#|| Feelings? Caught ‘Em || Daisy Lane

[fiiingertrap]

tag drop: daisy lane

[pynkhues]

i know that the audacity of what im about to ask is off the charts bc you're already too good to us, writing fic left and right and updating a lot soon but im SO weak over the parenting group!AU that im right here to beg for a snippet of it, if you feel like sharing!

Haha, the audacity is not off the charts at all! I can give you a snippet! Sorry it’s coming a little later – when you sent this to me this morning, I was like ‘oh god, everything I have is too ugly to post’ haha, so it gave me an excuse to tidy up a scene I’d drafted already which is fun! 

I will say as just a heads up, I’m operating now on a one-out-one-in system for multi-chaptered WIPs. So when I finish CYF (which is basically done, just got to post the epilogue!), I’ll be starting to post the pirate au, and when I finish See You in the Light, I’ll be starting to post this parents group au, and then finally when I finish If It Wasn’t for All the Lights, I’ll start to post the BDSM au! It’s probably a deeply flawed system, but it’s the one I’m going ahead with, haha.

Anyway! 

A snippet of the parents group au!

“C’mon, pop,” Rio grunts, trying to get the tabs free on the side of the diaper as Marcus kicks out his legs, squirming up the back of the change mat like he’s trying to slip up on out of the thing, and shit, the last thing he needs is the kid to smear Rhea’s Earth Mama Angel Bottom Balm up the back of his new hoodie.

“I have spare diapers if you need to borrow one,” Beth says at the change table beside him, having apparently gotten Jane into her new one in record speed, and Rio lets his gaze stick for a second, watching as she makes even easier work of getting Jane’s thrashing legs back into her pink polka dot leggings, like it’s nothing at all. It’s enough to make his jaw rock, his attention twisting back to Marcus, trying to get the tab unstuck again, but his fingers are still oily with the diaper rash cream, and Marcus’ face is gettin’ redder, and he just can’t get his grip.

He tugs Marcus back towards him, dropping a hand to his son’s belly, tickling a little to try and calm him down, even as he levels Beth with an irritated look.

“Yeah, what part of this looks like the diaper’s the issue?”

Somewhere outside, he hears her friend laughing, the sound loud and warm over the pinging arcade machines and the banging of the bowling balls hitting the polished floor of the lanes, the crack of one hitting pins, and - - and he ain’t being fair.

Knows that.

It’s not her fault he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

Still, when he glances sideways at her again, she’s unbothered by his tone – not pissed like Rhea would be, or wounded like his ma – and something about that bothers him more than it should. Instead, Beth shrugs, fixing her gaze back down on her daughter.

“It just looks like it’s one of those organic ones, right?” she says, gently lifting Jane to put her onto her belly for a few minutes of tummy time – just like Nance had told ‘em to in class – before turning to better look at Rio, her eyes tired as she watches him yank again on the tab of Marcus’ diaper. “I tried those with Kenny, and I just find the tabs always - -”

Riiiiiiiip.

He can feel his pulse in his throat as his cream-covered fingers clench around a handful of torn diaper, can feel it even harder behind his eyes, his blood thrumming hot beneath his skin and damn, it ain’t anger, it’s just - -

Fuckin’ exhaustion.

He pulls the diaper out from underneath Marcus’ bare, wet-with-diaper-cream ass and stamps his foot hard down on the peddle of the bin beside the change table, tossing the whole damn thing in with more force than necessary, and he’s expecting Elizabeth to have that look on her face again – that one that’s some mix of pity and judgement or even worry at seein’ a guy like him snap – but it ain’t even really a look at all. She’s just magicked up one of her kids’ diapers from that Mary Poppins bag of hers, and holds it out to him.

“If you loosen the tabs and open it up a bit before you get it under him it’ll be easier too,” she offers, and Rio grunts, plucking it from her hand and fixing his attention back on Marcus’ flailing legs, sucking in a breath to calm his frayed nerves, before gently lifting his son again to get the diaper up underneath him, adjusting it to get it in the right spot, trying to avoid Marcus’ kicking feet, and it’s just - - sudden.

That’s the thing.

Because Marcus’ legs calm down right in time with Beth’s arm suddenly pressing into Rio’s, and Rio blinks up to see Beth reached over and her finger is curled in Marcus’ tiny fish, and Rio tears his confused gaze away from Beth to look up and see his son smiling, that one that makes him look like the whole damn sun, and he keeps smiling, even when he shoves his fist – still clutchin’ Beth’s finger – right up into his mouth.

And he’s gonna stop it – ain’t like he loves other people’s kids chewing on his knuckles – but he finally gets Marcus properly into the clean diaper, and before he can do anything else, Beth’s just started talking.

“That is a strong grip,” she whispers, so quiet it’s almost like she doesn’t want Rio to hear, and her voice is light and bright in a way he ain’t really used to hearing. “And very warm slobber, which is what you want from slobber. I mean, can you even imagine cold slobber? Like a ghost. I will say Billy from class has some weirdly cold slobber, so you stay away from him, mister.”

Rio just - - blinks, his brow furrows, his lips parting, but when he opens them all the way, no words come out. Instead he just stands there like a dumbass, watching this woman half-bent over her kid and his at the change table of a bowling alley, her strawberry blonde hair falling down, concealing her face so all Rio can see is his son’s, and how whatever it is she’s doing makes his son happy, and he can’t really explain any of it, but he just - -

“Oh my god, Paulie! Twins!”

“Amber, don’t - -”

Whatever Paulie was about to say is lost to the rest of the parents’ room as Rio spins to see a skinny, leggy blonde thrust a toddler with milkshake-vomit down his shirt at some guy with frosted tips like this is the fuckin’ 90s, and dart towards them in a wave of too-sweet perfume. She’s so fuckin’ quick (or maybe just - - y’know - - awake given her kid’s old enough to vomit milkshake instead of formula), instantly peering over at Marcus and Jane on the change tables, an easier feat now that Beth’s standing up again, her finger reclaimed, rolling Jane back onto her back on the mat.

Amber’s cooing is instant, and Rio sighs, grabbing Marcus’ pants from where he’d slung them over his shoulder and starting to shake them out.

“Oh my goooodddd, they’re like those ones you see on TV! Paulie!! Look!! Like, one’s just like mommy, and one’s just like daddy.”

Which - - Rio blinks, looking sideways at Beth, who just seems to be watching Amber with that same neutral, Stepford Wife-look she gets in class. Rio sets his jaw, shaking his head, as he starts to bunch the pants up in his hands, ready to put them on Marcus, opening his mouth to correct the other woman.

“Nah, they ain’t - -”

“You think so?”

The words are offered so suddenly, so sharply, that Rio’s head spins back around to look at Beth again, his eyebrows raised at her interruption, but she doesn’t look back at him, just keeps her gaze fixed on Amber. She wrinkles her nose a little, purses her lips, before dropping a hand back to the change table while leaning forwards a little, almost conspiratorially.

“We’ve been thinking about signing them up for auditions, but I don’t know,” she waves a hand suddenly at Rio, who only blinks at her. “James here thinks it might not be the best idea.”

And okay, for starters, fuckin’ James? She really wants to play him like that? But also - - just - - y’know. What the fuck? Rio stares at her, taking in her widening eyes and her baggy mama sweater that does exactly zero to hide the fact that she’s stacked, but also the fact that she’s holdin’ herself kinda different all of a sudden. Like she’s caught him looking, her gaze darts towards him, and it’s so quick he almost misses it, the way she just sort of - -

Shrugs.

Rio scoffs a little – a sound Amber clearly reads as about the audition and not about this whole damn show – and turns around, putting on a smile for Marcus as he finishes bunching up the pants and pushing them up over his tiny feet.

“Men are always weird about this stuff, but you guys should totally be auditioning them! Like, I could literally see them in commercials for formula. You know they always put the cutest ones in them, because they want to trick regular people into thinking that their product’s gonna like, magic you a better-looking baby.”

Which - - look, Rio can’t exactly say it’s a surprise. He’s pretty sure his sister changed her kids’ brand of juice because one of the ads had one of the little girl’s playin’ Daisy Doctor instead of Holly Housewife. His thoughts are interrupted though when Marcus sneezes, and Rio leans over enough to grab a tissue from Beth’s diaper bag, vaguely aware of Paulie rounding the change tables for the sink, and tugging off his own kids’ shirt and it’s really only then that Rio realises he hasn’t even blinked at the smell of vomit, which - -

Okay, actually, that could be the fifteen years working in a bar.

“You know, I think I’ve heard that,” Beth says, and the girl makes a humming noise, her bowling shoes tapping a little on the tiled floor.

“Well, that’s an insider secret for you. I lived in LA for like, ever. It was almost two years. I mean, closer to one, but that’s basically 40 Hollywood years. I even once auditioned to play a mom in a Baby’s Only commercial. I mean I didn’t get it, but I think it was because I was like, too in shape, y’know?”

Which - - shit, Rio coughs a little to cover a sound he doesn’t even know, a laugh? A scoff? Why the hell is she even talkin’ to this woman?

“Wow,” Beth says though, her voice loaded with concern. “That’s gotta be discrimination.”

“I know right?”

And it’s Jane who wobbles at least, her bottom lip quivering, her legs kicking, and Beth turns around instantly, humming softly back down at her daughter, and before Rio can help it, his gaze darts over to her, watching as her face softens, her eyes glaze over, like they do sometimes, and he thinks of saying somethin’ to her, but shit, what? He doesn’t know jack about her.

A wave of perfume hits them again, and the second he finishes getting Marcus’ pants on, picks him up, turns around at the same time Beth does with Jane, Amber’s right in front of them, her gaze darting between Jane and Marcus, like she’s not sure which one to look at first.

Finally, she just sighs, clutching a hand forlornly to her chest.

“Like, I’m not even kidding. You made two really nice babies. Like, Paulie, tell them I’m not kidding.”

Over at the sink, Paulie grunts again, holding the toddler’s shirt under a furious stream of water, and Rio stares for a minute, watching the guy morosely clean up toddler vomit while the kid licks the rim of the sink. Rio resists the urge to gag as he bounces Marcus a little on his hip.  

“How’d you two even meet anyway?”

And at least that much he should’ve expected. Rio shakes his head, gaze fixing back on Amber, the words ready on his tongue, but before he can say a damn thing, Beth’s cut him off again.

“It sounds so weird, but it was actually at an underwater research center.”

Which - - okay - - what?

His gaze flicks back to Beth, but she ain’t looking back at him. She’s just got Jane curled into her chest, nestling her face into her breast, while Beth hums a little, just - - blatantly fuckin’ lying.

“I was studying - - ” outside, a bowling ball hits the floor hard. “How sound affects  - -“ she fingers her pearl necklace with the hand not clutching Jane, “Oysters, because I am a scientist, and James here was researching - - ” Beth’s gaze darts around, fixing on Marcus in Rio’s arms. “Marco Polo.”

Before Rio’s even had time to catch up to that, Paulie blinks up, confused, from his spot at the sink.

“In Detroit?”

It’s enough to make Beth stutter, her eyes blinking rapidly, and he really should just leave her to fix this herself, should leave her there gaping like a fish, scrambling for the tail-end of her own lie, and get back out to the group, but - - Rio sucks in a breath - - Marcus would be bare-assed right now if it wasn’t for her.

“Nah, man, west coast. We just moved back here to be close to family with the twins,” he drawls with a shrug, and maybe that makes it worth it – how quickly Beth reels around to look at him, and  - - shit, have her eyes always been that blue? Rio blinks, jerks his head back around to Amber, rolling his shoulders back to undo the sudden knot in them. “One of those things, yeah? We met workin’ out there, but turned out we were both from here.”

He means to leave it at that. Should, really, but all he can think about is her in class – prim and proper and that look again, like she’s judging him, and she got them into this, right? Before he can think twice, he drops his free hand to her lower back, smoothing it around to hold the soft hip furthest from him, smiling toothlessly as Beth stiffens and then pointedly, deliberately, relaxes, while Amber holds her hand to her chest again, hums an: “Aww, that’s how you know it’s meant to be!”

“That’s right,” Rio replies, and he watches Beth turn her face up to meet him, her gaze darting across his face like she’s trying to figure something out, and shit, he’s just trying to match what she’s laying down. After a moment, Beth spins into him, her free arm dipping around his back, and something in him sparks hot and he just - - he hadn’t known how fucking small her hands were until one squeezes at his waist.

“Right, honey,” she says, voice high and too-sweet. “I was just so lucky. And speaking of our families, we should really get back to them.”

After that, it’s easy enough to pack up the last of the diaper bags, for Amber to dip down to help Paulie and the kid, and for them to slip out again under the distraction, and it’s just fuckin’ weird, he thinks, to watch that little character Beth had invented – all ease and charm – slip off her shoulders like a cloak, and he means to let it go, because what skin is it off his nose if she’s some sort of pathological liar? But as they duck between the groups of sprawling teenagers and middle America families ordering fries and picking bowling ball weights, guys shoving each other at arcade games, and kids feeding quarters into claw machines, he just - - itches.

So maybe he steps a little slower, matching her pace, maybe he looks at her, amused, a little goading as he says: “So you in some secret, new mama improv group, or what?”

And Beth just - -

Shrugs, and shit, she doesn’t even look at him when she says:

“You don’t ever get bored of just being you?”

Rio blinks, his step slowing all over again, taking in her tired look, the diaper bag slung over her shoulder, that shirt she’s wearing, stained with grubby children’s fingers and milk, that damn new mama smell that’s always up his nose with her, and he just thinks - - nah, not really, but before he has the chance to say it, it’s like she’s read it on his face. She hoists a snuffling Jane up a little higher and moves faster than she has any right to. Back across the bowling alley, back into their lane, nestled in the shelter between her friend and her sister, away from him.

[peterkayscarshare]

Life in the Slow Lane Chapter 3 by OvertheRainbow

She hated arguments. Mainly because she was completely rubbish at them. She couldn’t do confrontation and inevitably ended up in tears within minutes. This time was no exception. It didn’t help that her journey back to Mandy’s had been to the soundtrack of Forever FM’s “Sunday Love Connection With DJ Danny Love”. The whole thing was cheesier than an extra large Margarita Pizza, with stuffed crust, cheese bites, cheesy garlic bread and maybe a fondue thrown in for good measure. She’d held it together through Van Halen’s “Why Can’t This Be Love?” but by the time the late great Whitney Houston had finished belting out the first chorus of “All The Man That I Need”, played with “All my love always” from Leanne in Oldham to Richie in Southport, she was a blubbing mess. That it triggered her memory of John, on their first official “date”, telling her about his dedication to her, that she’d missed by moments, really didn’t help her situation. Try as she might, she found it impossible to be angry with him. Frustrated yes but angry, no. Even if he could never bring himself to fully open up and give her any more than they currently had, even if he could never actually say the word “love”, preferring to make hints and coded references, even if this “thing” was never going to work out, even if he was destined to break her heart beyond any and all repair, it was his to break. It always would be and that was that. 

 As she finally parked up in front of the house that never really felt like home, Kayleigh took a moment to compose herself. Steve was in his usual location, doing exactly what he always did. Rain, hail or shine. Mandy was on the front step next to a large ladder, looking exasperated, gesticulating wildly and intermittently pointing up at the Christmas lights, which had been hanging precariously from the roof for the better part of a year. As Mandy’s tone varied from a “not in front of the neighbours” whisper, to a socially acceptable outdoor voice, to a full on bollocking, Kayleigh caught the general gist of the conversation, even from inside the car. It was best summed up by Mandy’s final, very audible declaration, “You’re a useless dickhead!” Mandy never had any qualms about venting a sense of anger in her relationship. Throughout the entire tirade, Steve had remained his usual sanguine self. Saying nothing and wiping a spanner on his oil stained shirt. She’d never fully understood the dynamic between her sister and Steve. Mandy had the Kitson feisty gene. Steve was utterly passive to the point of comatose. She wasn’t entirely sure how her sister hadn’t strangled him, or died of boredom by now and yet, somehow it just worked for them. She knew how this latest incident would play out. Steve would leave Mandy to “simmer down”, then eventually fix the lights, at his own pace and in his own time. He’d give Mandy a cuddle, whisper something doubtless filthy in her ear, she’d giggle and smack him on the backside and before long, they’d be disappearing up the stairs. Kayleigh would settle on the sofa with a brew, open her iPad, load up Netflix and put her headphones on. All while contemplating yet another night alone in that tiny box room with a cross trainer, 36 pairs of shoes, a set of Babyliss Crimpers and a plastic heart shaped lamp for company. At least now she could add in another pair of shoes, yippee. Steve tapped on the passenger side window, “You gettin’ out sometime today or what?” “You fixin’ those lights sometime this year, you lazy sod?” came her terse reply as she opened the drivers side door. “Don’t you start. I’ve already had it off your sister”. “I know. I heard. I‘m guessin’ they could probably hear it in Dundee!” “Yeah well, Mandy’s got no volume control.” “She’s got more bloody patience than I’d have, that’s for sure. You said you were takin’ them down the day after New Years! They’ve been hanging up there like an afterthought ever since. They almost came down entirely after that bad weather last month.” By now Kayleigh had retrieved her bags from the car and was heading up the driveway. Steve was still surveying their “festive light display”. “I don’t know. Maybe we should leave ‘em as they are. They look like...what do they call it?… shabby chic”. “They look like shabby shit. Mandy’s right. Get ‘em fixed”, with that Kayleigh went inside, leaving Steve to resume his avoidance of the inevitable.

 As she entered the hallway she could hear Mandy “negotiating” with Chloe and Alfie over the evening’s dinner options, “We’re having a roast!” “We want chicken dippers!” “I want a fortnight in St Lucia, all inclusive but it’s not gonna happen.” “It’s not fair!” “No you’re right. Unlike many others, you’re going to bed tonight with full stomachs and a roof over your heads. It really isn’t fair.” “Yeah but we won’t have chicken dippers!” “Your suffering is noted. I’ll call Simon Cowell, see if One Direction want to reform for a benefit gig.” “So, can we have them then?” “Eh...let me think about it...no.” “Muuummmm” “Chlooooeeeee. Both of you, zip it. We’re having a roast dinner. Any more complaints and it’ll be with extra veggies and no Yorkshire’s.” That appeared to do the trick and the pair retreated in defeat. Kayleigh smiled at her exasperated sister. “One of those days?” “Let’s just say it didn’t improve after you left. Sometimes it feels as though I’m tryin’ to manage three kids.” Looking at her bags Mandy asked, “D’ya get what you wanted?” Now there was a question. “I got some shoes and a couple of bits”. “Well then. Let’s see!” Kayleigh produced her purchases to much ooing and ahhing from her sister. “Those shoes will make your legs look incredible! You’ll knock John dead!” Kayleigh’s reaction, or rather lack of it, spoke volumes. “Oh no. Please tell me you haven’t gone and binned him off.” “No! Course not! We just had a difficult conversation earlier.” “Define “difficult””. “I sort of, off loaded on him. I was feeling frustrated and I did exactly what I always hate. I just let it all build up and then got stroppy with him. I don’t think he had a clue what was going on, I didn’t even give him a chance and it all just spiralled out of control. I’m ruining everything!” Suddenly Kayleigh burst into tears. Mandy immediately rushed over and embraced her sister, “Aw, sweetheart.” As she offered what comfort she could amid the loud sobs, Alfie wandered through the hall and declared, “See! Even Auntie Kayleigh wants chicken dippers.” Mandy’s response was swift, “She’s crying because I’ve just told her what’s going to happen if you mention them again!” Kayleigh found herself laughing despite herself. “Listen, I’ve got a roast on. Needless to say, our resident food critics approve. It’ll be an hour or so yet. Why don’t you have a lie down. I’ll give you a shout when it’s ready.” “Thanks Mand.” “You really do need to talk to him Kayleigh. This isn’t fair on either of you. You need to explain your feelings and try to get some answers and he needs a chance to understand you and give his side of things.” “I’ll give him a call after dinner.” “Good idea. It would be such a shame to throw it all away when the two of you just need to get on the same page.” “You’re right sis. I can’t lose him because of this. You know, talking’s always been so easy for us. We’ve never done awkward silences. Now we’ve found the one topic that’s guaranteed to be a conversation killer and it’s the one thing we actually need to talk about.” “Well, get some rest and then take on the unspeakable Wonder Woman.” “I’ll fetch me golden lasso and cuffs.” “Now that’ll definitely do the trick.” Mandy grinned and Kayleigh headed up the stairs in the hope that a quick snooze might help her formulate a plan.

 “Christ! Take it easy Lewis Hamilton!” John exclaimed, as he swayed precariously in the front passenger seat. “I thought you wanted to get there quickly, Miss Daisy!” “I do! I’d just rather it wasn’t in a bloody body bag.” “Can I assume we’re not heading to Bury for you to have a long overdue booty call.” “Not unless it involves her sticking her boot up me arse.” “Well, if that’s how you like it. I make no judgement. Each to their own.” John gave Jim some vicious side eye. “Where’s your sense of humour these days?” “I’m just finding it hard to laugh at the general fuck up that my life has become.” “I thought we sorted this back at Big Bob’s. You love her, you want her, you just need to get over feelin’ awkward and you can crack on.” “You make it sound so easy”. “It is John. You keep on makin’ it complicated and you may as well forget it. Have you ever actually told Kayleigh how you feel about her?” “She knows. She’s got to.” “How? She a mind reader on the sly?” “I wrote her a song for Christ’s sake! It was all about hearts and journeys and colours and shit and I meant every word of it too. What more does she want!?” “Hearts and journeys and colours?” “Yeah, you know, she walked away with me heart, made my journey through life lonely and turned my world to colour from black and white, that sort of thing.” “You’re no Gary Barlow mate.” “That’s not what she said.” “Yeah, well she’s your number one fan.” “You make her sound like a friggin stalker!” “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe she doesn’t want theatrics and riddles. Maybe she just wants to hear you say the word.” “What word?” “LOVE! You bloody idiot!” Why does that matter so much!” “Because it’s a small word that’s about as big as it gets. It doesn’t mean “Iike”, it doesn’t mean “fancy”, it doesn’t mean “You’ll do for now until something better shows up”. It means, you’re feeling it where it matters, where it counts and not just between your legs! It says you could hurt me...maybe even more than I could ever hurt you. That’s what’s freakin’ you out. Isn’t it?” John sighed, “Yeah. Yeah it is. I’d never cried over a woman until Kayleigh. I mean, I’ve been sad before, I’ve even gone off me food.” “Jesus! When were that!?” “Oy!” “Sorry”. “I know now that she can hurt me, more than I’ve ever been hurt before, because she did”. “Now there’s a lyric. Seriously though, do you really think that by just not sayin’ it, you can somehow not feel it. Do you think it’ll protect you? Cause if you think that’s the case, I’ve got one question for you mate...how’s that workin’ out for you?” John put his head back against the headrest and momentarily closed his eyes. It was a silent answer, which somehow spoke volumes. 

 The rest of their journey was spent in companionable silence, interspersed with occasional instructions on which direction to take, from John. Finally, they arrived on the familiar road that led to Mandy’s house, or as John always thought, to Kayleigh. His heart and his brain were currently competing in a race to the finish that neither seemed willing to concede. “It’s up here on the right. Number 25. It might have a green gazebo.” “A green gazebo!” “Yeah. Her sister’s fella Steve’s into fixin’ bikes.” “That still doesn’t explain the gazebo.” “Fuck the gazebo! It’s not even up!” “Alright John! Calm down.” “Sorry, it’s here with the shitty Christmas Lights. Right, this is it.” “D’ya want me to come with you or wait here?” “Christ! I hadn’t thought about that. I don’t know how long I’ll be. She might kick me out before I can get a word in edge ways. Either that or I’ll be here for ages. It’ll be a feast or a famine.” “Well, let’s take it as it comes shall we? You need me to make meself scarce for a bit, I’ll find a Maccie D’s. You can text me when you want me to come back.” “Cheers mate.” “Is that Steve?” “Yeah. He’s sound”. Steve was already waving at John. John and Jim both got out to greet him, “Alright Steve?” “Hey John mate. I wasn’t expecting to see you today!” Furtively looking back at an amused Jim, John attempted a casual reply, “Well, Yeah, we, eh, happened to be in the area and I just thought I’d stop by and say hello to Kayleigh. She about by any chance?” “Yeah, she’s just back from the shops. Front door’s on the snib. Go on in.” “Thanks pal. This is my mate Jim by the way. Jim, this is Steve.” “How do mate.” “How do. Nice bike. Ya can’t wack a Triumph. John’s Dad were into his bikes if I remember rightly. He had a Triumph at one point and...aw what were it called? John! What was the name of that bike your Dad had?” John was already heading for the front door as he replied, “A Land Devil. Steve knows. I gave him some bits from the garage”. Steve replied, “That were very decent of you by the way”. “No bother”. With that John disappeared inside as Steve and Jim stood awkwardly like two spare parts at a wedding. Suddenly Steve produced a flask, “Fancy a brew mate?” “Don’t mind if I do.” Steve poured the tea into the plastic cup at the top of the flask, then refilled his Robocop mug”. “Nice mug.” “Thanks”. Steve looked up to Kayleigh’s bedroom. Jim watched his gaze and followed it upwards in the direction of a window with a heart shaped lamp at its centre. “He in the dog house again?” “How did you guess?” “She gets in a right mood when she’s pissed off with him”. Jim sighed before ruminating, “I think they just need a good talk.” “You ask me they need a bloody good shag!” For a second nothing was said as the two men simply looked at each other, in silence, before they both simultaneously broke into laughter and toasted each other with their mugs. Steve reached down into an ancient biscuit tin and brandishing it in front of Jim enquired, “Hob Nob?” With that, the male bond was firmly created. 

 John announced his arrival by calling out, “Hello! It’s John”. Mandy was in the kitchen up to her neck in carrots. She was shocked to see him but couldn’t deny that she was also delighted for her sister, “John Redmond! As I live and breathe. What brings you to the bright lights of Bury? Could it be a certain red head by any chance”.  Offering her a kiss on the cheek John smiled, ‘Hey Mandy. You rumbled me. She accepting visitors?” “She’s having a lie down upstairs.” “Any chance I could....?” “I’m not sure if I want you to finish that sentence”. “I just want to talk to her Mandy. We need to sort a few things.” “Do me a favour. Try to sort them in a way that doesn’t disturb the neighbours or traumatise the kids.” John smiled and looked suitably sheepish. “Up the stairs, first on the right.” “Thanks Mandy”. “Oh and John, do ya want a bit of roast?” “I’d love to but me mate Jim’s here with me. He’s outside with Steve.” “He can join us too if he likes. I’ve got half a cow ‘ere.” “Thanks Mandy, you’re a good ‘um.” With that, she smiled and retreated to the kitchen as John took a deep breath, climbed the stairs and knocked on Kayleigh’s bedroom door. She’d been lying on the bed with her headphones on listening to an old eighties mix tape. She hadn’t heard the knock at the door, so when it opened and John’s face peaked in, she literally shrieked, “JOHN!” Misty immediately started barking from the back garden. Only Kayleigh could reach that octave. She pulled her headphones off and immediately jumped off the bed. John stood in the doorway, his eardrums struggling to recover. “What are you doing here?!” “Well. I remembered it’s Sunday and I thought you might like a cuddle and a Chinese....or a cuddle and Mandy’s roast...or maybe just a cuddle.” Kayleigh stood so still, that he began to be concerned about what was to come, then without warning, she threw her arms around him and promptly burst into tears. “Oh John. I’m sooo sorry. I was so horrible to you. I didn’t mean to be such a nasty cow.” “Hey, sweetheart. Don’t get upset. It’s ok. It’s ok. You weren’t a nasty cow. You don’t have a nasty bone in your lovely little body. Don’t cry love.” “I just love you so much John”. “Look at me.” With that Kayleigh pulled back and faced him, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I’ve never said this to anyone before and it’s because I’ve never meant it until now. I should have said it to you weeks ago. The truth is, I probably knew it months ago...but I’m absolutely bloody certain of it now...I love you too Kayleigh Kitson. I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone or anything in this world and I’m scared. I’m terrified because for the first time in my life I’ve realised that something was missing and that something was you. If I lose you, I go back to who I was before and now I know that who I was before wasn’t complete. I had a Kayleigh Kitson shaped hole in my heart and in my life and I don’t want to go back. Not now, not ever.”...and there it was. He’d finally said it.

[chxrlesstuff]

The Flowers Between us

A cracked tarmac road tore through the rolling hills of the yellow-tinted countryside. Despite its popularity for travellers to the nearby town in warmer months, this morning only a crimson pushbike plagued with spots of rust rattled up the stretch. Atop the two-wheeled beast sat a young boy, cheeks dotted with freckles and chestnut eyes. He was the picture of youth. But such a childlike grace did not reach his lips, now upturned in a solemn scowl. From his furrowed brow to eyebrows arched so sharply, it was obvious today was no exception from being his usual self, always pissed-off, frustration instilling every violent pump his scrawny legs wore upon the whirring pedals.

It wasn’t the tragic death of his father, mother or the hope for a remotely cheerful childhood that formed this broken boy.  It was the separation from just about the only person he had known enough to care for; his Emily. And no, the boy did not consider himself as much of a romantic, but today he was keeping up that starry-eyed facade. For he had finally worked up the courage to finally visit her again.

He accelerated downhill, becoming a blur of red and white. The boy found peace in these daring moments: his hair tugged back by the breaking wind, his Arsenal jersey - maybe a few sizes too large - draping behind him like superman’s cape, and the bike’s worn gears whisking like a drawn fishing rod. Despite the veiling pools of morning fog that seemed to be spilling out of from the tree line, he could recognize every little flaw worn into the road’s surface.

He leaned in anticipation of the next turn without slowing. The tree line to his left, separated from the road only by a metal railing, curled to the right and drew his eyes away from the road. It seemed as if he was not moving; only the surrounding world was racing past him. But the oakwood trunks and emerald leaves grew thin as he moved forward. The tree line fell away to reveal a cliffside, carved into the mountain’s flank by years of slow but relentless erosion. The road snapped straight, and he returned his gaze forward. Where he expected to see a clear path, a figure’s shadowy silhouette stood veiled in the morning mist.

He grasped the pushbike’s breaks instinctively, setting the defective gears into a squealing fit as corroded metal hit metal. But it was too late, the bike continued to scream forward. He tore the steering bar left in a desperate attempt to avoid the collision as the turning wheels marked dark skid marks upon the tarmac behind him. The lane soon had no more width to give the speeding bike as he headed straight towards the railing. The rusted front wheel crashed into the sturdy barrier. Instead of crushing itself upon impact, the back wheel went upwards like a third-grader practicing her first handstand. He was launched like rock from a catapult. Had he tumbled over any other part of the cliffside, he would have met a thirty-metre freefall followed by a fairly swift, unpleasant introduction to the ground below. But instead he found himself landing face first onto a flower-littered outcropping that had not yet fallen away from the cliff-face.

A head popped up over the railing. It was a girl’s face, equipped with youthful yet sharp, stunning features. Her outfit was obnoxiously coordinated. Two dark blue clips clung to black hair that only reached her shoulders, a deep blue leather jacket wrapped her slim figure, followed by a pair of denim jeans; ripped in several places. Whether the tears were a purposeful fashion statement or the signs of an unfortunate tumble, the boy couldn’t say. Her adolescent face was set in a sympathetic grimace. But this was not out of pity for the boy. She was assessing the damage the flung body had wrought upon the various, wildly coloured flowers that littered the grassy ledge, this was a garden they would come to be away from everything. Between the flowers, this place was their own little secret. It was where they had first met; when two young, naive runaways from opposite sides of town had somehow both found themselves stopped at a roadside outcropping, admiring the beautiful scene.

The girl opened her mouth to recall the memory, but the boy caught her tongue,

“I’m sure you’re flattered that I came all the way out here Em.” He spoke without lifting his head, just trying to play it cool, as if he hadn’t just turned the garden into a personal landing pad.

“Oh, you poor little thing,” she countered with an all too obvious tone of amusement. A hand was covering her mouth, trying in vain to hide a childish smirk. “That graceful little faceplant must’ve got you all concussed, because I don’t remember asking you here, but I guess the garden was missing something - I always liked garden gnomes. I shall call him Dopey”

The boy (or Dopey, as Em had decided to call him today) finally lifted his head from the bed of daisies, spitting out a few petals. After vaulting the fencing ever-so-quietly, Em’s sky-blue Converse appeared in front of his dirt-spotted nose. “You know…” he paused whilst sitting up to meet Em’s empty blue eyes, realising how long it had been long since he last rattled off his endless troubles to her, “…the girl I was crushin’ on, her dad is a crazy butcher who wants to skin me alive; I’ve got two parents, both dead, and a drunkard for an uncle is the only one left to take care of me. So, can you take a hint that I might not be in the right mind for you to call me names anymore.”

“Well I’m very sorry, you know I’m sure we could find another name that’d stick.”

The boy could see that familiar sparkle in her eye, the one that would only show itself moments before tragedy struck. Well… tragedy to his ego that is. The ritual teasing began.

“How about flowerpot?”

“Not in the mood Em,” the boy growled.

Ignoring the boy’s less than enthusiastic reaction, she continued her playful assault- “Of course! It’s been right in front of me the whole time!” She motioned to the plant life-- flowers and tall grass, crushed down in the outline of his face. She put her hands together, connecting each fingertip to its opposite on the other hand, embodying a businessman about to propose his next best marketing strategy. She took on a deep, grumbling tone; a salesman ready to sell her idea. “Let’s say we call you Faceplant. It’s almost poetic!”

He met her eyes with a look that said please stop, but in her teasing mood she only read this as a sign that she was getting to him, so why stop now?

She continued the impression, leaning in closer “Okay-okay, I hear you! But hear me out now. Picture this!” She spread her hands outward for dramatic effect. “The destroyer of all flower-kind… the man… the myth… Grass-ass!”

He wasn’t going to give the attention she craved after that little performance.

He turned away from her, “can anyone else hear something? I could’ve sworn I heard a voice. Must’ve just been the breeze I guess.”

There were only three things on this earth that Em truly despised; the colour pink, rom-coms, and being ignored… you weren’t meant to talk about either of them.

She bent down, grabbed the corner of his ear and cupped her hands just to make sure the boy would catch every word. And she didn’t lose the voice - not one bit.

“DID YOU HEAR ME? GRASS… ASS!”

The banshee’s shriek hammered his eardrums. He tried not to show any signs of amusement at Em’s childish nature and failed miserably. He was the first to laugh; a sharp, repetitive snicker. She followed his lead with the precious giggle he cherished every moment it graced his ears. He tried to grab her arms, missed, yet she still fell down next to him. They rolled about the grassy ledge, crushing even more of the poor wildflowers. She reached behind him, supposedly brushing petals off the back of his shirt. It was not long before they found themselves embracing each other, cuddling amongst the crushed flowerbed. They were three steps away from the edge. Neither cared, they were just two kids again. Danger seemed nothing more than an old friend.

She put her forehead to his and whispered ever so softly. “Okay, I guess the names did sound a lot better in my head.”

“All your jokes do.”

The blue-clad girl pulled away, then sunk into a cross-legged seat upon the masses of white dandelions, tulips and daisies. She took her small, pale hands down to gently cradle his head. She brought her face down to his. He couldn’t even feel her hands, but he didn’t need to. The boy was instantly levelled by her stare. He didn’t like the way she could silence everything about him with a single look. The icy attitude, the short-fused frustration. He would use this hostile nature to defend himself from others getting too close to him, everyone saw him as this… ticking time-bomb, but not with her. All that aggression escaped him now, it melted away in the pure pleasance that radiated from her smile, a smile he had not seen in far too long.

Without notice, a peaceful silence had now crept into the air between them. Neither seemed to care, they had grown so comfortable with one another that such a thing as an awkward silence was unheard of. Being together was enough. He had never really understood a human’s need for that annoying, constant exchange of information, especially with someone you truly know.

“That's when you know you've found somebody really special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably share silence.” The boy whispered, quoting that genius line from his favourite film. It had come out only as a whisper the breeze carried to her, as if they were sharing their own little secret. He noted the upturned corners of her mouth, the tell-tale sign that she was remembering an older time; the night she had waited for him to sneak across the town to her. With the moon as their only witness, they had watched Pulp Fiction that night, instantly cementing it as one of their favourites. Not because of the movie itself, but the memory that had attached itself. He would recall those cherished moments, still feel the stillness in the air, a stillness that spoke volumes of calmness, peace and acceptance to the boy’s tragic upbringing. He shouldn’t be reminiscing, but it was because of Emily, that he realised the past was set in the past, those rotten memories could no longer reach out and pull him back to his Uncle, that cursed house, that place of trauma, not here. He was in a constant state of elevation with her, as if he was now living above the demons that for so long were an undeniable part of him.

Whilst he felt many things today, the sensation he felt was only a cheap replica.

“I used to think I just missed your voice, Em.” She turned to him as he muttered those ill-fated words. Even with all his strength, he could not meet her gaze. He kept his eyes to the ground, pulling at the grass with nervous fingers.

“I’d tell myself everything I’d say to you when I came up here, and everything you would say back. But now I’m only just starting to realise it was the little things, the things you would say, the things you would do, the things I could never hope to predict or ever imagine. Those were what made you who you are, and who you were to me. I wish it were different, I really do. But that girl is no longer here.”

 There it was, the truth. Within a heartbeat, his words cut the air between them. The world seemed to freeze over, a chill danced up his spine. He felt lifeless, weightless, purposeless, all at once. This was how things would be without her, he could no longer deny this truth. Yet he knew he could not live like this.

Em, or what was the spirit, the memory, the ghost the boy had conjured of her, held between him a blank, empty stare. The colour in her lips, her eyes, her cheeks, it all drained away until she was nothing more than a pale ghost of the girl that he knew, the girl that could no longer be with him.  

“Please… I’m here with you. I’m here.” She spoke with a tone so shaky it was as if she was trying to convince herself. The boy tried to close his eyes, shut her out, forget. But there was a part of him, a part that did not want to let go. Tears began gathering beneath his closed eyelids, he opened and let them flow down his cheeks. He tried to speak, couldn’t, then tried again, conjuring the words together, just trying to not break out into a wailing fit.

“The crash took you away from me, but it also did something to me. They said I have brain damage, that I need surgery.”

“But I’m here!” The ghostly figure howled. It seemed to be crying too. Through cloudy eyes he saw it reach for his hand. But its shaky palms passed through it. The spirit, whatever it was, looked down at the hand, he recognised a look on its face, a look of betrayal.

“No, you’re not. I’ve been waiting. Waiting for you to come back to me…” His voice broke, and he looked up at what was left of the girl he loved, trying to think of a way to fix this.

“I have to go.”

The ghost reached out to him, trying to pull the boy back, back into the delusion. But the cursed hands simply passed through him once again. He stepped back from her and bent down, searching with shaking hands through the undergrowth. He finally settled upon two, and gently broke them from the stem.

First, a pink rose – the first flower he had given her when he told Emily he loved her.

Second, a blue lily, the last flower he gave her before the accident. Now it will be the last he ever would.

He smiled at the bouquet. This time the smile reached his eyes, they no longer held grief, only acceptance. When he brought his gaze up, there was no ghostly figure, only an elegant stone grave, Emily Lilac carved into its face. He placed the flowers upon its base.

It was flowers that had first brought them together, and now it was flowers that were between them. It was almost poetic, he liked that.