Buttercups and Daisies

Why?
The company? Maybe.
Boredom, another possibility.
The challenge, not any longer.
Gossip? That’s a big contender. It beats the curtain twitching, the vicarious living.
Now here’s the scary bit, maybe the real reason I come here. Is it to forget, to gloss over, to pretend?
‘Angie! How are you? We missed you last week. You got my message about the topic for this week didn’t you?’
It feels as though the air has been sucked out of the room. All sound ceases and I’m certain that ten pairs of eyes are glued to me, waiting for my reaction. I am being paranoid of course, no one knows. They might have their suspicions, but no one knows. Do they?
Sephie, what a completely ridiculous name I only ever use it when there is no alternative, is standing in her bird like posture head on one side waiting for an answer.
‘Sorry, yes of course. Sorry about last week. Something came up. I’ve got all my bits and pieces. Sorry!’
Why do I always have to sound so apologetic when she is around! She makes me feel so inadequate. I’m not sure she has the same effect on the others; they seem to get on well with her.
Thankfully her attention is drawn away from me.
‘Doris, Doris! No, no. you just cannot put that tulip next to the mimosa. Can’t you see?’
Poor Doris. She is a real sweetie. Been coming to this class for years but doesn’t seem to have a clue. I know why she comes. She’s lonely. Eric, her husband, passed away a couple of years ago. Two hours here every Wednesday gives her a purpose I suppose. Passed away. Now isn’t that an interesting turn of phrase? What is wrong with the word ‘dead’? So much more definite. Don’t you think?
S*****, I really cannot say that name, doesn’t think I know.
Look at her, smiling, fawning over Harriet. Not her fault I suppose, Harriet I mean. Harriet’s an innocent, married into ‘those who have’ hence the fawning.
‘Harriet! That is exquisite. Do you plan to use it for the mayor’s inauguration dinner?’ Harriet’s brother is to be the new Lord Mayor.
Harriet nods her head and gives a weak smile.
If only they knew!
I watch as S begins her appraising walk around the room. Smiles, nods, the occasional frown and of course the words of encouragement. Even for me. Especially for me.
She doesn’t know that I know.
He told me. And he laughed.
I can see the attraction. She has something. Not attractive in the conventional sense but a sort of sparkle. A smile that seems to demand its reciprocation.
Why?
Originally I suppose I was lost. I couldn’t cope, couldn’t imagine a life without Stevie. My baby!
Passed away. Dead. What a harsh word that is.
The doctor suggested finding a way of filling my time. Yoga, creative writing, pottery, something that would divert my thoughts.
I considered carefully, even tried a few of his suggestions and then I stumbled upon the flower arranging class. That first time John came with me. Not sure why but I suppose that’s when it began. The attraction I mean, they seemed to have an immediate rapport. I thought nothing of it at the time; he gets on with most people. And she, well she gave him the smile and he was lost.
‘Oh, Hel en a! You know our theme this week is celebration. What on earth are you celebrating, a dying duck in a thunderstorm?’
Our cue to gather round as S***** gives us her winning smile which is returned by her adoring acolytes.
‘Now Helena, I can see what you’re trying to do. You have chosen very well.’ A good teacher tempering her criticism with praise.
‘Look, if you cut the stem of this flower shorter and then make more of a show of the greenery. The flower seems to be peeping out shyly and so gets the attention. Do you see?’ She looks around smiles and gets the applause she knew would come. Even I, reluctantly, join in with the praise.
Why?
He blames me. Thinks it’s my fault. If Stevie had not died would things have been different? Probably not. If he’d not met S there would have been someone else.