Life in a small town

I leaned the powder blue vintage bicycle against the old shed. For a moment I was taken back through the years to when I was a young girl, around about thirteen years old riding my bicycle through the cobbled streets of Amsterdam. I smiled to myself. That was a long time ago. Now after all those years ago in another land and another time the smell of the rosemary that I was cutting brought me back to the present. I was trimming the rosemary plants in the garden section of the nursery and the beautiful scent was strong and intoxicating. I liked this part of the garden center the best. The scents, from the young shoots so frail while trying to reach for the sunlight and fighting for strength and survival. The trimmings today would be put to good use. They were being propagated and put aside to be nurtured until they were mature enough to sell as seedlings. That is how this nursery worked. Nothing was going to waste, almost everything could be recycled.

The voluntary work here gave me great satisfaction and allowed me to learn about plants and their environments. I always looked forward to Tuesdays and was grateful that Centrelink approved of me volunteering so I could keep the small government allowance I was given. It was not much money, but George and I managed and could make ends meet. George’s salary at the post office was not high and when I lost my work at the Railway department things got tough for a while. It was a neighbor that came up with the idea for me to contact Centrelink and ask for help. I knew the prospects of getting a new job at my age in this little town was minimal and we could not keep on living on our savings forever. The voluntary work came as a blessing.

I could hear the voices from the other volunteers who were working behind the hedges. They were chatting and laughing as the secateurs were busily cutting shoots from the jasmine hedge. I called them “The group of three”. They always stayed together, sharing secrets and jokes and I was the one that always seemed to be left out. I did not mind, I knew from the beginning this group would find it hard to except me and I did not fit in to their social scene. I was doing voluntary work so that I could continue to receive my allowance so for me, this was a very important position. They were here purely for social interests, something to get them out of the house for the day. Small town, small talk amongst a few chatterboxes trying to cause ripples in the pond.

They did not like me very much; it was not only my Dutch accent that still lingered on although I had been in this town for over twenty years. It was also my red hair. The color had faded into more of a ginger tone over the years but I continued to die it auburn red. It really was not hard to stand out in this town. My favorite color was green, and I usually wore as many different shades of green as possible. I knew that did not go down well amongst these ladies who favored the more conservative shades of blue and grey and had even suggested for the management to make it the uniform color. So, without even trying I had caused a bit of a conflict, but I was not here to socialize, I was here to work.

- I was down at the florist the other day and was very surprised to see George coming through the door. I did not think he was the sort of man to buy flowers and you know what, he walked in with that…

- It was so embarrassing. I didn’t know what to do. Should I mention it to Gwen?

I moved closer and the words seemed to echo from behind the hedge. It was Jean speaking. Her voice got lower, almost as if she had noticed me. The words were drowned by the sound of a car outside and I could not hear anything more. She must have been talking about my George, why else would she say she did not know if she should tell me? What was George doing at the florist? The words kept repeating in my mind for the rest of the morning and I found it hard to let go of what I had heard. When the tea break came, I sat down beside Jean to see if she would mention anything, but they continued to chat about the weekend at the golf club and the lunch at Mannis. I could feel them all occasionally looking at me, or was it just my imagination?

- How is it going with the rosemary?

Sally leaned over the table towards me. I don’t know if she was trying to be nice to cover up something or if she was interested at all in the rosemary. I tried not to look to surprised.

- I have finished that section. I will be moving down to the bougainvillea after lunch.

Sally sighed.

- Ahhh, the bougainvillea. They are such a pain in the butt, don’t you think? I really can’t stand how they are climbing all over my neighbor’s wall. They are so prickly, and they just take over everything.

I did not answer. I did not think bougainvillea were a pain and I would have loved to have a house where it could grow free. Not only bougainvillea for that matter, but any living plant. It was impossible to grow anything around the house we were renting, there was no room for a real garden. I had put some plants in pots on the porch and out the back, but the landlord did not like us planting anything in the actual ground. So, it remained rather bare.

I got through the day somehow and survived the bougainvillea. Days can seem so long when there is something on your mind and coming home that evening I felt strange in more ways than one. I was suspicious of “The group of three” and I had become suspicious of George. My George, who I always trusted and knew would never do anything to hurt me or us. We were close and happy and even after these thirty years of marriage we managed to see something special in each other and valued our time together.

It was over dinner that the bubble started to burst.

- Jean was saying she saw you at the florist the other day.

I could not help it, I had to say something.

He looked surprised and I thought he took too much interest in stirring the spaghetti. He did not look at me.

- Hmm.

- Was that a grunt or a nod?

- Now, what would I be doing at the florist?

- I don’t know, but she said she saw you.

- Well, maby it was just somebody who looked like me. I was not at the florist..okey?

- Maby it was another George, but I clearly hear her say the name George.

George was beginning to get agitated. He looked at me with that “can we please drop it now” look and I knew I would not get an answer.

A couple of days later when I emptied the pocket of his jeans to be washed, I found it. A receipt from the florist for 12 red roses with delivery paid! Twelve red roses! We had never ever bought 12 red roses in the 30 years we had been married. So, what was going on? I kept the docket in the dresser and decided not to say anything to George. I would wait for him to tell me.

On Saturday morning George took off on his usual bike ride around the reserve and I carried on with the housework. I could not tell him that I had not slept for a few nights and that my mind was starting to play tricks with me. I pretended everything was as normal and I must have done it well because he never commented or mentioned anything about the florist. George was in an excellent mood when he came home and said that he had had a wonderful ride. He looked too happy in my eyes and I could feel something was going on. I did something I never do, I looked in the pocket of his jacket. The little gold box almost burned my hand, and I dropped it on the laundry floor. The lid flipped opened, and two gold earrings rolled out on the floor. I just caught them before they would have disappeared under the washing machine. I could not help but notice how beautiful they were, but I hated them, and tears started rolling down my face as I clumsily put them back in the box which I returned to the pocket.

George laughed as we chatted over dinner and shared a bottle of wine before cuddling up on the sofa to watch a movie. He never knew that I did not watch the film, that I was too busy, lost in my own thoughts and just stared blankly ahead of me. Roses and earrings? It was almost too much. The restless sleep that night came with images of George in the arms of a blond then a brunette. The faces of strangers and I felt that I was going mad. 

Tuesday came and I was back at the nursery. This time I was working with the perennials, trimming the sad leaves of the petunias and making sure the marigolds had no dead flowers. “The group of three” worked closely behind me and I could hear their chatter all day long rising and falling.

- You look tired dear.

It was Jean at the tea break. Her voice was droll, somewhat morose and I really did not feel like replying.

- Not surprising dear, when our minds are too “full”.

I was not going to question what she meant. My mind was already so preoccupied, and I really did not need any more.

But something always happens when you least expect it, and this Tuesday did not end up well. I was going to bed early, hanging my clothes in the wardrobe when I noticed a scent of perfume. It came from George’s shirt and that was all I needed. I knew that George had cheated on me, and I suspected that the whole town knew about it by now. I could hear them all, especially “The group of three” laughing behind my back. I cried in my pillow and now I really needed to know what was going on. The box was still in the pocket, I checked daily, and the scent followed me wherever I went. It never went away, and I assumed this was an expensive perfume, something I would never buy.

By Friday night I was a wreck. Dark circles around my eyes, face pale and bloated and I felt sick from not eating. I watched everything George did, I had gone through his mobile phone and notebook, but I could not find anything. I was going to confront him that night and have it out with him.

The doorbell rang. What now? A young man stood outside handing me a beautiful bouquet of red roses.

- Gwen Whitlam?

- Yes.

I took a step back.

- Happy Anniversary!

I starred. The flowers were in my hand, and the man disappeared down the path before I had time to say anything.

“Happy Anniversary” he said. The little card inside said “Happy Anniversary Gwen”. “Dinner tonight at Mannis” Love George.

George walked through the door as if nothing had happened and for a moment, I thought it was all a joke. He turned around and kissed me and I felt a little box pressed into my hand. The little golden box from his pocket!

- It’s not much love, you deserve so much more, but I hope you like them!

The gold sparkled in my hand, and I nearly dropped them again as I had done that day.

- You look tired babe. Are you al right? Is there something wrong?

George looked at me and I realized that the week of worrying had taken its toll on my face. No, I was not all right. I felt terrible.

- George, this is such a surprise. Just let me go to the bathroom and wash my face. I need to freshen up.

- Of course. Oh, and there is something on the shelf in there for you. I think you will like it!

George smiled as he hung up the coat on the hook in the hall and I could hear his voice yelling out.

- Did you like the flowers?

My eyes were filled with tears as I went into the bathroom, and it was only when I had washed my face, I noticed the box on the shelf. George Armanie's perfume!

How could I ever have distrusted George. I felt terrible inside and out and now we were going out to dinner!

The dinner at Mannis was always nice. We did not go there very often as it was rather on the expensive side, but you paid for what you got, and we enjoyed our seafood platter with a beautiful crisp white wine.

- The earrings look beautiful on you!

George was entertaining, charming as ever laughing, his eyes full of love obviously amused at my surprise.

- What is on your mind Gwen? Tell me.

- There is just one thing. What happened at the florist? Jean said she saw you there and you walked in with that?

- That?

George laughed.

- Oh right! I think I get it.

He laughed again shaking his head.

- “That” was my old somewhat torn favorite AC/DC t-shirt. You know the one with all the holes in it! I had been working on the car and was in a hurry before you would get home. That is funny! Oh, yes it does not take much around here to catch the attention of “some” people.

Tuesday came and I felt on top of the world. I decided the very last minute to put on Georges AC/DC t-shirt. The one with all the holes! I laughed to myself as I walked through the door that morning. It was my turn to cause a stir! I looked in the mirror and made sure my hair was pushed back enough to show off the gold earrings and I felt sure they would get a comment here at the nursery. I knew this was going to be a good day.