Blooming Women

13. One hell of an excuse

'And they're mine?!' Hazel looked at the display of cut flowers in the vestibule of the garden centre, anonymous music burbling quietly around them.

'People will come and take some of them away; before they die off, see? And the ladies that work here will bring fresh flowers in – every morning, I expect. There's a whole load more plants outside and there's a stand of trees beyond. I was thinking...Would you like to stay here instead of by the bend in the road?'

Hazel held her arms out wide, her head rolling backwards in satisfaction, then she spun delightedly in front of the display. And blossomed.
Her face lost its angularity; almost literally stick thin, her arms rounded into properly muscled limbs and an air of fitness, of wellbeing, began to radiate from her. Amber noticed with a combined hint of envy and smugness that, while Hazel's dress did not make her bum look big, it didn't do anything much for the boyishness of her outline either – a problem neither Amber nor her mother had after their early teens, being naturally pear-shaped rather than the hourglass they might have preferred, but, in Amber's book, being pear-shaped beat being a stick. Not necessarily if it meant having legs that fantastic, but overall. Maybe she could find out Hazel's size and then bring her some jeans – ha, skinny jeans – to cover up with...

Dear? You're being unchristian.

'I think it goes with the turf when you're dealing with Pagan Karry-whatsits.'

I do hope that pun was not deliberate.

'Mmm?'

'Hazel – I have to go and find my friend now; would you like to go and take a look round? Carefully? We're going to have to have a chat about your clothes and about people, if you're going to stay here.'

'Ohhhhh... I love it!'

Amber found she was goggling. Hazel had changed her clothes.

'Bloody h...! I mean. I love your dress.'

Hazel smoothed her hands down her hips unconsciously.

'This is my spring dress. I do like it.'

'How do you get that leaf pattern?'

Amber stepped forward into grab range, aching hand extending automatically to the green fabric that had the sheen and softness of new leaves and a subtle pattern of leaf blades that allowed no gaps, but showed no obvious layering. Hazel's hand closed around Amber's wrist again.

Amber flinched back, her arm flicking as if she'd found a very large and particularly unexpected insect on the back of her hand. Her wrist came free, but pain flowed out of her fingers and into her arm.

'I'm sorry. Your hand is withering from the frost. May I...?' Hazel held out her hand gently. Amber raised hers. Her fingertips were looking particularly unwell; she'd been trying to ignore the tingling, hot ache that had been building as her hands had warmed through in the car, but now, next to the over-bright red of returning blood flow, there were patches of very white flesh. And blisters. Frostbite. Didn't people lose their fingers from frostbite? Didn't they go black and drop offff... Oh God... a weight dropped into her stomach, a single thudding toll for the death of her finger tips.

Hazel's fingers slid under hers; the touch was completely different now: it felt warm and human, not the dry stick feeling she'd had all night under the trees.
Warmth flowed into her hand, pushing the pain ahead of it until it faded into her wrist, into her arm and away. There was a sudden twisting, pushing sensation that felt as if it would squeeze her brain out of her ears.

Stop It! Stop that immediately!

Amber reeled at the combination of disorientation and Samantha's anger, almost pulling free again. Hazel held the hand for a moment longer, looked puzzled and then gently let go.

'I didn't know if that would work.'

Amber flexed her warm, sensibly pink fingers and let out a long breath as relief made a dashing lap of victory through her system.

'Thank you. Thank... Thank you! I thought that was going to be a lot worse.'

'I'm sorry I can't do anything about the death. It doesn't want to go away.'

Of all the nerve! Not even a 'would you mind?'

'No. No. She doesn't.'

'She?'

Amber shrugged.

'Well I wouldn't be full of it if I wasn't a girl.' She caught herself. 'Female.'

'Does it happen a lot? People with death in them?'

'Not much. Not like this, anyway. But. How can I thank you? I think you might have saved me some difficult moments.' She wiggled her fingers; relief was doing a second lap, grandstanding and waving to the crowd.

'I did it to thank you. All these offerings! I shall never need to sleep the winter through again. But.' She looked suddenly shy. 'Would you come and see me again? So I can learn more pollination dances?'

What? What? No! Say NO. She pushed me! She pushed ME!

Amber found herself nodding and smiling in acceptance as Samantha's voice rose in playground indignation.

In her pocket, Amber's recently retrieved phone began to ring; shortly, she was going to be reminded of a meeting she wasn't in and her excuse was going to be one of the better the Colonel, anybody at H.M.D.S.A., or even Samantha, who had a teacher's scepticism of excuses, had ever heard.