Having woken up with an overwhelming urge to be immersed in nature, I headed to the local garden centre.
Wandering around rather aimlessly, allowing the scent of flowers in their late season bloom to infiltrate me, I was assaulted by a different smell, one which I associated immediately.
The unmistakable smell of my ex-girlfriend’s perfume.
She must be here somewhere, I thought. She’s somewhere in this very garden centre right now.
I took a look around but saw only old people and plants and clothes that looked like they’d been made out of old hessian bags.
Surely other people wear that same scent, my internal orator cautioned, while I crouched beside an oversized flowerpot. It isn’t necessarily her.
Unwilling to take a chance, I hid in the flowerpot.
Inside the pot, I could hear each of my breaths, the tension contained within each one.
I tried to steady my breathing, each breath travelling around the pot until I could feel them on my neck.
Is this a foolish—
From the next pot alongside me, I could hear someone whispering, interrupting my thoughts.
“It must be him,” I heard them say in a voice I recognised well, its notes of disdain. “It smells just like him.”
And in that, I had all the answers I needed.
There was no way I was leaving the pot.
Fortunately I had an activity book with me – which I’d bought on impulse for a friend’s kid’s birthday – so I was quite content to wait this one out for as long as it took.
vss #66
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