Poinsettias and the Perfect Crime Read online

  I clenched my teeth and tried to get on with my life and focus on my goals. ‘You’ll get a great job and have a great career. Your bully will fail’ the adults told me over and over - like a group of pseudo-psychiatrists who’d all read the same handbook. The problem was, I already knew that Cordelia wasn’t heading for failure. Her family was rich and therefore by default, Cordelia was, too. The only reason she hadn’t been sent to a private school was because there weren’t any close to Merryfield - that, and she’d been working on her social circle since nursery.

  Part of her regime of bullying revolved around her mocking the peasants she was surrounded by, who didn’t have her privileged background and easy ride in life. She’d forever boasted about the lump sum she would be gifted on her eighteenth birthday and, with the right investments by the family accountant, she would be living off the proceeds whilst lounging around in her private wing of the family manor house. I’d consoled myself with the knowledge that, for all her money, Cordelia would still be living with her parents, but when she had an entire floor to herself, being able to rent your own one bed apartment didn’t exactly compare. It had been a cold lesson in life being unfair. I’d have been able to accept that with grace… were it not for the constant assault Cordelia had inflicted on me.

  One day… I’d snapped.

  We’d been in science class together when she’d finally gone too far. Cordelia had walked over to me and started telling me some terrible things about my mother and father, things that I’d known to be true, but that didn’t mean I’d wanted to hear them or hear her telling the whole class.

  I’d been silent and kept working on the science project of the day. We’d been working on an experiment to make soap, adding sodium hydroxide to some mixed oils in order to cause saponification. The chemical component involved in the reaction was actually a fairly dangerous alkaline that could do damage if it got onto your skin prior to the reaction taking place. Cordelia had just started talking about how it was no surprise my parents had broken up, having me as their child, when the red mist descended. Without a second’s hesitation, I’d turned around and flung a beaker of liquid at her. It had splashed on Cordelia’s school shirt. She’d stared at it with her mouth open. Then she’d screamed.

  “Acid! It’s acid!”

  “Well done, it is an acid!” I’d answered, probably sounding like a complete psychopath to anyone listening.

  The teacher had come over to see what the fuss was about. Mrs Markle had been one of my favourite teachers, and I could still remember the look of understanding she’d given me prior to addressing the situation. “What’s the problem?” she’d enquired with complete calm. Mrs Markle was unflappable and, more than that, I think she’d known that I was playing a cruel trick on Cordelia.

  “She doused me in acid! I’m going to be deformed. My parents will sue! She needs locking up.” Cordelia had levelled a shaking finger in my direction.

  I’d remained silent.

  “What acid would that be?” Mrs Markle had sounded only mildly interested.

  “Acid! She had a beaker of the stuff! I’m burning!” Cordelia had claimed, but her voice had been more of a whine than when she’d started out. Probably because we’d both known by then that she wasn’t burning at all.

  “That’s strange. We’re not working with acid today. Sodium hydroxide is a strong alkaline. It’s something which you’d have known if you’d been listening, Cordelia,” our teacher had continued.

  “Then she threw that at me!”

  “I didn’t,” I’d said, feeling my cheeks flaming with resentment at even the slight prospect of getting into trouble.

  “Diana, what did you throw at Cordelia?” My teacher had looked genuinely curious. I hadn’t been the only one who’d grown tired of Cordelia’s ways.

  “Acid,” I’d answered. All hell had broken loose once more with Cordelia screaming that she could feel her skin being eaten away.

  I’d shared another surreptitious look with Mrs Markle before she’d had to put her foot down and ask me to elaborate.

  “It was vinegar. The vinegar we had in case any of us got lye on our skins and it needed neutralising,” I’d relented.

  “You said it was acid!” Cordelia’s eyes had burned with rage.

  “It is an acid.” I’d kept my eyes fixed on my desk. For one brief moment I’d felt elation at giving Cordelia a taste of her own medicine, but now the cold confines of reality had made themselves known once more.

  “You’re going to be expelled for this. You can kiss your university dreams goodbye. This will be on your record forever,” Cordelia had hissed at me before flouncing out of the classroom.

  I’d spent the rest of the lesson sinking into abject misery as I’d imagined myself called into the principal’s office and expelled. When the call had come, I’d almost completely convinced myself that this was it. This was the end. I was never going to amount to anything.

  I’d sat down with Mr Hendersby feeling like a criminal. I’d never been brought into the office of any teacher before… and this was the principal of the entire secondary school! He’d shuffled some papers and glanced at me without a flicker of interest before he’d asked what I’d done to make this meeting a necessity.

  “I threw vinegar at Cordelia Wrexton, but…” I’d tried to say, but he’d lifted a hand to silence me.

  “It says here that you made your classmate believe it was acid you were throwing on her. Is that correct?” He’d looked over his oblong glasses just to let me know the severity of the situation.

  “If she’d been listening in class, she would have known that we weren’t working with any acid. Apart from the vinegar,” I’d conceded.

  “That’s a very dangerous and spiteful thing to have done. I’m surprised at you. Your record shows you haven’t exhibited any behaviour like this before. I hope you are sorry for your actions.” The principal had continued to look over his glasses at me, judging me even though he hadn’t known me from Adam.

  I’d been young at the time, but in that moment, I had experienced an epiphany. I’d realised that the adults in control didn’t always get it right. They didn’t always bother to find out the entire truth, either. Why had I been dragged in over one slightly drastic incident when Cordelia had barely been reprimanded - in spite of my mother contacting the school several times to tell of my misery at the hands of her bullying? As the victim of her campaign of bile, I would have said that my ongoing treatment was quantifiably many times worse than Cordelia’s very brief scare.

  “I’m not sorry,” I’d said, speaking a simple truth. This time I’d been the one to raise a hand when the principal had tried to interrupt me. The surprise of my unusual action had kept him silent long enough for me to explain. “Cordelia has been bullying me since the start of secondary school. I’ve tried telling teachers, and I’ve tried ignoring her. Today I tried something new, and I’m glad I did,” I’d said, suddenly feeling a small glow as I confessed.

  Mr Hendersby had looked at me with a blank expression, which looking back, I now believed was what had passed for shock. “Two wrongs don’t make a right. I’m suspending you for two days,” he’d said, pronouncing my fate.

  “What about Cordelia?” I’d asked, my small glow being replaced by preemptive anger.

  For a long moment, the principal and I had locked gazes. In that moment, I was no longer a school kid but an adult who’d understood that what was about to come next would be, for want of a better phrase, complete rubbish.

  “She is not a part of this conversation. I hope that this suspension will give you some time to consider the severity of your actions and to reflect that I am giving you a fresh chance to be a better person. We do not lash out at our peers. As adults, we consider the consequences of our actions and solve things through productive discourse,” Mr Hendersby had told me.

  Even as a teenager, I hadn’t been naive enough to believe any of that for a second. “If no one does anything about Cordelia and she co
ntinues to ruin my life, I’ll do it again.” Maybe this time with actual acid, some dark part of me had added.

  “Are you trying to make some kind of a threat?” Mr Hendersby’s brow had wrinkled like a batch of unpressed linen. I’d had a strong suspicion that I was something new to him. I was not his regular badly behaved student who sat in sullen silence and accepted the punishment.

  “No, I’m making a statement. I’m asking you to consider the evidence and my past record and consider how out of character this incident was for me. Perhaps then you might understand the extreme lengths I had to be driven to in order to resort to this action. And then maybe you’ll see that Cordelia Wrexton is a part of this conversation.”

  Mr Hendersby had sighed. He’d seemed to age ten years during the time we’d spent together in his office. “You seem like an intelligent young woman…” he’d begun and had then sort of trailed off.

  I’d understood what had happened. He’d run out of generalised arguments.

  “You know, you’ll get much worse than suspension if you behave this way again,” he’d finally managed to spit out.

  I’d stood up from my chair and looked at him. “Cordelia will get much worse, too.”

  I’d excused myself from the room feeling far more buoyant than I’d ever imagined I’d feel again when I’d first entered the principal’s office. In my teenage years, I’d argued with my mum with regularity, as any teenager does, but this was the first time I’d challenged the authority of another adult. And by using logic and scientific reasoning, I had a feeling that I’d won.

  I never found out if Mr Hendersby had decided that Cordelia was a part of the ‘conversation’, but things had been different at school when I’d come back from my suspension. For one, I’d been absolutely unrepentant about my actions, and two, a lot of people had come out of the woodwork to congratulate me over what I’d done to Cordelia. I wasn’t the only one she’d enjoyed taunting, and to her victims, I had been a hero. It had won me a surprising array of new friends. Better than that, Cordelia had decided that she was going to pretend that I didn’t exist. Sure, she’d definitely taken it to extreme lengths at times, but it had been far better to feel like an invisible ghost in her presence than to be the subject of her attention.

  Secondary school had been much, much better after that day. It wasn’t the kind of thing the principal or my parents would have ever wanted me to take away from my punishment, but getting suspended had been the most worthwhile thing I’d ever done in secondary school.

  I blinked and my thoughts returned to the present day where Cordelia was still ignoring me. I hadn’t seen my childhood bully since we’d both left sixth form, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t felt the effects of her continued presence in Merryfield. Her family was known for its annual balls, and even the odd occasional summer get together. The Wrextons were well-loved because, in spite of their wealth, they tended to invite the entire village to their events. Well - the entire respectable part of the village.

  Whether or not you were invited to the Wrextons’ Christmas Ball was seen as a litmus test of how respected you were in Merryfield society. My mother, by rights, after her divorce, should have been off the list. The Wrextons tended to shun anyone who’d been the subject of so much gossip, but years had passed since my mother and father had gone their separate ways. I also shared my mother’s view that Gillian Wrexton potentially pitied her, having never found another man to take my father’s place. For once, I was on my mother’s side. She shouldn’t need a male partner to feel complete.

  It was with these thoughts still swimming around in my head that I got out of bed and got ready for the day ahead of me. Today I would be visiting the Wrexton’s family home, Merryfield Manor, and I would be decorating the place with floral displays ready for tonight’s Winter Ball.

  As I pulled on my clothing and added my customary Diana Flowers Blooms printed apron, I wondered why Gillian Wrexton had decided to employ me of all people. My business was more established this year than the last. Everyone in Merryfield knew who I was and what I was doing, but I still had no idea of the logic behind her decision.

  The Wrextons had avoided inviting me to their ball for close to a decade (when I’d been old enough to potentially be invited). It was clear that they knew the score between Cordelia and me, but why, when everyone else in the village believed I’d slipped down the rungs of respectability, would they ask me to come to their house this year? The only answer I’d been able to come up with was that this was purely professional and the ball itself wasn’t.

  When I’d arranged the entire thing over the phone with Gillian Wrexton, she’d been polite and concise. I was to go in and create the arrangements to fit in with the red and dark green theme, tinted with gold, that she’d chosen for this year’s decorations, and then I would be leaving well before the first guests started to arrive. Part of me was hoping that, once I was in the manor house and had finished the flowers, the Wrextons would be so delighted that they would ask me to stay, but I knew it was foolish to think that way. Why would I even want to attend a ball where Cordelia was almost certainly not only present, but practically the queen bee? I had a life that was removed from the daily Merryfield village affairs (although not as removed as it had once been). I didn’t need an invitation to a ball to feel good about myself.

  4

  Cinderella

  I created my floral touches to the soundtrack of the orchestra practising for all of the dancing that would take place tonight. When I’d walked into Merryfield Manor with my buckets full of flowers and boxes filled with florist’s oasis, I’d wanted to see a tacky disaster. After so many years of never being invited, I’d developed a kind of fantasy idea about what the ball itself was like, and I had hoped that it would be a big fat let down.

  It was even better than I’d been able to imagine.

  The exterior of Merryfield Manor was made of sandstone blocks that hadn’t been placed with much thought as to aesthetics. The overall impression was clunky and old fashioned… but the interior was completely different. The rooms were large with high arches way above your head, like a cathedral. Red, green, and gold wall hangings fluttered down from the high ceilings and there were decorative orb lights that also dangled like a sky full of fairies. If you were to imagine the most romantic and magical Christmas film set, and then add a healthy dose of Pride and Prejudice era old-school style, you wouldn’t be far from Merryfield Manor.

  Darn it all. Now I really did lament never being invited! I consoled myself with the knowledge that, even if I’d never thrown vinegar on Cordelia Wrexton, she’d probably have still snubbed me. And if she hadn’t snubbed me, she would have continued her bullying, even now. No, I still believed I’d made the right decision all of those years ago.

  I shook away my miffed mood and got to work on the decorating. I may not be invited to the ball, but I was definitely making a healthy profit from the event.

  I placed a block of oasis in one of the fancy containers that Gillian had insisted were used every year for the event. Next, I pulled some sprigs of Scots pine from one of my buckets of evergreen foliage. The pine would make a great Christmassy backdrop for my red and gold stars of the show - poinsettias. Once I’d worked on the back of the arrangement, adding twirls of ivy, golden dried oranges, and some subtle warmth from cinnamon sticks, I turned to the heart of the arrangement.

  Poinsettias were a Christmas favourite. I’d decided they were perfect for the ball. The bright red colour the bracts turned during the winter (the part most people assumed was the flower!) drew the eye with their flashy size and iconic shape. Poinsettias also had some fantastic dark green foliage of their own that tied the entire arrangement together. To top it off, I’d broken my own rule of keeping flowers natural and had spray-painted the actual tiny flower of the plant with a tasteful splash of gold. I’d consoled myself that at least it wasn’t glitter, but it did add a modern touch to the classic flowers. I’d even added a light haze of gold to the ivy, s
o that everything complemented everything else.

  The poinsettias hadn’t been that hard to grow. The plants were native to Mexico, which had meant I’d needed to keep them warm and toasty in the poly tunnels. Generally, they were grown as houseplants in the UK, but with enough insulation, I’d managed to grow a huge number of them in the tunnels. It had been a gamble. I hadn’t known whether or not people would want flowers during the Christmas season, and poinsettias were a little too soft and temperamental for my wreath making plans, but in the end, it had paid off. This event had been perfect for poinsettias, and I was also including them in this week’s arrangement, as a part of my new bouquet subscription service. They’d be in the next fortnight’s flowers, too, but I’d have to think of a way to jazz them up with some different festive blooms. Coming up with a new bouquet design every two weeks, that you then had to be able to repeat to every customer, was tougher than I’d imagined!

  I made good progress with my arrangements and floral touches. When the end of the afternoon rolled around, I was putting the finishing touches to the grand arrangement that wove its way around the main staircase. It was the first thing that the guests would see when they walked into the house and I wanted it to be perfect. Not only was it something that would create a lasting impression with the visitors, I also knew it would serve as my own calling card. The villagers loved to talk about the ball during the months that followed it, and if I made a splash with my arrangements, I could potentially look forward to a lot of local work next year.

  “Perfect,” I said to myself, threading some ivy around a banister and then dangling a pine and cinnamon stick decorative wreath I’d pre-made with this position in mind.

  “What are you doing here? You’re certainly not invited!”

  One by one, all of the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. It might be more than a decade since I’d last seen her face, but I still recognised Cordelia Wrexton’s voice. I stopped crouching by the bannister and stood up to look my arch-enemy in the face.