N) The Wilting Rose

If this were a romantic novel, it would be said that she chose the
rose with infinite care, sorting through them to find the one perfectly
pouting with velveteen petals as full of Fertilising growth hormone as
a jaded starlet's lips are with collagen. But this isn't a romantic
novel and Rivvy didn't choose the rose with any kind of care. It was
late, she had a million and one things to do and by four in the
afternoon she was meeting herself coming back, which would have been
fine if the coming back 'her' had done all the jobs that had to be
done, but of course she hadn't.

She rushed into the Co-op almost upskittleing an elderly lady with a
shopping bag on wheels, the trolley ran into Rivvy's ankle and the old
lady swore at her in a manner most unbecoming of sweet old ladies.
Rivvy hobbled off apologising until out of earshot and then a little
bit further in case this old bag was one of the exceptions to the rule
that had overly astute hearing and then muttered a nasty little
incantation concerning euthanasia and the elderly.

The flowers were by the front door, and as she'd swerved to avoid the
elderly destroyer, she had almost sat on them. There were some overly
priced and rather tired looking bouquets, better then the usual
assortment naturally given that today was Valentine's day, but still
sweaty looking in their garish cellophane wrappings. And there in a
bucket on it's own sat a lonely looking single rose. It looked pathetic
and one of the outer petals had a brown mark where the ageing process
had already begun to desiccate it. She tutted at it's imperfection and
tried hard not to make similes to their own browning relationship as
she plucked it from its bucket and threw it carelessly into the basket.
She felt irritated by the fact that the rose wasn't absolutely perfect,
but not irritated enough to pay the extra four-ninety-nine to make it
up to the seven quid for the cheapest spindly bunch of flowers. Tonight
would be special; nothing was going to spoil it for her, not even a
wilting rose.

She'd bought him 'The Jazz Singer' on video, it was his all time
favourite film and she knew he'd be thrilled. The evening she had
planned centred round watching it together later on. It didn't seem
enough though, after all this was their first Valentines day together
and things had been a little shaky lately Almost without thinking she
threw a paperback book into the trolley, and then a CD, after all some
music might go down well too she thought. Chocolates! You can't do
Valentine's day without choccies. A medium to largish box tumbled on
top of the pair of 'Horny Devil' boxer shorts that she just couldn't
resist. Stuff for the evening meal was next, all fresh, no processed
stuff tonight, only the best of everything this special evening. Lastly
she moved slowly into the dessert aisle. Tiramisu lovely! Rich and dark
with the sharp tang of alcohol and the sweetness of the whipped mousse.
He had never had Tiramisu, never even heard of it; tonight she would
educate him in the delights of Italy's finest when it came to desserts.
She was about to head for the check out when she had a niggle of doubt,
what if he didn't like Tiramisu? She threw a large tub of Belgian
chocolate and bitter orange ice cream into the trolley as well. It
would be so romantic eating it in front of the fire straight out of the
tub. The family sized banoffee pie looked good too, so she chucked one
of those in for good measure.

It could perhaps be said that Rivvy had a tendency to over-do things,
but she was in love and tonight was the ideal opportunity to show him
just how much in love she was. The effort was all going to be worth it,
not to mention the expense. She'd written his card earlier in the day,
it was a cutesy one with lovey-dovey teddies on the front she took time
and care writing her special words of love. Her handwriting wasn't good
and she had always been ashamed of it but what she lacked in scribe
finesse she made up for in heartfelt sincerity. She was pleased with
her efforts and as a little something extra she popped a scratch card
with roses on into the card.

"Good Luck my love" she whispered as she sealed the envelope. Wouldn't
it be wonderful, she thought, if the scratch card she had bought him
for Valentines Day was one of the big winners? She never bought scratch
cards for herself; hell she couldn't win an argument but the thought of
slipping one into his card, as an added surprise was pleasing.

Once she got home the race against time was really on. She had to fling
the Hoover round to make it nice for him coming home and even more
importantly fling herself in the shower and get the evening meal in the
oven all in less than an hour.

Her hair was still damp when he walked in. she was warm with rushing
round and she knew that the heady smell of her shampoo would be
mingling with her favourite perfume. She'd put a skirt on and her best
underwear. She hardly ever wore skirts and her satin frillies rarely
got an airing mid week. He didn't seem to notice. He returned her hug
half-heartedly.

"What's for tea love, I'm starving?"

The home-cry of many a working man the nation wide, but couldn't he
have broken with tradition just this one night?

"Wow look at you! You look fantastic" Couldn't he have managed that,
just once?

Apparently not. She told him what was for their meal and he made all
the right appreciative noises.

He had nothing in his arms for her, no humongous bouquet of flowers.
Maybe he was teasing her, perhaps he had something deliciously
extravagant already secreted somewhere in the house just waiting the
perfect romantic moment to spring his surprise on her. Would it be
unrealistic to dream of diamonds and all they implied? Well a girl
could dream couldn't she? She had already tried the name on for size
and she thought it fit her beautifully.

"I've run your bath darling it's all ready for you, want me to come up
and scrub your back while dinner finishes."

He pulled a face, it was the 'I've been at work all day and I'm tired
please just leave me alone will you' face.

"No thanks Riv, I'm just going to grab a really quick bath, I'll be in
and out in two seconds. Why don't you go and get those fantastic smells
dished up for us eh?"

She felt deflated, there had been a time when he'd flung her into the
bath with him clothes and all, these days more and more often he
shrugged her away when she tried to be affectionate with him. As for
the bedroom department, well she couldn't remember the last time they'd
gone to bed together.

"You go up love, I'm just going to watch the end of this
documentary."

Often he didn't make it to bed at all and she'd find him the next
morning asleep on the sofa, his six foot two frame curled awkwardly
into the five foot one furniture, where was the comfort in that? She
heard him singing to himself in the bathroom, at least he sounded quite
happy. Tonight would be different, tonight they would not only rekindle
the spark that used to be between them but they'd light it up like a
guy fawkes on bonfire night.

The faint sound of his mobile phone ringing drifted down from the
bathroom.

Contrary to what he'd told her about not being long, he seemed to take
forever in the bathroom. And then she heard his electric razor going in
the bedroom, she couldn't remember the last time he'd bothered to shave
mid week. She smiled. He was making an effort after all. It was going
to be perfect.

She met him at the foot of the stairs he looked and smelled wonderful.
He wore a new shirt that she'd never seen before, it wasn't like him to
shop for himself, normally he left all the clothes buying to her now,
they'' been together almost twelve months and she knew his taste better
than he knew it himself. It was nice that he'd bought something new to
wear, she wondered if there might be a little something in the line of
new clothing for her too.

He gripped her lightly by the shoulders. His face wore that all too
familiar worried yet defiant look that she had come to know. The one
that said that he knew he was going to upset her but that he didn't
really care.

"Look love Tony's just rung wants me to nip to the pub for a quick pint
with him, you know how it is. He's been fighting with the missus again.
Plate up my dinner and I'll heat it up when I get back okay? Just a
couple of pints and I'll be back home before you know it. Promise! I
love you"

He was almost out of the door when she called him back.

"Please don't go out, not tonight, I've got plans, presents, I've
bought you presents and things. You know it's valentines day don't
you?"

"Yeah look sorry love I didn't get you anything, I'm skint until I get
paid tomorrow but I'll buy you something nice then okay?"

He took the pile of gifts she handed him. He almost dropped the things
at the top of the tower and opened them awkwardly standing there by the
door. He made ooh and ahh noises as he opened each one but she could
see that he was impatient to be away.

"Thanks darling" He kissed her briefly on the cheek either oblivious
to, or uncaring of, the pools of unshed tears that were forming in her
eyes. He waved the Jazz Singer video at her.

"Love this, love it! We'll watch it when I get back eh?"

Just before eleven-o-clock that night Rivvy went to bed alone. He
wasn't back from the pub and she had no desire to fight with him when
he finally came back staggering and belligerent.

She woke him with a cup of coffee and hot toast the next morning and he
uncurled from the confines of the sofa. He seemed moody, that was not
unusual after a night on the beer no doubt his head was aching, but
there was something else, he was fidgety and looked at her with a new
expression that she couldn't read. He seemed a little bit sad and a
whole lot on edge.

There was no kiss as Rivvy left for work, he was still in the bathroom
preparing for his own workday, she couldn't wait any longer and had to
leave with a yelled 'Goodbye' up the stairs.

The day was a long one, she worked later than usual and was glad to be
home. He would already be in, she wondered wistfully if he might have
flung the vacuum round or begun to prepare the evening meal, well it
would be a first if he had, she didn't think he even knew how the
Hoover worked.

The house was ominously silent, normally he would have either the tele
or some music on, often both, if not the play station would be blasting
away with him shouting profanities at the screen. There was nothing,
and although it wasn't unusual for him not to be there, Rivvy knew
instinctively that he wasn't just 'out'.

She stood for a moment in the hall prolonging the moment when her world
would crack like an egg knocked against a frying pan rim. How did she
know he was gone? The house was often empty when he got home so what
was so different about this time?

She just knew. The house wasn't just missing his presence, the feeling
that he belonged there seemed to be gone.

One word came into her mind.

Maureen.

She didn't have to be told, she just knew, had known for months, but
had tried desperately not to hear his mumbled voice calling her at
night. Had believed him when he said they were just friends.

Only she hadn't believed him had she? Not really, she only pretended to
fool herself that he was telling the truth. All these thoughts passed
through her mind in a whirlwind of pain as she turned the handle into
the lounge.

The video rack looked like the smile of somebody with ruined teeth,
black holes seemed to grin at her from where his video's had been
removed from their collection. The Jazz Singer was gone.

It was the same with the C.D rack. Had he really owned as many C.D's as
he had taken? His silver tankard was gone from the display cabinet and
the framed picture of his daughter had been removed from above the
fireplace where Rivvy had insisted it be given pride of place. She
could go upstairs and check the wardrobe but there was no point, she
knew there would be empty shelves where his clothes had been. And his
collection of aftershaves and hygiene products would have gone from the
shelf at his side of the bed. She always had to move his book off the
pillow in the mornings before she could make the bed, why he always
left it there she didn't know but it irritated her. She wouldn't be
moving his book anymore. She wondered how close he was to finishing
it.

He was gone.

In the kitchen an empty vase stood by the sink still half full of fresh
clean water.

And in the pedal bin a valentine card with lovey-dovey teddy bears had
been ripped in two and thrown on top of the accumulated rubbish.

On top of the card lay the wilting, red rose.