Saying it with flowers…

Kathy loves to help people find the right flowers to get their message across

Kathy smiled as she put the finishing touches to the bridal bouquet. The red roses with a whisper of gypsophila and green ivy would look stunning against the bride’s ivory dress. She picked up the bouquet and placed it carefully with the other flowers waiting to be delivered. As she was tidying her work space, the doorbell jangled and a tall man with greying brown hair entered the shop. Kathy gave him a welcoming smile. “Can I help you?” “I hope so,” he replied, returning her smile. “My sister’s recovering from flu, so I thought I’d buy her some flowers.” He glanced around the shop before adding, with a laugh: “I’m afraid I don’t know one flower from another.” Kathy chuckled to herself. Just like her late husband, Steve. He’d once given her a bunch of what he thought were roses, but they had actually been tulips. She’d never had the heart to tell him. Turning her attention back to the customer, she crossed the shop to the display stands. “Bright colours are good for cheering someone up,” she suggested, indicating the vivid collection of gerberas. “Or if you want something more restful, what about delphiniums? Blue is very tranquil.” He nodded. “They’re very nice, but I’d set my heart on pink. That’s my sister’s favourite colour.” “In that case, peonies would be ideal,” Kathy said. “Apart from looking beautiful, they stand for healing in the language of flowers.” “Great. I’ll take a large bunch.” He raised a questioning eyebrow. “But what do you mean by the language of flowers?” “It’s called floriography,” Kathy explained. She selected the peonies and took them to the counter to wrap. “Flowers have had meanings for thousands of years, but it was especially popular in Victorian times. People used to send coded messages through flowers.” He grinned. “That could be a problem for somebody like me who doesn’t know a daisy from a daffodil. I’d be sending out the wrong messages all the time – but it all sounds intriguing.” “It is interesting to read about it,” said Kathy, “but even the books don’t always agree on the meanings. And these days, with so many flowers to choose from, there aren’t really any rules. “People usually choose flowers because they like the colour, or maybe the flowers remind them of a special time in their lives.” “Well, thanks – Kathy,” he said, reading the name badge on her t-shirt. “I’ve certainly learned a lot today.” A few days later, Kathy and the owner of the shop, Cheryl, were discussing flowers for a local restaurant when the same man strode through the door. “Hi, Kathy,” he said as he approached the counter. “I need your help again.” “Always glad to be of assistance,” Kathy said brightly. “My parents will be celebrating their diamond wedding soon. I’m sure Dad will buy Mum some flowers and I thought it would be nice if I gave them something to represent their 60 years together.” Kathy said: “What a lovely idea. Unfortunately, there are no flowers traditionally associated with a diamond anniversary.” She paused to look around the shop before saying: “I could make up an arrangement of white flowers, one for every decade they have been together?” He beamed. “Thanks! That sounds absolutely perfect.” After he had left, Cheryl winked at Kathy. “He was gorgeous! If I

weren’t happily married…” Kathy rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Cheryl, you never give up, do you?” Cheryl had been a good supportive friend since Steve had died six years before, but recently, despite Kathy’s protests that she was happy on her own, she had been nagging her to socialise more. She had even tried to arrange a couple of outings with some colleagues of her husband who happened to be single, but Kathy had put her foot down. She had never been on a blind date and she didn’t intend to start now. She knew that Cheryl meant well and there were times when she did feel lonely but, she told herself firmly, she wasn’t ready to start dating again. However, she couldn’t help thinking that the customer had been rather attractive in a quiet way. He had an open, friendly face and nice green eyes that crinkled when he smiled. Brushing these thoughts aside, she giggled: “Don’t start planning my wedding flowers, Cheryl. He’s probably married with six kids.” “I don’t think so,” Cheryl said seriously. “If he were married, his wife would be buying the flowers, not him.” “Well, we probably won’t see him again, anyway.” Kathy was wrong. The following week she was enjoying a cup of tea in the stockroom when the doorbell sounded. She heard Cheryl say: “Hello, again! I’ll just get Kathy to help you, if you don’t mind.” When Kathy walked into the shop and saw him standing by the counter she was surprised to feel her heart skipping a beat. She glared at Cheryl who was flicking through the order book, pretending to be busy. The man said: “I’ve another flower problem. My niece has passed her exams. How do you say ‘congratulations’ in your language of flowers?” Kathy considered. “Well, the yellow poppy stands for success. A nice bouquet of these would certainly be appropriate.” “Wow, they’re brilliant!” He gave Kathy a bewitching smile that made her cheeks turn pink. She cleared her throat. “Yes, they’re beautiful, aren’t they?” she said as she picked out the best blooms. While she was wrapping them, he asked abruptly: “Which flower should I choose if I wanted to ask someone to have dinner with me?” Kathy felt a pang of disappointment. She thought of anemones – such a pretty flower and yet it meant forsaken, the symbol of fading hope. She glanced at Cheryl, who gave her a sympathetic look. Pulling herself together, Kathy said: “Yellow roses are the traditional symbol of friendship and yellow is such a happy, positive colour…” He interrupted her. “Or I could just give you these red chrysanthemums,” he said, holding out a few flowers he’d taken from a tub of water. “Just to say how much I appreciate all the help you’ve given me.” As Kathy took the flowers, he burst out laughing. “Actually, I was running out of excuses to come into the shop to see you. My name’s Dan, by the way.” Kathy stammered. “Thank you, Dan. Dinner would be lovely.” She was about to add that the flowers he’d chosen were carnations, not chrysanthemums but she reminded herself that it was the gesture, not the flowers, that was important. Besides, in some of the books on floriography, red carnations meant ‘my heart aches for you’. She smiled quietly to herself – perhaps that was what he was trying to tell her and had picked the right flowers, after all.

‘That could be a problem for somebody like me who doesn’t know a daisy from a daffodil’