Say It With Flowers by Jan Snook

A beginners’ class in flower-arranging couldn’t be too hard to teach, could it?

IS that the lot?” Jennifer asked, looking at the array of long flat boxes and buckets full of foliage.

“I hope so,” Alison replied. “You’d think we were doing an arrangement for Chelsea, not demonstrating for a beginners’ class!”

“We’ll get better at it,” Jennifer said, sounding nervous, “when we’ve had a bit more practice.”

“It doesn’t seem two minutes since we joined a beginners’ class ourselves, does it?” Alison remarked as they began to unpack their equipment.

The table at the front of the classroom was soon covered with secateurs, flower-arranging scissors, pin-holders, blocks of Oasis and, of course, flowers. “Are you nervous?” “Terrified,” Jennifer admitted. “I can’t think how I let you talk me into this. It’s like having stage fright. Supposing we make a complete hash of it?”

“We won’t,” Alison said firmly. “There are two of us. We’ll be fine.” She picked up the adult education prospectus and read aloud.

“‘Flower arranging for complete beginners: when you’re given flowers, do you just stuff them in a vase and hope for the best? Come and learn, in a relaxed and friendly atmosphere, how to do the job properly with a course designed for beginners!’

“That says it all, doesn’t it? At least we’ll know more than they do. And it won’t be like Edna’s classes were. She was terrifying!”

The friends looked at each other and laughed, then glanced nervously at their watches.

“So you’re going to tell them the nuts and bolts of flower-arranging to start with, OK? Conditioning foliage and so forth,” Jennifer said for probably the fifth time.

“Then you’ll tell them what to bring next week, and demonstrate what they’re going to do with it.”

Alison counted long stems of alstroemeria and moved them a fraction.

“I’ll tell them about the flower club, too,” Jennifer said. “That’s what we’re doing this for, after all.”

The first student came through the door and sat in the back row.

“And you are . . .?” Alison asked, smiling at the girl.

“Emily. Emily James,” she said in a whisper.

Alison looked down the register and put a neat tick by her name, then continued ticking off names as more students arrived.

In a short time, the classroom had filled up. Some were talking quietly. They would be a lot noisier in a few weeks’ time, Jennifer thought, when they all knew one another.

She’d be feeling less nervous, too, she hoped, though the sight of real people, rather than names on a register, had done a lot to calm her nerves.

“How are you feeling?” she murmured.

“Not as bad as I was,” Alison admitted. “But if I seize up and can’t speak, you will rescue me, won’t you?”

“You’ll be fine. You’re used to teaching.”

“Teaching small children which way up to hold a paintbrush, yes. Not teaching proper grown-ups a subject I suddenly feel as if I know nothing about. Why did you let me say we’d do this?” Jennifer gaped at her. “Let you? I was doing my best to stop you!”

Her voice had risen with shock, and she realised that the students were looking at them both, bemused.

“Aren’t you Mrs Hyde?” one of the women said, gazing at Alison. “I think you used to teach my son art. It’s years ago now. I didn’t know you taught flower arranging. Makes sense, when you’re so artistic.”

Jen smiled.

“That’s Alison’s credentials established, and I’d better introduce myself as well. I’m Jennifer Allsop. Let’s get started.”

“I thought the teacher was called Edna,” the woman who knew Alison said, frowning. “Isn’t she going to be teaching us?”

“No,” Alison replied. “You’ve got us instead.” The door opened. “There’s no-one else to come, is there?” Jen asked Alison.

“Just us,” Edna said, ushering in a man who’d been at the club meeting last week. “You can easily take another student, can’t you? And you won’t mind if I sit in?”

More next week.