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know is in the fridge, hidden between the low fat yoghurts and the slice of cheesecake.  I eat it.  I eat the cheesecake too, so it’s no longer a source of temptation.  And it’s hardly a problem – I’m not trying to lose weight, it just rather negates the hot water and lemon.  Never mind Jeremy Kyle.  What I need, I decide, is a fridge full of healthy food to fuel my new, super-fit body toward my half marathon and looming stardom.
    For a small village like Dexter’s Green, Demelza’s isn’t all bad.  It sells cheap washing up liquid and that budget loo paper that isn’t budget at all because end up using twice as much of it. There’s wine too – the kind that’s strictly for emergencies only.  I hobble carefully over there, heading for the grocery section, ignoring the delicious smell of hot sausage rolls and the rows of chocolate bars hurling themselves off the shelves at me. 
    Mr Crowley serves me at the checkout.  He ’s stern and bald and has an opinion on most things, and just like Honey, likes to give me his two pennies worth.
    ‘My new healthy diet, Mr Crowley,’ I tell him proudly. 
    ‘You need some meat, young lady.  All those veggies aren’t no good for a growing young lass like yourself…’  He shakes his head as he painstakingly counts out every last coin of my change.  Honestly, there’s no pleasing some people.
    I’m still zipping up my purse as I walk out and collide with someone coming in, then I notice it’s the same girl I bumped into yesterday.  The one with the awkward pushchair, only this time she’s without it.
    ‘My fault again,’ I say to her.  ‘Sorry - on your own?’
    ‘Yes,’ she says curtly.  ‘He’s not that well, actually.’  She’s pale under her tan, I notice and there are dark circles under her eyes, only she still manages to look completely stunning. 
    ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ I say, realising I’m blocking the doorway.  ‘I really hope he’s better soon.’
    She hesitates for a split second.  ‘Thanks.’
    I stroll home feeling virtuous and arrange my vegetables decoratively, admiring how much healthier I already feel.  Then Honey calls me and as always, gets straight to the point.
    ‘Now Frankie, have you thought any more about the half marathon?’
    ‘I’ve done more than think about it,’ I tell her smugly.  ‘I’ve started training!  You, my friend, are talking to a fellow runner!’
    There’s a stunned silence at the other end.
    ‘Only snag is I bust my ankle.  It’s only twisted and I’ve iced it and all that.  But I think I might have overdone it the teensiest bit…’
    Cue another lecture. 
    ‘You need to build it up slowly,’ says Honey bossily.  ‘I can’t believe you don’t know that.  Get a training schedule off the internet for God’s sake, or join a club or something.  Sorry, just seen the time.  I’ve got to get to a meeting.’
    Phew.  Got off lightly there then.  I check my emails and in among the special offers for Viagra and penis enlargements, and the one from Katyusha from Poland, who likes sex and wants to be my wife, at last is the email I’ve been waiting for.
     
    Dear Frankie
    I’d be grateful if you’d come to my house to discuss arrangements for my wedding flowers.
    Yours
    Maria x
     
    Her address is at the bottom.  My heart pounds excitedly.  This is it!  It’s happening!  My dream is about to come true…
    I indulge myself for a moment with fantasies of elaborate, towering flower arrangements and a tiny little mention in Hello magazine.  However, it’s June and the thick of wedding season and there simply isn’t time to daydream.  This coming weekend we have two weddings which will only happen if I plan with military precision.  But when I open up my shop the next morning, there’s a problem. 
    Everywhere I look, it’s like someone’s been in with a strimmer.  The floor is strewn with the dead heads of flowers nipped off in their prime and after conducting