know each other and that’s a good thing,’ says Scott.
‘What shall we talk about?’ I ask. ‘We covered all the basics yesterday. I know that you used to shoplift for dares, you know that I padded my bra with tissue –’
‘Until you were sixteen!’ howls Scott.
‘Yeah.’ I’m beginning to regret telling him that bit. ‘You prefer milk chocolate to dark.’ I pull on my skirt.
‘You like that hideous white stuff designed for kids.’ He picks up his T-shirt and turns it the right way out but doesn’t put it on immediately.
‘Correct. You’ve never eaten an oyster.’
‘Snot in a shell.’
‘Agreed. You like football and I like flowers.’ I run my fingers through my hair and try to appear less rumpled than I am.
‘Why are peonies your favourite?’
Good question. A bit left of centre. I’ve never been asked that before, yet I do have an answer.
‘I think they’re a great mix of sturdy and exotic, which has to be something every girl aspires to. They smell so clean. The flower was named after Pæon, a physician to the gods, who got the plant on Mount Olympus, from the mother of Apollo. Once planted the peony likes to be left alone and punishes those who try to move it by not flowering again for several years. I like the idea that a plant has a sense of revenge,’ I giggle.
‘No uprooting. I’ll remember that,’ says Scott.
‘Ah, but remember, once established, it produces splendid blooms each year for decades,’ I mutter, just in case we’re talking about more than the plant. I continue with my search for fresh topics. ‘I know all about your family. You know about mine. Where do we go from here?’
‘You could tell me a little more about your boyfriend.’
The word boyfriend hits me like a train. Hell, does he still exist? The thought that Adam is somewhere – anywhere – doing something – anything – floors me. I’d completely forgotten that he existed. It’s easy to do when I’m cocooned up with Scott, away from anything remotely normal or expected; protected from any inconvenient truths and intrusions.
‘Adam.’ Even his name sounds alien. Yet he’s been in this shop a hundred times. He’s popped by to while away slow hours and help me lug round potted trees. He’s dropped off sandwich lunches, he came to my rescue when we had a power cut and I struggled with the burglar alarm and the electric till. These things happened a millennium ago.
‘Yes. This Adam, is it serious?’ asks Scott.
‘We broke up.’
‘When?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘I see.’ And he probably does. It’s clear-cut, isn’t it?
‘What about you? Seeing anyone special at the moment?’ I turn the spotlight.
‘Dangerous question, Miss,’ says Scott, deftly sidestepping; another skill I realize he must be practised at. How many times has he been asked that by a nosy journalist? What was I hoping for, that he’d say something like, At this exact second, yes. Generally, no? In my dreams.
‘Dangerous questions are part of getting to know someone,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t imagine you usually go in for this, do you?’
I’m nervous, partly because I don’t want him to affirm that he’s a heartless, relentless slapper and I’m heading for disaster and, partly, I’m shy because if he does confirm that normally he’s a heartless, relentless slapper but I’ve made him different, then I’ve definitely dug for that compliment, which puts me right back in the position I used to be in with Adam when I asked if he liked my new top.
‘No, this is fresh stuff. In the past I’ve been a bit of a careless fucker. Literally. You know, I’m a rock star, I’m young, gorgeous. What can I do?’ He stares at me and as our eyes collide, I forgive him. He’s right, he’d have to be insane not to be sticking it up every girl available. What’s the point of being who he is otherwise?
Scott lights a fag. He smokes way too much and Ben wouldn’t like it in the shop but I can’t bring myself to reprimand him. He takes a long drag and then eyes me nervously.
‘Fern, anything you’ve ever read about me is probably true. In fact, however bad it was, double it. The really bad stuff doesn’t even get into the press. When I am doing a lot of drugs and drinking far, far too much – I’m an animal.’
For the first time since we met he seems to be having difficulty in holding eye contact.
‘I shag indiscriminately. I’m careless. Heartless. Yes to whisky,