The Definition of Fflur Read online

  Dad sits next to me.

  "I know there's something wrong, Flower."

  At least he still calls me flower.

  "Will you and Mum ever talk again, even as friends?"

  Dad leans back in his chair and exhales deeply. His breath puffing over his face and ruffling his hair.

  "I don’t have the answer to that question, Flower.” He glances at me, his features honest, open and somewhat… pleading. “I wish everything was different, but it isn't and it was never going to be, no matter how much we tried. And Flower, I promise you that we tried hard. I know it doesn't makes sense, and it doesn’t feel right to you, love, but for me it does. Sometimes everything has to break apart for something new to be made, something better, something stronger.”

  "She was with another man, for years. She made you look like a mug. Doesn’t that hurt?"

  He laughs mirthlessly.

  "What? It’s not funny, Dad.”

  "No,” he says, shaking his head and running his palms down his face. “Nothing about all this is funny, but sometimes you’ve gotta laugh, you know?”

  He gets up from the table and puts on the kettle shaking his head at random points as it boils, his lips moving to form words and then thinking better of it. Eventually he sits down and places one cup of black tea before him and slides another topped with milk and sugar over to me.

  "I thought your mum had talked to you about all this already. She wasn’t unfaithful to me."

  "Don’t lie to me, Dad. I’ve had enough of all the lies. For once, please just tell me the truth. You’re not protecting me. Trust me, if I didn’t know before, I do now. Lies cut deeper than truths ever could.”

  "Max and your mum have been friends since they were very small children. Me and your mum were never meant to happen. I can see that now, but at the time, it wasn’t so obvious. We wanted to do what was best for everyone and not what was best for ourselves.” He blows the top of his hot tea before taking a sip. “She was miserable, Flower. And so was I. Something had to give, something had to bend, and I guess it was around seven years ago when that something happened.”

  His words are a confession of guilt. A softly spoken admission of lies. And a final gift of the truth.

  "You have to remember that we thought we were doing what was best. We came to a sort of agreement, I guess. We wanted you and Rhys to grow up together in one home, with two parents that love you. We just didn’t love each other, at least not in the right way. As I said, it wasn't working for us. We were both unhappy, and your mum was right to leave so she could live with the man she's always loved.”

  An agreement?

  He knew about Max?

  He let her go to him for seven years and gave her his blessing, and then welcomed her home like nothing was wrong?

  "You might call that an agreement, but to everyone else, everyone normal that’s fuc—"

  "Flower," he warns. “I know you’re upset, but I won’t tolerate that language.”

  I want to laugh at him, but not because I think any of this is funny.

  “What?” So, I can’t say a swear word but you can sit here and tell me that my entire life has been a lie? That is f—messed up, Dad, and you know it.”

  His hand shoots across the table top and grasps mine.

  “You listen to me, and you listen good.” He’s angry, so very angry. “You and Rhys, this house, our family, our love, is not a lie. Do you hear me, Flower? Yes, we messed up, yes we wish things were different, but we. Love. You. If you take anything away from this, know that we messed up with your best interests at heart. Not ours. Yours. Because we love you both. So very much.”

  His words strike hard. A direct hit to the centre of my chest and my bruised and battered heart swells painfully.

  "But she left, Dad. She left because we weren’t enough, and they are.” My eyes fill with salty water and I bat the wetness away with the back of my hands. “But I’ve been there, they are not any better than us. They're not, their family is not, and their house is not. Their grass isn't greener. And yet she still left."

  I want Dad to wrap his arms around me and tell me everything is going to be okay, but I told him I wanted the truth, so he doesn’t fill me with babyish lies.

  Maybe I was wrong. The lies would hurt less.

  Instead, he nudges the edge of my mug. The mug with a huge sunflower emblazoned on the front. The mug Mum bought me one day at the supermarket when she still lived at home.

  "Your mum misses you so very much. Don’t you think it's time for you and Rhys to give her chance?"

  Time? Is it time?

  How do you know?

  Do you just guess?

  Or is it when someone else tells you it’s time?

  This is Dad giving us his blessing, and maybe that’s enough for it to feel like we aren’t betraying him. That we aren’t choosing her over him.

  “Okay.”

  Chapter Seven

  On Mum's birthday, Dad takes me and Rhys to their house. Rhys is sat sullenly in the backseat of the car. He doesn't want to go to the party.

  We're both dressed in new clothes that dad gave us money to buy. He wanted us to look good for the party. I think he wanted to show her he's looking after us. I like to think he's showing her we're still better. We're better than them.

  I pretend to check out my rose-tinted lip balm in the small mirror of the front sun visor, but I’m really looking at my brother's reflection. He's staring at Mum's new house. He blinks, and I swear I see his eyes shine. His melancholy hurts my stomach. I think I prefer his anger.

  I take in all the decorations around the fancy, big house. Fairy lights flicker all around. The front garden looks like a fairy tale fit for any princess, and the emerald grass sparkles beneath the bulbs of a million twinkling lights.

  When I open the car door, I hear soft music coming from around the back of the house. I get out and run my hands down my dress to remove any creases, my fingers looking for imaginary lint as I walk towards the front door.

  Mum opens it, her face a picture of happiness.

  She stares at me, blinking away the sheen in her eyes as she takes in my pretty new dress, with Rhys sulkily walking behind me.

  She smiles big. The biggest I’ve seen in forever. We've come to her on her birthday.

  "Happy Birthday, Mum." We didn’t buy her a gift—my one concession to Rhys for coming with me, no presents—I'm not sure if she even notices. I look to her wrist and I wonder if she remembers last year when I bought her a bracelet made from silver flowers.

  I told each one a secret.

  I told each one to keep my mum safe.

  I didn't know she was going to leave us then.

  She tugs me forward, holds me tight against her chest, and squeezes me. This is the first time she's held me since she walked out our door all those months ago.

  It feels wrong. It doesn't feel like it used to.

  So, I just stand there under the twinkling fairy lights, on the emerald green grass, as my mum holds me tightly. Eventually, she releases me.

  “Why don’t you go inside. I'll just wait for your brother."

  Inside, more lights twinkle at me. They are strung from everywhere, casting a glittery, magical glow on everything. The deeper I get into the house, the louder the music gets.

  I thought it was a recording or a band but the closer I get to the music I can tell it's just a guitar and one voice singing.

  A few people stand around the open doors that lead into the backyard and loads more meander about beneath yellow glowing lamps and trees full of shimmering stars.

  Galen is alone on a chair, surrounded by a crowd, a guitar in his hands, his head bowed over his chest, his fingers working smoothly over the strings.

  I stand transfixed.

  Just like when we play ‘The Battle’, he senses me. Still playing, his concentration on the music, he lifts his head.

  Emerald green eyes meet my bright blue. They lock and engage. There are no muttered curse wo
rds this time, no pretending we're not staring at each other.

  He continues to play, but I chicken out and turn away back into the house and up towards the second floor.

  It's bigger than our house. It has a grand staircase that leads left or right and a long landing that extends down towards many rooms. Nothing like our small, three-bedroom terrace.

  I remember Mum saying one of these rooms is mine, and make my way past the doors. When I see an intricate flower engraved on a wooden plaque, I know this is my room so I push down the handle and step inside.

  It's bare except for a bed and a desk.

  The plain magnolia walls are cold. There are no knickknacks or accessories, and I wonder if it's waiting for me to decorate or if it's bare because I was never expected to stay.

  The door clicks shut behind me, and I take a deep breath expecting it to be my mum.

  It's not; it's Galen.

  "What are you doing in here? Leave. I want to be on my own."

  He shrugs in that smug way of his, and the twinkling lights from outside the window catch his face, making him sparkle like the Vampires in the books Erin loves.

  "I told you to leave."

  "Can't."

  "What do you mean you can't?"

  "I'm not leaving until you agree to come downstairs. It's Mum's birthday."

  "She's not your mum."

  "So you keep telling me."

  At this moment, I hate Galen. I hate him for being in this barren room. I hate him for living in this big house. I hate him for having eyes the same colour as its perfect grass.

  But I hate him more because he gets to call my mum, Mum.

  "You don't like me very much, do you?" he asks.

  "Am I supposed to?"

  He takes a step forward but thinks better of it and turns towards the desk, pulling open one of the drawers.

  "Your scrapbook that you left, I put it in here." He indicates to the drawer.

  "I didn't leave it. You took my suitcase from me."

  "You were supposed to come back. I've wanted to return it to you for months."

  I turn my back on him to look out of the window. "It's not a big deal. I didn’t need it."

  "I looked through your flowers."

  "I thought you might. I probably would’ve done the same."

  "Do you like them because of your name?"

  "No," I answer honestly.

  "But that's what Fflur means, isn't it? Flower? That's why everyone calls you that."

  "They don't anymore."

  "So tell me. Why the flowers?"

  I don't know why, but I want to tell him. I want to share this truth. My truth.

  "I like flowers because they're strong. Resilient. They grow everywhere, even in the desert. Give them a little sun and a bit of water, and you'll find flowers. They can make even the most barren place beautiful."

  I glance at my bare room.

  "They can break through cracks in the pavement, and they ignore the shadows and turn to face the sun and smile."

  My voice becomes almost a whisper when I confess, "And they listen to everything I have to say."

  "Mum says you want to be a horticulturist when you're older."

  I nod.

  "Cool. I think it suits you.”

  The room is silent for a long time until Galen whispers, "Come downstairs. Have fun. Eat some cake. It doesn’t mean you’re betraying your father if you enjoy yourself while you’re here. You don’t have to be miserable, you don’t have to pick a side and stick to it. You get to have them both, Fflur. You haven’t lost anything."

  I don't need to reply because the door to the room bursts open and Rhys stands outside. He stares at Galen then looks at me.

  "Is this little prick bothering you?"

  I shake my head and softly reply, "No. He's not bothering me. He was just leaving."

  Rhys blanks Galen, but Galen doesn't care. He walks out of my empty and cold room with his usual swagger.

  Chapter Eight

  Exactly a fortnight later, we spend our first full week at Mum’s.

  I leave my suitcase in the hallway close to the front door, and walk through into the formal dining room, where a welcome brunch has been set up.

  The table overflows with all of mine and Rhys’ favourite foods, and I know Mum has gone to a lot of trouble to try and make this visit better than the last.

  I can hear a guitar playing from somewhere upstairs, and sit quietly while staring at my fingers.

  "Max will be down in a minute."

  I turn away from my mother's voice and look down into my lap. I picked a skirt covered in little yellow flowers today. Sometimes, when I can't hold one in my hand, it helps to be able to touch them even if they're not real. My fingernail traces the edges of the petals while we wait for Max. While we sit and patiently wait to meet the man who ripped my family to shreds.

  I confess the same thing to each flower on my skirt.

  I hope he doesn't bother to show up.

  I hope he doesn’t bother to show up.

  He does, and just like Galen he grins at my mum, but when he sees me, he stops. Nerves paint his face, but he quickly shakes it off and focuses his composure. He smiles at the full table and the banquet before him.

  He plays the same game as Galen, too. Pretending he can't see me when he can. Except Galen does it across the school drive, not when I’m in front of the breakfast table.

  "Wow, this looks good," Galen says as he walks into the dining room. "But I'm not hungry, I was going to go out for a run with Gareth." He glances at me, and then his dad. Max stares at him, and it's a look that says, 'You're not going anywhere. Sit your arse down.’

  Galen sags and chooses a chair across from me, he slouches in his seat and rests his elbows on the table.

  “Tea?” Mum asks, when she walks back in with teapot. She comes over to me and rests her hand on my shoulder. With soft words, she whispers into my ear, "Be kind to Max and Galen, please."

  I look at the man she's talking about and see that he looks just like his son. Galen is the mirror image of him.

  Where Galen is still white blond, Max's hair is slightly darker, but they have the same emerald green eyes and sun kissed skin.

  One look at Max and you can see the handsome man that Galen is to become.

  "Flower," Max addresses me, and I snap my gaze directly at his too green eyes and correct him. "My name is Fflur."

  Mum is glaring at me, but Max continues regardless. "It’s lovely to have you here." His grin is cocky and rivals Galen's.

  "Yeah. Thanks for having me." I can't pretend I'm happy to be here or enjoying the situation, but everyone is watching me, so I find it easier to look back at my skirt and count my flowers.

  I hate it here—I tell the first flower. I hate him—I tell the second. Stick your smile where the sun doesn’t shine—I tell the third. I can’t believe she left us for you—the fourth.

  Mum passes me a bowl and my favourite box of cereal.

  She remembered. Her smile is small but happy, and best of all only meant only for me. A tiny corner of my heart warms, and wanting to lean into the comfort, I fill a bowl and eat.

  For rest of the brunch, Max asks me a ton of questions, trying to get to know me, and Galen sits there quietly, pretending not to listen, but hearing every word.

  When Max stands and kisses Mum on the cheek, he tells her that he and Galen will clear the table.

  Standing side by side, I'm even more astounded at their resemblance. The apple didn’t fall far from that tree.

  Mum calls my name before waving her hand in front me to try to get me to listen because I’ve zoned out watching the father and son and their comfortable camaraderie.

  "Do you like your room?"

  I don't answer, and she holds out her hand for me to take.

  "Come with me. We can a look at it together. Make plans to decorate."

  Rhys is already ensconced in his room. She looks at his door as we pass, but doesn't knock or go i
nside. My brother is behind those few inches of wood, and he didn't bother to come out for the welcome breakfast.

  We pass the other door—bathroom—and between mine and Galen's room is what Mum describes as a TV room. It has a games system, TV, a stereo, and loads of instruments. Mum nods towards the space and tells me that this is where Galen practices with his friends. They've started a band.

  "We’ve put a desk and TV in your room,” she says when I’ve stopping looking around at the guitars, drums, microphones and keyboards. “The boys tend to get a bit noisy when they practice. I expect you’ll prefer the privacy.”

  My bedroom faces Galen's.

  "Yours and Galen's rooms." Mum gestures towards both doors.

  Why couldn’t Rhys be in this one? Why me?

  "This is all yours, Fflur," she says as she pushes the door open wide. "We’ve kept it plain so you can choose how you want it. We want you and Rhys to be happy here. This is your house as much as anyone else’s."

  I take in the room properly for the first time. A part of me wants to make this easier for her. I want to give her something. I'm not sure why, but I think I'm tired of the strain.

  "Thanks."

  She touches my arm lightly and says, "I'll leave you to it." She slowly backs out of the room with a tentative smile on her face.

  I offer her a small reassurance in the only way I can and say, "It’s a good room, Mum. Thanks." But my voice ends in a whisper when I see Galen walking down the hall towards his bedroom. Before he can turn and see me, I close the door and collapse on my bed.

  Chapter Nine

  A crack of thunder rumbles through the sky, and I wiggle my way beneath the pale buttercup covers of my bed and wonder if this storm will ever end.

  This is the fifth week we've stayed at Mum's.

  We alternate between here and our house. This is still theirs. Our old terrace will remain always ours.

  I usually try and hang around with Emma and Erin at the youth hub after school, anything not to come back here too soon, but I have a big test at the end of the week, and I don’t want to fail. Despite knowing the subject inside out, I always aim for a perfect mark and will revise until my eyes droop.