The Definition of Fflur Read online

  I imagine all the people are staring at us thinking, “Why are they together? They don't talk to each other. Do they even know each other?”

  But it makes no difference. I don't try to engage. I have nothing to say.

  Mum extends an olive branch with offers of gifts and trying to buy me things, but I refuse. There is nothing in any of these stores that my heart wants. It wants something it cannot and will never have.

  When we stop for lunch in a burger place, I only pick at my fries, and after long minutes of silence between us, she sighs heavily, then rests her hand on my forearm and squeezes. "I'm sorry you’re hurting, Fflur."

  I'm always Fflur to her now. Flower is gone.

  "I'm sorry things are hard for Rhys, too. I never meant for things to get this bad."

  "Do you love him? Do you love him more than us? Did you ever love us or Dad?"

  These aren't questions I should ask her in the middle of a packed burger place where anyone and everyone can listen to us and our dirtier than dirty laundry.

  "It’s not that straightforward, Fflur," she sighs, her eyes filling with emotion.

  "Yes, it is.” Those weren’t hard questions.

  "Things were always... difficult, with me and your father. We split up more than we were ever together when we were younger. Things were… turbulent. I thought I loved your dad, and he's an amazing man, but things don't always work out, Fflur. Before we had Rhys, we split up, and I thought that was the end."

  "So why did you get back together?"

  "Because I was pregnant. I cared about your dad, and I wanted our baby to have a home and a family. He felt the same.”

  "So you only got married because you were pregnant?"

  Mum shakes her head. "It was more than that. We thought we could make it work. We both wanted to be the best we could for the baby. It was fine for a bit. Your dad and me adored Rhys, he was the centre of our world, and we both cared for each other. Then Rhys was about eight or nine months old, and I got pregnant again.”

  I can’t help myself, and an unbelieving snort escapes my lips before I sneer, "Great family-planning, Mum. You know they tell us all about contraception in school. Did you never go to those classes?"

  My words taper off and lose steam because if they had used protection, I wouldn’t be here now.

  "We did use protection."

  "Great,” I exclaim, pushing my carton of fries away and almost spilling my milkshake. “I was yet another mistake."

  "You were never a mistake, Fflur. When I found out I was pregnant with you, I was overjoyed. I knew Rhys would have someone to grow up with, and we’d have another child to love."

  "But, in the end, we weren’t enough for you, were we?"

  "It’s not about you or Rhys. Things were never going to work with your father. They couldn’t." She exhales heavily and shakes her head. "We conned ourselves into thinking it could for far too long."

  "Right," I say in frustration. “It’s not about me and Rhys. Has nothing to do with us, and that’s exactly why he doesn’t want to see you. We aren’t important in all of this.”

  I dump my food on the tray, push out from under the table, and storm away. She follows hot on my heels, and anger pools deep and dark in my belly. I can't stop myself, and before we've even left the restaurant, I spin around and all but yell, "But they are important. Important enough to cheat. Important enough to break up our family and rip us to shreds. And now it's exploded in your face. I hope it burns, Mum. I hope you hurt as much as we do."

  People stop and stare at the scene I’m causing, but Mum ignores all the dirty looks and the glares, and keeps her eyes on me. She deserves this, I think as I storm away, not caring about the mess I leave in my wake.

  Mum runs after me. "Flower, wait. It wasn’t like that. I didn’t cheat."

  She’s a liar.

  "He calls you Mum,” I all but scream. My arms flailing at my sides, my face so red I think I may burst into flames. “And don’t ever call me Flower again. I am not Flower to you. Not now, not after what you’ve done.”

  Chapter Four

  Summer came in with an angry, fiery explosion, and fades away into nothing. Just debris and ash.

  The new school term comes and goes in a blur. Day after day of classes and homework, rinse and repeat.

  I make some new friends, which is rare for me as I like to keep myself to myself, and the first couple of months of my parents’ separation still seems unreal. Like a made-up nightmare.

  Rhys is still ignoring Mum, and after our disastrous trip to the shops, I’ve joined him.

  All my clothes hang off me. I’ve always been slight for my age anyway, but Mum used to say I take my emotions in too deeply, that's why I use the flowers. That's why I tell them my secrets, only now the flowers aren't working the way they used to. I'm not called Flower anymore, by anyone. Even Rhys calls me Fflur, and it feels like another thing that’s been taken from me.

  One day after school, Rhys and me are both sat quietly completing our homework at our well-worn kitchen table—one that’s scarred and marked with a family’s worth of memories—when Dad comes in looking pale and weary.

  These last few months have my instincts on high alert. I’m always too close to the edge, just waiting for the next axe to fall, and without thinking, I move my chair closer to Rhys’. We both tense as Dad takes a seat and looks at his hands that shake a little on the table top.

  There it is, that feeling again. Something’s wrong.

  My world tilts when Dad’s eyes lift to look at us, his mouth a tight slash that doesn’t fit on his face. He leans forward slowly and clasps his hands together to still their shaking. With measured words, he says, “I’ve just had some sad news. Your mother is in hospital.”

  Rhys and I flinch, almost as if he’d slapped us both.

  “She’s had a miscarriage."

  “W-what?” I ask, through trembling lips. “Is she okay?”

  "She will be, but because the pregnancy was a few months along, she’ll have to stay in hospital for a couple of days. There were some complications.”

  Silence.

  Rhys is chewing on the tip of the pencil he was using to do his homework, his fingers rubbing over one of the deeper gouges in the wooden table top.

  He’s feeling guilty. Guilty for refusing to see her for months. He never hated her, he just wanted her to hurt like he did, so he pretended. But I know he never wished for this.

  I never wished for this either, but I don't know how I feel about her losing the baby.

  I know how I should feel, but I can’t help the part of me deep inside that wonders if this could be the end of our nightmare. She can come home now, if she wants to, nothing is stopping her.

  This could be one of those things I’ve heard people refer to as ‘a blessing in disguise.’ A bad thing that hurts for a brief time, but then makes way for something good to happen.

  Mum coming home would be that something good.

  We could be a family again.

  We could stop her from feeling sad.

  We could make everything right. No more mistakes.

  Yes, that’s what this is, a blessing.

  Then why does my heart curl away from me ashamed of my thoughts?

  Chapter Five

  Each break time at school, I sit in the same place with my friends Emma and Erin. We’ve claimed a spot on a fallen log that borders the overgrown meadow that backs onto the school grounds. We're not part of the cool girls, nor part of the 'in' crowd. I love my flowers, Emma loves music, and Erin is into words. We each have our little quirks. I think that's why we work well as a trio. The three nerds instead of musketeers. Everyone else orbits us, never noticing or even caring that we’re there.

  The weather is dry today, despite the dark clouds on the horizon threatening to bring rain, and the yard quickly fills as everyone tries to make the most of it. Wales in autumn and winter can be pretty wet, dreary and cold. But today feels fresh and crisp.

 
A new day. A new world.

  Galen sits on a low wall full of others from his year. He is part of the cool crowd. He's one of them, not us.

  Today, his white-blond hair is covered with a black beanie hat, and it only serves to make his emerald eyes pop against his tanned skin.

  He claps another boy on the shoulder, smiling at something he’s said, and gets up from his position, walking away towards the school on his own. I couldn't tell you why I do it, but I stand quickly, wave goodbye to my friends, and push my way into the crowd. Everyone is gossiping about the latest pairings and hook-ups, all stuff that doesn’t interest me. My eyes are fixed on him.

  The last time I spoke to Galen wasn't pleasant, and I know it’s weird for me to approach him like nothing has happened between us. Plus, I'm two years younger than him, and he has every right to ignore me. I'm nothing to him. Nothing.

  Maybe it’s because I feel guilty about the baby. Maybe it's a whole other reason, but something encourages me to do this. To see if he’s okay.

  His head is down as I approach, but as if sensing me, he freezes, lifting his gaze to look at me. His jaw tightens and he stands taller. His face falling into a blank stare, but I can see the fatigue in his eyes, and the dark circles beneath them that do nothing to diminish his good looks.

  I want to offer some words of comfort for his loss. After all, the baby was going to become part of his family, but remorse chokes away my voice. Unlike my initial reaction, I do feel awful about the baby, but I can't stop hoping for the ‘blessing in disguise.’

  She might come home now.

  I look around for some flowers. I know that after this I'll need one. I'll need to tell my sins to each petal and hope that they absolve me.

  Small clumps of daisies grow in the grass that edges the rugby field. I breathe easier knowing that I'll pick one later.

  If you put daisies with primroses, they symbolise childhood. If you put them with moss, they signify a mother's love.

  She’s lost her baby.

  Galen catches me staring towards the daisies.

  "Why do you have to be so strange?" his asks with less bite that I think he intended. Besides, if he wanted to hurt me, he’d have to come up with something better than that. I know I’m different. He doesn’t need to point out the obvious. I glance away, but when I look back, Galen is staring at me carefully like I’m a specimen in a Petri dish.

  "Mum said you like flowers."

  "I do," I confess. "But it's more than that. I need them."

  He stares at me perplexed. I know he thinks I'm weirder than he did before, and I wonder why I'm being so honest with him. I should probably walk away. This wasn’t a good idea.

  "Why did you come and find me?"

  I throw his words from that day back at him. "Because it's really fucking shit."

  What I don't say is what my heart whispers.

  It's her shit, and she needs to clean it up.

  "You should know that she misses you.” He says before shrugging and adding, “Not that I’m bothered if you don’t ever come back, but she is.”

  This was a bad idea.

  I turn around without replying and give him my back, only glancing briefly at the daisies in the grass.

  I’ll pick one later.

  Erin shimmies over when I return, so I can sit back down on the log. Neither one of them asks me why I went over and spoke to Galen. It's not that they don't care, I think we all have our secrets, and they don't want me prying into theirs.

  I fiddle with the clasp of my bag, and Emma coughs to gain my attention. "He's cute."

  "He's not cute. He's Galen."

  “You could ask him to take you out?”

  “My mother just moved in with his father,” I say deadpan.

  “So? There’s a school dance coming up, he could take you to that.”

  “I’m not going to the dance.”

  "C’mon,” she groans. “It’s the first one of the school year, we could all go together?"

  Erin stays quiet. Clever girl. She knows just as well as I do that out of the three of us, there isn't one who will be going to the dance.

  We’re the three nerds.

  A school dance is no place for us.

  Chapter Six

  I can’t escape him. Wherever I go, I see him.

  Galen.

  He’s like a bad smell. Like a stain in my favourite pair of jeans that won’t come out no matter how many times I put them in the washer.

  We haven’t spoken since that day, but whenever I seem to lift my head and check my surroundings, he’s there.

  The schoolyard.

  The library.

  The gym.

  Playing rugby on the same team as Rhys.

  Waiting for the bus after school.

  He doesn’t get on the same one as me. My bus to our house always pulls in on the left side of the school driveway, while his stops on the right.

  We’re both connected by this fragile thread, yet both going in opposite directions. Life is weird like that. Full of connections, many of them unfair or don’t make sense. Many of them we didn’t ask for nor want.

  The crowds waiting for the buses to arrive are always large and noisy. Like today, Rhys is talking to a pretty red-headed girl I’ve seen him chatting to a lot, but she’s playing hard to get, which only makes him keener. I’ve watched him every day this last two weeks trying to flirt with her. It’s been my after-school entertainment. Especially as I know he won’t give up. He’s always liked a challenge.

  Everyone gathers right at the kerb, wanting to be the first ones to board the bus, pushing and jostling for their favourite seats, while I wait a few feet away from everyone else, uncaring of where or sit or even if I have to stand.

  While on his side of the school drive, Galen sits on some railway sleepers that border the edge of the school running track. His position allows me an unhindered view, should I choose to look. Which I do often. And so does he.

  It's a game we play. Even though neither of us has set up rules and there will never be a winner. I pretend not to look at him, and he pretends not to look at me.

  In my head, I call it ‘The Battle.’

  Sometimes—like today—we use props. I open my notebook full of pressed flowers and stare at a blank, white page. Across the drive, Galen is glowering into a math book. That he’s holding upside down. I flick glances, counting the time between each one, trying to up the score I keep in my head, before I go back to my notebook. Moments later, I know when he's staring at me because goosebumps appear on my arms and the fine hairs on my skin stand on end.

  It’s exciting, almost dangerous.

  What if we get caught? Will something bad happen?

  The something bad already happened.

  “Wanker," I mouth, making sure my lips exaggeratedly form the word, knowing he's looking at me and can likely read my lips.

  The game ends abruptly when he changes the rules, and when I next lift my head for my glance, Galen is right there before me.

  "What did you call me?" he demands, his eyes narrowed, but I can see the glint in their emerald depths.

  "I called you a wanker," I state boldly, surprising myself with my brazenness. "So what do you want, wanker?"

  "You're staring at an empty page. No flowers today?" He motions to the notebook in my hand.

  "What’s it to you, Galen?" I inject enough venom into the two syllables of his name that it drips from my mouth like treacle.

  He ignores my question. "Did you remember that Mum's birthday is next week?"

  His question makes me want to push him into the road and hope a bus is passing, but, instead, I opt for a Cheshire Cat smile. "She's not your mum," I say through my teeth.

  He ignores my childish jibe.

  "Dad's throwing her a birthday party."

  My father never threw Mum a birthday party. Is that why they split up?

  “So?”

  “So, grow up and stop thinking the world revolves around you. You can
end this shit, Fflur. Show up, and become the girl that Mum always told me you were. Because so far, I haven’t seen any evidence she exists.”

  "Fine," I say, hoping I can convince Rhys to go with me. Maybe Mum will be happy we're both there and see how much she's missing us.

  "What? You’re coming?" he asks, shock evident on his face.

  I nod sharply once.

  "That’s—" He seems confused by my agreement, his words failing him. Maybe he thought he’d have more of a fight. “—great.”

  He twists to walk away but stops and adds, "I found something this morning in a crack in the pavement."

  Galen drops his rucksack on the floor, bends to open it and then gently removes a Dandelion. He straightens and places it into my hand. It's droopy. It's been in his bag for a while.

  I look from the wilted flower—most would call it a weed—back to his face, but he's turned again and is halfway across the drive.

  We go back to doing what we always do while we wait. Pretending not to see each other.

  Let ‘The Battle’ begin.

  On your marks. Get set.

  Galen.

  Did he give me a weed or a wish?

  This is the question that plagues me as I stare at Galen’s dandelion the entire journey home.

  Does he know what I would wish for? Or did he see a pitiful, seemingly ugly, yellow flower pushing its way through the cracks and decide that's what I am—a weed in his emerald green lawn. A blight on his perfect life with his dad and my mum.

  My mum.

  When I get back to my house, it's empty. Dad is still at work and Rhys has gone out with friends. I take my weed back to my room.

  I should press it in my scrapbook. I should keep it, tell it my burdens and then look at in the future and remember. I should press it between two crisp new pages.

  But I don't.

  I place the dying stem on my dressing table, and I leave it there.

  Dad comes home a few hours later. He can see there's something wrong. He hovers over me at the kitchen table while I’m trying to do my algebra homework. Rhys still isn't back yet. He's probably with the redhead that he's still chasing.