  He was nearly two – there was all this bruising on his arms.  That was the first sign.  It sounds crazy, but I had this horrible feeling, even at that stage, that it was serious.’

‘
It must have been terrible.’ 

‘
It was.  But we have good days. When he’s well, we can do things most families do.  And the rest of the time… Yes, it’s scary and upsetting, but just when you think you can’t bear it, it gets better again.’

‘Oh,’
I’m gobsmacked.

‘I’m not brave,’
Lulubelle adds.  ‘I could easily lapse into the most self-pitying wreck you’ve ever met! 
Why us
and all that sort of thing.  And to start with, I thought all those things…’  Her voice wobbles.  ‘But, you know, it could be worse.  So far, he’s responding to this latest treatment.  And no-one knows – do they?  What’s round the corner for any of us...  You make the most of every day.  Oh – we’re here.’

Which is just as well
, because it’s impossible for anyone to be that brave and there’s a huge lump in my throat.

As we get out
of the car, I pull myself together, taking my first look at Briarwood.  And it’s not at all what I’m expecting.  It’s massive, white-painted and weather-boarded, like a huge family home, rather than the hospital I was expecting. 

I
t’s glorious here, the sunlight filtering through the trees, the huge, lovely garden that as we walk round to the side of the house is full of life – of babies, children, teenagers and their families – albeit some in wheelchairs – throwing balls, on swings, climbing in a colourful play area.  There’s a sandpit – a massive one – which is a hive of activity, but more than anything, there’s the noise.  The same shouting and laughter you’d get anywhere with this many children.

I
turn to Lulubelle, amazed.

‘I
t’s wonderful!  Is it always like this?’

She
nods.  ‘Wonderful, isn’t it?  Shall we go and see Cosmo?’

Inside is
only a little quieter.  I follow her along a long, light corridor decorated with brightly patterned wallpaper to a large airy room which opens onto another corner of the garden. When we reach the door, Lulubelle pauses.

‘
He’s in here,’ she whispers, so as not to disturb him, and just watches. 

At first, I’m puzzled but as she stands there, suddenly I understand what she’s doing.  She’s collecting memories,
good ones to call up when the going gets tough.  Fragments of happier times.

Even I can see h
e’s frail, but there’s a light in his eyes and a grin on his face as he concentrates on the picture he’s painting.  There’s a nurse sitting beside him, smiling as she talks to him.  Then she notices us, and nudges him and as he looks up at us, his face shines with love.

‘
Hey, baby!
’ She hurries over and scoops him up, burying her face in his neck.  ‘Look who Mummy’s brought to see you!  It’s that funny lady who keeps running into us!’

Cosmo giggles then holds a hand out towards
her, suddenly shy.

‘
Hello, Cosmo!  I’m Frankie.’

‘But that’s a boy’s name…’ 
So cheekily
normal
it tugs at my heartstrings.  Funny how the smallest things can suddenly mean the world.

‘That’s e
xactly what I told my mother…’ I tell him, which makes him giggle.  ‘But then you haven’t met
my mother
…’  He giggles again.

It’s the most animated I’ve ever seen him
.  Then he takes Lulubelle’s hand before reaching for mine, and the three of us walk outside.

A
nd after a short while, I’ve completely forgotten why I’m here.  There’s a gorgeous little girl called Florence wants me to push her on a swing.  Her eyes are bright and apart from her little bald head under her sunhat, you’d have no idea she wasn’t the same as any other kid. 

After that, no-one will leave
me alone.  I get roped into a riotous game of football which Cosmo and Lulubelle watch, laughing loudly when I fail to stop a single goal.  There’s the climbing frame.  More swings.  Eventually, worn out, I flop onto the grass next to them.

‘No more,’
I gasp.  ‘I’m exhausted.’

‘
You’re a natural,’ Lulubelle says.  ‘They’d probably give you a job if you wanted one.’

As I g
aze up at the sky, I feel the grin on my face.

‘No way.
  Even brides are less demanding than this lot.  And next time, you’re goalie, mate,’ I tell Cosmo, his eyes lighting up at the thought.  ‘I’m too old and as you just saw, I’m really rubbish.  I need a rest.’ 

I
lie there in the sunshine, but after a few seconds, Cosmo scrambles to his feet and I feel his featherweight on top of me.  I wait, then sit up with a roar, half scaring the life out of him.  Then he remembers.

‘
We have to show Frankie the boats, Mumma.  Come on.  Now,’ he insists, jumping to his feet again.

‘
Wow!  You even have boats?  I love boats!’  I leap up with him, impressed.

We wander across the lawn to where t
he garden meanders down a gentle slope to the lake, surrounded by trees.  It’s quieter here and we spend the rest of the afternoon in one of the brightly coloured boats, which I row, while Cosmo leans against Lulubelle, an expression of bliss on his face.

‘I didn’t expect this
,’ I tell her.  ‘Nothing like this, I swear.’

Of course I
had no idea.  How could I?

Everywhere I look, it’s there.  The love, the invisible support system, the families packing every moment with happiness, none of them knowing quite what the future holds but making the most of what they have.

Lulubelle’s courage leaves me speechless. She’s spent most of Cosmo’s life not knowing how long she’ll have him, yet to look at her, you’d never guess.   

And then there’s Florence.  How can someone burst with life yet be dying?  On the way home, I had to ask.  ‘Do you know what’s wrong with Florence?’

‘She has a brain tumour.  You wouldn’t think so, would you?  She was on good form today.’

‘So…’  I screw up my face, trying to find the words.  ‘What treatment is she having?’

‘They can’t operate, because of where it is.  She’s had radiotherapy – that’s why she’s lost her hair.  It’s just a matter of time to see if it’s worked.’

If it’s worked…
So for Florence, it’s just like with Cosmo.  On the outside, she’s stronger, more energetic.  On the inside, she’s on a knife-edge.  I’m silent.  Once again, there are no words.