Alice Brown's Lessons in the Curious Art of Dating (44 page)

‘They’re dogwood,’ Alice replied, her eyes beginning to shine. ‘Dogwood’s all about love and durability. It means
something along the lines of
love lasting the distance
. . .’ She faltered. Her face began to fill with colour, a soft hue of pink spreading across her cheeks as if in sympathy with the colourful blooms.

Suddenly she shot out of the front door, not bothering to stop and put on her coat. She sploshed along the path and rapped on the van’s window. The electric window wound down with a gentle hum.

‘But who are they from?’ Alice asked breathlessly.

‘Can’t say,’ the delivery man smiled. ‘Florist/client confidentiality.’

‘Well, why aren’t you moving?’ she demanded. ‘Don’t you have other deliveries to make?’

‘I’m under strict instructions.’

‘Instructions for what?’

‘A bouquet – for you – every thirty minutes.’

‘Every thirty minutes?’ Alice echoed incredulously. ‘How many bouquets have you got?’

He checked his sheet. ‘Seven.’

Alice’s mouth fell open. ‘All from the same person?’

The delivery man grinned knowingly.

‘Can’t you just give the rest to me now?’

He shook his head. ‘Strict instructions, remember?’

‘So, it’s a message from John, right?’ Ginny said slowly when Alice returned to the flat. ‘He’s sending you a love letter, isn’t he? A love letter through flowers.’

Alice nodded tightly, too dizzyingly intoxicated with the romance of it to speak. She knew she shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t let herself be excited, but she couldn’t stop herself.
A message through flowers . . . it was the most amazing thing she could ever have imagined. It was literally beyond her imagination.

Ginny exhaled noisily. ‘I’ve got to hand it to him; that’s seriously classy!’

Half an hour later, Alice rapped on the van window again, this time armed with a cheese sandwich and a mug of tea.

‘Here.’ She pushed them through the open window. ‘If you’re going to be out here for the long haul, I might as well make sure you’re fed and watered.’

‘Cheers!’ The delivery man grinned as he took Alice’s lunch and placed it on top of the dashboard. He checked his watch. ‘Right, well, I’d better sort you out with your next bouquet.’

He got out of the van and opened the back doors, carefully positioning them so Alice couldn’t see inside. And then with a flourish he pulled out a single sprig of mistletoe.

‘Easy!’ Ginny appeared magically at Alice’s elbow, her coat held over her head as a makeshift umbrella. ‘Even I know this one. He wants a snog!’

‘No, that’s not it,’ Alice’s voice was quiet and distant.

‘If you don’t mind me saying . . .’ the delivery man interjected with a smile. He was clearly enjoying the floral mystery that was unfolding, ‘. . . that’s just the idiot’s idea of mistletoe; too many Hollywood movies and Christmas cards . . . No, what mistletoe really means is . . .’

‘...
I surmount difficulties
,’ Alice finished softly, the rain falling around them.

The delivery man grinned and hopped back into his van.

‘So, he’s saying he’ll beat this; that he’ll get you both through it,’ Ginny surmised as the girls walked back into the flat and closed the front door behind them. She pointed at the first three bouquets, now arranged in vases and lined up in chronological order along the kitchen worktop. ‘First he said he was telling the truth. Then, that he was innocent. And then the third bunch said
Don’t give up
...’

‘...
have faith in me
,’ Alice interrupted, her voice filling with wonder. ‘
In us
.’ She looked at Ginny wildly. She felt like she was going to burst.

‘Boy, has he got your number!’ Ginny marvelled. ‘He couldn’t have thought of a more perfect way to get your attention!’

Half an hour later, the delivery man carried the next bouquet right into the kitchen, along with his empty mug and plate.

‘Talk about saying it with flowers!’ he grinned as he saw deliveries one to four lined up along the kitchen counter. ‘I wish all my clients were like this guy. This blows a dozen red roses out of the water any day!’

But Alice was focused only on the riotous cascade of tiny purple stars he was holding in his hands, her eyes devouring their petals, searching for their meaning.

‘I don’t know this one!’ she cried balefully.

‘They’re violets,’ the delivery man helped out.

‘Yes, yes! But what do they mean?’

‘Yeah, this one had me stumped too.’

Ginny pulled out her iPhone and quickly started tapping. A minute later they had their answer.

‘Another faith flower,’ she read out loud.

Alice gasped. ‘I remember now. Lovers who would be parted used to give them to each other as a pledge not to play the field.’

The room suddenly went quiet.

‘He’s saying he’s yours, Alice,’ Ginny said gently. ‘Yours, and only yours.’

Alice made a strange, muffled noise, and turned away.

‘I just need a moment,’ she said, her voice tight, and she quickly retreated to her bedroom. She had to get away from the flowers; had to remove herself from the lure of their intoxicating powers.

In the quiet gloom of her bedroom, she could hear the muffled sounds of Ginny talking to the delivery man, and the chink of china and spoons as she made him another cup of tea. She sat stiffly on her bed and tried to breathe deeply. She needed to focus. There’d already been five bouquets, which meant there were only two more to go. And they were only flowers. She could be tough; she could get through this. She could resist.

Two minutes later Ginny tapped on her bedroom door. Alice looked at her watch, and sure enough, half an hour had passed.

‘He’s just getting the next bunch,’ her friend called softly. Feeling a little delicate, Alice opened the door and came out. Ginny smiled at her encouragingly but she didn’t notice. She was too busy staring through the window, watching the delivery man delve in the back of the van before shuffling back up the path, his shoulders hunched against the rain.

‘Just this little fella here . . .’ he declared as he placed number six on the table.

The two women stared at it.

‘Are you sure this isn’t a mistake?’ Ginny asked incredulously. ‘This can’t be right.’

The delivery man grinned. ‘No mistake.’

‘But it’s a cactus! It’s just a spiky, stubby cactus! He’s not going to win anyone back with a cactus!’

‘You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover,’ the delivery man said leadingly. ‘The lady understands.’

All eyes turned to Alice.

‘It’s about survival,’ she said slowly, her own eyes not straying a millimetre from the cactus on the table. ‘It’s about living in a harsh world, and making it against the odds. Cactuses endure; they’re strong. They’ll be there come rain or shine, famine or drought.’

‘Wow!’ Ginny marvelled. ‘Just, wow!’

Alice turned to the delivery man stiffly.

‘I need to see the last one. No more half-hour intervals. I have to see it now.’

‘But what about John’s instructions?’ Ginny urged. But Alice was already out of the door and heading for the van, the delivery man trailing in her wake.

‘What’s next?’ she demanded wildly as she surveyed the load of technicolour blooms. The back of the van was a wall of petals and leaves and hues. ‘Which one’s mine?’

The seconds seemed an eternity as the delivery man fumbled in the back to find her last link. Alice didn’t notice the unrelenting rain, washing her cheeks with raindrops
and methodically flattening her hair. It was all she could do to stop herself from tearing the van apart to find her final floral message.

And then he straightened up and turned towards her, and she saw it.

‘A single red tulip!’ Ginny declared disparagingly. She too had ventured out into the rain, her nose wrinkled up in disappointment. ‘Shouldn’t that be a single red rose?’

‘No!’ Alice cried out aloud. ‘This is much, much better.’ She held the tulip to her chest and made a strange, choking sound.

Ginny looked at the delivery man for an explanation.

‘
Believe me, I love you
,’ he explained softly. He smiled and then added, ‘It’s the gardener’s way.’

Alice closed her eyes and tried to hold back the tears. She held her head to the rain-filled skies and breathed deeply. What was it that Emily had said?
Deep down – in your core – you know he’d never make a fool of you . . . He’s one of the good guys
. Of course he was! John wasn’t all the terrible things she’d been imagining. He was lovely and kind and upright and dignified. He wouldn’t take Sheryl’s money, or date her for a laugh. He was good and honest and faithful and true. It was so obvious to her now. But she’d walked out and left him at the restaurant, and ignored all his calls when he tried to explain. She hadn’t even paid him the courtesy of hearing him out, hadn’t given him the chance to say what he wanted to say. And now he’d said it the only way left to him, in a way that needed no words.

Alice pressed her free hand to her face. She couldn’t talk.
Everything was whirring around inside her so quickly she didn’t know which words would tumble out. She looked wildly from Ginny to the delivery man and back again.

‘I’ve got to go!’ she blurted, twisting away.

‘But I haven’t given you the letter!’ the delivery man protested. ‘My instructions were all the bouquets, then the letter. How else are you going to know where to find him?’ But Alice was already running up the middle of the puddle-strewn road, away from the van and the flat, and towards the centre of town.

‘I’ll lock up!’ Ginny shouted after her. ‘I’ll leave your key under the plant pot!’

But Alice was gone, her tulip still clutched to her chest and her cardigan already getting heavy with rain. She knew where he’d be. She didn’t need a letter to know exactly where he’d be waiting. She didn’t care that her shoes were sodden or that her hair was sticking damply to her cheeks; all she cared about was getting there faster than humanly possible.

As she ran the landscape got busier around her. Soon the roads were too clogged with traffic, so she ran on the pavements. She went faster and faster, dodging the city’s commuters and weaving between bag-laden shoppers. She had to get to John. She had to feel him take her in his arms and kiss her.

Finally she reached the coffee shop. As she breathlessly reached to push open the heavy glass door she caught sight of him and stopped in her tracks. He saw her too. He left his coffee steaming on the table and came straight out.

‘Thanks for coming. I didn’t know if you would,’ he said stiffly, almost formally, as they stood together on the pavement. He stood very close and for a moment Alice thought he was about to touch her. She felt herself go dizzy; she could barely breathe from all the running and the new, sudden proximity to him. It felt so good to stand next to him again. Her whole body ached for him to reach forward and touch her.

‘I’ve been here for hours,’ he said softly. ‘I wasn’t sure if the florist would stick to the schedule, and I couldn’t risk you turning up early and me missing you.’

Imperceptibly they inched still closer together, as if drawn by magnets. ‘This is where he kisses me,’ Alice thought to herself. ‘This is where he takes me in his arms and makes everything all right.’ And she lifted her head in anticipation.

And then she saw it.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. Her eyes fixed on his chest. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before; John was wearing a dinner jacket.

‘I’m working tonight,’ he explained grimly.

‘Oh!’ Alice’s face fell. She took a step back. What on earth was she doing here? What was she thinking? She’d let herself be blinded by hope and romance and flowers. Nothing had changed; not really. A shirt and jacket had told her more than all those clever bouquets . . . John had another, more important date tonight.

‘Alice,
please
.’ He saw the change in her face. ‘I need you to see something. It’s just a few streets away. You’ve come this far; please don’t turn back now.’

Alice was too confused to argue. But as she walked numbly beside him, she was achingly aware of the few centimetres of air that separated them. Now that she was with him, could see him, could
feel
his presence – did the other women
actually
matter? At that precise moment, she wasn’t sure she even cared about them any more. The only thing she knew for certain was how much she yearned,
hungered
, for John to touch her. Why hadn’t he hugged her? Why wasn’t he holding her hand? He’d gone to all that trouble to get her here, but he hadn’t even tried to kiss her. Did he even want her at all?

The rain had stopped now, and John strode along the glistening street looking strangely exotic as he cut through the sea of commuters in his dinner jacket. Miserably, Alice watched women glance at him as he passed by. She remembered her red face and wet hair with shame. She was no match for John. She wasn’t even in the same league.

Suddenly he stopped.

‘This is it,’ he said, pressing a brass bell next to a black door. Alice peered at the plaque. It said
G. Ashby Appointments
.

‘Where are we going?’

‘There’s someone I want you to meet. My agent.’

Alice’s mouth fell open and she was about to protest when a woman’s voice crackled over the intercom, ‘Come on up, John!’ and the door swung open. John held it for her. Alice hesitated.

‘At least hear what I have to say.’ His blue eyes caught hers imploringly.

Powerless she stepped inside. What was she doing? she
asked herself, her heart thumping as she climbed the thickly carpeted staircase. She didn’t want to meet his agent! What if Ginny
wasn’t
right? What if he
was
a rent boy? ‘Agent’ would be code for ‘pimp’? She wasn’t ready for this; she wasn’t prepared.

‘Keep going,’ he said. ‘It’s the top floor.’

Alice began to panic. She shouldn’t be here. She was a nice girl – a gardener. Gardeners didn’t meet pimps. And what, exactly, would be waiting for her at the top of the stairs? A room full of flashing neon signs and scantily clad women? Men with gold teeth and racks of rubber masks? Although she couldn’t help but notice that the pile of the navy-blue carpet was luxuriously thick and the stairway walls were panelled in a dark, rich-looking wood. It wasn’t quite how she’d have imagined the entrance to a pimp’s lair. She’d seen the movies; weren’t they supposed to be crack dens?