He could pull the heavy drapes on the sunlight, whose bright gaiety seemed like an affront to his desolation, and go for a snooze on the inviting bed, he supposed. He hadn’t slept the previous night and Hilary wouldn’t arrive until late afternoon. He had a sinus headache to boot and his eyes and cheeks ached. He needed to take something for it or it would only get worse. He remembered going to a Boots beside M&S the last time he had stayed in the Royal Garden; he might as well go and stock up on his meds, he decided, and then go for a nap.
The noise of the High Street jarred as he emerged through the revolving doors in the foyer, and was asked by a courteous doorman if he required a taxi. He decline politely and walked down the marble steps and turned right, wincing at the roar of the heavy traffic and the fast-paced gaits of the other pedestrians. His head throbbed. He wanted to get back to the peace of his room fast.
I just don’t fancy you that way. It was the casual utterance of those heart-piercing words, in so public an arena, that seemed so cruel. Leon had given no thought to the effect his admission might have on Jonathan, and that hurt almost as much as the words themselves. He must have known Jonathan had feelings for him despite his protestations that he thought they were just friends. It was painfully obvious now that Leon had used Jonathan, enjoying the meals out, the visits to the cinema and theatre that Jonathan had, more often than not, paid for when Leon would admit that he was broke because of his maintenance and mortgage expenses.
Jonathan crossed Kensington Church Street, and in spite of his misery, the sight of the flamboyant array of multihued blooms at the flower stall beside the impressive architectural elegance of St Mary Abbots momentarily banished his misery. He loved tulips and he decided to buy Hilary a bunch as a little token of his deep gratitude that she would fly to London to support him in his hour of need.
The arcade housing Boots was thronged with commuters heading in and out of the tube station and as he passed Marks’ Food Hall and Pret A Manger, he realized that he was actually a touch peckish. That was perhaps why his headache was worse than normal. He hadn’t eaten, apart from a cup of coffee in the Franklin. He bought Sinutabs and a packet of Nytol and some Rescue Remedy and crossed over to Pret. He grabbed a BLT and a Coke and paid for it and had his snack and a Sinutab sitting at one of the window seats staring unseeingly out at the busy concourse.
Nancy would be disappointed for him when he told her that Leon was not ‘the one’. He wondered what Hannah would say. One of the sayings of Florence Scovel Shinn, a teacher of metaphysics, came to mind. No man is my friend. No man is my enemy. Every man is my teacher. The Game of Life and How to Play It, the book she had written, had given him much food for thought over the years since Hannah had gifted it to him.
What was Leon’s rejection of him teaching him? he wondered miserably. He had to raise this incident to a higher level; otherwise he would wallow and drown in self-pity and sorrow. But he was only human – he wanted to wallow. All these spiritual teachers like Hannah were much more evolved and adept at dealing with life’s disasters than he was. He was still mired in the lower energy of life. He scowled as he made his way back through the arcade to Kensington High Street. Of course Hannah wouldn’t call this latest episode a disaster, he thought crossly. She’d call it ‘a growth opportunity’. Well he was fed up with having ‘growth opportunities’ through woe. He wanted his opportunities to come through joy. He was sick of all this rubbish that Hannah spouted every time he visited her. It was getting him nowhere, he raged, consumed with anger at his counsellor and her unpalatable take on things. He trudged along, heavy-hearted, until he got to the florist’s stall. He chose two bunches of glorious purple and yellow tulips and paid for them. Leon had bought him tulips the previous week when Jonathan had invited him to his apartment for a home-cooked dinner. How vibrant they had looked in the John Rocca vase on the table and how happy they had made him. Tears blurred his eyes and desperate not to be seen crying in the middle of a London high street he slipped through a side entrance to the high-spired church and wandered into the very small peaceful garden so many passed by without seeing. Clumps of snowdrops, tulips, daffodils and bluebells grew wild in the grass, under the shade of freshly budding trees. Outside the iron railings life surged on, but he felt protected and distanced from it all as the tears streamed silently down his cheeks and he leaned against a buttress that was hidden from view and cried his eyes out as though his heart would break. Waves of grief engulfed him. Why? he shouted silently. Why?
No answer came but a bird sang on a blossoming green branch that reached towards the high spire that pierced the blue Kensington sky. A measure of peace descended on Jonathan’s troubled spirit as he sat on a ledge and composed himself, oblivious to the noise and flurry that carried on relentlessly, just metres away.
‘I’m so excited. I can’t believe I’m in London,’ Sophie bubbled as they hurried along the narrow, grey, tubed structure that led from arrivals to the exit at Heathrow.
‘It’s lovely out too,’ Millie exclaimed as
