Flowers for the Dead

by Barbara Copperthwaite

  It was the florist who seemed determined to be the real siren though. A billowy blouse exposed a capacious cleavage, which was put on show further when the woman leaned over the counter and smiled at Adam. The delicate perfume of the flowers was easily overwhelmed, and possibly bludgeoned to death, by the chemical, cloying perfume of the shop owner. She was probably in her early forties, but her caked on make up made her look twice that.

  “Anything I can, er, do for you, sir?” she asked.

  Adam’s eyes roved like a pinball, trying to land anywhere but on her. The way she seemed to leer at him made his heart race in uncomfortable fashion, but he was determined to get some flowers for his Irene. Without replying, he picked up the blooms that caught his eye.

  “For your girlfriend, are they?”

  Instead of answering, Adam nodded, blushing furiously.

  “Ach, you’re a shy one, aren’t you?” The woman stood up straight, her bra now having to take the full weight of her breasts, which had been resting on the counter to display them to their best advantage. She carried on talking, not seeming to notice the silence.

  “Had a bit of an argument with her, have you? Never mind, these’ll do the job. If flowers don’t put a smile on her face she’s a hard-hearted woman. Want me to make a bouquet up for you, or you want to take them as is? As is? Shame, I could do a lovely job… What have you done wrong, anyway?”

  She looked at him expectantly. Adam shook his head. He could not think of a reply, he did not really want to speak to this woman and certainly did not want to talk about something as private and unsullied as his feelings for Irene. Suddenly a phrase from his gran popped into his head as he paid.

  “Er, a-a-a gentleman never tells,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing the flowers and walking out.

  He only felt truly settled again once he was safely in his room, creating a bouquet. He liked to say it with flowers. Women liked flowers. Nimble fingers tied up the stems, and Adam grinned. He could not stop it. Every time he tried it sneaked back, even wider, until he was laughing out loud in delight. Ah, this was love!

  The blooms seemed to respond to his happiness, coming together in perfect harmony. He adjusted one bud slightly then he was done. It was effortlessly elegant in its simplicity, and incredibly beautiful – just like Irene.

  There was a potential problem though. Tulips, which stood for a declaration of love, tended to wilt quickly; but he had pricked the stems immediately beneath the petals to prolong their life as much as possible. Part of him worried that perhaps they were the wrong flowers to choose, that their short life was an omen, but nothing was going to burst the bubble of joyous excitement he felt. No, his love was for keeps.

  The thing entire was shouting out his adoration, and could not be misinterpreted. For the first time in his life, he was making his intentions loud and clear, a terrifying but exhilarating prospect. There was wallflower for fidelity in adversity, and white Monte casino for patience: he wanted her to know that he was willing to wait, willing to play the long game with her. That he would always be there for her, trying to make her happy.

  On a whim at the last minute he had also included lisianthus. When Irene wore her warm brown hair in a ponytail, it formed little tendrils around her face and the back of her neck, which reminded him of the way the flowers’ buds twisted delicately.

  Everything was going so well with her that Adam had barely been home for months now, had virtually relocated to Inverness ever since he had spotted her in Covent Garden. The golden light he had seen exuding from her had seemed like a beacon of hope to him. He had been almost helpless to do anything but follow her: it was love at first sight, just like he had heard of in the stories his gran had read him as a child, just as she herself had told him repeatedly.

  “When you meet the right one you will know it,” she had promised. And he had.

  For the next few hours he faced killing time until Irene went to sleep and he could visit her. Dinner at the restaurant in the hotel, a few hours watching mindless television. He knew Irene had arranged to go over to see her brother and his wife, who had just had a baby, so there was no point watching the surveillance feed. But by 10pm he was bored and desperate to see his love, so had a quick look…

  There was Irene but, eurgh, her loser ex-boyfriend was in the cottage with her. This guy, John something-or-other, was refusing to get the hint. Irene had dumped him a couple of weeks before Adam first met her, and had been hanging around like a bad smell ever since. Irene had made it very clear she was no longer interested; Adam vividly remembered her telling John: “I’ve given you too many last chances. You’ve used them all up.”

  Of course he had – as if someone like Irene would ever end up with someone like John. He was as lanky as a piece of string, and talked non-stop nonsense. He was even worse than the florist! Adam had no idea what Irene had ever seen in him, found listening to the stream of consciousness bubbling from his lips very stressful to listen to. Sometimes Adam had to turn the volume down and just watch the pictures on the CCTV, otherwise he broke into a sweat.

  Now though, he hunched closer to the laptop, curious about what was happening. The pair seemed to be having a huge row.

  “How could you lie to me like that?” Irene shouted.

  John reached for her but she pulled away sharply.

  “Don’t touch me!” she shrieked as if his proximity alone was enough to have injured her.

  He ran his hand through his unruly mop of dark hair, looking helpless, which pleased Adam no end. Irene glared at her ex with hatred in her eyes and once more screamed at the top of her lungs.

  “Get out! Just get out! I never want to see you again!” For good measure she picked up the closest thing to hand and threw it with all her might. The picture frame and glass exploded on the wall behind John, sending Thai shells flying like shrapnel in a dirty bomb.

  John moved as if to go to the door, but a tiny, wet noise made him turn. A small sob. Irene stood hunched in on herself, crying softly, looking utterly lost. Adam wished he could reach through the screen and hold her. Instead John took her in his arms, and Adam seethed.

  Irene seemed to have lost all her fight, and simply stood, crying gently. John whispered something to her, but Adam could not make it out. Irene replied, equally gently. What were they talking about?

  The volume on the computer went up to maximum. Adam leaned down further, listening intently.

  “Help me,” Irene whispered.

  Adam froze. Why was she asking John for help?

  “I’m scared. Nothing is what it seems.” Her brown eyes were huge as she looked at John, full of all the sadness of the world, brimming over and pouring down her cheeks. “Help me,” she said again.

  And suddenly Adam understood. Nothing is what it seems. Irene wasn’t talking to John, she was trying to communicate with him. He gave a sharp intake of breath. That was it! Just like in programmes he had seen, when someone is in trouble and the police turn up, and the person answers the door saying everything is fine, but their eyes are darting towards the figure hidden out of view threatening them. And the police realise and say, “thank you, mam” and go – then burst in to rescue them.

  That was what Adam had to do. He would prove himself by being Irene’s hero and saving her from her awful ex. He snatched up the bouquet and marched into the chilly night.

  When he reached her house ten minutes later, he hesitated. Should he park outside and then knock on the door firmly, demanding to be let in? Or let himself in and drag John bodily from the place? Adam was not keen on confrontation, the thought made his guts twist. Unlike a knight in shining armour, he decided discretion was the better part of valour and parked a street away, then once more checked the surveillance footage on his laptop. Lanky John was not there; Adam breathed a sigh of relief.

  Time for him to come to his love’s rescue and introduce himself. Like in the fairy tales, she would look at him and know instantly that he was the man for her.

  It
was exciting. This was the moment he had been dreaming of for so many years. No more loneliness, no more pain. He wanted to settle down. He wanted to understand somebody and for them to understand him. He wanted that feeling of comfort, safety and nurturing that he used to get when he walked into his gran’s house as a child. Despite living there still, he recognised that emotion had to be provided by another person’s presence.

  More than that, though, he wanted to inspire all those feelings himself in another. Love was not a selfish act of taking, but reciprocation.

  With a thrill of anticipation, Adam took his lock pick out and opened the door as quickly as if he had used a key. He made no sound apart from a tiny click as he closed the door gently behind him. Took a moment to gather himself, shoulders back, flowers in hand, and swung open the door.

  “Oh! Thank God you’re here!” said Irene, turning.

  Her face fell from welcome to terror.

  Realisation hit with the speed of an Exocet missile. Irene really did want that lanky waste of space. Adam felt sick. He couldn’t lose Irene. The thought of her being with another man… No. Adam had given her everything. Loved her, cherished and looked after her for months. He had done the washing up without complaint, without even having to be asked. He had cooked and cleaned, sent her flowers, left thoughtful little gifts such as pretty shells, gone food shopping – and she had never even said thank you.

  All this he realised in a flash as they stared at each other. Then anger exploded and he was flying towards her. He could hear his gran’s words: “A gentleman never strikes a lady.” With superhuman effort he held back from the punch he was so desperate to land on Irene’s face. Instead his hands wrapped around her throat.

  Nails raked down his face. He shouted in pain, squeezing harder. Cut off the scream that was building up inside her. Feet, elbows, hands flew at him. A blow here, a kick there. Pain flashing then disappearing across his body.

  Adam’s anger was like nothing he had ever felt before. It was a force bursting from his body. All the pent up frustration, all that time he had wasted patiently waiting for Irene’s feelings to mirror his own, all his subsequent anger, confusion, hurt, betrayal, everything exploded.

  Just like an explosion, it was over in a flash - but left behind devastation.

  Shocked at himself, he let go of Irene. She fell to the floor, the whites of her eyes red thanks to tiny veins bursting with the force of Adam’s attack. What had he been thinking of, hurting her like that? He loved her.

  A horrible rattling noise escaped from her lips. Every breath was a wheezy fight. Irene’s red eyes bulged strangely and roved around the room, unseeing, and Adam knew he had gone too far.

  Confusion and pity were all he felt now as he watched her. The noise…it was heart-rending. It reminded him of his gran’s death all those years before – and of what she had asked of him. Adam had not been able to put her out of her misery, but that was what he was going to have to do for Irene. He could not let her suffering continue, not when he was the one who had caused it in the first place.

  All his hopes of love and happy ever after were shoved to one side. That would not happen now, instead he must put Irene’s needs before his own.

  So he placed his hands once more around the young woman’s delicate neck. Forced himself to look deep into her eyes so that she would know she was loved, so that the last thing that she saw would be his face. No one should be alone and scared when they die, he reflected.

  This was the thought that gave him the strength to act. He clenched his hands, making himself do what had to be done even though it was the last thing in the world he wanted. He squeezed until his knuckles were white with the effort.

  A small rattle, the tiniest moan and Adam saw in her face that this was it, she was dying. He could not hold himself back any longer.

  “I love you,” he choked, his tears dripping into her eyes.

  Invisible strings seem to pull him towards her and he kissed her, as he had always dreamed of. He poured his heart and soul into it. It was everything, everything that he had ever imagined. Then, suddenly, he felt her last gasp inside his mouth. She was dead.

  But there was something else.

  Confused, Adam pulled back and looked at Irene in amazement. She was gone, and yet she was with him more than ever. She was still there, he could feel her, just as he had always wanted. No more complications, no more silly games, she was now truly his soul mate, shifting her essence from her flesh to his in those final moments in order to live on inside him.

  No one would ever come between them, they would be together forever. It really was everything he had ever dreamed of.

  Adam shook his head in amazement. It was the best gift she ever could have given him. He had thought that he had known what love was, but what Irene had done for him filled him with awe. It was true selflessness, and he knew then that she appreciated everything that he had done for her. Like him she had been unable to express it in words so had found a physical way to show it. But this was so much more that anything he could ever convey in flowers.

  That reminded him… He looked at the bouquet that he must have tossed aside in his fury, and an idea formed.

  Gentle as a lover, Adam picked Irene up, her body still warm in his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder and he gently planted a kiss in her hair as he carried her upstairs. He lay her on the bed then stood back. There, she looked like Sleeping Beauty, or Snow White in her glass coffin.

  The ancient ritual of cleaning the body sprang to mind. It seemed fitting. First he scraped under her fingernails with his Swizz Army knife, then got a cloth and wiped over her face. Next, he brushed her beautiful brown hair because it had been messed up in the struggle.

  When he was done she looked more peaceful. Her swollen eyes, now closed, and the livid bruising on her face and neck detracted from the look though.

  Soon he must say goodbye, he knew. He chided himself for being silly, knowing that ultimately Irene had not died because she was living inside him. He felt her warmth spread through his innards and knew she was hugging him. What was in front of him was nothing but a shell, yet he wanted so desperately to kiss her. Only to kiss, not to lose control in the shameful way he had with Lisa. He held back, though, afraid of making her look messy again.

  Instead, he took the flowers he had brought and arranged them lovingly around Irene’s body to create a halo of blooms.

  “Now you look as beautiful in death as you did in life,” he whispered to the battered corpse. “Take care. I-I’ll miss you.”

  With a heavy heart he gave the house a final wipe down to get rid of any fingerprints he may have left, then closed the door behind him.

  For the next few weeks Adam felt a strange mixture of happiness and sadness; of comfort at having his love so close inside him, but also despondency that he was unable to put his arms around Irene and kiss her.

  Why was it so hard for him to get what everybody else got so easily that they often took it for granted?

  As time passed, he grew lonely again. While it was lovely having Irene with him, it simply was not enough, he felt ashamed to admit.

  He kept thinking about the single, wonderful kiss he and Irene had shared, and so wished that he had kept something of hers as a memento, something physical. The closest thing he could do was plant some lisianthus for her in a sunny, sheltered spot of his garden.

  Sometimes he would go outside and look at it and touch it, stroke the soft petals very gently, pretending they were her lips. But he could not gather a flower up in his arms and hold them like he wanted to hold Irene. He could not do something as simple as share a meal with her, because she needed no sustenance now. He could not do any of the simple things that ordinary people take for granted: he had sacrificed all of that for Irene’s sake, to stop her pain. That broke his heart.

  There was no choice but for him to put himself out there once more, open himself up to hurt, and try to find someone who would love him. First he read a couple of se
lf-help books to boost his flagging confidence. One in particular strongly suggested he stand in front of a mirror and give himself a pep talk. That seemed a bit much to him. Still, he went to his office, which was full of stainless steel surfaces reflecting his image back at him, and stared down at the shiny table where he liked to do his clock repairs.

  “I am, erm, I’m a good person,” he began hesitantly. “I-I always think of others. I’m polite, and well brought up. I am…yes, I am fully deserving of love. Yes.”

  The image looking back at him was warped from a slight imperfection in the table surface. Still, he nodded to himself firmly. “I am fully deserving of love,” he repeated.

  Plus, he had a bit of money, and worked out a lot so had a decent body. Adam was a catch.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ~ Primrose ~

  I Can’t Live Without You

  PRESENT

  Christmas has been a wonderful respite from real life for Laura. Part of her had felt gutless, as though she was running away, but when a bouquet had appeared on her doorstep just an hour before she was due at her aunt’s house, she had known she was doing the right thing.

  The bouquets are getting odder, she has noticed. At first they were pink roses, and sometimes other pretty flowers that seemed a bit wilder. Now though all sorts of weird things are being used. She gets the feeling they hold some sort of hidden meaning, as if her stalker is trying to communicate with her, but she has no way of understanding it. That revelation had come to her on her first morning away; the first morning in a long time that she had woken up after a full night’s sleep, feeling refreshed. It was the only time she had allowed herself to think of her problems.

  Of course, the festive season had made her ache painfully for her parents and brother, but she had forced herself to join in with the festivities, and surprised herself by enjoying them. Aunt Linda had made such an effort, buying all Laura’s favourite food, and enough Wensleydale cheese with cranberries to sink a ship.