Maria bent down arthritically as she tended the roses that grew along the northern wall. Though she had entered her autumnal years, she still found the energy to take care of her award-winning blooms. From a bucket at her feet, she spread pungent organic material at the base of her plants, its texture gritty even against her gloves. 1
She had just finished scattering the last of the fertilizer as her close friend’s husband strolled past on his morning constitutional. He tipped his hat politely. “Pleasant day to you Maria,” he said with a smile.2
Maria straightened painfully. “And to you too, Winton… Have you heard from Elizabeth yet?”3
Winton paused mid-step and removed his hat from his balding head. “No – I am sure she is quite occupied with organizing her daughter’s wedding… and you know how forgetful she has been getting these days,” he reflected as he wrung his tartan trilby nervously.4
Maria smiled knowingly, her grey eyes twinkling, as she recalled the very last day she spent with her friend. “I did have to stop her from adding more sugar to her tea the other week – poor thing had no idea she’d already dropped in the two lumps she normally took.” 5
Winton appeared to ruminate for a moment on his wife’s impending dementia, staring off at an indeterminate point before he fixed his gaze, once again, on Maria. “You look lovely as always, Maria.”6
Maria almost smirked, but instead narrowed her eyes, the crow's feet at the corners crinkling. “Hush now, Winton James – you best be not saying those sort of things – I thought we had agreed to speak of this no more?”7
Winton sighed, that precarious predicament his own making. “I can’t leave her – not now – not with her… condition.”8
“She still has her moments of clarity – in my opinion she’s only going somewhat doddery,” Maria sardonically replied, as she remembered the many times where these 'moments' focused on other people's business. “She seems to be of the opinion that her roses could win my title this year.”9
“You two and your bloody roses,” Winton snorted mockingly. His wife and Maria had enthusiastically competed for nearly fifty years; both belonged to their district’s Rose Society.10
Maria shuffled forward and leaned her tiny frame against the stone-and-mortar fence. She lowered her voice so that Winton was obliged to draw closer to hear her - or in the very least turn up his hearing aide. “I have finally managed to successfully propagate a new variety.” She reached over the wall and placed a papery hand on his linen-sleeved forearm. “Do you want to see?”11
Winton considered her offer, and then placed a leathery hand on top of her own. “Perhaps another time, Meine Liebe,” he tenderly whispered. 12
Maria savoured the sensation of their connected skin, before regretfully removing her hand from beneath his. “You speak as if you regret your decision Winton.”13
He smoothed the tartan felt on the brim of his hat, fingers trembling slightly. “Tomorrow – I’ll inspect the rose tomorrow,” he replied, blatantly ignoring Maria’s last statement, before placing the trilby on his head again. “I need to be going home – just in case Eliza calls.”14
Maria watched, as he turned on his heels and left in the direction from whence he had arrived, reflecting back to a day nearly three weeks previously, when Elizabeth had stopped by for a customary cup of tea before she left town for her daughter’s place.
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“…and make sure you check on my roses, Maria – I love Winton dearly, but that man has no idea how to take care of my Show roses,” Elizabeth had twittered as she took another sip of her strong Earl Grey tea.15
Maria had affected a pleasant, understanding smile.16
Elizabeth had sneezed. “Oh! Excuse me... privet. Honestly, you’d think Maude would have that pestilential plant sprayed every year before spring…”17
“She’s got gout, Eliza,” Maria had interjected before Elizabeth could launch into one of her infamous tirades about Maria’s next-door neighbour. Her friend was quite accomplished in two fields – roses and complaining. Not to mention that ever since the old spinster had married the town’s most eligible, and somewhat younger retiree, her nitpicking had worsened.18
Elizabeth had sniffed derisively. “Doesn’t matter – one should always attend to one's duties. This whole neighbourhood would go to shambles if we all stopped doing what was required. If she can’t keep up, she should sell up and…”19
“Eliza!” Maria had impatiently snapped, making it plain that she didn’t want Elizabeth to continue her disparaging remarks. 20
Elizabeth had sneezed again and then retrieved a laced handkerchief from her bosom. She had blown her nose daintily while glaring at Maria the entire time. She had then rummaged around in her ancient carpetbag for a couple of minutes, before sighing crossly.21
Maria had raised a greyed eyebrow quizzically in her friend’s direction.22
“I’ve forgotten my blasted allergy spray,” Elizabeth had muttered irritably. 23
“Buy another,” Maria had offered simply, but knew her friend too well. She might have been suggesting that Eliza put a needle through her eye, by the look of disgust that she had received. “I’ve got a spare,” she had proposed, placating her friend.24
Elizabeth had smiled, her lips stretched thin across her dentures. “You’re such a dear,” she'd replied, with obvious phoney cheeriness as she held her hand out for the small bottle of nasal spray that Maria had proffered across the table.25
Four sprays were all it had taken – two in each nostril – for the medicated solution to remedy the sneezing.
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.26
It had resolved far more than the sneezing, Maria thought wryly in retrospection as she pottered about the garden. Elizabeth had had a fit when she had recognised the bottle, accusing Maria of a great many things. Before her friend had departed, Maria finally admitted the truth: Her and Winton’s affair, and the fact that they’d broken it off after Winton refused to leave his wife. Her friend had clutched her chest at the last, eyes bulging with righteous indignation.27
Maria chortled to herself as she recalled Elizabeth’s reaction; mouth agape and hands trembling against Maria’s Sheridan tablecloth as her eyes watered. Elizabeth had asked only one thing – why – but had left before Maria could give her an adequate reason.28
Maria cared deeply for Winton, and he for her. The affair had begun slowly just after summer in the previous year; he seeking refuge from Elizabeth’s acerbic tongue, and Maria due to her desire to fill the emptiness she had experienced after her husband’s death nearly a decade before. 29
Their brief clandestine encounters - kisses snuck as they met in shadowed alcoves, or tender embraces hidden by tangled garden vegetation - blossomed into something neither of them had initially expected. After a stolen moment melding their bodies and souls - that left them both in a state of blissfulness reminiscent of their more youthful days - passion flourished anew in both of them. 30
Then, six weeks ago, Winton had abruptly ended the relationship, citing Elizabeth’s apparent failing health, and his desire to honour his marriage vows. Even though Maria gently reminded him that, by merit of the affair, he had already dishonoured this solemn promise, Winton could not be compelled to reconsider. 31
She retrieved the empty fertilizer bucket from the lawn and traipsed back to the garden shed. Upon entering, a familiar heady odour assailed her nose. A large quantity of her favourite rose food - blood and bone - contributed most of the ambient aromatics, though there were sharper notes: Fuel for the motorized equipment, and the chemical hints of assorted pesticides.32
Maria tucked the bucket away in a corner, before reaching to retrieve a clear glass bottle from a nearby shelf. Aphids had been attacking the tea roses in the second greenhouse, and the nicotine sulphate would be just the thing to get rid of them. Donning a facemask and gloves, she cautiously poured some of the potent insecticide into a spray bottle, taking care not to spill it. Black Leaf 40 had been out of production for fifteen years now and Maria could ill afford to waste even the smallest drop.33
Having measured out the exact quantity, Maria recapped the plainly labelled bottle and returned it to the high shelf. An hour later, the aphids annihilated and her precious roses once more free of affliction, Maria retired for the day. 34
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The next morning, Maria found Winton on her doorstep, holding out a drooping red rose.38
“Eliza would kill you if she knew,” she jovially reprimanded him, recognising the bloom as belonging to one of Elizabeth’s precious roses.39
Winton appeared fleetingly guilty, but still smirked as he presented the flower to her. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her – and besides, what is but one rose?”40
Maria accepted the offering, brushing her fingers lightly across the silken petals. “Indeed, my dear Winton, indeed. Shall we?” she inquired, as she exited her house, reaching for the crook of his elbow.41
Together they strolled towards the far greenhouse, relishing each other’s company and the early spring weather. Winton chivalrously held the door open for her once they reached their destination. “Have you registered your new rose yet?” he queried, as he followed her into the enclosure.42
“I wanted to formulate a fitting name for it first,” she replied, as she led him past fragrant greenery. She halted in front of a foot high juvenile rose bush containing a single magnificent bloom. She gestured her hand at it with a flourish. “May I present – the Scarlet Eliza.”43
“You named it…” Winton began.44
“After Eliza? Yes – she went to throw out a rose bush years ago – said that the particular strain was weak – it couldn’t be improved on. I challenged her presumption. And you know Eliza – she sneered at me – practically scoffed at the idea that I could do something she’d tried so desperately to attain.”45
Winton nodded.46
“I’m more stubborn than she – and I’ve got a new variety to prove it.”47
He leant forward and breathed the scent of the semi-unfurled rose.48
“Heavenly isn’t it?” Maria whispered reverently as he released the bloom.49
“Reminds me of the old varieties – like the ones that grow down by the river."50
She smiled, knowingly. “I did cross-pollinate using the wild roses – it was the only way to imbue the classic scent in a commercial variety.” She pointed at a bucket full of organic material. “Not to mention all my varieties respond to the special TLC I bestow on them.”51
Winton curiously inspected the contents of the container. “You’ve changed suppliers?”52
Maria frowned. “What ever do you mean Winton?” 53
“The blood and bone – it seems to be richer than what you normally use.” He scooped up a handful and let it dribble through his fingers. “Moist,” he remarked, as he stared intently at the handful of material.54
“The roses love it, especially 'Eliza' here.” Maria wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled her face into the back of his linen shirt.55
Winton grunted in response. 56
She breathed in his scent through the cloth before relinquishing her hold on him and stepping away. “I can show you the roses I took the pollen from… the ones down by the river.”57
He swivelled to face her and grinned. “A picnic perhaps?”
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After packing a basket of cheeses, fruit and a bottle of chardonnay, Maria rendezvoused with Winton at the tiny gate at the end of the lane. Coated in weathered and chipped white paint, the gate creaked ominously as it swung open. Maria smiled sweetly at Winton as they squeezed through the narrow aperture. They walked down the path in near silence, the tall grass brushing their legs as they passed.58
“It has been years since I’ve been down here,” Winton murmured, as they traversed the field. Delicate butterflies and other insect life flittered and darted through the warm and humid air. Oblivious to the human presence, other creatures went about their spring rituals, the surroundings filled with boastful males, each preening for their finicky female counterparts.59
With the basket on one arm and Winton on the other, Maria contentedly enjoyed the foray into the tantalizing spring environment. Unlike the birds that rejected the fervent advances of chorusing males, she had selected her perfect companion. 60
As they ducked to walk under an overhanging vine - Winton needing to stoop lower than her - she tilted her head and whispered in his ear. “Kiss me Winton.”61
He paused briefly before he took her in his arms, encircling her waist and tilting her chin up with a steady hand. His eyes pierced hers as their lips met tenderly, and the sounds and sight of the woods faded as they kissed - a moment stolen under dappled light.62
He broke the kiss and took her hand, urging her forward. With the cane basket jostling by her side, Maria quickened her steps, the pain from her joints anaesthetized by the pleasure that bubbled forth from their kiss.63
Burbling water sounded as they rounded a corner, and Maria caught sight of splashes of bright cerise against verdant green leaves. “They’re beautiful aren’t they?” she breathed solemnly as Winton dropped her hand.64
Winton merely nodded as he stumbled towards the tangled roses, pausing only to pluck an exceptionally perfect bloom from the masses that dotted the riverbank. 65
Maria removed a patchwork blanket from the basket, and spread it across a clear patch of grass as Winton turned back to her with the rose gracefully grasped between thumb and forefinger. Without taking her eyes from him, she elegantly reclined on the blanket. He twirled the stem as he approached her.66
“I just want to know why, Maria,” he stated, his voice abruptly hard as he threw the rose to the ground, its beauty discarded as unexpectedly as his previous stance.67
“Why?” Maria responded, her brow furrowing in confusion.68
Winton plunged a hand into his pocket and retrieved an object which he tossed at Maria. It fell against the fabric of her skirt with a soft patter and tumbled to the ground. She stared at it, the flash of gold taunting her.69
Her attention focused on the band, Maria failed to detect Winton’s movement until he had pushed her back and straddled her chest. 70
“Why did you have to kill her?” Winton begged, his voice taut with grief and pain. One of his hands clawed tremulously at her blouse. "Why?"71
Maria whimpered at the sight of her love above her with a rock in his fist – her meticulous plan unravelled by her own stupidity. As Elizabeth’s wedding band glinted accusingly beside Maria, Winton brought the rock down on her face.72
Bronze trophy winner
Honorable mention
Gold trophy winner
Silver trophy winner
Adding your comment:
While I gathered rather quickly that our kindly senior citizen wasn’t just a rose enthusiast, and there was going to be something sinister about that fertilizer, I didn’t figure it out right away. So you will definitely capture your readers at the start and keep them reading.
Geri
