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“Orange or yellow.”

“Chrysanthemums, sunflowers, yarrow. Freesias smell wonderful.”

“But García prefers blue.”

Aisha closed her eyes. This was going to take forever. “Thistles come in blue.” Fitting she thought. “Asters too.”

It was just gone half past two when the woman returned. “Do we have any ideas?” she asked.

“It’s very confusing,” Conchita said.

Aisha shook her head. What she was going through was confusing. Choosing a few flowers for a wedding couldn’t get any easier. “Go with a mix of orange, yellow, and blue.”

“It needs to match the table of course,” the woman said.

“We have gold for the table.”

The flower woman smiled, though her nose twitched. Aisha would never have chosen gold for the table either. It was too heavy, along with the meringue style dress and heavy lace veil that they’d chosen for Conchita.

Three o’clock came and went, and tension crept into her shoulders. She needed to get the bus by half past four to get to the workshop for five, and they still had the dress material to buy. “What do you think, Conchita? Freesias are sweet smelling, and you could have a colourful display for the table along with thistles for height and asters or cosmos to add deeper colour. They would make great buttonholes and a lovely bouquet for you.”

“I don’t know. Mama, what do you think?”

“I think dahlias and chrysanthemums would complement the table perfectly.”

Aisha stood. She needed a break from the excruciating pain of sitting and of a conversation going nowhere when she should be going somewhere. “Is there a toilet I could use, please?”

“Of course.” The woman pointed. “I’ll go and make more tea,” she said.

Aisha breathed deeply. They were never going to make it back for five, and while she’d been slowly stewing, it had dawned on her that her mama had planned to keep her away from the workshop today, knowing Gabi worked there on Wednesday afternoons. She returned to the back room of the shop.

“I need to go,” Conchita said and headed to the toilet.

“I need to talk to you,” Aisha said to Mama.

“Aisha, not n—”

“Yes, now. Mama—”

“Aisha, no—”

“Yes.” She turned away to not look at her mama’s pathetic flailing objection. “I’m in love with Gabi, and nothing you do or say is going to change that.” She turned back.

Mama stared wide-eyed and grew paler as she gasped and gasped some more. She had her hand at her throat. She looked as if she were trying to say something but struggled with her words. She grabbed at her stomach and bent over, groaning, and sweat beaded on her forehead.

A moment of confusion gave way to panic. This wasn’t an objection. There was something wrong, something bad happening to Mama. Mama slumped forward and fell to the floor.

“Mama. Please. Mama, forgive me.” Aisha ran to her. Her eyes were closed, and she had stopped breathing. Aisha ran through to the front of the shop and told the woman to call for an ambulance. She ran back as Conchita returned from the toilet. Conchita screamed, and Aisha slapped her across the face. “Get some water,” she said.

She felt for a pulse and found none. She started compressions on her mama’s chest. “Come on, Mama, please.” She pounded hard and fast, counted, and watched for a breath.

Conchita returned with the water.

“Now, sit and drink it,” she said, “And keep calm. I think she’s had a heart attack.”

Conchita started to whimper. The woman from the shop came through, gasped, and put her hand to her mouth.

“Did you call the ambulance?” Aisha asked.