Sighing, I looked at you both. ‘Let’s forget about Daddy for a moment. I want to think about you two.’ I paused. ‘You’re the most important people in the world to me – and I want you to know. If you’re ever unhappy, whatever the reason, you must never, ever forget, I’ll always be here for you.’
I meant every word. I wanted to be the person you came to, someone you could rely on – no matter what was going on with Ryan. Only later did I realise it could never have been that simple. But when it came to Ryan, I failed to see what you saw.
8
NOW
Dear Lexie,
It’s true, isn’t it? That we never really know what someone else is thinking? That said, I know your thoughts about weddings! Well, you were never going to keep them to yourself. But I’m not sure you know that although it was hard work, flowers were a respite for me. Especially growing them. Mary’s garden was a part of my life that Ryan stayed away from. I think you felt that, too. It was where I felt most free, most connected to nature as I planted, then months later, cut the flowers we’d grown.
I’ve always found flowers therapeutic, some days more than others. This morning, as we work on a wedding, each flower as I look at it seems to me a piece of artistry, each petal delicately exquisite, each leaf a thing of beauty. As I put them together, I weave in a wish that’s heartfelt, that this marriage will be a happy one.
It’s one of the perks of our job that we are privy to the region’s most beautiful, historic places. This wedding is no exception, in the grounds of a sprawling country estate. Some of our work has to be set up the day before, and this afternoon, Lucy and I make a start with the ancient chapel, decorating it with hundreds of candles and trails of white roses, their softness contrasting with the stone.
Moving onto the marquee, inside it we create what looks like the wildest, most beautiful garden of cascading leaves and artfully tumbling flowers. Though I say it myself, it’s a triumph.
‘What’s happened to us?’ Lucy stares at it all in amazement. ‘I mean, did we actually do this?’
Standing beside her, I feel a flicker of pride. ‘It’s our best yet, isn’t it?’
I find rare moments of joy in days like these. They last until I remember. This evening, I’m tired, but instead of going home, I walk to the beach. The tide is reaching its high point and, sitting on the shingle, I turn my face towards the sunset.
In the past, I was always too busy, my days taken up with being a mother and a wife. But I am no longer answerable to anyone else. Looking out to sea, I gaze at the horizon, fantasising for a moment about leaving here, going somewhere far away. Having an adventure – how about that, Lexie?
But right now, it isn’t the time. Ollie and Jenna’s baby will be here soon. And as I’ve said to you before, my life is here. You know better than I do how it feels to be far away; your desire to travel is about more than seeing the world. It was about learning how other people lived, experiencing other cultures. But as you also know, however much you might want to leave them behind, some things you can’t help but carry with you.
As I sit here, I remember a conversation we once had. You were trying to explain how overwhelmed you felt; how you had nowhere to go with the feelings you battled.
I feel weighed down, Mum. I keep seeing what is wrong in the world. And nothing changes. I know a lot of people don’t want it to! And I know why – there’s safety in familiarity. But that’s part of the problem! It drives me crazy that more people can’t see that!
At the time I wrote it off as teenage angst. Our thoughts and feelings can be weighty things. And I was too preoccupied with everything else that was going on to feel the pain of those causes that haunted you.
Then you’d pick up a message from a friend, smiling as you read it, your angst forgotten for a while, balanced by happiness. Your mind constantly asking questions; searching for answers. But you also knew how to look for the good in life.
There are so many things we don’t have the power to change. But I got to thinking that, in our own small way, we have choices. Whatever’s going on, we can choose to look at the beauty around us. Allow ourselves to feel those fleeting moments of joy.
I loved that you could do that – and that’s what I do now. Sitting on the shingle, I breathe in the salty air and watch the sea in constant motion, the multiple shades of green in the waves, the blinding white of the breaking water. Then I turn my eyes to the sky.
It’s 4 a.m., still dark, when Lucy and I start work on Saturday morning.
‘I’ve made very strong coffee. We’re going to need it.’ She pours me a mug. ‘You’re doing buttonholes and I’m doing bouquets, right?’
‘Sounds good to me.’ I take the mug she passes me, then begin the painstaking task of wiring individual flower heads and leaves, twisting the finest strands of foliage amongst them before taping them all invisibly. They’re the smallest of finishing touches, each one put together with care.
These early mornings are a time of day I’ve come to love and I’ve left the door to our workshop open, so that now and then I glance towards it, watching the sky lighten from pitch black to midnight blue before it takes on an opalescent hue, listening as the dawn chorus starts.
Counting the completed buttonholes, twice – just to make sure – I arrange them in a display box. ‘Remember that wedding they added an extra bridesmaid at the last minute and forgot to tell us?’ I remind Lucy. ‘We didn’t find out until we delivered the bridal flowers – we thought it was us who’d got it wrong.’
‘I will never forget,’ Lucy says fervently. ‘Worst nightmare ever. Hold this, will you?’ She passes me one of the bridesmaids’ bouquets and I take it, watching her tie it with trails of pale ribbon, a glorious confection of pastel blooms, the flowers exuding life, happiness even, if it’s possible for flowers to do that.
It contrasts with the pang I feel as I think of you again. For some reason, you are at the forefront of my mind today.
Why do you think it is that some people never seem to find happiness? Or do you think they’re chasing something that doesn’t exist?
I remember the day you said that, a Sunday in late spring; after a roast lunch at Ollie and Jenna’s, you and I had gone for a walk. The trees were covered in bright green leaves, the air alive with birdsong. I remember thinking you were talking about Ryan; made some glib comment about happiness being overrated. But happiness isn’t. And I know, now, it wasn’t Ryan you were talking about.
‘It’s a bit early to deliver the bouquets,’ Lucy says. Then, realising what she’s said, she frowns disbelievingly. ‘Has either of us ever said that before? Too early?’ she repeats. ‘I mean, normally we’re rushed off our feet to the very last minute – especially after all the work we’ve had to do.’
