The flowers begin to swim in front of me. I realize I’m crying when I almost fail to recognize the peonies that are laid out in rows, ranging from the palest, most tender pinks to hot, urgent crimson.
I slump down on the cold floor and practically hug the nearest crate of blooms.
‘Good God, Fern, that was quite an exit. Haven’t they taught you anything here? It’s a dramatic
74. Fern
‘Oh Adam, I’ve fucked it up,’ I wail.
‘I dunno. I think that was the most sensible thing you’ve done in six weeks – well, that and the new hair, it really suits you.’
I splutter a laugh despite the overwhelming misery that’s ripping through my gut. It’s not a good idea as it happens, because snot comes out of my nose – never a great look. ‘I don’t mean leaving him. I mean –’
I mean leaving Adam but I can’t tell him that. I did leave him and now he doesn’t want me, he said so last night. Quite clearly. Unequivocally. I have to avoid talking about us. I don’t want to frighten him away. I need a friend right now. I’d hate it if he became embarrassed or offended and left me here alone. I put him on the spot yesterday and it didn’t work, there is no point in going down that route again. Ever again. You can’t go backwards, he said that. I don’t finish the sentence. My face flushes with mortification and regret. I clear my throat and scramble around for something neutral to talk about – a pointless exercise in the circumstances, not unlike making polite small talk at a wake.
‘How did you find me?’ I ask.
‘Everyone is searching for you all over the city, but I knew you’d need flowers. You always said they help you think. And once I got here I thought I’d find you near the peony stall.’
‘Because they’re my favourite flower?’
‘No, because legend has it that mischievous nymphs like to hide in the petals of peonies, causing this magnificent bloom to be given the meaning of shame or bashfulness in the language of flowers,’ he replies.
Is he calling me a mischievous nymph? And if he is, is that a good thing? I shake my head. This is not the moment for innuendo and analogies; we’re confused enough. Another thought strikes me: since when did Adam know so much about flowers? I stare at him, dumb-founded. ‘How do you know that?’
‘You told me,’ he says, looking awkward.
Did I? I’d forgotten. ‘When?’
‘Forever ago.’
I blush again, newly doused with shame and regret. Is it possible we once talked about the meaning of flowers? How could I have forgotten that? How did I let that slip away?
Adam notices I’m scarlet and comments, ‘You look like one of these peony flowers, right now. You know, the same colour.’
He’s looking at me with an intensity that is making me wilt. I scramble about my brain for something neutral to say; something that won’t betray regret or wistfulness. Something that is impossible to misinterpret; a comment which cannot have a deeper meaning read into it. Some plain speaking.
‘Peonies tend to attract ants to the flower buds. This is due to the nectar that forms on the outside of the buds,’ I say authoritatively.
‘Are you calling me an ant?’
‘No!’ Failed there then – he still read more into my comment than I meant him to. I try to explain. ‘I’m just saying that however perfect they look there’s always a drawback.’
‘Are you talking about Scott?’
‘No! I was trying to talk about nothing!’ I sigh, defeated.
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, yeah, that’ll be right, you don’t do talking. You run, don’t you,’ says Adam. Oh bugger, didn’t see that coming. Adam glares at me. Any compassion I thought I detected has been swallowed by anger. He shakes his head wearily. ‘I didn’t know what I’d done wrong, Fern. I
I can’t answer. I want to look away from him because his pain is burning in his eyes and it’s obvious in the small, tight lines around his mouth too. But I don’t look away, it would be too selfish, I should see what I’ve caused. He continues.
‘Well, I thought we were and then you left. You just weren’t there any more. People shouldn’t just bale out when the going gets tough. People should stay put and work stuff out. People should talk things through.’
‘I tried to talk to you,’ I offer gently, weakly.
‘You gave me one ultimatum and you didn’t even stick around long enough to see how I’d respond.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Well, that’s good to know,’ he says sarcastically. ‘And now you’ve run away again.’
‘I thought you approved of me running out on Scott.’
‘I’m glad you’re not marrying the man but there were better ways to tell him.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat.
‘Yeah, I’m sure Scott will be stoked to hear that.’
‘He slept with Ben,’ I point out.
‘You knew that yesterday. You could have called it off yesterday before the cameras were rolling.’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘Life is.’ Adam spits out the words and stares in front of him. He looks irritated. Nearly all the flowers and stalls are packed away now; the warehouse looks bleak. I get the feeling that pretty soon someone is going to brush us up with the bits of stray foliage and sweep us into the bin. ‘Why didn’t you finish it yesterday?’ asks Adam.
‘Because you didn’t want me,’ I reply with a heavy sigh. I’m not delirious about admitting this but what is the point of trying to save face at this stage? ‘And I didn’t have the courage to leave without you. Or, at least, I thought I didn’t.’
We sit silently side by side. Him in a smarter suit than I have ever seen him wear – in fact, the only suit I have ever seen him wear – and me in a gown that cost six months’ salary, but we don’t look as grand and refined as we ought. We look bizarrely out of place in among the empty trestle tables.
Adam looks nervous but strangely elated. I can almost
I’m going to have to start all over again.
Alone.
Adam coughs. I think he’s thinking the same thing. He’s probably cold too and suffering from pins and needles because he’s scrunched down next to me. I wait for him to tell me I have to get on with it.
‘You know yesterday, when I was talking about my band and I said that they’ll never make number one because that stuff doesn’t happen to me, I’m not a number one sort of guy?’
‘Yes, I remember.’
‘The thing is, Fern, that sort of stuff doesn’t happen to me because, truthfully, I don’t want it enough. I don’t want it at the cost of everything else and that’s how much you have to want it in this business. That’s how much Scott wants it. He deserves his success and all that comes with it.’ His tone is slightly scathing. I don’t think there is any love lost between Adam and Scott. ‘But you know, maybe they might get into the top forty. Maybe number twenty-six or something around that mark.’
‘Yeah, you said.’
‘I’m just saying it again, so that you are clear. I’m not going to be a stonking, raving, unequivocal success. I’m more average than that.’
