BOOKWORMS SHORT STORY COMPETITION
In Christchurch High Street stands a florist's shop called In Bloom. The shop is entirely exempt from the laws of physics, which I know because I work there. Distortions of time and space roll in as regularly as high street buses, paralysing clocks and watches so that each day seems to last centuries. I am heroically bored: so bored that boredom has transcended itself and become an interesting state of consciousness. Just now I visited our grotty toilet, having postponed the excursion for as long as possible. I set off at 3:45, but when I returned, the clock stood at 3:39. When I realised that I had returned six minutes prior to leaving, I almost panicked. If time gets a taste for running backwards, my working days could span millennia. I start removing some wilted acacias from the nearest bucket, shredding them with unnecessary violence. This latest weirdness isn't fair. Then the shop door opens and I stifle an urge to throw myself on my customer like an overfriendly dog. It's her, the goddess from the insurance brokers! Even seeing her on the street can transform my day. I can't believe she's in front of me and I almost lose the power of speech. "Help at all?" She smiles up at me from a display of gardenia. "My sister has had a baby," she tells me. "Oh congratulations," I explode, and promptly feel ridiculous. "Why?" she asks. "It isn't my baby, and even if it was I wouldn't want it." I blink. "I just don't know what to get her," she adds. "Well, those gardenias are nice," I venture. "Very fresh..." She shakes her head as though she is laughing at me. "I don't like the meaning," she informs me. "Joy and happiness are the last things I associate with my sister." "You're a real bundle of fun, aren't you?" I blurt before I can help myself. "Flowers have meanings?" I add. She straightens and her eyes lock onto mine. "Of course they do!" she snaps. She walks up to the desk without dropping her gaze. "What about white lilies?" she demands. "They have a meaning, don't they?"
"Well yes," I concede. "Not quite the thing for a new mother..."
"I'm tempted," she grins, and I realise I like her.
"What do those acacias mean?" I ask, desperate to keep her talking.
"That you don't give your flowers enough water, for one thing." She gestures to the deadheads on my table.
"True. But what I meant..."
"Actually, they signify secret love," she tells me,and perches on the table with a crooked little smile.
I consider making a break for the storeroom and barricading myself inside. Then I realise she'd probably follow me and kick down the door with those vicious pointed shoes of hers, not that I would necessarily mind of course... I lean as casually as I can against the other end of my table, mind and body in an uproar.
She gets up and wanders down the shop. I decide I should at least look busy and start inspecting a display of lilac. She watches me. "What is it?" I ask, self-consciousness making me irritable. "I'm waiting for you to make your next move," she tells me as I remove a lopsided sprig. "This isn't a game," I tell her. "I'm at work and..." "Yes it is," she smiles. She takes the lilac, holding it to her shining hair. The blossom almost matches her eyes. I gulp. "Now," she says, "My turn." She heads to a display of wild flowers. "Snapdragons," she announces. She walks to the desk and places them beside the lilac. "So...?" I ask. "Perhaps you presume too much about my feelings," she giggles. "It's you who are doing the presuming!" I protest. "What's your name, anyway? "If you're so cross with me, why do you want to know?" she asks reasonably. "I'm not!" I rage. "I..." "What?" I throw myself down behind the desk. "I don't know! You're too confusing..." "My name is Debo," she says and peers at my humiliating name badge. "And it's good to meet you, Stephen. Now I do believe it's your turn again." "I'm not..." She raises a hand. "Do you often yell at your customers, Stephen?" I admit defeat and go for a bunch of narcissus. "Oh I know you want to make an impression," smiles Debo. "But that is altogether too much." "Oh - Narcissus. Right." I start laughing. "Are you a student?" she asks. I shake my head. "A full time flower baron, sadly." She frowns. "But you seem so..." "Aren't shop assistants allowed to know things?" It's her turn to look uncertain, a welcome change. "Your turn," I tell her. She selects a spray of iris. "What does that mean?" I ask. "Respect and honour," she smiles. "An apology." "Thanks." I hand her some wisteria. "I never realised you were so eloquent..." "Oh God..." "Oh God indeed. Wisteria means welcoming someone new into your life." We look at each other for what would be a long time, if time existed. "One more round?" she suggests. I nod and she chooses a sunflower. "I didn't mean to speak out of turn just now, but I still don't think things are as they seem." "Perhaps not," I admit. I reach up and pull a crocus from the nearest display. "I love these, " I say, and then stop, terrified that she has noticed the scars which disfigure my wrists. It was mostly about a girl, although at the time my life seemed infested with crises and petty humiliations. The horror of my breakdown is in sharp contrast to its late teen, suburban setting, a setting which still embarrasses me. I try not to, but still I blame myself for a perceived betrayal rather than recognising that my despair was genuine. Over and again people tell me that my recovery will take time, something which I apparently have on my side. It doesn't feel that way when instead of taking my place at university I am doing time in the local florists, guilty of first-degree idiocy. I am convinced that I have also blown my chances with Debo. She won't want me now and I'll spend my days alone in here and my nights watching television, all because of a lousy crocus. I realise I am glaring at the unfortunate flower, gripping it so hard that I am crushing the stem. I realise that Debo is still standing in front of me and slowly I look up. I am burning with self-recrimination, and it's one of the hardest things I've ever done. Her face is tranquil, her eyes like blue water which cools my burning shame. She takes the flower and adds it to the bouquet on the table. "A crocus," she says with her funny crooked smile. "To be honest, that one's a bit puzzling." She flicks her hair out of her eyes and looks at me again. "I think life's been unkind to you, hasn't it?" For a moment I am furious, humiliated and scared in equal measure. I am used to time slips and bizarre states of consciousness, but telepathy is too much. Then again, even if I can't admit that Debo is right, I know she's not wrong either. She's won, but I would never have forgiven myself if she hadn't. "A bit," I admit. "You know, I'm going to close up soon," I add, feeling suddenly reckless. " We could go and grab a coffee or something, if you've got time." "I've got the afternoon off," she tells me. "Well, what's left of it." "Oh," I remember. "Your sister..." "My sister can wait," says Debo firmly. "Shall we go?"*
The High Street hasn't changed, although almost twenty years have passed since my first meeting with Debo. I am certain that In Bloom cannot still exist, but I also recall how oddly time can behave around here. I find the shop where I left it, unchanged as though minutes not decades have passed. I stand outside and gawp, a middle aged man in a suit, then I ease open the creaky door and go inside. The assistant smiles at me. "You look lost," she says. "Oh no,"I reply. "Not anymore." I spy a display of gardenias. "I'd like some of these for my wife, please."
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