Flowers for the Gardener

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

  “Want another?” the server asked, as she eyed his second empty glass.

  Ethan hesitated before shaking his head. Belatedly, he remembered he drove here, already a little over the limit. Self-reproach now toyed with him. “Bring coffee and another with the dessert menu when I finish it.”

  He needed to sober up, walk around for a couple of hours, and drink coffee and water. No way could he cope with the loss of his driving licence and, worse, he would never forgive himself if he caused an accident.

  An image of Ruby Gardener rose up. Her lips pinched, and her stare disapproving. Old cow. He was young, free, single, off work, and away from the premises. The old bat didn’t have a say in what he did on the weekends even if he and his folks had, for so long, lived in the staff house. Grown up in it. In the servant’s quarters.

  Shit. No wonder Rich regarded him like his body was up for sale, took it as another part of his labour. Ethan toiled with his hands and put his back into it so why not his mouth, cock, and arse, too?

  No, that was the alcohol talking. Or at least so he hoped.

  First coffee finished, the cup barely touched the top of the table when the server appeared and whisked it away. What the fuck? Right little Hawkeye this one. Shouldn’t complain. Better than waiting.

  “Steamed pudding to go with more caffeine.”

  The pud might help soak up the brew, and the golden syrup might not clash too much with the treacle tang of the beer. The sweet didn’t take long to arrive but each bite went down so fast he didn’t savour any of it. The drinks found their sure way to his bladder and the curse of sitting alone meant if he got up he risked losing his seat, his jacket, or both. Not as any of his clothes would be much of a loss but the afternoon came with a decided nip in the air.

  With the spoon halfway to his lips, Ethan froze. Didn’t it beat all? Here he sat, accusing Richard of viewing him as poor working class, the hired help, when he thought of himself as little better. When did his confidence take such a hit? Unashamed of his job, at times he liked it. Sure, drudging for the Gardeners wasn’t his first choice, but the work itself, he didn’t have a problem with. Same as he had no issue with Richard. Might want to bring him down from his pedestal a bit but mostly so Ethan could run his tongue all over him. Lap away the artificial façade.

  Phony. Concocted. Hard to say what he sensed, but even as children, Ethan longed to crack the ice-like exterior. The pretence made Richard into a photocopy of the man’s mother, and they were far from alike. As many similarities as he spotted, Ethan noted many differences. Each of the Gardeners pulled up their own self-built drawbridges.

  Determined to down the last mouthful and get more coffee inside of him before he dashed to the toilet, Ethan attacked the final bit of sponge and scraped toffee from the bottom of the dish. All the while, thoughts circled much like water going down the drain.

  Fact: he appreciated the work, if not always the people he toiled for. Fact: he liked Richard. Sort of. Fancied him. Wished to understand him better. Another truth: Richard’s apparent disregard caused him pain. Shouldn’t do. Not if he didn’t harbour feelings of some kind, emotions greater than lust.

  None of those details helped much. Impossible to force Richard to open up when Ethan spent so much energy coercing the man into his bed. Richard ended up on Ethan’s mattress because he sought comfort. Because of temptation. For now, the man struggled to stay away. In time, who knew?

  A wry chuckle eased out. What did he think might happen? While Richard being his boss didn’t make him the better man, it made Ethan’s position as his lover untenable. No use wallowing in some kind of misdirected pity party.

  Speaking of pity, if Richard had any feelings for him, it was a high possibility the spark had been ignited by sympathy. Same for his father’s plans for the garden. Either Richard offered to try to instigate the designs from a misguided sense of compassion or he intended the enticement as a way to make Ethan behave. No doubt Richard still didn’t trust Ethan’s intentions—though a black shadow descended over Ethan’s vision when he recalled Richard believing him capable of blackmail—or Richard feared his mother would discover what happened between them by some other means.

  How sad—a grown man afraid of a parent to such a degree he feared telling her the truth about his sexuality. Richard wasn’t some kid to be thrown out on the street. The man’s aversion to upsetting his mother more than being honest for his own good, made Ethan gnash his teeth.

  Time to leave. Bladder screaming, Ethan stood.

  Excellent decision of his to eat a full meal; he didn’t sway on the way to the lavatory though it would normally take more than a couple of brews to cause that reaction.

  He nodded to the man at the bar, who did the same. He almost said, “Pay in a minute,” but stopped. They knew him here, let people run tabs for both food and drink, and he wasn’t about to climb out through a back window. They knew where to find him if he did. Why the sudden urge to prove he wouldn’t run out on the bill? Could he be any more ridiculous? Was sex with Richard Gardener worth the mental baggage?

  Must be because he didn’t know how to stop.

  * * * *

  The building, typical of the type of short stay ‘hotel’ designed for business men to stay in overnight, came complete with a burger joint next-door. Rich drove through one of those barriers which required a token from reception to leave. He parked round the back, taking the space nearest his sister’s car. No point ringing—she never picked up—so he tapped a text into his mobile, sent it and waited.

  In under five minutes, someone rapped on the side of the window next to his head. Rich got out.

  He gazed at Sapphire and she stared at him. As neither appeared inclined to talk and spending eternity in a car park struck him as a poor way to live his life, Rich said, “Love the violet. Mother’s going to hate it.”

  Sapphire brushed her fingers through her now purplish hair. He fell into step at her side as she walked off, the heels of her chunky boots the only noise. “Is it the reason you do it?”

  “You know me better. I do it because I like it. That it annoys the matriarch is a bonus. Though not intentional,” she added in a lower tone. “I can’t help it if what I want upsets her.”

  “You and me both, sis. You and me both.”

  At his side, his sister walked, arms crossed, and gave him a sideways glance. Her grip tightening around the bunch of keys she carried didn’t go unnoticed. If he doubted her love for him he might suspect she planned to launch an attack, the keys her choice of weapon.

  “Sunday dinner?” she asked.

  “Still cold, uncooked, and in the fridge.”

  Sapphire winced. “Guess I know what I’ll have to eat tomorrow to keep the peace.”

  “You and me both, sis. You and me—”

  “Smart arse,” she interrupted. “Sprouts?”

  “None I saw.”

  “Good ol’ Rosie.”

  Rich followed her to her room and tried not to gawp as he entered, but the network of cobwebs hanging in the corners from the ceiling drew his gaze. Did the cleaners never glance up in these places? “Why’d you stay in hotels like this?”

  “Are you a snob now?”

  “Far from it, but even if money was an issue…” Rich broke off. His purpose was not to discuss hygiene or her choice of overnight accommodation. “Why delay? Why not arrive when you say?”

  “It’s not so easy for me.”

  Too true and he’d spoken no lie when he told their mother Sapphire worked up the courage to return home. They never put it into words but he needed no telling.

  “I’m no better. I want to hide out here with you.” He wiped a finger along the windowsill and at once wished he hadn’t. Ugh. What the fuck was this gunk?

  A snigger from his sister made him turn in time to catch a tiny bottle she aimed at his head. One of those containing hygiene gel. Antibacterial alcohol never smelt so good.

  From where she now sat sprawled on the bed, Sapphire rais
ed one eyebrow. “If you want to make us drinks…” A nod to one side drew his attention to a small kettle and, at best, minimal tea-making facilities.

  With a sigh, Rich moved away from the bleak view of another building cloned from the one in which he stood. “What is it with Gardener women they are never the ones to put on the kettle?”

  He filled the appliance, set it to boil, dunked tea bags in two mugs and, when the kettle finished spluttering hot water, poured, waited, gave it all a stir. During this time neither sibling spoke. They always needed to learn how to be together again after time apart.

  His sister said nothing until he handed her one of the drinks, which she didn’t take, too busy asking, “What’s on your neck?”

  What? He almost put a hand over the mark, managed not to. God, she wasn’t meant to see. The hickey was now hardly noticeable. Had his mother seen?

  Whatever she saw in his expression might be why his sister shook her head. “You forget I’m the rebel. I once got me one of those just to annoy our parents.”

  “Got one?” He set the mug on the bedside cabinet as she still didn’t take it and he was unprepared to act as a table. Sapphire skirted up to the headboard, boots and all. Testing him. Waiting to see if he said anything about the abuse of property. Not about to invite a quarrel, he walked back across the room. Whenever she spent considerable time away, Sapphire always wanted to squabble. Many life lessons taught him not to rise to her challenge and peace would ensue. He swore she wanted him upset with her at times. Maybe she sought an excuse to run off again.

  “I made a boy give me one. Told him if he didn’t I’d squeeze his testicles, and not in a nice way.”

  To his surprise, she flushed a little as she picked at a stray strand of cotton hanging from a button low down. He opened his mouth to say, “Don’t pull,” too late. The button came away and Sapphire aimed it at the wastepaper basket. She got the bull’s eye from the other side of the room. The fastening would vanish, Saffie would either ditch the shirt, or wear it until too many buttons came off, or Rosie noticed and put on all new ones without being asked. For once, Sapphire annoyed him.

  “I feel kind of bad for threatening the poor boy. I was younger then.”

  Unable to recall ever seeing her with a love bite, Rich wanted to ask her when and how young. A teen most likely. Her most rebellious years. Sapphire’s insurrection made his acts of defiance akin to faking a tummy ache.

  “So, who gave it to you?”

  “What?”

  “The hickey? No, I haven’t forgotten I asked. No, you’re not going to change the subject.”

  “No one. It’s not a hickey.” Sod it all. As much as he tried not to care, his nerves made him sure she saw the lie in his eyes. To look away would make her ever more certain.

  “Course it’s not.” An eloquent statement; she didn’t believe him. “I guess it wouldn’t be anyone mother approves of. Godddddd. This is why I don’t want to go…h-home.”

  Hesitation on the end there, though for one startling moment the sound came out as a sob.

  Home? When had Sapphire last thought of the house as home? When had Rich?

  “Now Dad’s gone she’ll be all on about giving us a future. Of how we’re old enough to think about settling down.” Sapphire coiled a loop of hair around a finger. “She always has, but it’ll get worse. You wait. Can you see me as a mum?”

  In time, Saffie would make a great mum. When she held children of her own she would step up and be all she needed to be for them. Wrong day to say so. Didn’t mean she was ready and no one had the entitlement to force her, just as they didn’t have a right to stop her. When Sapphire gave birth…That would make him an uncle, an idea more bizarre than his sister becoming a mother. Led him on a tangent from his wanting Sapphire to make her own choices. When and why did the notion of marrying, having families, start to feel so alien?

  “It’s not the point. Good or bad. We don’t do well being told what to do. People ordering us around confuses things. Makes us indecisive. We’re unsure whether our choices are ours or ideas put in our minds by others. We do better when left to our own devices.”

  “Well, dammmmnnnn, big brother. Since when did you become so insightful?”

  “It’s possible spending a few days alone at the house with our mother will do that to a person.”

  “Meaning it’s my turn.”

  “Not exactly. I’ll still be there.”

  “Gonna act as a buffer?”

  “More than I do already, you mean?” He moved away from the window and carried his tea across the room to sink into the chair in front of the multi-functional desk and dressing table. He wouldn’t object to someone acting as a barrier for him on occasion but the detail never crossed Sapphire’s mind.

  She didn’t answer him right away. “What we gonna do, bro?”

  She asked him? “I don’t know.” He put the cup down not wanting the tea. “Make it through today. Get through tomorrow. Survive one day at a time.”

  “Is that what Mum’s doing?”

  They had discussed her emotional state, or rather lack of. “Who’s to know? It’s too early to expect much from her but she…” He shook his head, running out of a way to express the atmosphere at home.

  “Tightly bottled?”

  “Yes.” Hard to resist saying pot, kettle, black, but he managed. His own emotions over his father’s death was one thing, but how did the loss affect his sister? She never told and he never asked. Chickened out. Every time. Not today. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m angry.” She sounded it, too, shocking Richard, making him jump. Sapphire answering a direct and personal question? Surprising enough. Without hesitation? Almost unheard of.

  “I’m angry he kept us at arm’s length and went and died on us without correcting anything he put us through. I’m mad he never bothered to know me. Never cared to. I feel like I…we were part of the furniture. We took our place, acted like ornaments, like the house, the car, even the business. Status symbols, somehow. You know?”

  His issues with his father might be a little more complex but not far off. “Pretty much.”

  “Thing is…Mum’s not much better. Maybe worse.” Sapphire tipped back the mug and drank before setting it down. “Decent cuppa, brother bear.”

  “But mother isn’t dead.”

  “What?” His sister’s eyes went wide. Her cheeks paled. “I say thanks for the tea and that’s your answer?”

  “I mean it’s too late to close the distance with Dad, but Mum is still alive.”

  “And you think she wants to get to know the real us?”

  “No. No, I don’t. She longs for the facsimiles reproduced until the lines she doesn’t like fade.”

  “Stretching the analogy there.”

  “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

  “So…what? We introduce ourselves no matter the consequences?”

  “Not a bad idea.” Rich leaned forward, fingertips together, hands in a v pointed toward Sapphire, elbows on knees. “I mean, what can she do, besides try to make our lives unbearable. But first we need to decide who we are. Who we wish to be. We’ve spent too long trying to fulfil what they wanted of us and it doesn’t work. Not for them. Not for us. Makes me want to break out of the mould more.”

  His sister nodded. “And stick to who we are, what we want, and to the netherworld with what anyone else demands.”

  She made them the bad guys in this narrative. They weren’t, far from, and he didn’t intend they should be. She grasped the gist of his idea, though, and who knew? Perhaps…

  No. Dangerous to think too far ahead. Even when he got round to telling his mother he was gay, he didn’t have anyone in his life besides Ethan…and he saw no point to contemplating a future with him. What they shared they based on sex, nothing more. Stupid to pin his hopes on such flimsy foundations, or to become involved with someone out of convenience. There would be time for a relationship when he moved on, found a place of his own. When he, at last,
did something other than attempt to be a man stepping into his father’s oversized and ill-fitting shoes. That would be the time to consider a real relationship.

  The day loomed but he didn’t want to add to his mother’s woes yet. One issue at a time, and prior to walking away from the firm, he must decide what to do with it. Before then, he needed to work out the best course for his mother and his sister. “If you could be anything you want, what would you choose to do?”

  Her gaze narrowed, nose crinkling, lips curling up. “I’m glad you asked. I might surprise you.” She rubbed her hands together. “If you’re agreeable we’ll need a battle plan. A first-class one always starts with pizza.”

  Chapter 11

  After walking around for a couple of hours, and drinking a bottle of water and two further coffees at the risk of becoming jittery, Ethan headed back, making one more stop for petrol and to use the toilet. By the time he got on the road, a diversion forced him into a queue of traffic so he took a longer route. While trundling along Leatherhead High Street the heavens opened, but the drops amounted to nothing more than a light drizzle.

  “Come on, come on.” The traffic lights changed to red, not usually an issue, but his fate this day included a hold up at every turn. Due to the non-moving traffic, pedestrians took to the tarmac, weaving in and out of cars so when the lights blinked to amber and green, no one moved. A man drummed on the bonnet as if the obstruction were Ethan’s fault for having a car. Ethan burned a hole in the back of the man’s skull with his glare. Cars continued to inch forward. He put light pressure on the accelerator but tapped the brake when he saw Richard on the right hand pavement.

  His boss and…a woman. They wove around people much as shoppers moved amongst the cars, heading straight for him.

  Hands tightening on the steering wheel, Ethan resisted ducking down. He focused ahead in the hope Richard wouldn’t spot him. The two walkers looked at each other more than others on the pavement, lips moving, the girl’s hands waving, animated, paying little attention to their surroundings. Much to his relief, and horror, Richard approached the door of a nearby pizza restaurant.