‘It would be for a fortnight, definitely no longer than that,’ Lily said. ‘I know it’s short notice, Gordy, but do you think you can cover things here? It’s a slow time of year.’
‘Life is never slow at Beautiful Blooms, you know that, Lily!’
‘Slower, then. We’ve nearly sold out of bulbs, the perennials are away for the winter, I’ve finished the fruit trees and the footfall is way down already. It won’t get busy again until we’ve got all the Christmas stuff out next month.’
‘I’m teasing you.’ Gordon grinned. ‘Of course, you can go!’
Lily stood up and threw her arms around him. ‘Thanks. You’re a star.’
‘Although it doesn’t sound like much of a holiday for you. Is she seriously expecting you’ll make it as far as Scotland?’
Lily shrugged and sat back down at the small table in the office. ‘God knows. I’m intending to try to talk her out of it, but “determined” is her middle name.’
Gordon shook his head slowly. ‘You’re a very dutiful daughter to do this,’ he said. ‘It might not be the easiest of trips.’
‘I know,’ said Lily. ‘But it’s important to her.’
She had worked alongside Gordon for nearly thirteen years now, and couldn’t ask for a better boss, even though they’d got off to a rocky start when she joined Beautiful Blooms. Two weeks after she began work, he had made a half-hearted pass at her one morning while they were outside weeding the planters. Afterwards, they awkwardly tried to avoid each other – which wasn’t easy because, although the garden centre covered a three-acre site, it was uncanny how frequently the two of them found themselves walking towards each other down the same section of path, or bumping into each other as they rounded a corner in the warehouse. The office where the nine members of staff took their breaks was only just large enough to swing a potted azalea. Lily was so terrified at the prospect of bumping into Gordon there that the following day she ate her lunchtime sandwich behind the wicker fencing in the potting area. She was devastated; so far, she had loved working at this place and, until this had happened, she and Gordon had been getting on so well. She lay awake that night, wondering if she might have unintentionally led him on. She hadn’t meant to; they’d been sharing stories about themselves, making jokes at the expense of some of the ruder customers. But, always the first to doubt herself, Lily worried she’d been a little too friendly, a little too familiar. The following morning, she mentioned it to Suzanne, who ran the garden centre café, and immediately wished she hadn’t because Suzanne informed her she was a local union rep and suggested she lodge a complaint. That wasn’t Lily’s way at all, she always tended towards the path of least resistance. ‘By not reporting this, you’re giving out all the wrong signals,’ Suzanne had tutted. ‘This isn’t the nineties, things have moved on.’
But, later that afternoon, Gordon had marched up to Lily and launched into a fulsome apology, he couldn’t believe what he’d done and was embarrassed and ashamed at his behaviour. He had totally misinterpreted the conversation they were having and had misunderstood the way she’d responded to him. If she wanted to take the matter further, he would step back from his responsibilities at Beautiful Blooms and ask head office to find someone to replace him immediately. She told him she didn’t want him to do anything of the sort and to forget all about it.
‘Thank you. I’m really sorry,’ he’d said. ‘Friends?’
‘Friends.’ She’d grinned back.
Shortly afterwards, Gordon had found happiness with a woman who worked in the local branch of Lloyds; Hilary wore brightly coloured Crocs, sang in three different choirs and used dozens of kirby grips to pin her hair up into an extravagant but rather chaotic bun. Lily couldn’t help thinking that, when it came to women, Gordon certainly didn’t have a type. But she’d been relieved – and happy for him – and their own relationship gradually worked its way back to normality, and from there into an even better place than before. Now, he was one of her closest friends and they made a great team at Beautiful Blooms. Having worked her way up to assistant manager, Lily didn’t do as much hands-on gardening work nowadays – despite the fact that Eleanor frequently told her she had appalling fingernails – and it sometimes felt as if she spent more time organising staff rotas and dealing with emails from head office, than dead-heading and talking to customers about root rot. But she couldn’t imagine working alongside anyone else, or being anywhere else. The building was jaded and could do with new signage, but the outdoor space was fantastic; she was surrounded by plants and flowers, the majority of the customers were lovely and going into work every morning never felt like a hardship. And even though she’d been dreading having to ask Gordon for time off to take this trip, she had known he would be understanding and do whatever he could to make it possible for her.
‘It will be good to have a change of scene, even if this won’t exactly be a relaxing holiday,’ she said to him now. ‘I’ll go and tell Mum after work tonight, she’ll be thrilled.’
‘How are things going with Dave?’ Gordon asked, as she stood up and began to fill the kettle.
She grimaced. ‘Awful. He keeps texting, despite the fact that I haven’t replied for the last week. You’d have thought he’d have got the message by now?’
‘He doesn’t want to give up on you,’ Gordon said. ‘That’s not surprising.’
‘You’re sweet, Gordy.’ She smiled and threw a plastic teaspoon across the table at him. It missed by a mile. She really didn’t know what to do about Dave. They’d made contact through a dating app, but within five minutes of meeting him, Lily had known it wasn’t going to work. Dave was extremely intense and talked a great deal about himself, leaning too close across the table while telling her about his love of astrophysical engineering. He had a beard (she hated beards), he had awful clothes sense (she knew it was shallow, but couldn’t help judging him by his lime-green nylon jumper) and his breath smelt like he’d eaten an entire loaf of garlic bread. When they parted at the end of the first evening, Dave had moved in for a kiss and, as she tried to pull away, his wet lips had landed awkwardly on her ear. She had no idea why the dating app had matched them. He liked Procul Harem and Pink Floyd, she liked The Smiths and Elbow; he listed golf and British Military history as his hobbies, she had put on her profile that she liked gardening, watching soppy romcoms and eating cake.
‘Shall we meet again?’ he’d asked eagerly. ‘It’s been a wonderful evening, Lily. I’ve really enjoyed your company.’
No! screamed the voice inside her head. I’d rather stick needles in my eyeballs!
‘Yes, that would be lovely,’ she heard herself saying.
Poor Dave. The second date had been as terrible as the first, but at the end Lily had managed to come out with a mumbled excuse about being incredibly busy and not very good company and perhaps they should leave it a couple of months? He’d looked so sad, she nearly caved and agreed to see him again. Thankfully, she’d managed to hold back. But he was still texting, hoping she’d change her mind.
‘I’ll finish it properly,’ she said to Gordon, now. ‘I really will.’
‘Well, stone me,’ said Gordon, reaching across to take his cup of tea. ‘Is that a pig I see flying past the window?’
After work, Lily drove to Moira’s flat.
‘Right, it’s all sorted,’ she said, following her mother into the small sitting room. ‘We can leave this weekend! Start thinking about what you’ll need to pack, and I’ll book us a hotel for the first night in Cirencester. Mum, what’s that smell?’
Moira frowned. ‘I can’t smell anything.’
‘There’s a strange smell coming from somewhere.’ Lily went into the kitchen and saw Moira’s slow cooker sitting on the worktop. Lifting the lid, she found it had been turned on and was full of sodden tea towels. ‘What’s going on? Why are these in here?’
‘Don’t touch them!’ said Moira. ‘I’m boil washing them. It’s the most hygienic thing to do with tea towels. It’s how we always used to clean them in the old days.’
‘Mum, this is a slow cooker! It won’t boil anything. What’s wrong with using the washing machine?’
‘Oh, Lily,’ tutted Moira, shaking her head and walking away. ‘Your new-fangled ways aren’t always the best.’
Lily unplugged the slow cooker and pulled out the tea towels, cold, rancid water dripping onto her shoes as she lifted them across to the sink. This road trip was beginning to feel like a very bad idea.