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"Okay, so good news, Ryan told me where he put your shoes." She put her hands up in a 'wait' gesture when she saw my look of hope. "Bad news is, he buried them in the garden because he thinks they are 'treasure.’"
"Ah," I said, fighting to keep from laughing. My nephew was a mischievous little bugger.
"More good news though, you can wear these." She presented me with a pair of her own black pumps, the heels of which had to be at least five inches.
"Are you insane?" I gasped. "I can't wear those! I'll never make it past the front gate!" My old black pumps were two inches at most and even those were a struggle.
"You'll be fine, Lola. Besides, they'll make you look taller so my dress will look like it fits you better." She gave me an encouraging smile. I followed her gaze down my body and the dress that didn't belong on it. I didn't have anything professional enough for a meeting like this, so I’d had to borrow one of Natalie’s dresses. As she was both taller and slimmer than me, I felt like a little kid playing dress up in her big sister's closet.
Reluctantly, I took the skyscraper heels from her, forced them onto my feet, and looked back in the mirror.
The clothes I wore were usually brightly-coloured and haphazardly thrown together. In a tight-fitted work dress and too-high heels, I felt very unlike myself.
Today I'd tamed my auburn curls and pinned them off my face so they fell neatly down my shoulder blades, reaching the small of my back. My usually bare face was instead made up with subtle but sensible make up. My bleeding heart necklace sat on my breastbone as it had done every day since I was eight. My dark blue eyes were tinged with shadows from lack of sleep. I tugged at the dress, eyeing the way it clung to my tummy and my cleavage. I felt like I was wearing someone else's skin.
"Mummy, let’s go!" Ryan barged through the kitchen door, waving his book bag at his mother, his brown hair sticking up at odd angles all over his head. I'd have to have a talk with him later about the shoe theft.
"Okay, I'm really going now. I'm late!"
Natalie pulled me in for a big sister hug. Her hair tickled my nose but the gentle scent of honey and vanilla shampoo was soothing to me as always.
"Good luck!" she said brightly. "Ryan, wish Auntie Lo good luck!"
He shouted something incoherent in response and I laughed, yelling my thanks for the shoes as I finally made it out of the door.
My next challenge? Trying to figure out how to drive a van in five-inch stiletto heels. I put my shoulders back, ready to attack the day with all I had. Whatever came during this meeting, I could handle it. Nothing was going to faze me today. Absolutely nothing.
By some miracle, I managed to arrive at work at 8.30 on the nose.
I parked my green van with the "Rosie's Botanical Boutique" logo on the side and jumped out, hurrying towards the small log cabin-style office where I'd worked everyday for three years. Rosie's started out as a small boutique nursery that over the decades had expanded into one of the largest garden centres in the area. Mark was a childhood friend of Rosie’s and with his help, her business had grown exponentially over the last year.
The boutique was the first thing you saw on arrival. Like my office building, it had the appearance of a cosy log cabin. The office I shared with Mark was nestled next door. Behind was the cafe and the Boutique Garden I’d designed myself where I ate my lunch most days. Beyond was a sprawling, two acre mass of life, home to a tree lot and four rectangular greenhouses containing every kind of plant you could imagine.
"Darling!" Rosie exclaimed as I entered the cabin, her pudgy arms reaching out for me. It was strange to see her in the office. She hated being inside. The 'cabin'—as I affectionately named it—was small but cosy. Mark and I had a desk on either end, with filing cabinets lining one wall and windows lining the other.
"Thank you so much for doing this. Terrible news about Mark! His poor mum! A stroke he said - isn't that rotten?" Shefrowned in sympathy and looked down at her overweight golden Labrador, Daisy, as if waiting for her to agree how rotten it was.
"Super rotten," I agreed on Daisy's behalf.
"Okay, now listen." She produced a black file from somewhere behind Mark’s vacant desk and dropped it into my hands. The brightly coloured bangles on her wrists jangled as she moved.
"I've already contacted Mr Fitzpatrick and filled him in on everything." She smiled, excited at the prospect of such a large contract. I double checked the paperwork even though I didn’t need to; Riley Fitzpatrick, Head of Garden Design for the Harrington House conversion project for Tell Company LTD. I'd heard Mark say his name about a hundred times recently and after a quick Google search, I understood why. His creations at other Tell Hotel locations were innovative and elegant. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited to meet him. His career was one I could only dream of.
"Now," Rosie continued, her dark to greying hair frizzing around her face, "Mr Fitzpatrick knows you're not a plant specialist or a designer or a horticulturist or a…well, you know…"
Sadly, I did know. I had taken this job as a way to gain experience in the hope I'd have a shot at studying garden design at The London College, a place that had rejected my application for four years in a row. Unfortunately, apart from designing the Boutique Garden a year ago, and a project I was currently working on for Ryan’s school, my dreams had been squashed and forgotten. I was a supplier, a book keeper, an accountant, an office manager, many things for a twenty-three year old. But I wasn't a garden designer. Not a qualified one anyway. I designed in my dreams all day long.
"Anyway,” Rosie continued, “all you need to do is make extensive notes for Mark to review when he comes back andliaise with Mr Fitzpatrick regarding what we are able to supply. Business owners often have a very good idea of what they want but very little idea of what is actually available and do have a tendency to get rather cross with you if we can’t give them what they want, as if we control mother nature! Hopefully, you'll just be dealing with Mr Fitzpatrick today and not Mr Tell himself, so, just stand your ground, be polite and you'll be fine." She finished off her speech by pinching my cheeks as if I was a baby. A move that would have annoyed me if it had come from anyone else.
"Just make sure you push what we have seasonally and don't promise to provide what we can't. You do that all the time over the phone anyway so I have absolute faith in you!"
I bit my lip. Over the phone was one thing, but to be able to answer any question at a snap when a bunch of suits were staring at me? That was an entirely different thing.
"Okay," I answered hoarsely. I was just going to have to figure it out.My name is Lola and when I need to, I can most definitely be a showgirl.
"Wonderful!" She guided me out of the office and enveloped me in a hug, her ample chest squashing me. After a moment she released me and floated off.
I climbed into my green van, brushing a chocolate wrapper and two empty take-out cups from the passenger seat.