I became aware of the soft sounds of Eighties soft rock coming from the kitchen and followed it to where I found Ned sitting at the kitchen table, chocolate Hobnob hovering over a cup of steaming tea, nose buried in this month’s issue of his beloved History Today magazine, the silky tones of ‘I Want to Know What Love Is’ drifting from the speaker by the kettle.
‘Feeling emotionally vulnerable?’ I asked as I pulled out a chair and sat down beside him. He looked up from his article about the Aztecs just as his soggy Hobnob disintegrated, falling away from the main biscuit and disappearing into the milky tea.
‘I wasn’t until I lost my biscuit,’ he replied, fishing out the crumbly mess with a teaspoon, his brow furrowed with disappointment. He deposited the soggy crumbs onto the plate of Hobnobs beside him and I reached over and grabbed one before the liquid could reach them.
‘I’m out tonight,’ he said, looking less than thrilled by the prospect.
‘Oh yeah? Got a date?’ I ate the Hobnob in two bites and instantly wanted another, although I resisted.
‘Oh yeah. With a sexy little minx called Barry,’ he countered.
‘Hot,’ I jested. ‘He had a rough day today.’
I wouldn’t go as far to say that Ned and Barry were friends, more like co-workers bonded over a mutual love of the job. Barry was about as exciting as a bowl of unsweetened almond milk porridge and he rarely had a word to say about anything. Yet they still went out together about once a month. What they did during these outings, I had no idea. I had visions of them sat, stoic, in one of those old-man pubs, not sharing a single word until they said goodbye. But maybe they both saved their wild sides for each other and what they were actually doing was going to street races and karaoke bars.
‘Oh, those came for you. They were on the porch when I got back from shopping today.’ Ned roused me from my mental images of Barry and Ned duetting to ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb to a bunch of flowers standing in a cardboard container on the countertop.
‘For me?’ I asked. ‘From who?’
‘I didn’t open the card,’ he answered. ‘But they’re pungent. They’ll be setting my hay fever off before too long.’
My chest buzzed with excitement as I got up and walked over to them. The scent found my nose when I was still several paces away and as I got nearer, I saw the eucalyptus leaves, nestled between yellow tulips and purple hyacinths. They looked expensive, like the kind you get from an actual florist and not from those big black buckets in Aldi. At the edge was a plastic holder and in it a little envelope. I took the envelope and pulled out a tiny card, which had so much writing on it I had to squint to read the words.
Nell,
I’m sorry about how we left things the other night. I know that I was rude before I left.
I wanted to send you something, as a way of apologising and also for the chance to tell you that I’m not the person I made myself out to be.
I hope you like the flowers. It’s the first time I’ve ever been into a florist and so I didn’t really know what I was doing. I must have looked like a right eejit.
She said that the purple ones are meant to mean ‘sorry’ and the yellow ones are just there to make it look cheerful, I think.
Anyway, I totally understand if you don’t want to, but I’ll be at our café tonight – you know, the one where we met. I’ll wait for you until it closes, but in case you don’t show, thank you for everything.
Hope to see you soon,
Charlie xxx
My heart thumped in my chest, making the card shake in my hands as I reread it and then placed it against my chest, pressing it hard into my sternum as if I could absorb it into myself. No one had ever bought me flowers before.
‘They’re from Charlie. He says he wants to meet me again,’ I said, walking back over to the chair, taking the flowers with me and setting them down on the table. Ned stopped reading his magazine again and looked up at them.
‘The married one?’ He leaned back in his chair, looking almost fearfully at the bouquet and the inevitable congestion they would bring.
‘We don’t know that he’s married,’ I snapped, clinging on to my one last shred of hope.
‘You gonna meet him?’ he asked, rubbing his nose with his palm, his voice turning nasal.
‘I don’t know. What do you think I should do?’
He shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me.’
‘Ned!’ I chastised. ‘What good is it, me living with a counsellor, if I don’t get to reap any of the benefits?’
He sat forward in his chair and clasped his hands together on the tabletop, striking his therapist’s pose. ‘Yes, you have a lot to lose here in terms of how emotionally invested I can see you getting in this guy, but what else are you going to do with your evening? Come to the pub with me and Barry?’
‘Oh, God no.’ I grimaced at the thought. ‘I was thinking about going to buy some scatter cushions to brighten up the living room.’
‘Sod the scatter cushions, Nell. Do you like this man?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you think that he’s married?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Is that a problem for you?’
‘I think so, yes,’ I replied.
‘But we don’t know whether that’s the case yet.’
‘We don’t.’
‘Then, what would you say to taking chances?’
I narrowed my eyes and thought for a moment. ‘Ned, did you just use Celine Dion lyrics to advise me
