I was awoken by the ping of a text. Just about managing to read it through scrunched-up eyes, I saw it was a message telling me I had a delivery to collect from the porters’ lodge. Remembering the last one has been the dress from Garrett, I sighed and felt none of the usual excitement at receiving a delivery. The second ping told me it was a ‘fresh’ delivery and they advised immediate collection.
My attempts at tidying myself up were little more than tokenistic and, after popping to the shop next door to pick up some orange juice and cereal, I reluctantly made my way to the small hut which served as the central post office for campus. As soon as I saw the smile on the porter’s face when I showed him my ID, my heart sank. When he returned, I couldn’t see his face, hidden behind a huge bouquet. Yes, it was beautiful, all delicate white flowers and tissue paper, but I knew who it was from. Garrett.
“Do you have a wife? A girlfriend?” I’m sure the porter thought I was making a move on him, judging by the embarrassed blush on his wrinkled face.
“Yes. Yes, I have.” I forgave him the second or two it took him to remember that fact.
“Here you go. Give her these,” I said, removing the card I didn’t want to read. “I don’t want them.” The old man was immobile, unsure of what to do. “Please. It would be a shame to waste them. They look expensive.”
“That they do. They’re from that posh florist down Church Street.”
“Well, there you are then. Take them home to someone who will appreciate them.” Not really giving him much choice, I walked out.
Ironically, Garrett’s flowers made me think of Jake. He had never bought me flowers, saying he couldn’t understand why people would want to display something that is dying. Plants are filled with life. Cut flowers are already on their journey to death, cut down for the selfish pleasure of others.
When he had told me, it had reminded me of what Atticus Finch says about killing mockingbirds: that it is a sin to kill something which only brings joy to others. Jake’s true wisdom was what angered me when he implied he wasn’t clever enough, wasn’t good enough. His decision to take the apprenticeship instead of going to uni was nothing to do with intelligence; he had similar grades to Flynn. It was a shame that he couldn’t see what others saw in him. What I saw in him.
Gulping down orange juice, I steeled myself to open the card, expecting a smarmy apology. Instead, it was a simple request:
What? Did he really think that, after his behaviour, I would just follow his order? There was no way I was going to start all of that again. I had learned my lesson.
I spent the rest of the day in the library, breaking up the studying with a few text chats. By the time I was ready to leave, I had arranged another evening at Seventh Heaven with Mickey and a visit home the following weekend. Smug at my productivity, I left the building, intent on an evening of laundry and loud music.
But there he was. Garrett. Leaning against the wall. Not actually blocking my way, but there was no way of avoiding him. I squared my shoulders and faked confidence.
“Hi,” I said, whilst passing him.
“Neve, stop,” he replied, reaching out to grab my arm. I pointedly pulled it from his grasp and took a step back before looking at him.
“What do you want, Garrett?” Even he must have picked up on the not-hidden-at-all sigh in my voice.
“Did you get my flowers?”
“Yes.” Maybe it wasn’t time to tell him that the porter’s wife was probably admiring them on her dining table as we spoke.
“Why didn’t you text me?”
“Because I didn’t want to. I don’t want to.”
“Why? Because you think I’m a dick? I know I went about it all wrong, but I couldn’t help myself. I don’t want to lose you, Neve. You mean too much to me. Tell me what I have to do and I’ll do it.” The annoying whine of his voice gave me courage.
“I’ll tell you what you have to do. Leave me alone. I’m not interested. I told you that. We could have been friends but you’ve ruined that now.” His face twisted and I was glad we were somewhere so public, even if it meant there were inevitable eavesdroppers milling around.
“Please, Neve.” His voice dropped until only we could hear it. “Please. I’m begging you to change your mind.” He took my hand in his and raised it to his lips. “I’ll take it slow. I promise. I know we will be so good together.” Each cliché made the bile rise on my throat, and I couldn’t believe I had ever found him attractive.
“No. I’m. Not. Interested. Goodbye.” I pulled my hand from his and walked away from him.
“You’ll regret this.” I heard his closing words and a shiver ran through me.
“I don’t know what to do now, Cass. I’m such a fool.”