FLOWERS

Ruth

Now

Alanna has brought in a book. I’ve never seen her with a book before, though I know she keeps an old copy of a Paulo Coelho in her locker. It is a light-blue, slim book, with a picture of a man dressed in white on the cover. I recognized it at first glance because Neil also has a copy, or at least he used to. I gave it to Oxfam when I cleared out. I wonder if Alanna also thinks that Coelho is an ‘enlightening writer’. I’ve never seen her take hers out of the locker so maybe she found it there.

The new book is thick; a hardback. It’s called The Flower Alphabet and has a picture of a white man in a hat on the cover, bending over and holding out a bunch of red roses.

Alanna makes me a cup of tea, tells me to sit down. She says she wants us to read the book together. This makes me anxious. I’ve not read a book with someone since I was five years old and even then my mother had little patience for it. She’d rather put a film on for us to watch.

Will we read a paragraph each? Or does Alanna want me to read it to her? I don’t mind showing her how to do things, but this seems a bridge too far.

She reveals, somewhat reassuringly, that the book is for research. It will help her to create a mood board for the wedding. She is dreamy and mysterious today; she smiles at the ceiling a lot.

‘What’s on her mind?’ I wonder aloud.

‘So much, my friend,’ she sighs, ‘so, so much.’

But, in short, she wants some help picking the flowers. It is traditional for the maid of honour to help the bride select flowers for the bouquet, the church decorations and the wedding tables.

‘What about Emmy and Bex?’ I ask.

‘What about Emmy and Bex?’ she says.

‘Are you not going to ask them?’

‘I don’t want to ask Emmy and Bex.’

‘But why?’

‘They are busy right now. And they don’t know a single thing about flowers.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘You’re on your break. You’re having a cup of tea. You’re having a biscuit. Do you want a biscuit? Here, have mine. Relax! You’re my maid of honour. You’re supposed to help me with the flowers.’

‘OK,’ I say. ‘But I genuinely have no clue where to start.’