Tuesday – Bayleigh Part One
They were just flowers. He was there every day and every day she slowed as she walked past and took deep breaths and carried the smell with her all the way to the shop. Every day she thought, ‘I’ll buy some today.’ And every day she walked past without buying them.
But every month when she checked the bank statement she was happy she’d resisted. Because every month a little more money went into the account and she moved one step closer.
Today was particularly difficult. There were roses, the most beautiful red roses, that smelled like a holiday and were the colour of romance and belonged on a table in a tiny cafe in Paris. She would sit and smell them, her dyed-blond hair tied up atop her head. Her too-thin lips would be made full through the arty application of lipstick that matched the petals and brought out the green in her eyes. A gorgeous man in tight jeans would part them and lean through and murmur how much he loved her tiny snub nose as their lips pressed together.
She shivered, turned her eyes from the stall and breathed deep. The morning traffic was thin on the ground when she opened the shop and went in. The alarm beeped a good morning and she scampered to the back and punched in the code. She imagined, as she did at least once a week, that she’d just prevented the explosion of a number of bombs placed all over London. With her simple action, she averted a terrible crisis.
The front door binged and Ali bustled in, the scent of freshly-baked bread coming with him.
‘Mornin’ Bay, you’re late today?’
The question was almost buried beneath the normal jovial tone. Almost, but not quite. She blushed, knowing full well why he asked. ‘Bed was comfy this morning.’
‘Don’t know how a big bed like that can be comfortable. You must get cold.’
If he hadn’t shared that bed a few times in the last month, it would be harassment. As it was, it sent butterflies through her stomach and made her cheeks even hotter. ‘I get hot when I sleep, normally throw the covers off altogether.’
She turned as he thumped the first crate down on the counter. He strolled down the shop. The sides of his hands were still covered in flour and he smelled like his bread. She took a deep breath, the smell of roses replaced with the scent of fantasies made real.
‘We can make it hotter, if you like.’
She giggled and walked past him, brushing against him just enough for her to shiver and slow. He would grab her and spin her around, his flour leaving marks on her arms. He’d push her back against the glass cabinets and force his tongue into her mouth. He didn’t though.
Which was a good thing because the door binged again and Layla walked in, giving them both a cheery ‘morning’ before disappearing into the back. Somehow, Bayleigh’s cheeks grew hotter still and she rushed behind the counter, putting a safe distance between them.
‘Well, you know, offer’s there. Let me get the rest.’
Ali strolled from the shop and Layla appeared from the back, apron on and hair tied up. ‘You two still shagging, then?’
Bayleigh gasped and frowned at her. Layla, completely oblivious, opened the till and began to sort the money from the safe. ‘Not that I’m prying or nothing, just think you could do a lot worse. And, you know, he knows about Jeff and everything.’
He did and that was worth more than his kindness or his strong arms and soft hands. He didn’t know about the bank account though. No one knew about that and no one would, not until it was too late.
Layla was staring at her, waiting for an answer. Had she asked a question? Not really, but she’d still want an answer. Bayleigh blinked, then twined her finger in her hair and blushed, shrugging. ‘Yeah, maybe. I dunno. He’s nice and all, but—’
‘But what? What you waiting for? Bay, you know I love you, but you ain’t gonna do much better, not with… well, yeah, you know.’
Bayleigh nodded. It was all true. She set about opening the shop and Layla took the hint. The lights went on and soon the place was filled with people. The coffee machine set up the symphony, accompanied by the sounds of workers and the steady thumps of the fridge door and the clink of the knife. Lunches were made and sold and eaten or taken away and the day went on and before she’d taken a breath, it was lunch time.
The rush ended and she slipped out of the apron and headed for some fresh air. She strolled down Embankment, mind drifting. There’d been a couple in this morning, tourists choosing the independent sandwich shop instead of Macdonalds. They’d been arguing over whether to go to the Planetarium or Madame Tussauds and as always, Bayleigh had been dragged back.
Dad had taken her to the Planetarium, not long after mum died. They’d sat and stared up at the lights and he’d reached out and taken her hand. It had been quiet in there, but even so it had taken her a few moments to work out he was crying. She’d never heard him cry before and it still haunted her.
He sounded broken, like he was supposed to be crying properly, but every time he sobbed something clicked and he stopped for a second and started again. They sat in the darkness for ages and all she was aware of was the sound of her father falling apart. When they left he apologised and said he’d take her again, and the thought of ever going back in there made her burst into tears.
Funny how something so simple can be so vivid after twenty years. He cried a lot now. She preferred it to the screaming. And the laughter. The laughter was the worst. Twenty years ago he’d only sounded broken. Now he was. Layla was right. Ali had met dad and knew what she lived with and was alright with it. He was better than alright. He’d even read to him once or twice.
She smiled, blinking away the tears. He couldn’t read for toffee, but dad didn’t mind. It was the sound of a voice, she thought, more than what it was saying.
She heaved a huge sigh, shoulders rising and falling. She stopped, put her hands on the black iron railings, and took a few deeps breaths. Nothing like fresh Thames air to clean the mind. She smiled again and shook her head.
A different smell caught her nostrils and she was dragged from the railing. She ambled over, pretending she had some say in the matter and found herself standing before the flowers. They were beautiful, so beautiful and she unfocused her eyes until all she could see was colour.
A throat being cleared made her jump.
‘Good morning, madam, can I interest you in anything particular?’
She jumped and put a hand to her throat, self-conscious. He sounded like a politician. His eyes were dark and seemed to smile at her. In fact, all of him smiled at her and it felt real.
‘Thanks, no, just looking. You always have such beautiful flowers.’
‘Well thank you, that’s very kind of you to say so. You have to get there first, that’s all.’
‘Sorry?’
‘The wholesaler. You have to get to the wholesaler before anyone else and you get the best bunches. Are you sure you won’t buy something, they’d be lovely in your shop.’
‘My shop? How do you know…’
She trailed off as he pointed one neatly manicured finger at her t-shirt. ‘The Sandwich Bay’ was surrounded by smiling faces. She’d designed them herself and was as proud now as she’d been five years ago. She blushed and smiled weakly.
‘I like the design. It fits very well in London, doesn’t it, so inclusive.’
She blushed again and examined her feet.
‘Tell you what. Let me see if I can’t find you a bargain—’
‘Oh no, I can’t, really, I don’t have the money.’
‘I’m sure I can find something in your budget. How about the roses?’
Next Installment Monday 14th June
