For a while, you had time for friends in your life. People you met at the animal shelter, boyfriends who never lasted. You had time for fun, too, never more so than the following year, when we went on holiday together – you, Ollie and me. We rented a cottage in Cornwall for a late-June week – a brief lull after the spring weddings were over, before the madness of summer started.
We arrived to steel grey skies and an Atlantic storm rolling in. Standing on the terrace, the force of it was hypnotic, as though I could feel its power as I watched it rage over us. Our cottage was cosy and had a wood burner. Lighting it, we spent the first evening playing board games you’d found in a cupboard under the stairs.
Overnight, the storm passed, and the next morning, there were waves. So began our fish-and-chip week of sandy wetsuits and cold salt water, a sea breeze. The clearest skies you’d ever seen. As you learned to surf, I watched the ocean work a kind of magic on you both, as for a few precious days, any cares you had were a world away.
I briefly thought back to our last holiday, in France when, for a while, Ryan was sober; then of what all of us had been through since, how ultimately it had brought us to this point. My heart burst to see you so happy. But at what cost to you? When I watched you both, I couldn’t tell.
I threw myself into the joy of that week. The morning you surfed before breakfast. Then after, we sat on the beach and watched the sun rise. The night we set up an old telescope Ollie found in the cottage, took turns to gaze into the infinite depths of the sky; lay back on damp grass and counted myriad stars.
Those star-gazing nights were the start of a passion for Ollie that would come to dominate birthday and Christmas presents for years to come. A passion that was so all-encompassing, I sensed that even without the holiday he was destined to find it.
Back then, there were many things we didn’t know. As we made up for lost time, we simply filled our hearts, assuaged the ache the three of us shared for life and laughter. Love.
‘We can do this again,’ I told you both the night before we left. ‘Life is different now.’ In a week, your hair had turned a salty shade of blonde, and Ollie’s skin was honey brown. We felt different, too, as though this place, the sea, was helping to heal us.
I imagined us leaving the past here, laying it on the sand, three lumpy shadows side by side, watching as the tide encroached and washed over them as they melted away under the waves.
If only it could have been that simple. If a holiday, a safe home, could have unshackled you both from the past. On the surface, we were different. But I was unaware that there were many, invisible elements of our lives that went deeper, that were going to be far harder to change.
After we got back, in no time, wedding season was in full swing as Lucy and I increasingly struggled to fulfil our demand for flowers that suited our ethos.
‘There aren’t enough suppliers local to us – and my garden is too small. We need to grow more of our own flowers.’ We just needed to find the right place.
‘Do we have time?’ Lucy said. ‘We’re already busy.’
‘We should keep it in mind,’ I said. ‘If the right place comes up, we should definitely think about it.’
For a while, I thought no more of it. Lucy was right: life was busy enough, getting you and Ollie off to school and sixth form college, tending the garden I already had.
Until a Friday morning when Lucy and I were working on some wedding flowers. The door to the workshop opened and a woman walked in. She was beautifully dressed in pale blue, and I guessed her to be in her late seventies. Taking her time, she perused the buckets of flowers, before picking out a bouquet.
‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe I haven’t been here before. I must say, it really is rather lovely.’ Up close, her eyes were a piercing pale blue, as I realised she was probably older than I’d thought. ‘May I have these?’ She placed the bouquet on the workbench, then studied the flower arrangements we were working on.
‘They’re for a wedding,’ Lucy said. ‘We mostly try to source local, seasonal flowers, the problem being there just aren’t enough of them.’
‘It makes such a difference.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘Have you thought about growing your own?’
‘I grow some of them at home. But really, we need a bigger space,’ I said.
A small smile played on her lips. ‘In that case, I think I might be able to help you.’ She paid for her bouquet. ‘Leave it with me for a few days. I’ll be in touch.’
As she left, I frowned at Lucy. ‘Do you think she was serious?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘I haven’t a clue. But I’m guessing if she comes back, we’ll find out.’
It wasn’t until the following week when the woman came back. Mary, as she told us her name was, invited us to visit her at home.
‘I have this rather lovely old garden,’ she said. ‘No one uses it any more – and it’s far too much for me to look after. But if you don’t mind it being rather neglected…’ She paused. ‘You’re welcome to come and take a look.’
I had to admit to having misgivings about the amount of work we’d be taking on. But the following Monday afternoon, Lucy and I went over to Mary’s house. It was a short drive from our workshop and when we pulled up outside, the pair of us were awestruck.
‘I wasn’t expecting this.’ Lucy stared at the lovely old house. ‘Look at the roses.’ The exposed stone exterior was festooned with pale pink blooms.
‘Come on.’ Getting out, I walked towards the front door, struck by the sense of peace I could feel.
Clearly watching out for us, Mary opened the door before we reached it. ‘Welcome,’ she said. ‘How nice to see you both.’ Her eyes were sparkling.
‘This is gorgeous, Mary,’ I said. ‘Those roses are stunning.’
