Page 85 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

“Chocolates? She isn’t at the craving bit yet. We only just found out.” Or was she? What he knew about pregnancy could be written on the back of a stamp, and that thought scared him when it occurred to him.

But the woman beamed and nodded, not noticing his sudden anxiety as she began to wrap the flowers in tissue paper. “I think the Choco-Love is shut, but the supermarket has some nice ones. Especially if you go to the one on the other side of the docks. I think they might even have a little store in there. You can get her name written on them or something. If I remember right.”

“Thanks,” he said.

the woman nodded at her own work. “There. All done. But remember, take them out when you get home. These should last you about ten days. I guarantee them for a week. Anything less than that, come back and I’ll change them for you.” She waved a small card at him. He caught the sight of the gold embossed guarantee logo before she slipped it into the box. “I’ve also put a sachet of food in there. Just put it in the water when you put these in a vase. It’ll keep them alive.”

The box sort of fit in his backpack. It was tight and he had to angle them and leave a little of the zip open, but the woman helped him by tying some twine around the zip so it would stay closed.

He didn’t dare move too much as he sat on his bike, not wanting to hunch over and cause the bag to then crush the flowers. How would that be? First bunch of flowers to buy Rosie and all they turned out to be was a pile of petals and crushed leaves.

The supermarket the florist had mentioned was a twenty-four-hour store. They weren’t so popular in these parts. Most people where William lived didn’t venture out after six if they could help it, especially in the winter when it was like this, all ice and chill. At least it wasn’t raining.

Still no reply off Rosie, though. “Miss you,” he texted her. It was hard not to worry, or not to let his mind go to that place of overdrive. It was hard to hold onto that feeling in himself where he’d try and will time to move. He put the phone away and made himself not stare at it to wait for a read sign, or he’d drive himself crazy. It could just be that it was a busy night.

Rosie had told him in the winter, especially with the dark days, darker nights and the vulnerability to illness, a lot of people felt worse with their mental health. William could agree with that. Although he was sure his downward slips usually started in January sometimes, when Christmas was over, and everything was just quiet.

Going to the supermarket meant going along Sycamore Street instead of West Row. It meant going along the docks. It was the faster way. He could go around and avoid the cold snap that came from the water.

“Sycamore Street, though?” It sounded familiar to him. Yet … As he put his helmet on again and tried to think what it was. What was there? Sure, he’d been in this area a hundred or more times in his life, but there was nothing significant.

Maybe his mind and Rosie not replying yet, it did things to him, even when he tried to fight it and not think about it. It was fine. It was all fine.

He pulled out of the car park and turned towards the docks, and then it clicked when he turned onto the main road there and saw the offices. Mark’s car. This was where Mark worked. Yes. Aha. Why hadn’t he remembered it?

Stupid.

But it wasn’t Mark’s car he saw as he slowed and rode past the offices. It was his own. A car like his. It had to be. Parked next to Mark’s, but no. As he rode past and the licence plate came into view and the familiar registration number. His car … his car … Rosie.

He didn’t stop, but he slowed enough to see a light on.

It couldn’t be. Rosie was at work. Rosie had a shift on the helpline. All shifts started at seven.

He gripped the handle bar, twisted the throttle and made himself keep going. Keep going because if he didn’t … if he didn’t … he ground his jaw, held himself tight, forgetting the flowers in the bag on his back as he hunched over the bike.

Go home. It’ll be something okay. It’ll be something stupid.

He made himself keep going. Made himself carry on and head along the main road. Traffic lights approached. Just through them and there would be nowhere to turn around. No way to come back and check what was going on.

He glanced in the side-mirror of his bike as he rode, watching as the sight of his car faded from sight. But he didn’t look ahead. He didn’t look as the light for him turned to red.

He didn’t look as the car came the other way, as it swerved, as another tried to move. He didn’t see.

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