‘How is she coping?’ Iris asked, lowering her voice. ‘More to the point, how are you coping?’
Will smiled but this time it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Oh, you know. Taking it one day at a time.’
Wary of being caught staring again, Hope let her own gaze drift around the shop as she wondered about the exchange. There’d been sympathy in Iris’s tone and sadness in Will’s. Hope recognized the vagueness of his reply too, using the sort of words she had when she’d needed to politely fend off well-meaning enquiries after Rob’s death. A failed marriage, perhaps, and all the heartache and adjustments that brought. It would certainly explain the way Iris was watching Will, as though he might break at any moment. Hope was familiar with that look as well, although thankfully not from Iris or anyone else in York, apart from her family. She’d told Iris she was single, when the florist had asked what her partner did, and then deflected the conversation onto safer ground. Another coping mechanism.
‘How’s business?’ Will asked, glancing at Blooming Dales through the rain-speckled window. ‘I suppose the flowers don’t mind the wet weather.’
‘They might not but I do,’ Iris said, wrinkling her nose. ‘Walk-in trade is down this week – it’s a good thing we’ve got plenty of wedding orders to keep us busy.’
His eyes drifted to Brodie once more. ‘Your windows always look so amazing. Maybe we’ll pop in and pick up a bouquet for home, to remind us it’s almost summer.’
Iris dipped her head. ‘I could deliver it, if you like, save you having to carry it in this rain. Do you have a favourite flower, Brodie?’
That got the little girl’s attention. She raised her blonde head to study Iris, then flicked her gaze towards the window.
Hope thought she understood. ‘Pink, like the flamingos?’
Brodie gave a shy nod.
‘Flamingo pink,’ Iris repeated approvingly. ‘Very nice. I’m thinking gerbera, roses and maybe some alstroemeria. Tall and graceful, just like the birds.’
Will gave her a helpless look. ‘They won’t look graceful if I have to arrange them. Do they come in a vase?’
Iris winked at Brodie. ‘I’ll take care of everything. All you’ll have to do is put the bouquet into water.’
‘I can probably manage that,’ Will said. ‘With Brodie’s help, obviously.’
‘Then how does a Saturday morning delivery sound?’ Iris asked. ‘You can drop me a message later with the address for delivery.’
‘Sounds like the perfect way to start the weekend,’ Will said. ‘Thanks, Iris. This is very kind of you.’
The florist waved away his thanks. ‘It’s no trouble. I deliver all over the city – have bike, will travel.’
Hope blinked as she tried to build a mental picture. ‘You deliver flowers by bike? How?’
‘Of course,’ Iris said, grinning. ‘We’re very eco-conscious. I attach a lightweight trailer to the back, load it up and off I go.’
‘In all weathers?’ Hope said, with a dubious glance at the rainy street outside.
‘Us Yorkshire women are made of stern stuff,’ Iris replied. ‘But we’re practical too – I also have a cosy little Volkswagen van for when the weather is really grim.’
Hope was about to say that she was a Yorkshire woman too, although her years in London had worn her accent away, but Brodie stood up abruptly and handed the puzzle box to Will. He checked his watch. ‘You’re right – we should probably think about lunch.’ He gave the box to Hope. ‘Thanks for letting her handle it.’
‘It’s a shame she didn’t crack the mystery,’ Hope said. ‘Mr Young would have been delighted.’
His eyes creased at the edges as he smiled. ‘I’m sure we’ll be back.’
‘Maybe next time, then,’ Hope said. ‘I’ll have a word with the flamingos too.’
It was only after Will and Brodie had made their way back out into the rain, with the umbrella safely in hand, that Hope realized what had been troubling her. In the whole time they’d been in the shop, she’d hadn’t heard the little girl make a single sound.
Iris puffed out her cheeks when Hope mentioned Brodie’s silence. ‘No, she doesn’t speak. Not since the accident.’
Cold dread settled in Hope’s chest. Maybe Will wasn’t newly separated. Maybe it was more awful than that. ‘The accident,’ she repeated slowly.
‘The car crash,’ Iris said. ‘Back in February, on the A64. You might remember – the road was closed for the best part of a day.’
Hope swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘I wasn’t living here then.’
The florist sighed. ‘It was terrible, one of those freak accidents that doesn’t seem to be anyone’s fault. You only needed to glimpse the car to know no one could have survived.’
One hand flew to Hope’s mouth as Iris confirmed her worst fears. ‘Oh no.’
‘Brodie was devastated, as you’d expect. Will’s doing his best but it takes time, doesn’t it? I know kids are resilient but that’s an impossible hole to fill.’
Especially when he’d be struggling with the loss of a partner himself, Hope thought as sympathy and pity welled up inside her. It was a miracle he was coping as well as he was; she certainly hadn’t after Rob’s death.
‘Poor Brodie,’ Iris went on, with a sorrowful shake of her head.
‘Poor Will too,’ Hope said. ‘He must be grieving as well.’
A frown creased Iris’s forehead. ‘Of course. Losing a brother is awful. But Brodie lost both her parents – I’m not surprised she’s retreated into herself.”
The words crashed over Hope like a wave. Had Iris said Brodie had lost both parents? ‘But I thought… isn’t he—’
Iris stared at her for a moment, then slapped her own forehead. ‘Oh, I’m an idiot! Of course you assumed Will was Brodie’s dad – why wouldn’t you?’
Bewildered, Hope pieced together the evidence. ‘So he’s her… uncle?’
‘And her closest living relative,’ Iris replied. ‘Or at least, the only one capable of looking after a five-year-old. His mother has dementia, I think, and lives in a care home. And Will is Brodie’s godfather – there was no question of
