Page 17 of The Pieces of Us

My first stop the next day is Minnie’s house, where I’ve arranged to meet Asim, and where I discover that he found sixty-six bags of mint imperials (he counted), stashed in the cupboard under the stairs. ‘And this,’ he says, pointing at a box on the floor.

‘This wasn’t what I hoped for when you said you’d found something we might want,’ I tell him. ‘No suitcase of cash under there?’

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Just a lifetime’s supply of mints and a dusty old box.’

‘Ah well.’ I take the bulging canvas bag, which is heavier than I expected.

‘Also, I hope you don’t mind … I sorted this out for you.’ He gestures to the kitchen; I follow him into the room, where the scorch-marked wall has been freshly painted.

‘Shit … I completely forgot. I’ve had a lot going on … You shouldn’t have done that …’ I’m aware that my voice sounds harsher than it should.

He fusses with his tie. ‘Just wanted to help.’

‘I’m not good at accepting help,’ I blurt out in a desperate attempt to dissolve the tension.

‘And I guess I’m not good at sticking to my job description. Hey, nobody’s perfect.’

‘Well, thank you. For doing what I should have done myself.’

He shrugs. ‘It was honestly no bother at all. Couple of coats, got it done in no time. Was quite relaxing, actually. I listened to a podcast while I worked.’

‘Anything interesting?’

‘Yes – an alternative retelling of the US Civil War. I’m a history geek.’

I look away before he does. I feel awkward with his kind eyes on mine.

‘Thank you,’ I say again. ‘Really. I do appreciate it. I’ll pay for the paint, of course.’

He shakes his head. ‘My mum had half a tin in her shed. It would have gone to waste otherwise.’

‘Well, hopefully fresh kitchen walls will do the job.’

‘Fingers crossed.’ He checks his phone, giving my eyes the chance to linger on his long nose and generous mouth. ‘We’ve got a viewing on Friday, another one next Tuesday.’

‘I’d better head to work.’ I pull a face. ‘It’s one of our busiest days of the year.’

‘Ah … it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow. Of course. Well, it will be just another regular day for me.’

‘Me too,’ I say without thinking.

His eyes settle on mine, and he smiles – that whole-face crinkly-eyed smile that somehow manages to do something to my insides that’s not triggered by confusion or worry.

Why the hell will you be alone on Valentine’s Day?

is what I want to ask him. Instead, I hug Minnie’s mint collection awkwardly against my body.

‘God knows what I’ll do with this lot. Minnie clearly liked to stash them, but not eat them. Want to take some?’

‘Sure, why not?’ He laughs and grabs a bag. ‘Hang on, let me get that box for you.’

We walk to the front door, my eyes resting on the strip of rose-patterned wallpaper curling away from the wall. I’ll miss it, along with the memories.

‘Jeedo – my grandfather – he went through an Empire biscuit phase. Whenever I went shopping for him, I’d buy him two packs of four to see him through the week.’

‘He didn’t stash them in a cupboard under his stairs, did he?’

‘No … but when we were clearing his house out, we found all the jelly tots off the top of the biscuits. There must have been a thousand jelly tots, stuffed inside old pairs of shoes he never wore, on the bottom of his wardrobe.’

‘The Argos catalogue has always been Minnie’s thing,’ I tell him.

‘We had no idea she was going to Argos practically every day, back when she still could. Filling her bag for life with a stack of them every time. Having said that, I’m still working my way through all her things.

God knows what else is in there.’ On top of what I’ve already found , I think.

‘Hopefully no jelly tots.’

‘Or more mint imperials.’

‘It’s good to laugh at these little things. My mum always used to say the way she got through the toughest days was to find humour wherever she could.’

‘That’s good advice,’ I say.

My awkwardness has melted away and chatting to him feels easy. I can already see that he understands things so few people do, no matter how hard they try.

‘How’s your mum settling in?’

‘She’s doing OK. We have good days and not-so-good days. We haven’t had any horrific days yet, so I’m taking that as a win.’

He grins. ‘Gotta take them when you can.’

‘Selling this place will help. Give us the money we need for a good nursing home, whenever that time comes.’

‘If you ever need any advice on that, let me know. We visited a few places when my grandfather got to that stage. Some are better than others.’

‘How is he doing?’

‘He’s OK. Happy enough in the home, I think. He’s not very mobile these days, but he can manage a short walk now and then. I sometimes take him to a Memory Cafe. It’s on every month, and he enjoys it, I think. It might be good for Minnie … I could send you the details?’

‘Thanks. Sounds good. All parenting advice welcome.’

‘Parenting advice?’

‘Sure. My mother is basically another child at this point. I’ve become a mum of two. A sixteen-year-old and a fifty-eight-year-old.’

‘Fifty-eight? Wow. Your mum is … young.’

‘I know.’ It’s something I often forget. Everything about Minnie, from her energy levels to her physical appearance, suggests she’s much older. I take a long breath. ‘Well, I should go.’

‘I’ll pop this box in your car,’ he says.

I pull the front door closed behind us and follow him down the path, wishing we could stand together in Minnie’s hallway for just a little longer.

‘I can’t believe you’re making me work the day before Valentine’s Day,’ I moan to Pete.

He’s behind the counter, fussing over red roses. ‘Cheer up, darling. You’ll scare our customers away with a face like that.’

I stick my tongue out at him. ‘Can’t help my face, Pete.’

‘I read a study once about smiling. Apparently even forcing a smile releases tiny chemical thingamajigs in your brain that make you feel good. It’s scientifically proven.’

‘Force-smiling it is then.’

A customer enters the shop and Pete greets him with his usual exuberant charm.

I head to the stockroom and check today’s order book.

Mostly roses, of course, but I’ll get some respite from the looming day of love thanks to Mrs Walker’s congratulations bouquet for her sister, who just got a promotion at work and doesn’t have a man around to assume the role of chief gift giver.

(While Mrs Walker feels incredibly sorry for women who don’t have men to spoil them with flowers and the like, part of her wonders whether her sister might have brought this on herself, by focusing too much on her career and too little on finding a life partner.)

Mrs Walker is always very clear on what she wants, and I’m under strict instructions.

No lilies. Nothing too exotic. And definitely no sticks or twigs.

I assemble larkspur, sea lavender, orange carnations, peach roses and copper chrysanthemum Santini.

I add eucalyptus, then wrap the bouquet in cellophane and paper and secure it low on the stems with a raffia bow.

It takes me around five minutes, keeping in mind what Pete calls the ‘five phases of fabulous floristry’: balance, scale, rhythm, colour and dominance.

That’s five minutes of not thinking about Minnie’s decaying brain, the enormous question mark over my parentage or our collective uncertain future.

It seems like there’s something to Pete’s mindful flower arranging after all.

The rest of the day passes quickly and come closing time, I swap my green apron for my denim jacket and lurk at the back of the shop until Pete’s finished with his customer – a teenage boy buying peonies for his mum.

I wonder if it’s for Valentine’s Day, if she’s single – like me and Mrs Walker’s career-minded sister.

And Asim , says an unfamiliar voice in my head before I switch if off.

Or maybe it’s the teenage boy’s birthday or he owes her an apology or he was just passing and thought, Mum deserves a bunch of flowers today, just for being my mum .

Even the day before Valentine’s Day, there are birthdays, weddings and funerals, and every shift brings a surprise or two.

Last week, a man bought delphiniums for his neighbour to say ‘Sorry I ran over your cat’.

And the displays for Gwen Brennan’s divorce party were something else.

The teenage boy leaves with his peonies and I catch Pete’s eye. ‘Right. See you Monday.’

‘See you Monday, sweetheart.’

‘Thanks for not asking me about anything. It’s exactly what I needed today.’

He winks at me. ‘Any time.’

Luckily I don’t have to work on Valentine’s Day itself. I’m taking Minnie to see her consultant, Dr Ozdemir, who always wears a brightly coloured silk scarf knotted at the side of her neck. Usually the first thing Minnie says when we walk into her office is ‘I like your scarf’.

‘I don’t know why I’m here,’ is her opening line today.

‘Well, that’s quite OK, Minnie,’ Dr Ozdemir says cheerfully.

She smiles, showing perfect teeth. ‘So … where are we now …? Middle of February … you’ve been living with Cat and Ruby for over a month now.

I’d love to have a little chat and make sure it’s going OK and see if there’s anything I can help with. ’

‘It’s going absolutely fine, thank you,’ Minnie says stiffly, sitting down.

‘Do you want to put your handbag down, Min?’

‘No.’ She presses her red-leather handbag close to her body. ‘No. No. No. No. You can’t make me. Stop forcing me to do things I don’t want to do.’ She lowers her voice and leans covertly towards Dr Ozdemir. ‘She forces me to do things I don’t want to do.’

Dr Ozdemir gives me a reassuring smile just as I open my mouth to start defending myself. I close it again and lean back in my chair.

‘Do you want to talk about that, Minnie? I can promise you that nobody wants you to be upset.’

‘She made me go to the park yesterday.’

I shake my head, just enough of a movement for Dr Ozdemir to notice.

‘And she makes me take the horrible pills. All the time. Lots of them.’