Helen’s flower shop occupied a narrow frontage between a bakery and a place that repaired phones. Outside, buckets of chrysanthemums stood beneath a striped awning.
I stopped on Wednesday after dropping Poppy at school. I had intended to buy something for the kitchen. The idea that flowers might improve my organisational abilities had survived considerable evidence against it.
Helen was trimming stems behind the counter.
“The pear tree’s alive,” I told her.
“I never doubted it.”
“Poppy’s decided it’s hers.”
“That’ll be a discussion with the squirrels.”
She wrapped six stems in brown paper and asked whether I wanted a card.
“They’re for me.”
“Still allowed a card.”
I smiled, then hesitated.
“What you said on Friday. About asking an ordinary question.”
The scissors stopped.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“You do keep offering people that escape route.”
“Would you rather I didn’t?”
“No. I’m just noticing.”
A customer came in for a funeral arrangement. Helen turned towards her, and I moved aside. They discussed colours, collection times and whether lilies would be suitable in a house with cats. I wandered towards the window, giving them the little privacy the shop allowed.
When the woman left, Helen put down her order pad.
“I asked to see the fund’s records.”
“The neighbourhood fund?”
“Yes.”
“Because something was wrong?”
“Because two receipts with my shop name on them weren’t mine.”
I looked at the handwritten receipt beside my flowers. It had a date, an amount and a running number.
“How did you see them?”
“A volunteer was putting event papers together. Wanted to know which flowers the charges covered. Sent me copies.”
“Could somebody have bought them from an assistant?”
“I checked. I asked my assistant. I checked the orders. I’m not telling you I glanced at them and had a feeling.”
Her voice had sharpened. She put the scissors down carefully.
“Sorry. I’ve had that conversation before.”
“With Vivienne?”
“I wrote to her. Then we spoke. She said she’d have Celia sort it out.”
“And did she?”
“I received an explanation about duplicate paperwork. I asked how a duplicate could be of something I hadn’t issued.”
There was no mystery in the question. That made the lack of an answer more uncomfortable.
“Have you kept the copies?”
“And my emails.” Helen nodded towards a folder beside the till.
“I don’t expect people to remember everything,” she said. “I certainly don’t. That’s why I keep things.”
“Did the volunteer who sent them agree they were wrong?”
“She wasn’t judging them. She was sorting papers. I don’t want her name carried round the crescent as if she’s made an accusation.”
She pointed to the small office behind the counter.
“I’m not waving them at you over a bunch of flowers. If someone actually reviews the accounts, I’ll give them everything I have.”
“I’m not an accountant.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
Helen tied the paper with string.
“But you asked why I left. That’s why. After a while, the question became whether I trusted my friends, rather than whether the receipts were real.”
I thought of Sunday’s conversation, Beth’s relief, the kindness that had filled Vivienne’s sitting room. All of it had happened. Two doubtful receipts did not make any of it imaginary.
Nor did kindness turn the receipts genuine.
“Did you tell the others?”
“I told them there were questions. Priya wasn’t handling the money. Beth had enough happening. Celia said she’d cleared it up with Vivienne.”
“You could ask again.”
“I could.”
She handed me the flowers.
“So could Vivienne.”
I paid and waited while she counted the change. I was trying to decide whether I had just received a warning or been recruited into an old quarrel.
Helen seemed to understand.
“You don’t have to choose a side. Just don’t repeat the version where I stopped coming because I got busy.”
“I won’t.”
At the door, I asked whether I could say she had spoken to me.
“About the receipts? Yes. That isn’t confidential. Other people’s help is. Don’t mix them up.”
I carried the flowers home and put them in the jug we used when there were more people than matching mugs.
Tom had left a note asking whether I could collect a parcel. Under it lay the library rota. I moved his note beside it, so both requests occupied equal space.
Then I messaged Vivienne.
Helen told me she raised questions about two receipts. Was there a review?
I read it three times before sending. It looked impolite only if nobody was supposed to ask.
Vivienne replied while I was filling the jug.
I’m sorry she’s brought you into this. We can discuss it tomorrow. Beth needs us focused on her just now.
I put down the phone.
She had answered everything except my question.