Wildflowers (13 page)

‘Sshh,’ I take her hand
, feeling words of wisdom come bubbling to the fore.  ‘Of course I do.  But you have to remember he’s a man, Honey.  They all have this little fantasy about being married, you know – about coming home to an adoring wife who puts supper on the table in front of him then gives him a blowjob… or maybe it’s the other way round…’  I screw up my face as I try to think.  ‘But the point is, that’s how they’re programmed.  Even Johnny,’ I say firmly as she opens her mouth to argue with me.

‘But I can’t do that,’ she says aghast.  ‘I get home later than he does most nights – and we’re both too tired for sex…’ 

That age old problem of married couples, or so I’m told.  And she’s not keen on blowjobs either – I got that out of her one night after too many Mojitos. 

‘His friends tease him all the time,
for being married to his mother, that sort of thing. You know what a cross old witch she is… I tell you Frankie, I’m not like that.  I swear I’m not…’

‘I know you’re not,’ I say gently.  ‘You’re incredible, Honey.  And you have this enviable career, b
ut just sometimes…’  I hesitate, not quite sure how to say what needs to be said.  ‘Well, it’s like the rest of us are a bit inadequate in comparison – like we fall short of your expectations.  Maybe Johnny feels like that too.’

‘You think so?’  She turns a blotchy face towards me and starts to sob again.  ‘You really think that?  You know, I’m so sick of that word…
Expectations
…I spend every hour at work living up to other people’s and I’ve had enough – of always having to prove myself, of being better than the men are, smarter than them, letting their two-bit sexist asides wash over my head when really I’d like to slap them.  It’s hard, hard work Frankie.  I’m not sure I can do it anymore.’

Oh God.  She can’t give up.  Being a solicitor is the perfect outlet for all that bottled up efficiency.  She
needs
it.

‘Of course you can…’ I say soothingly.  ‘You just need a break
, Honey, that’s all – and it would be better if you didn’t let it get to you – not so much.’

‘Oh, it’s easy for you to say,’ she says bitterly.  ‘You don’t have some jumped up little schoolboy looking over your shoulder
, whose Daddy’s a friend of the senior partner, and is just waiting for you to stuff up so he can hop into your shoes. I’m not exaggerating.  It’s really like that, you know.’

‘Perhaps you should go away,’ I suggest
, trying to shake the disturbing image of a jumped up school boy in Honey’s five inch stilettos.  ‘A dirty weekend, somewhere exclusive and luxurious, where you and Johnny can enjoy uninterrupted hours of sex in a huge four-poster bed.’ Which sounds perfect to me but it brings on another bout of sobbing.

‘
I know you won’t believe me, but I actually suggested it, Frankie.  He doesn’t want to go… He said he doesn’t want to be with me.  Not at the moment
.’

I try not to let on how shocked I am.  It seems that far from being a heat of the moment decision, Johnny’s actually thought this through. 

‘Oh Honey, he’ll come round.  Of course he will.’  I hand her more tissues.  ‘He loves you, he really does…’

‘It doesn’t feel like it,’ she says miserably.  ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do.  I’ve told work I’m ill – I can’t possibly go in at the moment, not like this. 
Oh Frankie, what am I going to do
?’

I’m stumped.  Honey’s the most together person I’ve ever known – u
ntil now.  Rashly, I say the first thing that comes into my head.

‘
Well, to start with, you’re coming to stay with me…’

If I’m honest
, I’m regretting it even before she’s finished packing.  Can I really share my tiny flat with such a formidable person, even if she is my best friend? 
Of course I can
, I tell myself firmly.  She needs me.  And hopefully it won’t be for long. 

‘
Honey?  You are sure about this?’ I ask her.  ‘You do remember how tiny it is?  No power shower – and I don’t have granite worktops.’

But she just nods her head and keeps packing
, as if she’s moving out for good.  Oh my God – where are we going to put all this
stuff
?  In the end I have to intervene.

‘Right.
  That will have to do, I’m afraid.  Remember my wardrobe, Honey?  How tiny it is?  We’re sharing it, my friend, so be frugal.’

‘I am,’ she says
huffily, closing suitcase number three.  ‘Oh,
hell
… I haven’t got half of what I need but I suppose it’ll have to do.’

A
fter we’ve heaved them into her car, she stands defeatedly, looking smaller than I’ve ever seen her look.  ‘Thank you so much for doing this, Frankie.  I promise I won’t be a nuisance.’

‘Oh, of course you won’t,’ I tell her.  ‘And anyway, once Johnny’s worked out how much he misses you, he’ll be round in a flash, begging you to come home.  You’ll just have to be patient.’

I may have misgivings, but as far as Honey’s concerned, it’s the perfect solution to her problem.  The practicalities, however, are somewhat different.  After dragging her cases up to my flat, we squash some of her clothes into my own wardrobe because there’s only a tiny cupboard in the box room that she’ll be sleeping in, but there’s absolutely nowhere to store the empty suitcases.

‘If we clear out under your bed, they could go there,’ she says, reaching under and pulling out one of my boxes.  ‘Honestly, Frankie – what do you want all these for anyway?’

It’s only a box of
old Vogue magazines but that’s not the point.  They’re mine and it’s my flat – and she’s a guest.  I push it back under again.

‘Honey, there are going to have to be ground rules,’ I tell her firmly.  ‘I know you mean well, but you can’t tell me off for leaving my own underwear on my own floor or washing up in the evening rather than the morning
or even for keeping old magazines. Understood?’

‘Okay,’ she says in a subdued voice.

Then I have a brilliant idea.  ‘I know my flat is really tiny, Honey – how about having a room at the pub?  It’s only over the road and would be much comfier…’

But no.
  She’d rather cram herself into my tiny box room, only the trouble is, by suitcase number two, already we’ve run out of room.

‘
You’ve got enough stuff for now,’ I say in the end.  ‘And we’ll put the rest in the boot of your car.  It makes perfect sense, because I’m sure it won’t be for long.  Who knows – Johnny might be on his way over right now.’

Between us, we drag the cases back outside again. 
But when I open the boot of her car, she’s piled more stuff in there than I’d realised.  Aside from all her clothes, there are photos, DVD’s, her beloved Expresso machine and super whizzy juicer.  I feel myself frown.  This looks more than transient.  I go back in to find her.

‘Honey?
  Is there more than you’re telling me?  About the fight with Johnny?’

She blushes flame red
, then sits down and sighs, heavily.  ‘I didn’t tell you the whole story.’

I raise my eyebrows questioningly at her. 

‘He threw me out.’

It turns out that after Johnny had given Honey a verbal lashing, she gave as
good as she got.  Better, if I know Honey.  I don’t like to imagine what she said to him.  And I’m annoyed with her.  He’s a really good guy, Johnny.  One of the best.

‘You’re still leaving most of it in the car,’ I tell her.  ‘My flat is now officially full – and anyway, you’ve never liked it
here.  You can stay, of course you can, until you sort out what you’re going to do long term.’ 

Starting with an apology to your husband, I want to say to her – but she needs to work that one out for herself.

The next morning, she’s still lying in bed when I go to work and sitting pathetically in pyjamas drinking medicinal brandy when I get home again that evening.  I know she’s miserable, but I can’t help thinking of Johnny too.  I remove the bottle and hide it, then make her a chicken salad.  Then I listen while she cries some more and put her back to bed. 

Ditto the next night.  I’m starting to realise she needs some help with this, so when I get up on Friday morning, I take her a cup of tea.

‘You’re getting up,’ I tell her, pulling back the curtains and throwing the windows wide open, while she cowers under the covers.  ‘It stinks of booze in here, Honey.  You need to drag your sorry carcass into the shower and then you’re coming to work.  With me.  I need your help.  And don’t give me that look.  You’ve said the same, actually, you’ve said much worse to me in the past.  Here.’ 

I throw her a towel and march out victoriously, fingers crossed.  I know she’s suffering, I’m just hoping she’ll respond to a dose of her own medicine. 

From the kitchen, I listen on tenterhooks and after several minutes the floorboards creak and I hear the bathroom door close, then the sound of the shower.  I breathe a sigh of relief – at least it’s a start. 

It’s only
later, as I unlock the door, I realise this is the moment I’ve done everything in my power to avoid.  Honey, here, in my shop, which she paid the deposit on, completely at a loose end.  I’m not at all sure how this is going to work, unless once again, I assert myself right from the start.

‘
First of all, those buckets need scrubbing,’ I tell her, pointing to a pile of them by the sink.  ‘Then you need to fill them about one-third full with cold water, ready for the flower delivery.’

She
goes and gets started without a murmur and is still scrubbing when Skye walks in.

‘Sshh,’ I put my finger to my lips as I nod towards Honey.  ‘Therapy,’ I whisper.  ‘Say nothing.’

Then Mrs Orange pitches up, her radar on full alert.

‘It’s serious,’ I mutter at her. 
‘Marital problems, possibly terminal.  Any thoughts?’

‘Hazel twigs,’ she nods knowingly at Honey.  ‘Works a treat, it does.’

‘I already tried them,’ I tell her.  ‘This seems beyond the power of even the mighty hazel…It’s desperate.  Does anything else come to mind?’

She tilts her head on one side and frowns.  ‘Could always try them white tulips, pet...’

‘But it’s August…’

She stomps about a bit with a frown.  ‘I’ll be back later
, duck,’ is all she says, which isn’t helpful in the slightest.

Give Honey her due, she knuckles down and when Milo delivers the flowers, helps me and Skye snip the stems
until they’re all unwrapped and in water.

There’s no sign of Mrs Orange, until she pokes her head back in just as we’re about to close.  She hands me a
strange little posy and winks comically, jerking her head towards Honey.

‘Thank you,’ I whisper.

The day passes relatively smoothly.  Honey knuckles down and gets on with everything I ask and by the end of the day, looks tired but marginally happier.

Back home, I put Mrs Orange’s posy into water.  I’ll sneak it into Honey’s room later on, and leave it to work its magic. 

‘You work quite hard, don’t you?’  Honey sounds surprised.  ‘I didn’t realise…’

‘
Ha!’  I say triumphantly.  ‘No-one does, not until they try it themselves.  To quote one of your eligible dinner party guests, flowers are a sweet little job for a girl.’

‘Who
ever said that?’ she asks sharply.

‘Handsome, lovely Joe, who was completely up himself,’ I tell her.

‘You can’t say that, Frankie!  He’s the MD’s nephew.  Then she allows herself a giggle.  ‘I suppose he is, isn’t he…’

‘Anyway, your reward is a night out,’ I tell her and her face falls.

‘I don’t think so, but thanks all the same.’

‘Actually, you don’t have any say in the matter.  Call it therapy or whatever,’ I tell her.  ‘You’ve drunk all my booze, remember?  And Demelza’s is out of wine, if you don’t count that disgusting Spanish stuff
which I refuse to drink because it doubles as drain cleaner.  Get changed.’

I daren’t tell her we’re meeting Charlie and Nina, because that would really make her dig her heels in.  She doesn’t know either, that
after a hurried confab while she was in the shower, that the three of us are about to give her a makeover.  Which starts, as everything does, with a bottle or two of champagne.

‘So how was LA?’ 

Charlie’s tan is even more golden
than last time I saw her and there’s a sparkle in her eyes – with good reason, so it turns out.

‘
Hot!  In more ways than one, girls!  Guess what!  I met a guy!’

‘You’re always meeting guys,’ I remind her.  ‘She picks them up everywhere she goes,’ I explain to Honey
, who suddenly looks as though there’s a particularly nasty smell under her nose. 

Charlie
misses nothing and gives me a look.  ‘This is different,’ she insists.  ‘We talked and talked.  He’s even English, just working out there for a few months.  His name is Mark, he’s single – here..’  She whips out her iphone.  ‘This is him.’

She shows us a picture of a very nice, very ordinary looking guy with honest eyes and a warm smile.  ‘Cute, isn’t he?’

‘Very,’ I nod approvingly.

At the same time, Honey gets up.  ‘Look, I’m going.  Sorry – I’m just not feeling too great,’ she says
miserably.

Nina and I
simultaneously take one of her arms each and pull her back into her chair.

‘You’re staying,’ I tell her, topping up her glass
and thrusting it under her nose.  ‘Get this down you.’

‘It’s ok
, Honey,’ says Nina, who’s kinder than I am.  ‘You don’t have to tell us about it, but if you want to, that’s fine.  You never know, it might just help.’

Honey looks as though she’s
about to leap up again but then she slumps in her seat.  ‘If you really want to know, I’ve single-handedly destroyed my marriage.’  She stares at the table and when she looks up, her eyes glitter with tears.  ‘There.  Now – can I go?’

‘Poppycock,’ says Charlie.  ‘I’m sure he’s not entirely blameless… Let’s face it,
men never are.’ Which is extremely generous of her seeing as Honey’s never even given her the time of day.

‘Oh, you don’t know what I’m like,’ says Honey quietly.

Charlie raises one perfectly arched eyebrow, a gesture which doesn’t go unnoticed.  I glare at her.

‘All marriages have problems,’ says Nina
, donning her white coat and stethoscope – figuratively speaking.  ‘And not everyone’s as honest as you’re being.  If you and Johnny can get through this, you’ll end up far stronger for it.’

‘I don’t think there’s any hope of that,’ says Honey
sadly, the champagne loosening her tongue.  ‘I said some terrible things.  Really terrible…’  Her voice drops to a whisper.

‘And he didn’t?’ says Charlie.  ‘Come on… I bet he didn’t take it lying down…’

‘No…’ Honey brightens briefly.  ‘No, I suppose he didn’t…’

‘Well, at least while you’re working, you can keep your mind on something else,’ says Nina.  ‘It’s not a good idea to brood.’

‘But I can’t,’ says Honey pathetically.  ‘Work, I mean.  I can’t concentrate.  I’ve told my boss I’m ill.  I can hardly go in like this…’

‘She’s working with me,’ I say.  ‘Another pair of hands is always useful.’

Honey looks vaguely pleased.

‘
There’s just one little problem…’ I say, glancing at Charlie, then back at Honey.  ‘Only, you don’t really have any suitable clothes, Honey.  Everything is terribly smart and expensive and working with flowers is so messy…’

‘Oh…’  Honey looks nonplussed.

‘I’m going to All Hallows tomorrow,’ says Charlie casually.  ‘I need one or two things before I go away… Come with me, if you like…’

Honey
looks at her in horror, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

‘She’d love to,’ I say hastily.  ‘Wouldn’t you, Honey?
’  I turn to Charlie and wink.  ‘Really kind.’

‘I’ll meet you
both for lunch,’ says Nina.  ‘I’ve got a half day.’

‘
Fantastic!’ I tell Honey.  ‘That’s organised, then.’

She doesn’t look happy but for once
in her life, she doesn’t argue.