Page 41 of My Kind of Happy

‘Do you regret opening the shop?’ I said, giving her a direct look.

‘Yes. No.’ She squirmed on her stool. ‘Sometimes. I have actually thought of just locking up one night, packing a suitcase and flying off to New Zealand.’

‘New Zealand?’ I laughed. ‘That’s very specific.’

‘Yeah.’ She smirked. ‘Thought I might find myself another farmer there. But I can’t just run away from my responsibilities. Being in business on your own is hard. There’s no one who cares about it as much as I do. No one to share the burden with and no one to keep me going when my spirits flag.’

‘Except you’ve got me now. So,’ I said briskly, sitting up tall. ‘First, we have a week to pay off the rent arrears and second, we need to find a way to make the business flourish.’

‘It’s hard to make a profit in floristry,’ Nina warned. ‘Cash flow is a nightmare. And so many things can affect sales.’

‘Like what?’ I frowned. ‘Surely the gift market is pretty steady?’

‘Birthdays, Christmas, Mothering Sunday, Valentine’s Day still happen, if that’s what you mean, but I’ve been hit from all sides by other suppliers: internet subscription services, supermarkets, flowers by post and some of the market has even gone to artificial flowers. Silk ones are so good you have to look twice to tell they aren’t real.’

‘When you put it like that …’ I said, pulling a face. ‘So why take on an assistant manager when you’re struggling to pay your bills? If business is slow, shouldn’t you try and work on your own?’

‘Probably.’ Nina stared hard into her mug. ‘But I’m so tired. I haven’t had a holiday in five years. The longest break has been three days. I love my job, I do. But everyone deserves to get away now and again, or at least take a day off.’

A tear rolled down Nina’s face but she didn’t move to brush it away. My heart went out to her: the poor girl was exhausted with nowhere to turn and no light at the end of the tunnel. Weird how flowers had been right at the top of my happy list, but were the thing causing Nina so much stress.

‘OK, listen.’ I crossed to the door, flipped the sign from open to closed. ‘A few weeks ago I read a letter from my brother about choices and how it’s up to us to choose what we do, how we live, who we love. A moment ago you said you don’t have a choice when it comes to running this shop, but you do. Maybe you just need some help to get it back on track.’ I paused to get her attention. ‘Or maybe this business has served its purpose, maybe you’re ready for a new adventure?’

‘Your brother sounds amazing,’ she quirked her lips into a smile. ‘Not single, is he?’

My chest tightened. I hated this moment, when mortification crossed the face of the person who’d just put their foot in it. ‘I’ll tell you all about him soon, I promise. But for now, I think you need some time off; give yourself some headspace and see how you feel in a couple of days.’

‘Time off? As in not come to work?’ She stared at me as if I’d suggested cycling naked around the village green.

‘Exactly.’ I laughed. ‘Scamp and I will mind the shop. As you would say, why not?’

Nothing like throwing yourself in at the deep end. But I could do this and she’d feel so much better after getting a rest.

‘Really?’ Her eyes shone with gratitude. ‘That would be amazing.’

‘That’s settled, then,’ I said boldly. ‘And while you’re gone, I’ll ask my best friend for some advice. She’s an accountant.’

She got to her feet, rummaged in her bag and handed me a set of keys. ‘Keys to the shop and keys to the van. I’ll drop it off tomorrow morning and I’ll find everything, all the accounts, all the books, the lot. Lucas was right, you are a guardian angel.’

Which was why the following Sunday, Laura and I were sitting in my kitchen with several box files of loose papers, two shoe boxes stuffed with photos of flower arrangements and a long metal spike with at least one hundred receipts speared onto it.

‘Is this all the paperwork she has?’ Laura asked, surveying the chaos.

‘Apart from a box of diaries, which she writes the orders down in, yes,’ I said.

Laura looked bewildered. ‘No spreadsheets, no cash flow projections, no bank reconciliations?’

‘She’s more creative than logical,’ I said loyally. ‘She doesn’t have time for computers.’

‘And people wonder why they get in a pickle,’ Laura grumbled.

‘Thanks for helping,’ I said, giving her arm a squeeze. ‘I’m sure you’ve got more exciting things to be doing on a Sunday.’

‘Are you kidding?’ She tipped out one of the boxes with relish. ‘My best friend disappears off for a walk in the country and returns with a new job, a crusade to save a little shop and pollen stains on her fingers. I’m dying to know what has put such a spring in your step.’

I inspected my fingertips and made a mental note to google how to get rid of the yellow.

‘Well …’ I leaned forward, ready to tell all.