Written in the Stars (20 page)

She places a hand on my arm. ‘You know, pet, if it helps at all, I don’t think that the decisions you make necessarily close the door on a different future. I think that all paths lead to the same place in the end . . .’

I want to believe her, I do. But Dad leaving and my summer with Kieran taught me that a single choice
can
change the course of someone’s life forever. I give Glenda a kiss on the cheek in thanks and then I throw my bag over my shoulder and hurry towards the glass doors, suddenly feeling like I have a lot to think about.

Chapter 28

I’m lying in the hammock sipping wine and gazing at the city’s constellation of lights, breathing in fragrant lavender as the balmy night air wraps me in its warmth. I’ve come up to our roof garden to think about what happened today. It’s a place that always soothes me, helps me to get things in perspective. I wriggle up into a sitting position and look at my watch. Where’s Adam? When he called at just gone 7 p.m. he said he was leaving the office and it’s past 9 p.m. now. I know enough about Adam’s industry to be sure that his delay is just due to some sort of account crisis. There’s been a lot of them since he became Group Managing Director. My fears that this new promotion would mean less time for us together were not an exaggeration. I can’t remember the last time he was home before 10 p.m. Weekends are now a blur of pitch meetings, Skypes to New York, occasional walks to get some fresh air before he has to write another presentation, or check in on yet more creative work. I’ve been trying to keep myself busy too – but my job is very much Monday to Friday, and Milly only has time for her move to New York these days. I realise my non-work life has always revolved entirely around Adam. I don’t have any outside interests. I could go home to Norfolk, but the prospect of being there without him makes me feel anxious, like I could slip back into a bad place. I need Adam, probably more than is entirely healthy.

I feel Adam’s presence before I see him, then he drops a kiss on my bare shoulder. I get the familiar buzz of electricity when he touches me and my brief annoyance melts away. His fingers brush the light material of the expensive new dress I bought with my new improved salary. I changed into it when I got home from work to remind myself of who I am and the life I have chosen.

‘Are you OK?’ Adam asks as we snuggle up on the couch in our lounge where we’ve retreated to after our (cold) dinner – and with a second bottle of wine. Candles are lit, soft music is playing and the grey blinds are open. Outside, the city seems to be pulsating with life; in here everything is . . . not flatlining . . . but it is ordered. Safe. Just how I like it, I tell myself. I nod, feeling satisfied, content, calm.

‘Have you had a good day?’ he says. ‘I feel terrible that I haven’t even asked.’ We’ve spent the last hour or so talking about Adam’s problems at work. He’s told me how stressed he is because of the pressure his dad is putting on him. He said he’s leaving on Sunday to go to New York for at least a week. ‘The same day as Milly and Jay?’ I’d replied, feeling my heart sink, and he’d nodded.

‘It’s a complete coincidence but I think we might even be on the same flight . . .’ I forced myself not to panic, not to feel abandoned, like I’m being left – again – by the people I love. Adam’s going to be staying in an apartment the agency has rented. He told me there is going to be a lot of toing and froing over the next few months but that he’d do his best to be with me as often as he could.

‘I know it’s not ideal,’ he said apologetically. ‘We should be spending as much time as we can together in our first year of marriage, but it won’t be forever. And just think, with my pay rise we’ll soon be able to afford to buy a house, maybe think about starting a family . . .’

‘So what’s been happening at work,’ he says now. ‘Any interesting contracts come up?’

‘Oh you know,’ I say, lifting my face up to his, ‘same old same old.’

‘Didn’t you have a meeting with, you know . . . what’s his name . . . the garden design guy?’

I nod, trying and failing to summon up a smile. ‘James Fischer. Yep, I sent him a list of candidates and he’s looking over them this weekend. So, you know – yay! Another bit of commission for me next week!’ I raise my glass and take a long slug. Adam is looking at me strangely when I put my glass down. ‘What?’ I ask slightly defensively.

‘Oh, I just thought, you know, you might be tempted to go for it yourself?’ he says.

‘Nope,’ I reply briskly.

‘Not even a bit?’ Adam tilts his head and half smiles. ‘Not one tiny little piece of you thought: I should consider talking to Nick about putting myself forward for it?’

I pick up my glass again and try not to respond too tetchily. ‘No, what I
actually
thought was: I
would
have put myself forward for it . . . if I hadn’t already decided to commit to Eagle’s and make a proper career for myself.’ I take another swig and look at Adam challengingly. ‘Which I have, so . . .’

‘But Nick is your friend and would understand that this is something you can’t walk away from!’

I explain to him. ‘I made a
decision
, Ad. Going back on my word would be like . . . it’d be like . . . retracting my wedding vows. You know: Oh sorry, Ad, here’s your ring back, I’m afraid something better has come along!’

He shakes his head firmly. ‘It wouldn’t, Bea. It would be grabbing the chance you deserve. Opportunities like this don’t come along every day – and they happen for a reason.’ He takes my hand and squeezes it. ‘To good people.’

I look at him longingly. I want to believe him so badly, but . . .

‘If he hasn’t already made a decision, change your mind. Talk to Nick. Arrange another meeting. Tell him how perfect you are for the job. Don’t run away from this opportunity.’

I stare at Adam and can feel myself filling with not just resolve, but confidence. Adam always does this for me. His faith in me makes me feel able to do anything.

‘You really think I can do it?’

He nods. ‘I think you’re
meant
to do it.’

August

Dear Bea

August is a time of transition. It provides the link between the secure days of summer and the onset of unpredictable autumn. Temperatures often remain high and inevitably some plants (and people) will show signs of stress. Often this is nothing that a holiday can’t cure. But sometimes more drastic moves are required to ensure plants flourish.

No matter where I may be in the world and what beauty lies before me, I know I will always think of the majestic sight of the Norfolk coastline at this time of year. I’ll only have to close my eyes to picture the purple halo of sea aster and lavender surrounding Holkham Bay, the spiky patches of shrubby sea-blite so characteristic of our coastline, and the bright yellow horned poppies, scarlet pimpernel and sea campion in full bloom. Norfolk will always be my home. And I will never forget it . . . or you.

Love, Dad x

Chapter 29

Bea Bishop is all over the shop!

‘How are you getting on with those bouquets?’ Sal calls from the shop front where she’s getting all the buckets and displays ready for opening. I’m surrounded by stems, busily beribboning the last of the bouquets that are due to be delivered this morning.

‘Just got one more to do!’ I call.

It’s amazing how I’ve settled into the swing of my new job. Sal has quickly given me more responsibility and I often arrive at the crack of dawn to receive and unpack nursery deliveries which then have to be conditioned, watered and arranged – or put in the refrigerator at the back of the shop. I print out the online orders that have come in overnight, jotting them down on our white board along with ideas to update floral plans and notes on any big events we’re providing flowers for. Several corporate events companies in the area use us – as well as a local design company we have a close relationship with, not to mention catering companies and wedding planners who recommend our bridal bouquets and displays. So we’re always busy, even when there are no customers in the shop.

I continue cutting back some yellow irises and thinking that, with her bright, bleached blonde hair and friendly, driven personality Sal’s very much like this flower that symbolises passion. She loves her job and is brilliant at it. She attacks every single chore like she attacks the prospect of single motherhood, bravely and confidently and decisively. I think of Dad and how he used to explain to me in detail each flower, plant and shrub that grew in the garden, giving each one a story and a personality – and I remember my hunger to learn as much about them as possible. It’s probably why I’ve always compared flowers to people. It’s ironic that the only person I can’t compare one to is Dad. Apart from the diary he’s a stranger to me now. But I feel closer to him, doing this job, than I have for years. In unlocking my passion for plants and flowers after years of trying to do an office job, I’ve unlocked my memories of him too. It’s starting to feel like fate that I found his diary and then this job.

I place my final bouquet carefully in a bucket of water and take my tea gratefully from Sal, who’s on the phone to her dad. I stare at her for a moment as she tells him all her news. Maybe I find myself thinking of my dad more because Sal’s is so present in her life. He rings her every day, no matter where he is. Sal said that he’s been her rock ever since her mum died when she was fourteen. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for her. I mean, Dad leaving was tough but I was young and I had time to get used to it before I hit my teens. Plus, I always had someone to blame. Myself, mostly, Loni sometimes and, very occasionally, Dad too. But who can you blame when someone dies? I clutch the counter, feeling my legs weaken as an image of Kieran walking away from me, pushing his way through hospital doors and then disappearing into the black, black night, comes into my mind. I can’t stop it, just like I couldn’t stop his brother Elliot from jumping – or drowning.

The doorbell tinkles and I wipe my eyes on my pink apron and try to compose myself.

‘Sal?’ I call out, hoping that she can go. But she doesn’t answer. I take three deep breaths before walking out into the shop with a welcoming smile on my face.

I let the customer browse the buckets and displays for a minute but I can tell he has no idea what he’s looking for.

‘Can I help?’ I say in a warm voice and he turns and looks at me. I’d say he’s in his early forties. He’s tall and has that air of importance, of someone used to being in charge. I reckon he works in the City – he looks like someone Milly might work with. His watch is expensive and his suit looks it too. His face is drawn – maybe from tiredness, or misery, or both. His shoulders are steeply sloped and he looks thinner than he should. This is definitely a man under quite a lot of stress.

‘It’s my wife’s birthday tomorrow and I – I need to come up with something pretty special. It’s – it’s not been a very good year for us.’

I nod. On my first day Sal told me all about the art of listening to customers. ‘We’re not just dealing with bouquets,’ she’d explained. ‘We’re dealing with love and grief and thanks and joy and guilt.’ Then she’d added, ‘Remember, it’s always easy to spot a man who’s in trouble. The trick is to work out how much he’s in and what you need to do to get him out of it.’

‘I understand,’ I say soothingly now. By the look of the man I’m fairly sure he’s got something pretty big to apologise for. But I can’t judge him. I have to remain neutral, friendly. ‘Flowers are the perfect way to express emotion—’ I put my hand over my mouth as he bursts into tears. ‘Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, did I – did I say something wrong?’

He rubs his eyes and shakes his head. ‘No, no, it’s not that, it’s just that’s exactly what I want to be able to say to her but I can’t. Ever since we got her diagnosis, she won’t let me tell her how much I love her, or let me care for her. She’s just carrying on like everything’s normal and I can’t deal with it!’ I glance anxiously at Sal who has peered out from the back. I can’t believe I got this poor guy so wrong. I presumed he’d had an affair or something when he’s actually just trying to care for his sick wife. I feel terrible.

I gently lead him by the arm to our consultation area, sit him down and prepare to listen.

‘So why don’t you start by telling me everything you feel about your wife,’ I say softly. ‘And together we’ll find the right flowers . . .’

Chapter 30

At 7.30 p.m. I walk into Quo Vadis and head up to the elegant, art deco-style private room that’s been booked for Milly and Jay’s leaving party.

I hover by the doorway for a moment now, feeling overwhelmed by the throbbing mass of people here and wishing that Adam was by my side. I’ve never liked big crowds and never more so than now. Tonight I have to face up to the people I haven’t seen since the wedding, Adam’s colleagues who will all be here for Jay, friends of Milly’s. Mutual friends of Adam and Jay’s. Possibly George. After all, Adam’s dad is known to never say no to a work night out.

I’m not going to feel sorry for myself though. Not after my humbling experience at work today. After all, who am I to wallow in my own mistakes when there are people in this world dealing with problems that they have no control over? Grief, illness, break-ups . . . Fleetingly, I wonder what Adam’s doing right now. I still can’t believe he’s taken a sabbatical from Hudson & Grey. It seems so out of character. Milly told me that he’s doing a road trip across America, taking time out to work out what he wants from life now the future he’d imagined has changed so drastically. I think of her and Jay’s move to New York; it looks like things have changed for all of us.

I take a deep breath, think of Loni and try to channel some calming, yogic energy. But it doesn’t help. I’m dreading this party and much as I would prefer to be anywhere but here, at the same time, I wouldn’t miss Milly’s leaving party for the world. She’s my best friend and I’m doing this to support her. For once in my life I’m not taking the coward’s way out.