The Beautiful Roses

Jamie stood there, looking down at the beautiful bouquet of roses. They used to be her favourite, many, many years ago.

40 Years Earlier -

It was the summertime in 1981. Twenty-year-old Jamie Bills stood watching, no, gawping, at the beautiful woman who knelt before him, pruning her rose bush. He knew her name. He had heard her mother shout it every day when it was time for tea. Jamie lived next door. Today was the first time he had picked up enough courage to attempt to speak to her properly since her father died. They had said the occasional ‘hello’ in passing but, nothing much more than that. ‘Good afternoon, Emma. Isn’t it a beautiful day?’ he asked, approaching her. ‘Hello. Yes, isn’t it just’. she replied, with a beautiful smile. She had big, beautiful brown eyes and long, beautiful brown hair. She wore a mid-length skirt which was designed to show off parts of her beautiful legs, and a string vest which let her beautiful arms roam free. Everything about Emma was beautiful. ‘EMMA!’ came a booming voice from inside. Yes, everything about Emma was beautiful - except her mother. Jamie took one look at Emma’s mother coming out of the front door and scarpered back around to the safety of his own house. (Thanks - mother) Emma sighed. ‘Mother, do you have to be so unorthodox?’ She put down her tools and took off her gardening gloves. ‘I am guessing it’s time for tea?’ she asked (is there ever any other reason for her to bellow my name to the rest of the street?) as she made her way inside. ‘Don’t be like that, Em’. Emma’s mother said. She was a tall woman, tall but muscular. She always wore long skirts but they stopped just above her ankles, and you could see her wrinkled stockings. She always had an apron on too, with a blouse which made her arm muscles seem to protrude even more. She was retired, but rarely at home. Jamie was not quite sure where she went to so often, but it was clear to see that she had somewhere to be. She always seemed in a hurry, wherever she was going, and she was always very stern. He was somewhat frightened of her. 

Emma Cooke made her way upstairs to get cleaned up. Her mother, Evelyn, was downstairs finishing off the cooking. Emma’s father, Neil, had passed away around a year ago. He had battled for a long time with cancer, and he sadly succumbed to it shortly after Emma’s twenty-first birthday last March. Since then, Emma had looked after her mother but lately, her attitude had turned slightly sour. Especially towards any kind of male attention that Emma received. Which was inevitable, as Emma was a pretty and curvaceous woman. She came downstairs and began to set the dining table. Even though it was just the two of them, Evelyn had insisted that their teatime meal was eaten at the table, together. Just as they did when Neil was alive. Evelyn also insisted that Emma set three places, just in case he wished to join them. So, she did, whilst rolling her eyes. Emma did not believe in the afterlife whatsoever. But, she would appease her mother. Emma and Evelyn sat down and began to tuck into their meal. ‘Mother, why do you insist on scaring away any men that wish to speak to me?’ Emma asked, outright. Evelyn looked stunned that she had asked. ‘Emma, you are twenty-one. You have your whole life ahead of you and I wish for you to have a career. For this, you need to concentrate in college! You will not have time to hold down a relationship whilst studying’. Evelyn replied. ‘Surely that’s my decision though, mother?’ Evelyn did not respond to this (I fear that I am treading on thin ice). The rest of the meal was eaten in silence.

Jamie was peeking through his kitchen window. He could see straight into Emma’s dining room. There didn’t seem to be much conversation going on, and he could see three places had been set, again. He wondered whether Emma believed in all that kind of stuff, or whether it was to simply make her life easier where her mother was concerned. Jamie imagined living with Emma’s mother was pretty hard. He imagined she probably did whatever she could to appease her. Jamie heard a ping, that would be his evening meal. He had an all-day breakfast in the microwave. Courtesy of his mother, who lived about five miles away. Jamie had moved out at the age of eighteen. He was very independent, but this didn’t mean he would turn down a home-cooked meal now and then. His mother was his rock. She, and Jamie’s father, lived in a small cottage on the outskirts of town. Their backyard was just endless countryside. Jamie, however, was a city boy. He thrived on the hustle and bustle. Hence why he lived just a two-minute short walk from the main shopping centre. His father said his mother spoilt him. Jamie agreed, but he loved it. He was an only child and it showed. He was ever so impatient, and most of the time, whatever he wanted, he got from his mother. He collected his meal from the microwave, using a tea towel so as not to burn himself. He glanced across at Emma’s window one more time, before going to sit in the living room to eat his meal and watch Countdown. 

Emma was a student. She hoped one day to become a landscaper. She adored gardening, and animals, and all things nature. Her mother had hoped she would go into the family-run business. Which was a cafe in the high street. The Crispy Lettuce was its name. Emma’s father had bought it and ran it single-handed too. He had signed it over to Evelyn shortly before he passed away, and Evelyn had expressed her concern that Emma would not be helping her to run it. Multiple times. Emma had explained that she would help out whenever she could, but her college would always come first. Evelyn eventually gave up badgering her about it and decided to support her learning. Emma finished her meal, ‘I’ll wash up tonight, mother’. she said, standing. ‘Thanks, love’, Evelyn replied, ‘I’m feeling a little tired, this evening. I think I’ll go and have a lie-down. If that’s okay with you?’ she continued. (Oh, thank goodness, some peace) ‘Yes. Of course. Come on, let’s get you comfortable’. Emma took her mother into the living room, helped her settle down on the reclining armchair, and covered her over with the throw. Then, she went back into the dining room to pick up the plates. As she walked into the room, she spotted the man from next door in his kitchen window. She couldn’t quite remember his name, (was it John? Or Jack, maybe?) When he first moved in, about two years ago, they had spoken quite often. But, since her father died, her mother had become somewhat over-protective of her. He was a handsome man. Tall, tanned, a little meaty. (I do hope he tries to speak to me again tomorrow. Maybe mother will let him, this time?) She took the dirty plates and cutlery into the kitchen and put them in the sink to soak. Then she put away the clean, unused plate and cutlery that she had set out for her father. (Untouched again, dad? Not hungry?) She smiled to herself, then washed up, dried up, and put everything away. The old grandfather clock that stood at the bottom of the stairs chimed; it was 8 p.m. already. Emma cleaned down the surfaces in the kitchen and the dining table. Then she checked on her mother, who was sleeping soundly still, on the reclining armchair. Emma went upstairs. After brushing her teeth and having a wash, she got herself into bed and began to read. Within minutes though, she was asleep.

Jamie had seen Emma, watching him clean his kitchen. He considered waving but thought better of it. If ever her mother was watching he would be for it! He looked at the clock, it was 8 p.m. and he was feeling sleepy already. But he decided instead, that he would make himself a coffee and watch a little bit of FBI Most Wanted. He loved that show. He loved how all the way through he would believe he knew who the perpetrator was, only to discover at the end that it was someone he would never have expected in a million years! He watched a couple of episodes, but his eyes were closing. So, he got himself off to bed. The next morning, he woke to the sound of screaming next door. He jumped out of bed, threw on his dressing-gown, and dashed out of his house. He was pounding his fist on the door, ‘EMMA! EMMA! OPEN UP!’ he shouted. Emma opened the door and fell at his feet. She was inconsolable. He bent down and put his arm around her. ‘Emma, what’s happened? What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘It’s...my mother…she’s....she’s’. Emma managed those few words, whilst gasping for breath in-between. She was sobbing hysterically again now. Jamie decided to go inside and see what had happened. As he entered the hallway, he looked to the left. He could see Emma’s mother, lying on the reclining armchair. He immediately thought the worst and went over to her. Sure enough, she was dead. He called an ambulance and went back to console Emma.

A few weeks went by, and Emma grew more and more detached from the real world. Since the passing of her mother from a heart attack, she had not left the house. Jamie had left food parcels on her doorstep, with little ‘pick me up’ notes. But, they had not been reciprocated. Emma had completely withdrawn into her shell. One morning, Jamie woke up, and she had gone. A ‘For Sale’ sign had been erected in her front lawn. Jamie felt heartbroken. But, he had no choice but to get on with his own life now. He became a lawyer and made a really good life for himself. He never married or had children. He hoped that one day, he would be reunited with his first love.

Present Day -

Jamie Bills was enjoying an all-day breakfast in the local cafe, The Crispy Lettuce. He had lived around here all his life but had never once set foot into this building. Today, he had broken that routine, and the first thing he had noticed, was a plaque on the wall near the checkout, “In Loving Memory - Evelyn Cooke”. ‘Did you know her? Evelyn Cooke?’ He asked the lady who had served his breakfast, as she cleared away his plate. ‘No, I can’t say I did, I knew her daughter though, Emma’. Jamie’s face lit up, ‘You knew Emma? Do you know where she moved to?’ ‘Oh, yes. Well, I know she lived with her best friend, Marie, for years. I can’t be certain she is still there though’. replied the waitress. ‘Could you tell me where that is? I am an old family friend’. Jamie smiled. The woman looked reluctant, but she wrote the address down on his receipt. Jamie stood, he thanked her and said goodbye, and went on his way. He stopped off at the local florist and picked up some fresh, red roses. He pulled up at the address written on his receipt. He was feeling nervous and anxious. As he made his way up the front lawn, he noticed the beautiful blooming rose bushes, they must be Emma’s doing. She was a whizz at plants and such. He began to feel a little excited that she may still be living here. He knocked on the door, and a woman answered, he didn’t recognise her though. ‘You must be, Marie?’ he said, holding out his hand. She shook it ‘Yes, who are you?’ she replied. ‘I’m Jamie, Jamie Bills. I used to live next door to Emma until she moved. We were...friends. Someone said she could be here, is she still here?’ Jamie asked. Marie stepped to one side and gestured for him to enter the house. ‘Yes, she lives here. Come in’.

Jamie walked into the hallway and closed the front door behind him. ‘Please, go through into the living room, I shall make a hot drink and I’ll be right in’. Jamie walked into the living room, there was a woman sat in the bay window, in a rocking chair. She looked at Jamie as he walked in, he smiled, nodded, and took a seat on the settee. Minutes passed and Marie came into the room, carrying a tray of three cups of tea. ‘Do you take sugar, Jamie?’ ‘Just one for me please, Marie. Thank you’. Marie popped a sugar cube into his tea and stirred it. The woman in the rocking chair covered her ears. ‘Sorry love, I know you don’t like the loud noises’. Marie said to her. ‘So, Marie. Where is Emma?’ asked Jamie, ‘I’d love for her to have these roses, and for us to have a good chat, like we used to’. he continued, sipping his tea. Marie smiled, ‘She’s right there, Jamie’. she said, pointing to the lady in the room. ‘Not that she will remember you I am afraid. She has Alzheimer's’. Jamie almost dropped his tea. He stood up and walked over to the woman - Emma - who was sitting in the rocking chair. 

He looked down at the beautiful bouquet of roses. They used to be her favourite, many, many years ago.

The End.