But as always, we find a way. When you have a vision, anything is possible – at least when it comes to flowers, that’s what I’ve always told myself. We run on adrenaline; there’s little time for sleep, but that can come after. On the Friday, we decorate the church with towering columns of foliage from Mary’s garden, filling the windowsills with candles and trailing ivy. There are few flowers in here, just a hundred shades of green, the air filled with the scent of pine and herbs, so that the end result is breath-taking.
After, when I go outside, I stand in the churchyard for a moment. A cool breeze touches my skin, and suddenly it’s as though I can feel your presence.
I love you, Mum. I’m sorry I make life so difficult for you.
A tear rolls down my cheek. I remember you saying that after that time the police brought you home. You’d got involved in a demonstration outside an abattoir. It started out as peaceful, then through no fault of your own had turned acrimonious. You came in exhausted, angry, frustrated with the way the police had handled it.
We have a right to stand up for what we believe in, you told me.
I tried to suggest that maybe there was a better way. I didn’t tell you how proud I was of you. How I admired your principles, the way you took a stand for those without a voice.
That I loved you. I will always love you.
The sound of the church door closing brings me back to the present. ‘Are you OK?’ Lucy says.
‘Yes. Just thinking.’ I force a smile. ‘It’ll be dark soon. We should get back.’ I glance up at the sky, through the finest layer of high cloud, making out the faintest outline of a crescent moon.
Then Saturday dawns. Today, as well as multiple boxes of foliage, there are a lot of flowers. But Elisa’s brief is simplicity and sustainability at every turn, and she leaves the details to us. At the venue, we soon forget about the film crew following us as we decorate columns and beams and doorways with swathes of cascading foliage. Cram windowsills and tables with vases of seasonal flowers. There are even some left over which Lucy arranges in a cluster of old glass milk-bottles.
When we reach Elisa’s hotel, there’s another film crew there, too. Her hair is in rollers, her stunning dress hanging on a door. When Lucy gives her the bouquet we’ve made, I know we’ve hit the brief from the look on her face.
‘You guys have been amazing,’ she says. ‘I’m going to tag you in all the social media posts. I’m hoping you’ll get tons of business.’
‘Thank you. But really, we’ve loved every minute.’ Lucy kisses her on the cheek.
‘Have the best day,’ I say to her, emotion welling up inside me. We’ll probably never see Elisa again, but it’s been a privilege to be part of a day that means so much.
We’re silent as we walk out to our van, our simple petals and butterflies logo caught in the sunlight. A fleeting memory comes back, of Lucy and I sketching early versions of it on the back of an old birthday card, falling about laughing at how bad they were.
Getting in, Lucy says, ‘I genuinely can’t believe it’s done.’
‘Me neither.’ Now that it’s over, it feels surreal. But big weddings are often like this – all-consuming, taking our lives over. We push ourselves to the last minutes, then after, don’t know what to do with ourselves.
Back at our old workshop, we start clearing up the debris. It’s strange to think this is the last wedding we’ll work on here.
‘The end of a chapter, isn’t it?’ Lucy reads my mind.
And it is. Another of life’s many and varied chapters drawing to a close. It’s been a good one in so many ways. But the new one is just as exciting.
A couple of days later, we clear up at the wedding venue, delivering what’s left of the flowers to a local hospice, as Elisa requested. After that, we turn our attention to the stable at Mary’s that’s soon to become our new workplace.
We’ve already made a start. But it’s no small task, clearing up decades of neglect. It’s a relief when the following Saturday, at Mary’s request, Joe arrives to help us.
He looks uncertainly at the stables. ‘Are you really sure you want this place?’
‘Absolutely,’ Lucy says briskly, surveying the years of dust and old hay, the brambles that have encroached through the windows. ‘There’s a dream of a workshop just waiting to be uncovered.’
‘Your grandmother loves the idea,’ I say to him.
‘I’m sure she does. I just don’t think she has a clue how much work is involved,’ he says wryly.
It isn’t long before Ollie turns up. The four of us work easily together, tirelessly, and by the end of the day, the bones of our new workshop are on full show in front of us.
I revel in this positivity that I find myself surrounded by. You would have loved it, Lexie. The simplicity of working with seasonal flowers, combined with bringing an old garden back to life. Of working in a building that held the history of the years. The kindness I find myself surrounded by.
In the evening, I leave Mary in the care of Joe and drive over for a talk I’m dreading with Ryan.
When he opens his front door, I take in his creased shirt and hair that needs a trim; the look that tells me he’s less than pleased to see me.
