The south facing window

*some sexual content*

Daisy looks out across the grey concrete landscape below. Her coffee’s gone cold and the sparrow that’s been flitting about on the window ledge all morning, has gone. Daisy can just about make out cherry blossom on the trees below, the only bit of nature deemed appropriate for the residents of Elizabeth Towers. Spring is beginning to bloom in all its glory, and Daisy, a systems analyst, is working from home in a cold, east facing flat that the sun only touches with its weak rays in the earliest hours of the day.

It’s midday. Daisy is practically able to set her watch by Dave next door as he cranks up his stereo and starts his afternoon routine, blasting out his vinyl collection. Today he’s starting with the Fun Lovin’ Criminals. Daisy wants to bang on the wall but she knows he won’t give a damn, so she stuffs in her ear plugs like she does every day.

Dave sits watching the edge of the vinyl, contemplating how it spins faster than the centre, like my life, everything flying around in circles around me, while I’m stuck in the middle going nowhere. The bus company has no use for Dave anymore after twenty years of driving from point A to point B and everywhere in between. Dave still hasn’t got over it. Any drive he once had has now departed, leaving no indication of its destination. Dave eases himself off the sagging grey sofa, a relic from the divorce settlement, and goes into the kitchen to fry bacon. The pan sits with a dirty pond of congealed fat from the day before and the day before, and the day before… Dave spreads thick butter on white sliced, then goes back to the living room as the bacon sizzles. He slides the Criminals back into their cover and replaces them with Guns and Roses. This will give her next door something to whinge about, and he cranks up the volume before returning to the kitchen to turn the bacon over.

Daisy’s earplugs lie next to her laptop as she slams her front door and descends the stairs through the cold heart of Elizabeth Towers. Outside, the sun feels surprisingly warm on her skin and she quickens her pace. With an online meeting at one-thirty, she has just enough time to get bread and milk from the corner shop, and escape the dulcet tones of Axl Rose for a while.

The corner shop smells like old trainers and popcorn. Behind the counter, a girl inspects her nails as she chats on her phone. Daisy picks up a pint of milk and a loaf of overpriced sourdough, already at its sell-by date. As she prepares herself for interaction with the girl at the till, she spots a sagging metal stand near the door. On it are a few drooping houseplants in plastic pots. The handwritten sign says ‘all plants £1’. One of the larger pots is holding what looks a bit like a peace lily. Its leaves are dusty, some curled brown at the edges, but it looks like it just might have a bit of life left in it and perhaps Daisy could rescue it. Might brighten up the flat. Peace lilies like dim and damp spots don’t they?

Back at the flat, the screaming of Slash’s guitar still cuts through the walls. Daisy sighs and runs some water into the plant pot, then puts it on a saucer on the windowsill. The brown plastic pot doesn’t look great but if the plant survives, she’ll buy a nice ceramic one when she gets paid.

Later, during her one-thirty call, a grim meeting about data architecture, she glances over at it. A splash of water has done it good. The plant looks slightly less miserable already, like it’s sitting up straighter. But over the next few days, the plant does very little and starts to brown even more. Daisy searches the internet. It’s not a peace lily as she’d originally thought. She can’t find anything resembling it at all.

Deciding that the dark windowsill of her flat is doing it no good, and feeling somewhat obliged to give the poor thing a fighting chance, Daisy takes the plant out onto the landing and places it on the south facing window ledge opposite her front door. The space doesn’t belong to anyone and she doesn’t see how the plant can do any harm. She pours another slosh of water and gives it a little pat. Why am I patting a plant?

That evening, Dave’s music finally stops around six, slightly earlier than usual. Daisy relaxes a little and takes out her earplugs.

Dave opens his door the next morning. An urgent mission as he’s run out of toilet roll. He notices the plant. What’s that doing there?

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, as he locks his door. “What next? Communal herb garden?”

He walks over and peers at it, then compelled for some reason, he leans in and sniffs. A green, musky sort of smell.

He knocks on Daisy’s door with an irritated rap. She opens it, eyebrows already raised. “Yes?”

Dave jerks his thumb towards the plant. “You know this isn’t a greenhouse? I’m assuming you put that there.”

Daisy looks past him at the plant that seems to have perked up. “It was dying in my flat. I think it needs some light.”

“Are you going to water it then, keep an eye on it?”

“I’ll manage. It’s just one plant.”

Dave shrugs. “Fine. Just don’t start leaving compost bags and hanging baskets around.”

Daisy stares at him a moment. She shakes herself and nods a brief smile, then closes the door.

Daisy is surprised to see the mystery plant thriving more than she’d expected. By the end of the week, new shoots are appearing, delicate and pale green. Dave finds himself glancing at it whenever he passes, like checking on something he’s not meant to care about. He even searches the internet to find out what the plant is, though like Daisy, he can’t find anything that quite resembles it.

Daisy continues to water the plant regularly. Sometimes she hears Dave’s door open, but he never says anything. She doesn’t either. Then, one day, a tiny white flower appears. Small and delicate. Too perfect for Elizabeth Towers. Dave notices one morning on his way to the job centre. His benefits will be cut if he doesn’t start actively looking for work. Dave stares at the single white flower for a long time, his head tilted to one side. He doesn’t hear Daisy coming up the steps, breathing heavily after a morning run.

“There’s a flower,” he says, taking himself by surprise.

Daisy ponders a moment, did he really just mention a flower? She says nothing but slowly steps towards the window where Dave is still held is some sort of mesmeric trance.

“Isn’t it pretty,” he says, eyes slightly glazed.

“It must have just come out this morning,” Daisy glances at Dave, a little startled at his peculiar expression and quiet demeanour. She looks a little closer. “Look, there are more buds. I’ll water it in a minute. It must like that spot.” She turns to go into her flat.

“I can water it if you like.” Again, Dave is surprised by his own words. “I know you must be busy with that fancy job of yours.”

“I’m an analyst, it’s hardly fancy!” Daisy finds herself adding a smile to her response. “It’s fine. I can manage.” She heads into her flat leaving Dave standing by the window. She’s just about to close the door when she stops. “Actually,” she opens the door again as Dave turns around, “if you could maybe water it at the weekends?”

Then, for the first time ever, Daisy sees something that half resembles a smile on Dave’s face. “That would be fine,” he says, and Daisy closes the door, takes a shower and returns to her laptop.

It’s one o’clock in the afternoon when Daisy notices that the walls aren’t thudding today.

A week later, the plant is blooming. Its flowers are a lush and creamy shade of white, giving off a sensual heady aroma that almost fills the entire of the landing, banishing the old lingering smells of unkempt communal spaces. One afternoon, returning from her lunch break, Daisy is shocked to see Dave, a bucket and sponge in hand, wiping down the landing window ledge and the stair rails.

“I’m going to clean my front door next,” he says, “and maybe sweep up a bit too.” He turns to look at Daisy, she’s actually quite pretty, good figure too, “I could do your door if you like?”

Daisy opens and closes her mouth for a moment, taken aback as this bizarre change in her neighbour’s behaviour. What’s happened to grumpy, noisy, untidy Dave? “Erm, that would be great… if you’re not too busy?”

“I’ve got time. Not going to the job centre until later,” Dave smiles a little and pushes his hand through his wiry dark hair. “Will get this done first.” He picks up the sponge and starts on his front door, humming something that sounds like John Lennon’s Imagine.

What the hell? Daisy is in the kitchen, she can hear Dave outside and while, for some reason she doesn’t understand, she makes two cups of tea, she finds that her hands are trembling. It’s just Dave, let him clean the door… but he did look quite cute just then, buff almost… Daisy takes the tea out to the landing.

“Do you take sugar?”

“No thanks… sweet enough,” Dave’s scrubbing the bottom of his door and doesn’t look up.

“Well there’s tea there for you if you want it.” Daisy puts the mug on the floor next to Dave. He stops scrubbing and gets to his feet, his face flushed.

“That’s good of you… you didn’t need to.”

“The plant’s looking really well.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ve done a good job with it… you and me…” Daisy tucks her hair behind her ear. What am I doing? Stop flirting with Dave… it’s Dave for god’s sake!

“Quite a team.” Dave smiles and looks away towards the plant. Its flowers are filling the window, spreading shoots in all directions, their heady scent intoxicating. Dave, an unusual air of calm about him, walks over to the plant, pretty, like her, and carefully picks one of the white flowers. He cups it gently in his hand and returns to Daisy, who’s sipping her cup of tea. She smiles as he approaches her. Dave reaches out with the flower, what am I doing? and with fingers he’s forgotten could be quite so sensitive, he tucks the flower behind Daisy’s ear into her auburn hair. Daisy smiles.

Daisy misses her two o’clock online system-design meeting. Dave’s cold cup of tea is still on the floor outside his front door. The enigmatic and mysterious plant, more flowers emerging from its buds at a miraculous rate, is basking in the sun of the south facing window. Its stem is strong and healthy green leaves catch the light, flexing slightly, its perfume thick and dense. Daisy and Dave are in her living room, entwined on her green velvet sofa. Cushions are scattered across the floor. Neither of them understands what is happening.

Dave sits back a moment, moving his mouth away from Daisy’s soft lips that he’s been tasting and savouring for the last half an hour.

“Are you sure about this Daisy?” His eyes are soft and Daisy can see something more, something far away in their chocolate brown depths. She hesitates in her answer, feeling free and warm, and… I don’t know what I feel, I don’t understand what the hell is happening, but I like this feeling… Her eyes close briefly and the corners of her mouth turn.

“I’m sure,” she says simply and reaches a hand towards Dave’s face, pulling him back towards her, feeling his soft stubble against her cheek, searching for his mouth again.

Later, when Dave returns from his appointment at the Job Centre, he knocks on Daisy’s door. When she opens it he smiles broadly, handing her a large brown paper bag with something heavy inside. In her flat, Dave watches as Daisy reveals the large green and blue ceramic pot.

“For our plant,” he says with a boyish grin. “Hope you like it.”

“I love it!” Daisy puts the pot on the coffee table and flings her arms around Dave’s broad neck, her golden hair bouncing on her shoulders. “Dave, thank you,” and she takes his hand.

On the landing, curious clicking and creaking sounds can be heard coming from the plant, as its stem and leaves push outwards, growing thicker and fuller. More healthy flowers blossom, full of vitality, and inside Daisy’s flat, she feels yearnings and sensations that she never knew possible. Dave’s hands run over her like trembling rivers, touching every part, every undulation of her soft body. His lips and tongue, so close and warm, as he reaches into her, his senses in a world they’ve never experienced before. They move slowly, her breasts pressed against his dark musky chest, sensing every part, their hungry mouths tasting, hands reaching, touching. Feeling and breathing together, smooth, organic curves. They share their unexplained discovery, until the whole room flexes and trembles. A rising, growing, immeasurable sensation from somewhere deep within another existence that neither Dave nor Daisy can quite believe.

The days that follow feel fuzzy and surreal. Daisy works feverishly each morning, finishing everything so that her afternoons can be spent with Dave. Dave has an interview for a driving job doing morning school runs. He’s tidied his flat, cleaned the kitchen, bought new bed-sheets. They talk into the night, Daisy spilling her heart about the loneliness of her job and her dark empty flat. Dave confides about his failed marriage, his redundancy from the bus company. How worthless it all made him feel. They find a common love for sixties music and spend many afternoon’s as Dave’s record collection forms the soundtrack to their other-worldly desires. Neither of them understand their bliss and they don’t question it. The plant remains unidentified, but it’s thriving, gaining height and more flowers with each day that passes. Everything is lush and glorious.

A few weeks later in Dave’s flat one night, he and Daisy are woken by shouting and crashing noises outside. They rush onto the landing to see a group of hooded teens fleeing down the stairs. Around them is the chaos of their malicious mischief - smashed up lights, dustbins emptied everywhere, and the plant… It lies twisted and broken, the pot smashed in pieces, soil strewn across the floor. They are devastated. Daisy cries. Dave punches the wall. They argue. Dave wants to go after the hooded teens. Daisy just wants to put everything straight and tidy again. Dave goes back inside his flat and slams the door. Through tears, Daisy straightens the landing up as best she can, carefully puts the battered and crushed plant in a bucket, then goes to her flat, sobbing herself to sleep in a despairing well of confusion. Through the wall, Dave paces his living room, mind whirling. What the hell just happened? Why am I here and Daisy next door? No answer comes and he eventually settles on the sofa, where there are no dreams, only a fitful sleep.

The following week falls back into its old shape and routine. The spring sun shines down on Elizabeth Towers, but Daisy’s hands are cold as she taps at her laptop - long days and frustrating meetings. Dave has started his new job on the school buses, it’s not great but at least he is home by noon. Then he switches on his record player, pushing the volume to the top. The dishevelled plant stands in the bucket in Daisy’s kitchen. The roots damaged, leaves browning, the flowers shrivelled and falling. Dave does not turn down the Red Hot Chilli Peppers when Daisy bangs on the wall and the smell of frying bacon fills the landing.

Daisy tries to throw the remains of the plant away, but something stops her. One evening, she tenderly buries part of its root in a coffee cup with some of the soil. Nothing happens. Then, one morning, a tiny green shoot. Daisy’s heart races as she places the cup on the landing window ledge. Dave’s door opens just as she’s going back inside.

“Morning,” he just about manages.

“The plant. I’ve tried to save it.” Daisy closes the door leaving Dave alone on the landing. He walks over to the coffee cup. Did that shoot just move?

It’s Sunday morning. The plant is going to survive, new leaves and buds are emerging, and Daisy has been out to buy a new pot. She’s just about to put the revived plant in it when Dave appears.

“I erm, thought, well… it's the weekend… and I’m supposed to water it.”

Daisy looks up. They both smile.

Just as before, everything shifts. Friendship and romance blossoms. They laugh and kiss. Warmth and passion returns. But now they both know that their blissful connection is tied intrinsically to the strange plant. And that scares them. If the plant wilts or droops, they snap or argue, then quickly rescue the situation with a little plant food and water. When the plant blooms, everything is better than perfect - dreamlike, seductive, wonderfully intense.

The plant now dominates the landing, its lush green leaves and creamy white blooms blotting out the world beyond. The intoxicating, narcotic scent seeps under doors and through walls, penetrating thoughts and dreams. And amidst the ecstasy, in rare lucid moments, Daisy and Dave sometimes wonder if they still tend the plant at all, or if, beneath its sturdy stem, it has already begun to take root in them.