The Little Shop on Floral Street: an emotional story of love, loss and family

By Jane Lacey-Crane

In the wake of tragedy, two sisters have to piece their family back together again...
Grace never thought she'd have to return home to Floral Street. Having spent most of her life building a successful career in London, she's done everything she possibly can to avoid the flower stall that's been in her family for generations. But when tragedy hits, she's got no choice. It's time to face the demons of the past and support her family.

Faith has returned home after years travelling the world. The baby of the family, she always struggled to find her place. She thought that her life would be different after a trip across the globe, but as she settles back into life in her childhood room she has to come to terms with the fact her life isn't quite what she expected. And she has no way of getting out of the rut she finds herself in.

Faith and Grace have never seen eye-to-eye, always clashing, never forgiving. But they might just find a way to understand one another, to fight their way through their grief and come out stronger. By opening up, they'll discover they aren't so different at all. And family will always be there for you.

Perfect for fans of Jodi Picoult, David Nicholls and Kerry Fisher.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Aug 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781788546034

Jane Lacey-Crane

Born in London, Jane's writing career began in cable TV, writing true crime documentaries. More recently, Jane has contributed to an anthology of short stories and written two weekly crime serials. When she's not writing, Jane loves to read good books, binge watch TV boxsets and drink tea. And wine.

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Also by Jane Lacey-Crane

Secrets and Tea at Rosie Lee’s

The City of Second Chances

THE LITTLE SHOP ON FLORAL STREET

Jane Lacey-Crane

AN IMPRINT OF HEAD OF ZEUS

www.ariafiction.com

First published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd

Copyright © Jane Lacey-Crane, 2020

The moral right of Jane Lacey-Crane to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 9781788546034

Cover design: Cherie Chapman

Aria

c/o Head of Zeus

First Floor East

5–8 Hardwick Street

London EC1R 4RG

www.ariafiction.com

Contents

Welcome Page

Copyright

Epigraph

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Six Months Later

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Become an Aria Addict

For Betty and Billy – I may have replaced fruit and vegetables with flowers, but Floral Street is all yours. I wish you could have seen it.

Prologue

‘Sorry for your los …’

The persistent drizzle, that had been falling all morning, had made the ink run, but Grace got the gist. She stared at the white card, edged in black, that had been tucked into the wreath. White roses and carnations sat tastefully in among the little white dots of the unopened wax-flower heads and evergreen foliage.

‘Sorry for your loss.’ What did it even mean? Grace hated that sentiment. Why are they lost? They’re not lost; they’re dead. Things get lost – your purse, your mobile phone, a bus ticket, sometimes maybe a dog or a cat, at a push. But the dead aren’t lost. They’re just … dead. You know exactly where they are. Either in an urn on your mantelpiece, being dusted at regular intervals, or they’re in a hole in the ground, just like the one Grace found herself standing at the edge of on that wet spring Tuesday morning.

‘This wasn’t the plan, was it?’ Grace leaned closer to the hole. She wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if she was expecting a reply. ‘We were supposed to have years left. What am I meant to do now?’

The drizzle sat lightly on top of Grace’s black wool jacket, like glitter. She brushed her sleeves, her fingers already numb from the damp, cold air. ‘You would have reminded me to bring an umbrella, wouldn’t you?’ She smiled to herself, aware that a few other mourners were watching her standing by the open grave and muttering to herself. ‘What am I ever going to do without you?’

One

Grace

‘Bloody typical! She swans off to God knows where and doesn’t come home for two years, but then toddles back once she’s out of cash and they welcome her with open arms. No questions asked. The little princess has returned!’ Grace watched her younger sister, Hope, take a mouthful of coffee. ‘Shit! That’s hot.’ Hope grabbed a napkin off the picnic table and dabbed at her mouth.

‘Serves you right,’ Grace laughed. ‘You sound like a bitter old woman.’

Grace and Hope were sitting in their favourite spot, outside a coffee hut, tucked away behind the Albert Memorial in Kensington Gardens. The glass-fronted cabin had no inside seating, but no matter the weather, Grace and Hope could be found there every few weeks, huddled at a picnic bench, catching up on each other’s latest news or gossip. On this day, the weather was on their side. It was surprisingly sunny for a Tuesday morning in early February; the kind of weather that tricked you into thinking that surely spring must be just around the corner.

Discussions on this particular morning had so far centred around Hope’s frustrations at the reappearance of their youngest sister, Faith; she’d been going on about the unfairness of it all for the last twenty minutes. Grace wrapped her hands around her cup and blew across the top of her coffee before taking a cautious sip. ‘Where else is Faith supposed to go? Most of her stuff is still in our old bedroom at Mum and Dad’s. It’s her home.’

Hope shrugged. ‘I guess. Have you spoken to her since she’s been back?’

‘Only a quick hello the other day. I rang to talk to Mum, and she picked up the phone. She sounded quite chirpy.’

‘Mum did mention that you called her. I have to say, I was a bit surprised.’

‘Just for a quick chat, don’t make a big deal out of it.’

Hope raised her hands in mock surrender. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘Yeah, right. Weren’t we talking about something else? Faith, at home, being chirpy.’

Hope snorted her disapproval. ‘I’d be chirpy too if I’d spent the last few years dossing about on a beach in Bali or God knows where, doing sod all.’ Hope took another sip of her coffee. ‘She’s been home for two weeks and Mum’s already running around after her. Doing her washing and ironing, picking up the trail of crap she leaves everywhere.’

Grace smiled. Faith had always been the untidiest of the three of them. Sharing a room with her had been a nightmare. Their cramped bedroom was a battleground; the arguments could range from who had dumped their wet towel on the other’s bed, to which one of them had left a half-eaten bowl of cornflakes under the wardrobe to fester. The answer to both of those questions was usually, ‘Faith!’

‘Did Faith mention Rob at all?’ asked Hope.

Grace rolled her eyes. Even after all this time, Rob – Faith’s teenage boyfriend, Hope’s current boyfriend – was obviously still a bit of a sore spot for both her younger sisters. ‘No, why would she?’ Grace asked. ‘That’s all ancient history.’

Hope looked uneasy. ‘I know but it’s weird to think that I’m dating my sister’s ex. It wasn’t so bad when she wasn’t around but – well – it might get a bit awkward now she’s back, don’t you think?’

Although Hope’s relationship with Rob was only a year old, it had been at least two decades in the making. The two of them had grown up together and Hope had always secretly fancied Rob, despite the fact that he’d seemed to be more interested in Faith.

‘Why would it be awkward? There wasn’t ever anything serious between them,’ said Grace.

‘I suppose. But—’

‘But nothing,’ said Grace. ‘Their so-called relationship was so on again/off again, poor old Rob never knew if he was coming or going. You and Rob are in a serious relationship now. You’re grown-ups.’

Hope wrinkled her nose. ‘I hate that phrase serious relationship. It makes me feel old and boring.’

‘Oh, do stop moaning.’ Grace shook her head. ‘You’re supposed to be cheering me up. If I wanted to listen to people whinging, I could go back to work.’

‘You’re right, it’s silly to worry. Tell me what’s going on with you. How’s the new promotion?’

‘It’s okay, I guess. Not quite how I imagined it would be.’

‘Are you still finding being the boss a bit tough?’

Grace nodded. ‘You have no idea. It’s all bloody paperwork and people bitching over rotas. I’m beginning to regret saying yes to the job, to be honest.’

‘It’s still early days.’

‘I know. I’m sure I’ll get used to it. I just miss the hands-on side of things. I used to love dealing with the customers, making bouquets, helping people choose flowers for their big day and all that. I even miss making those boring office reception arrangements.’

‘You hated doing those!’

Grace nodded. ‘I did, but even that’s more fun than chasing invoices and answering emails. I didn’t become a florist so I could file paperwork.’ Grace heard the whine in her voice and grimaced. ‘Sorry. That probably makes me sound ungrateful, doesn’t it? David said it does. He said I should be flattered Oliver gave me this opportunity.’

‘Flattered? You got the job because you’re bloody great at what you do, and Oliver Whyman Floral Design is lucky to have you. Besides, you know my feelings – you should have left and started your own business years ago.’

‘Hope,’ Grace murmured.

Hope flapped a hand, batting away Grace’s humility. ‘Alright, fine. I won’t say anything else.’ Hope leaned across the table and gave her big sister’s hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘Since you brought him up. How are things with you and David?’ she asked.

‘Alright,’ said Grace, not meeting her sister’s gaze.

‘Just alright?’

‘Why do you ask? Did Mum say something to you?’

Hope gave Grace a guilty smile. ‘She just mentioned that she was worried. Apparently, the last time she spoke to you, you said things weren’t going so well.’

Grace let out a heavy sigh. ‘And that’s one of the reasons that I hardly ever call her. That was ages ago. She caught me at a bad moment. Everything’s fine.’ The subject of her relationship with David was one she simply did not have the energy to discuss. Sensing Grace’s reluctance, Hope didn’t push it.

‘Well, if you say so. But you should call Mum and tell her that. You know what she’s like. In the absence of any real information, she’s likely to fill in the blanks and concoct her own little three-act play about what she thinks is going on.’

‘Is this your not-so-subtle way of telling me I don’t speak to Mum often enough?’ Grace took another mouthful of her coffee and waited; Hope obviously had things she wanted to get off her chest today.

‘I just think it would be nice if you kept in touch a bit more. If you won’t do it for Mum, then do it for me.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘It’s alright for you,’ Hope said. ‘Mum and Dad leave you alone. It’s me that gets the late-night phone calls from her worrying about whatever new disease she thinks she’s got, or from Dad complaining about something he’s read in the Daily Mail. Being the only dependable daughter can get a bit draining at times.’ Hope pulled her green tartan coat closer around herself, folding her arms across her body.

‘You know they only take liberties because you let them,’ said Grace. ‘You need to learn to stand up for yourself a bit more. Give them some boundaries.’

Hope snorted out a laugh. ‘Like you do, you mean?’ she said, the hint of a sarcastic smile hovering on her lips.

‘Maybe,’ said Grace. Hope raised an eyebrow. ‘What?’

‘You’ve never set any boundaries, you just buggered off. You moved out as soon as you were sixteen and left me to it! I don’t see how your way is better, to be honest.’

Leaning forward, Grace opened her mouth to argue but found she couldn’t. She sat back and picked up her cup.

‘Fair enough.’ Grace and Hope went back to sipping their coffee. Eventually Hope said, ‘Mum asks me if I’ve seen you, you know, every week.’

‘I know. I’m sorry you always seem to be stuck in the middle. I never meant for things to get like this.’

‘She’s not angry that you never seem to want to visit, just a bit sad. Regretful. I don’t think she really understands what created the distance between you. And you know she’s not the only one.’ Hope gave Grace an optimistic look.

‘Hope, please … let’s just leave it. This conversation never goes anywhere.’

‘I know. I suppose I’m just hoping that one day you’ll tell me what happened.’ Hope smiled. ‘I think I need one of those enormous chocolate muffins I saw up at the counter. Do you want anything?’ she said, suddenly.

Grace shook her head.

‘Fair enough. Sugar-induced coma for one then,’ said Hope, swinging her legs over the bench seat and standing up.

Grace watched her sister make her way over to the coffee hut, turning heads as she went. Hope was oblivious to the effect she had on people. At almost six-feet-tall, with a head of naturally bouncy red curls and enormous green eyes, she was striking to look at. But it wasn’t just her looks that drew people to her; she had a warmth and generosity that radiated from her. You couldn’t look at Hope and not want to smile. Growing up, her height and her hair had made her different from the other girls in her class, but rather than being uncomfortable and awkward about her differences, Hope embraced and exaggerated them. She wore the highest heels she could find and corrected her terrible eyesight with round, tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses. On anyone else they would have looked bizarre but Hope managed to carry it off. She loved hats and vintage clothes and matte red lipstick. Grace watched her say something to the barista, something that made him fling back his head and laugh uproariously. Typical Hope, thought Grace with a smile.

Two

Faith

Faith watched the bubble on the top of her mug of tea whirl around. She’d been staring at the cup for a while, lost in thought. How had this happened? When she’d packed up her suitcase and left in search of what she’d hoped would be a meaningful life, she’d been full of hope and plans for her future. She’d never envisioned that in two short years she would be back in her parents’ kitchen. And even worse than that, she was back sleeping in her old childhood bed, staring at the same brown patch on the ceiling and listening to the cranky old central heating.

‘Fuck my life,’ she whispered to herself.

‘What did you say, love?’

Faith turned to see her mother standing at the back door, trowel in one hand, her face almost completely obscured by the potted shrub she was holding in the other.

‘Nothing, just talking to myself.’

‘About how much you’d like to make your lovely mother one of those?’ Her mother inclined her chin towards the mug of hot tea on the side.

‘Oh … yes. Sorry, I didn’t think. I’ll make you one.’ Faith picked up the kettle, taking it over to the sink to fill. ‘How’s it going out there?’

‘It’s going to be a long job. The patio needs digging up and replacing, and the lawn is in a terrible state. You could come and help me, if you’re short of things to do.’ Maggie Watson eyed her youngest daughter hopefully. Since her sudden return from far flung beaches, Maggie noticed that Faith seemed lost, under her tan she seemed a paler version of herself. Maggie hadn’t managed to prise the whole story out of her yet, but she was working on it.

The idea of spending hours in the garden with her mother filled Faith with apprehension. She knew all too well her mum’s uncanny knack for getting to the heart of any issue given enough uninterrupted nattering time. Faith had never been able to keep a secret from her. As a child, it only took one pointed look or raised eyebrow from Maggie, and all Faith’s secrets would come tumbling out. Even secrets that weren’t hers to tell.

‘I was going to head out and see if I can find myself a job or something.’ Faith pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket and scrolled through it, just so she could avoid making eye contact.

‘You could always go and help your dad on the stall. I’m sure he’d be glad of the company.’

‘We’ve already been through this, Mum. Dad doesn’t need company and I need some cash. Dad made it clear that he couldn’t afford to pay me.’

What he’d actually said was, ‘Yer living in my house, rent-free. We’re feeding you and yer mother is doing your laundry. And you expect me to pay you a wage as well?’

‘I don’t think that’s unreasonable, Dad,’ Faith had replied, a little taken aback. ‘You can’t expect me to work for nothing.’

‘Why not? I did. I worked for me dad until I learned the business and then I took over when he retired. That’s when I started being able to take a wage for me self.’

‘I can’t do that. I need to be earning so I can … um …’ Faith hadn’t wanted to say ‘save up so I can escape sleeping in my old single bed which drives me loopy’, so instead she’d gone with ‘So I can buy stuff. Clothes and make-up and all that.’ Clothes and make-up? What was she, fifteen? Her dad had been furious, but Faith hadn’t backed down. In the end they’d agreed that perhaps working on the stall wasn’t a viable proposition. Faith had to admit to feeling slightly relieved; the floristry business didn’t really hold much interest for her. Having said that, as she stood in her parents’ kitchen right at that moment, she wasn’t exactly sure what did.

‘Well, this Aucuba japonica isn’t going to plant itself, is it? Don’t worry about the tea, love. I’ll make one for myself when I’m done. Will you be back in time for your dinner later? I’m making a shepherd’s pie.’

Faith smiled at her mum’s use of Latin plant names. It was something she’d always insisted on doing.

‘I might only be a fishmonger’s daughter from Canning Town, but at least I know my Acer palmatum from my elbow!’ she’d say, proudly.

‘Don’t worry about cooking for me, I’ll grab something later, if I’m hungry.’ Faith wasn’t used to having anyone worry about where she was and when she’d be back; it made her feel loved and irritated all at the same time.

‘I’ll just leave some on a plate for you then. Cover it with clingfilm. You can stick it in the microwave later, if you fancy it.’

Before Faith could argue, Maggie had trotted off down the path that led to the shed at the bottom of the garden. Faith walked to the window above the sink and watched her as she made her way along the cracked concrete, the leafy, potted shrub resting on her hip. Faith took in the familiar view of the back garden. The long straight path that led to the shed and the back gate beyond, the rusty orange swing that sat in the middle of the left-hand patch of scrubby lawn. Once the inimitable green-fingered wonder that was Maggie Watson got started, it would undoubtedly be transformed – look out Alan Titchmarsh! When her mum set her mind to something, she became laser-focused and determined. This wasn’t a quality that Faith felt she had inherited, which no doubt accounted for why she now found herself staring aimlessly out of her parents’ kitchen window, bemoaning the current state of her life. No job, no home of her own, no significant other – and seemingly no prospect of any of that changing any time soon. She’d returned from Bali just over two weeks ago, with a rucksack full of dirty laundry and an empty bank account. It was safe to say that things hadn’t quite gone according to plan. She’d started working straight out of school, with every intention of saving all the money she needed to start her adventures, but thriftiness had never really been her strong suit. Before she realised it, ten years had passed and the furthest she’d managed to get was a week-long booze fest in Ibiza with her mates. When her grandparents passed away within a few months of each other and left her and her sisters two thousand pounds each, Faith knew exactly what she was going to do with her inheritance. She bought herself a plane ticket, packed her bag and left to start her big adventure. She wanted to find a calling, something she was passionate about; as far as she could see, she was the only one of the sisters who hadn’t found her passion. Grace had her love of flowers, inherited from their dad and his dad before him, and Hope was a successful retail manager, with a nice car, her own flat and a boyfriend. Rob. For a long while he’d been Faith’s Rob. Now he was Hope’s. It had all been such a long time ago. Why am I thinking about him now? It wasn’t like it had been some great romance either. It was a casual thing; Faith hadn’t wanted to get serious. Not then. If she was being honest, Faith had always thought that Rob would be her back-up plan. If all else failed, he would be there to pick up the pieces. But Hope had come along and ruined that plan. Faith took a deep breath and moved away from her position at the sink. Stop daydreaming about might-have-beens, she chastised herself. Time to get your shit together, Faith.

Three

Grace

Grace pushed herself away from her desk and leaned back in her chair. She rubbed her eyes, feeling an almost overwhelming urge to keep them closed and drift off to sleep. When she heard her mobile phone ping underneath a pile of papers on her desk, it made her jump. She pushed the invoices aside and was greeted with a text message in shouty capitals, from Hope.

HANG IN THERE, BABY!

Grace opened the message and was treated to a picture of a fluffy kitten, hanging from the branch of a tree. It was the sort of thing that Hope loved to send because she knew how aggravating Grace found anything like that. Hope would seek out the most banal, pointless quotes she could and regularly bombard her big sister with them.

‘You look like you could use this.’

Grace put down her phone at the sound of her assistant’s voice in the doorway.

‘Oh Lucy, you’re a lifesaver.’ She smiled as the young woman placed a steaming mug on the desk, before sitting down opposite her. Grace took a grateful sip and then closed her eyes again.

‘That bad?’ Lucy asked.

‘Not bad. Just really, really boring.’

Lucy pulled the scrappy pile of papers towards her. ‘What is all this?’

‘Staff rotas for the next couple of months. I’m trying to make sure we have enough people in to cover all our commitments.’

‘Because of Gregg?’

‘Yes, because of Gregg,’ replied Grace, flatly. The sudden and acrimonious departure of Gregg, one of the most experienced members of the floral design team, still smarted a little. He’d been furious when Grace had been promoted, telling anyone who’d listen that she’d practically shagged her way into the job. When Grace had finally confronted him, he’d been unrepentant.

‘It’s obvious that you’ve been planning this from the beginning,’ he’d said to her. They’d been standing in the middle of the workroom, facing off over a pile of Grand Prix roses. ‘You’ve only been here for five minutes and you’ve gone from apprentice to manager.’ Gregg had raised a sardonic eyebrow and Grace had wanted to punch him.

‘I’ve been here for twelve years, Gregg. I’m sorry you’re not happy but we need to get past this so we can work together.’ Grace had decided to go for diplomacy over violence.

‘Work for you?’ Gregg had clearly been appalled at the thought. ‘I’m not taking orders from some jumped up market trader who’s gotten too big for her boots.’

He’d quit right there and then, leaving Grace still mentally wincing at his parting salvo. His insult had spoken to all her worst insecurities about herself. She might see her floral arrangements on the glossy pages of bridal magazines and hotel brochures, but deep down she still felt like an imposter.

‘Don’t worry, Grace, we’ll manage.’ Lucy’s voice brought Grace back to the present. ‘With you in charge, what could go wrong?’ Lucy grinned.

‘That’s very nice of you but I wish I had your kind of confidence. The Mayhew wedding is coming up on Saturday. Gregg was supposed to be in charge of all that.’ Grace picked up the order form and scanned the list of arrangements. ‘Bouquets, posy baskets, flower arch, banister dressings, table centres.’ She threw the paper down and dropped her forehead onto her desk with a groan.

‘Erm, don’t forget the four giant marble urns in the orangery and the eight-foot garland for the top table,’ said Lucy.

Grace raised her head. ‘Not helping.’

Lucy chuckled. ‘It’s going to be fine. Connie and Miranda have agreed to do some overtime to help out. Between us all, we’ll get it done.’ Lucy drained her cup and stood up. ‘Although not if we sit here pontificating.’

‘I’ll be down in a minute. I just need to chase a couple of invoices first,’ said Grace.

‘Take your time. We’re still waiting on that order of eucalyptus foliage from Brewers. Can’t do much without it.’

‘But that should have been here yesterday,’ exclaimed Grace.

Lucy shrugged. ‘Nope. No sign.’

‘Gregg placed that order almost two months ago, didn’t he?’ asked Grace.

‘Supposedly.’ Lucy watched Grace rifle through the paperwork on her desk. ‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ she said. Grace didn’t reply. She was too busy muttering something about Gregg being a useless twat.

*

‘He cancelled the order!’ Grace’s panicked voice rattled down the phone.

‘Don’t yell, Grace. You nearly bloody deafened me.’

‘Sorry. I’m just so angry. He deliberately cancelled the foliage order just so he could drop us all in it. We can’t do anything without that bloody eucalyptus. It’s in every arrangement.’

After Lucy had left her office, Grace had called Brewers, only to be told that Gregg had cancelled the order two weeks before. Right around the time he’d quit. Grace was furious but, she found, not wholly surprised; it appeared that the depths of his fury at being passed over for promotion knew no bounds.

‘I should have known he’d do something like this,’ said Grace. She was working a permanent groove into her office carpet with all her angry pacing. ‘What am I going to do?’

‘Okay, calm down. This place can’t be the only supplier. Can’t you go somewhere else? Or what about using some other plant? Does it have to be – what did you say it was?’

‘Eucalyptus,’ Grace wailed. ‘And yes, it has to be that. It’s a subtle nod to the groom’s Aussie heritage or something.’

‘Oh shit. Is there anywhere else you can try then?’

‘We need quite a bit. And we need it now. I don’t know if anyone would be able to help at such short notice.’ Grace gnawed at the inside of her mouth.

‘Stop chewing your lip,’ said Hope.

‘How did you …?’

‘I can hear it. You always do it when you’re stressed.’

‘Know-it-all,’ said Grace.

‘Look, you’re probably going to hate this idea but why don’t you ask Dad? He’s been in the flower business all his life, maybe he’s got some contacts or something.’

‘No. I’ll figure something out. I don’t need to bother him.’

‘I’m sure he’d love to help you.’

‘Love to remind me how crap I am, you mean.’

‘Oh Grace, he doesn’t think that.’

Grace knew her sister didn’t get it – and she also knew that she didn’t have the time to explain it all to her now. She had foliage to find.

‘Hope, I’ve got to go. I need to sort this mess out. I’ll call you later, alright?’

Hope said nothing.

‘I can practically hear you rolling your eyes at me, Hope. Just don’t.’

‘Now who’s the know-it-all?’ asked Hope.

Four

Grace

Grace stepped back to admire her handiwork. The grand hotel staircase was festooned with a garland of flowers and foliage that stretched the entire length of the polished mahogany banister. Roses, ranunculus and sweetly scented delphiniums, intertwined with that bloody silver-grey eucalyptus and eryngium, were tied to the handrail with bows of frothy vintage lace and dusky-pink velvet ribbons. It had taken some doing – two days of long hours and all hands on deck – but Grace had eventually managed to track down enough eucalyptus to get the job completed. And Grace had loved every stress-induced, coffee-fuelled minute of it. Being back in the workroom and working with piles of blooms and reels of ribbons, surrounded by the sweet scents of roses and delphiniums, she’d felt happier than she had in weeks. Her fingers were cracked and sore, stained green from stripping leaves and stems, her back ached and her feet