Tom, on the other hand, looked like he’d just walked off a catwalk. He fitted perfectly into his navy suit, which screamed designer, his pink tie complemented his shirt and his brogues were polished to within an inch of their life.
‘My name is Florrie.’
‘Florrie, derived from the Latin “florens”, which means“flourishing” or “blooming” and evokes the image of thriving flowers.’ He looked towards her jeans. ‘I’m guessing you like flowers.’
‘I do,’ she replied, smiling. ‘And you are very knowledgeable about Latin phrases.’
There was a glint in his eye. ‘Thanks, I still think the name “Red” suits you more.’
‘And you are?’ she asked.
‘Tom,’ he replied.
Of course, Florrie already knew everything about him.
* * *
She tried to push thoughts of Tom from her mind, determined not to let anything spoil the day. There was still an undercurrent of hurt and confusion in her feelings about him, small bouts of anger bubbling to the surface as she remembered how he’d made her promises only to immediately break them and smash her heart to smithereens in the process.
‘I beg to differ,’ she replied to Martha, knowing that was a little white lie, given that her heart was well and truly closed. She never wanted to feel that dull ache in the pit of her stomach again. It was why she’d kept every romantic prospect ever since at a distance.
‘I still can’t quite believe she’s gone,’ said Isla, giving Florrie a look that made it clear she was trying to change the subject. Once again, Florrie was grateful to have Isla as a friend, there to save her from further interrogation from her gran, Martha, by swerving the conversation into a different direction.
Another wave of emotion hit Florrie and her voice faltered when she spoke. ‘I can’t either. One minute she’s here, drinking port, telling tales of the past, the next she’s gone. Since the night she passed away, I keep wondering if maybe she knew her life was coming to its end and that’s why she got out all the old photographs.’
Dolores pointed to The Vintage Flower Van as they neared it. It had been part of the funeral cortege and was now parked outside the entrance of the church. Looking smart in his dark suit, Drew Allaway, Isla’s husband, was standing next to it.
‘How you doing?’ he asked Florrie gently.
‘Holding it together as best I can.’
‘It was a beautiful service and Ada will be missed.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Would you like me to tow The Vintage Flower Van back to the cottage?’ asked Drew. ‘Or would you prefer it outside the pub for the wake?’
‘I think back to the cottage; let’s put it back where it belongs. I’m going to place buckets full of flowers outside the van and anyone who is passing can help themselves to a free bunch in memory of Aunt Ada.’
‘That’s a lovely idea,’ said Isla supportively.
‘Thank you for taking time out this morning to help me with the van,’ Florrie said to Drew. ‘I know you have your work cut out up at the farm.’
‘Don’t be daft, you don’t need to thank me.’
Florrie looked towards Drew’s truck. ‘Do you mind if I come with you? I just want a breather before I go and join everyone else in the pub.’
‘Of course,’ he replied.
Dolores touched her arm. ‘We’ll see you over at the pub when you’re ready.’
‘Do you want me to come?’ asked Isla tentatively. ‘Or would you rather be on your own?’
‘The company would be good, even though I’m not sure the conversation will be up to much.’
Florrie, Isla and Drew watched Dolores and Martha cross the road, then the three of them climbed into the front of the truck. Drew began to drive back towards the village green and past The Old Bakehouse, the road before them covered in flowers. All of Ada’s friends had lined the streets for her final journey and as the sombre cortege had made its way through Heartcross the mourners had paid tribute by throwing flowers in front of and onto the hearse.
‘Look at all the flowers…’ Florrie’s voice faltered. ‘I’ve never seen so many people line the streets of the village. It felt like Aunt Ada was a celebrity.’
