The Definition of Fflur

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The Definition of Fflur Page 8

by E. S. Carter

"Laurie."

  "Same age as you?"

  I can feel his head move as he nods. "Yeah, but she goes to the Catholic school."

  "That explains it. I’ve heard those girls are boy crazy." I know I sound beyond catty.

  He silent for a moment and I wish he'd never come in here and we'd never had this stupid conversation.

  "What about you?" he asks, changing the subject from him to me. "How many boyfriends have you had?"

  If I say none, I’ll look lame. So, instead I go with, "There're a couple of guys I like."

  Take that. Even though it’s a lie. There’s one guy. One.

  “Oh,” is all he says in response, and I guess this conversation is finally over.

  With silence surrounding us, Galen drifts off to sleep, and for at least an hour, I lie there and listen to his breathing. But sleep doesn’t come for me, and I carefully crawl out of the bed, going to great lengths not to touch him.

  I grab my trainers, phone and hoody, and sneak across the hallway to the room he was supposed to share with Rhys. Once inside, I look at the top bunk and see my brother's bare foot sticking out of his covers.

  I pull at his big toe, and he shoots upright, mumbling about killer plants, but as soon as he sees it's me, he shakes his head and blinks into the darkness.

  "What's wrong, Flower?" he asks as we make our way towards the spot where he found me earlier.

  "Nothing. Just didn't want to be on my own."

  "Something on your mind, Fflur?"

  I turn to look at him, his handsome profile in the shadows as the light of the moon dapples his face.

  "Do you ever feel so insignificant that you wonder if you'll disappear?"

  He looks at me and his brow furrows, and I can see he’s processing his thoughts.

  "When Mum first left,” he begins, stretching high to pull a leaf from one of the trees. “All I felt was anger. I was furious, livid even, and I had a thousand questions I wanted to demand answers to, but my anger wouldn't let me ask any of them."

  He lets the leaf fall to the ground and stretches to grab another, higher up the branch, and the tree rustles in protest.

  "I felt like I wasn't good enough, and, like you, some days I felt so weak, so small, that I wondered if anyone would notice if I just left. Like Mum did. If I got out of bed one day and decided I didn’t want to do this anymore, would anyone even care?"

  I dig my bare feet into the cold grass and admit I feel like that right now. "I don't feel good enough most of the time.” I snort and correct myself. “Okay, almost all of the time.”

  "What else is on your mind, Fflur? You didn't drag me out of my bed to tell me you sometimes hate our situation. Something's eating you, and it isn't what happened with Mum and Dad."

  I look at him, and I want to admit the whispers of my heart, but I can't. I can't even admit them to myself.

  We're quiet for a long time, watching wisps of clouds float across the moon, and listening to the stillness of the night.

  Weariness eventually settles over me and Rhys hooks his arm around my shoulder.

  "You can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

  I nod.

  "C'mon," he says, steering me back towards the centre. "Let's get some shuteye. I bet they'll drag us out at the crack of dawn. Max has booked us for a day of caving or potholing, whatever the hell he called it.”

  I quietly sneak back into my room, and find Galen fast asleep on his back and taking up most of the bed.

  I could go and crawl into his empty one, and suffer Rhys’ snoring, but, after almost confessing my sins to my brother, I could use the comfort of Galen next to me.

  My feet are muddy, and I don't realise how cold they are until I attempt to climb back into my bed.

  Galen stirs and mumbles sleepily, "Bloody hell, Fflur, you're freezing."

  "I'm fine," I mutter.

  He tugs me closer, tangles his legs with mine, and wraps his arms around my shivering body.

  "Relax,” he whispers sleepily. “I'll keep you warm."

  My body stiffens.

  "Relax, Fflur. I've got you."

  My cold and rigid body eventually relaxes into him.

  "Better?"

  "Yes, but I'm going to make you cold."

  He leans over me, the warmth of his chest pressing into the cold of mine, and tucks the back of the blanket around my back and under my body.

  My traitorous heart refuses to ignore the connection of our bodies, and I go rigid once more. I squeeze my eyes shut and repeat the scientific names for all my favourite flowers over and over in my head, like counting sheep.

  Bellis perennis.

  Glebionis coronaria.

  Taraxacum.

  I'm wide awake and toasty warm.

  It's the dark of night, so I know I haven't slept for long.

  Galen is still asleep, and his chest rises and falls steadily. His arm slung lightly around my waist.

  I'm glad he's still sleeping or else he might be able to feel the clanging of my heart against my ribs, as I struggle to take a full breath. Or the way my legs shiver when I feel the graze of his coarse hairs against my smooth skin.

  My mind wanders to all the used tissues I found in his bedroom.

  I shut those thoughts down as my body heats all over.

  Eventually, sleep claims me once more as I fade away under the warm weight of his hold.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rhys and I are on our way home.

  It’s a month since we all went for the adventure weekend in the Brecon Beacons.

  "Everything okay?” he asks as we stroll slowly down the flagstone path towards our terraced house.

  "Yep."

  "You don’t sound it."

  I shrug, but I daren’t look at him.

  He hooks his arm across my shoulders and pulls me into him.

  "No one bullying you at school or anything?"

  "No."

  "You sure?"

  "Yes."

  "This isn't boyfriend trouble, is it? You're too young to have a boyfriend."

  "You have a girlfriend."

  "No, I don't,” he mumbles. "She dumped me, remember?"

  I don't know what to say to that, so I wait for Rhys to put his keys in the front door and let us in.

  "Hey, Dad. We're home," I shout from the hallway, and dad shouts back that he's in the kitchen.

  I toe off my shoes, hang my coat on the hook on the wall, and make my way towards the kitchen.

  Dad never cooks, so to see the kitchen table a complete mess with flour and eggs everywhere, causes a giggle to burst free from my lips. He turns to look at me from his place by the oven, and it's quite endearing to see he's even wearing an apron covered in daffodils, and has flour on the end of his nose.

  On a cooling rack by the oven is a tray full of shortbread, and a plate of welsh cakes. They look pretty edible, and Rhys steals one, but hisses out a curse when it burns his lips.

  "Ouch. That's hot."

  "That's what you get for stealing them. You can have as many as you want when they cool down," Dad chuckles, watching as Rhys waves around his shortbread finger in an attempt to cool it quicker.

  "What's with the cooking?" I ask while staring at Rhys who has his burnt tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog, trying to cool the sting.

  Dad looks uncharacteristically nervous.

  "The truth?"

  I nod.

  He looks sheepish when he says, "I guess they're kind of a peace offering and a sweetener all rolled into one."

  I look at Rhys, and he shrugs as if to say, 'I haven't got a clue.'

  Dad unhooks the flowered apron from around his neck. It was Mum's apron, but she must have left it here. I stare at the yellow daffodils covering the fabric and have the urge to count them.

  With floury hands, he begins pacing back and forth along the cabinets, and my stomach plummets.

  He’s going to drop a bombshell on us.

  I look to Rhys for support, but he’s wip
ing his hands on his jeans and eyeing the trays of baked goods. I guess he's not thinking along the same lines as me. He's more worried about how long before the biscuits cool.

  "Spit it out, Dad?" Rhys says impatiently while picking up another shortbread finger.

  Dad stops pacing a hole in the lino and drags out a chair. He sits and looks at us both for a long moment before admitting, "I'm seeing someone. We've been dating for a few months, and I think it could be getting serious."

  What?

  I must have misheard him. All he ever does is go to work then come home. He's always here, how could he have met someone?

  Then it dawns on me. We spend every other week at Mum's.

  Rhys drops his biscuit on the table in shock.

  "Her name is Kate. She's a teacher. I met her in the supermarket."

  "You met a teacher in the supermarket?"

  He chuckles. "There was a long queue at the checkout. We got to talking while we waited and realised there was an attraction between us."

  Rhys ignores this admission and asks, "A few months? Why haven't you told us about her before now?"

  Dad picks up the biscuit that Rhys discarded but doesn't eat it.

  "I didn't want to upset you for no reason. I know you still struggle with sharing your time between here and your mother's place, and I didn't want you to know about Kate until I knew it was something serious."

  "If you're telling us, then it's serious?" I ask, trying to work through the million questions in my brain.

  Dad has been dating someone for months?

  That means someone else is likely to become a part of our lives?

  When I get my initial emotions in check, I do feel happy for him. He doesn’t deserve to be alone.

  I slip my hand under the table and squeeze Rhys' forearm. Giving him the silent acknowledgment that I'm alright with this, and hoping he is too.

  "Kate, huh? So, when do we get to meet the teacher from the supermarket?"

  “Whenever you want.”

  Rhys leans forward and plucks his biscuit from between Dad's fingers, all the while not looking at his face.

  "I need to go and do my homework," he says before stuffing the entire finger biscuit into his mouth and leaving the room.

  We both stare at his retreating form.

  I don't want there to be awkwardness between us.

  "If it's serious, do you love her?" I ask.

  He looks at me thoughtfully for a moment before admitting almost shyly, "I like her a lot. Maybe I could love her, but I really need you to meet her first because that's the clincher. I need to see how she is with you guys before I take this any further. You and your brother will always be my priority."

  He tilts his head towards the remains of the baked treats and then smiles down at the mess on the table.

  "Hence my poor attempt at baking. Kate's coming over tonight. But it’s okay if you’re not ready yet. I just wanted to give you the option.”

  I choose my words carefully. Dad has tried to put us first in all of this, and I don't want to mess it up and hurt him by saying something wrong.

  "If she makes you happy and she doesn't care about our weird family, and even weirder kids," I tilt my head towards the doorway Rhys just exited, and roll my eyes playfully. “Then she’s okay by me.”

  I pick up a welsh cake, take a big bite, and grin at him with sugar covering my lips.

  He smiles at me, and it's a smile I haven't seen for a long time. It’s a smile from before.

  Without taking his eyes off my face, he stands and comes around to my side.

  "Come here, Flower. Give your Dad a cwtch. He needs one. It’s tough telling your teenage kids that your dating again."

  Flower. He called me Flower.

  I swallow the lump of cake in my mouth and drop the chunk still in my hand on the table. My little meek heart, that sometimes feels too small for my body, fills with warmth, and I stand and turn to face him.

  His big hands cup both sides of my neck, and he studies my face intently.

  His eyes well up as he bends to kiss my forehead.

  "You're so beautiful, Flower," he says reverently. "I love you and you're not weird. I don't want you to ever call yourself weird again. You're Fflur, and you're perfect."

  He pulls me into his hard chest and hugs me tightly. Here in my father’s arms is home. And this, this right here is more than a hug—it’s a cwtch. The one he asked for.

  I inhale the scent of home that clings to the crisp fabric of his shirt and ask, "What time is Kate coming?"

  I promise I'll try to accept her into our world.

  Rhys' voice comes from behind us, and we both turn to look at him slouching in the doorway. "Yeah, what she said. When is Kate coming? Because I can't wait to eat the rest of the biscuits."

  Dad squeezes me tighter at Rhys’ attempt at acceptance and support. “Oh,” my grinning brother adds for good measure.

  “You can tell her to come over more often if it means you’ll be baking again.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  My mother is scraping the leftovers into Tupperware boxes, before sliding the plates into the sink to wash, while I wait with a tea towel in my hands ready to dry. It's our nightly routine, and we fall into it automatically after every evening meal when I stay at their house.

  "What would you say if I brought a boyfriend here?"

  Her hands still in the soapy water before she rushes to pick up a dish brush that she uses to scour the roasting tin. Only she starts to scrub it a little more aggressively than normal, and I swear a hole will appear in the metal dish if she carries on at that rate.

  "You're far too young for boys."

  I don't bother to argue that I'm nearly sixteen and that most of the girls in school have boyfriends. Which gives me an idea.

  "Would you say the same thing if I brought home a girlfriend?"

  I'm being flippant, but I'm trying to prove a point.

  "Who you brought home wouldn't matter. You're still too young."

  We finish our task in silence, and Mum doesn't speak again until she's peeling off her yellow Marigold gloves.

  "When you're older, I'd like to meet whoever you decide to bring home, but there is plenty of time for that. Be young, Fflur. You're already growing up too soon."

  The trouble is there's no one I want to bring home and the person my heart whispers about is someone she already knows.

  This is why I tell secrets to my flowers.

  It’s safer.

  We spend the rest of the night watching some action film that Rhys picked.

  My eyes are on the screen but I couldn’t tell you what’s happening.

  What I could tell you, with precise detail, is every time I feel Galen’s questioning stare.

  He knows things are different between us since the night we shared a bed, but I don’t think he knows why they are different. At least, I hope he doesn’t.

  God, I need a flower.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It’s late spring and Galen is practicing with his friends in the TV room, or ‘Band Room’ as he refers to it when they come over.

  I don't know the other boys. He's never bothered to introduce me to them.

  Galen sits on his favourite stool playing his guitar while another boy with scruffy hair bangs with minimal talent on the drums, and another plays a small keyboard.

  Compared to his friends, he sounds like a star.

  His fingers are nimble on the strings, and his voice when he sings is deep, clear and soulful.

  When I watch him play, I feel good.

  When I listen to him sing, I don't feel like Fflur. I feel like I'm floating along in the stratosphere with him.

  Galen is going to be a star.

  But I'll still be a flower pushing my way through the cracks in the pavement.

  He spots me watching them from the doorway, and his singing never falters. He smiles at me. It's a smile with no cockiness just happiness. The song they are performing isn't one
I'm familiar with, but I know I'll be humming it by the morning.

  When the song finishes, I stand there and clap.

  He lifts his head and grins at me, and I can imagine him centre stage finishing that song and grinning down at the thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of girls who will believe that smile is just for them.

  "What are you smiling for? Were we that good?" he asks as he lifts his guitar, leans it against the stool and walks towards me.

  I didn't even realise I was smiling.

  I hold my hand out to stop him from coming any closer. He's feeling cockier in front of his friends.

  "Come on, Fflur. You can tell us."

  I push against his chest, and he stumbles back.

  "If you don't admit how awesome we were, I'll play dirty," he threatens with a glint of mischief in his lawn green eyes, and his fingers wiggly wildy.

  "You were okay, but I think you already know that."

  "Okay, is not good enough. How good are we?"

  "I've just told you you're good. What more do you want?"

  The fingers that just swept along those strings to create magic, now wiggle and tickle under my armpits.

  "Stop," I giggle.

  "Not until you tell us."

  I shake my head, but can't help but laugh. I look from Galen to his friends, and in the corniest accent I can muster, say, "Boys you were fabulous, dahlings."

  The one behind the drums snorts and says, "Gal, I think she's taking the piss."

  The other says nothing.

  "Galen's mouth is right by my ear when he says, "I agree, and she's going to pay for it."

  Within seconds I'm on the floor, and he's tickling me without mercy, and both his friends are egging him on.

  Between gasping breaths and full-blown giggles, my traitorous heart whispers 'Keep touching me. Please keep touching me.'

  I get the hiccups, and Galen stops tickling me. He stares down at me solemnly. His emerald green eyes delve into my soul. Perfect lawn green to bright blue. Like the mountains touching a cloudless sky.

  Galen to Fflur.

  Awareness flashes over me. I'm conscious of everything.

  The way he's straddling me. The warmth of his hands on my skin. The blood rushing through my body and pooling low in my belly. The tentative ache between my thighs.

 

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