Flowers
Vera lay on her bed, eyes half-closed. Across the narrow dormitory room, Holly sat cross-legged on her own bed, reading aloud from a textbook. When Vera’s phone erupted with a popular ringtone, Holly snapped her book shut and shot her friend a disapproving look.
Vera answered reluctantly, then bolted upright. Moments later, she was shoving clothes into a duffel bag from the wardrobe, movements frantic.
“Where are you going? What’s happened?” Holly asked, worry creeping into her voice.
“My mum’s had a heart attack—the neighbour just called. She’s been taken to hospital.” Vera yanked the bag’s zip shut and strode to the door, where their coats hung and shoes lay scattered.
“But the exam’s tomorrow! She’s in good hands—you can go after you’ve sat it,” Holly said, standing as Vera tugged on her boots.
“Listen, Holl, sort it with the faculty. I’ll sort everything when I’m back—I’ll sit the resit over the break. There’s a bus in forty minutes.” Vera was already fastening her coat.
“Call me when you know how she is,” Holly called after her, but Vera had already dashed out. The sharp click of heels faded down the corridor.
Holly sighed and turned back to the room. Then she spotted Vera’s phone charger still plugged in. Barefoot, she snatched it up and raced after her.
“Vera! Vera, wait!” she shouted, flying down the stairs.
The front door slammed below. Holly leapt the last few steps, shoved the door open, and nearly tumbled outside.
“Vera!”
Vera turned, saw the charger in Holly’s hand, and hurried back.
“Cheers,” she muttered before sprinting off again.
“Good grief, what’s all this racket? One nearly takes the door off its hinges, the other runs out barefoot. Been at the fags, have you?” The porter, Mrs. Higgins, glared from behind her desk.
“Sorry, Mrs. Higgins. Vera’s mum’s been rushed to hospital. It’s freezing—mind if I go?” Without waiting, Holly dashed back upstairs, grit grinding into her bare feet from the icy pavement outside.
“Lord above,” Mrs. Higgins muttered, settling back into her chair. “God save us.”
Back in the room, Holly brushed the grit from her feet, tidied Vera’s mess, slipped on her slippers, and took the kettle to the kitchen. The exam loomed—tea would warm her before she buried herself in revision.
Night had fallen when a soft knock came at the door.
“Who is it?” Holly called. No answer.
She sighed, opened the door—and there stood Anthony, holding a small bouquet.
“Come in,” she said, waiting until he stepped inside before adding, “Vera’s gone home.”
“But she’s got an exam tomorrow,” he said, puzzled.
“I’ll explain to the faculty—she’ll sit it later.” Holly couldn’t take her eyes off the flowers.
“These are for you,” Anthony said, handing them over.
“Ta. Fancy a cuppa?” She took a jar from the windowsill. “I’ll fetch water—get comfy.”
Anthony only removed his shoes. He crossed to Vera’s bed, sat, and trailed his fingers over the cheap bedspread as if smoothing it for her.
When Holly returned, she set the jar with the flowers on the desk, stepped back, and admired them.
“Lovely. What are they?”
“Sweet peas,” Anthony said. “I should go.” He stood.
“Did you and Vera have plans?” Holly asked quickly, not wanting him to leave.
“Yeah. Got tickets to a gig.”
“Really? Take me, then. No sense wasting them.”
Anthony hesitated.
“You’ve got an exam.”
“So? I’ve been revising all day—I need a break.”
He weighed it up. Vera was gone, the tickets unused. They’d only just started seeing each other—it wasn’t serious. Going with her flatmate wasn’t betrayal, right?
“Alright,” he said.
Holly whooped, clapping her hands. “Wait outside—I’ll just get ready.”
Five minutes later, she emerged—mascara touched up, lips glossed, hair pinned.
“Let’s go, or we’ll miss it,” Anthony said.
At the gig, Holly danced, arms in the air, shouting along in the crowd’s ecstatic chorus. She kept glancing at Anthony, who soon matched her energy, yelling lyrics he barely knew.
Afterwards, they walked back, buzzing.
“That one bit—amazing,” Holly hummed a snatch of melody.
“Yeah, and when they did—” Anthony mimicked the riff, mangling the lyrics.
Back at the dorm, Holly jiggled the locked door.
“Mrs. Higgins is on duty—she won’t budge. What now?”
Anthony took her arm and steered her around the building. Two girls were clambering through a ground-floor window.
“Quick—after them.”
He boosted Holly up. Hands pulled her inside. Then—a whistle shrilled from the street.
“Hurry!” Holly hissed.
Anthony vaulted in. Holly yanked the window shut. The whistle faded. They exchanged glances.
“Cheers,” Anthony said to the girls, nudging Holly towards the door.
Giggles followed as they bolted for the stairs, barrelled into Holly’s room, and collapsed laughing.
“I should go,” Anthony said finally.
The room was dark—they hadn’t turned the light on.
“Stay. I like you. Really like you,” Holly whispered, pressing close, lips upturned.
…
Vera returned to the silent dorm at term’s end. Most students were still away—Holly and Anthony included. She arranged the missed exam, presented the hospital note. The danger had passed, but her mum remained there.
She scraped through the exam. Term began—still no Holly. Calls went unanswered. The faculty said she’d taken leave for health reasons.
Soon, a new girl moved in. Studies, Anthony—no time to wonder about Holly. She faded from memory. Anthony never told Vera about the gig, what happened after. It felt like a dream.
Twenty-one years later
“Mum, Dad, I’m home!” A girl—Anthony’s echo—breezed in.
“How’s uni?” he asked, lowering the paper.
“Let her change,” Vera called from the kitchen. “Dinner’s nearly ready.”
At the table, their daughter said, “I met a girl today—my double. Everyone noticed.”
“They say everyone has one,” Vera said. “Another slice?”
Anthony stared into space.
“Earth to Dad?”
“Sorry. You spoke to her?”
“Yeah. Final year. Get this—her name’s Claire. Claire Bright.”
“Bright…” Vera’s gaze sharpened. “A girl I roomed with—Holly. Holly Bright. Left after first year.”
“That’s it! Claire Bright. Pretty, eh?”
Anthony choked on his tea. “How many times—don’t pour it boiling!”
“Sorry.” Vera diluted it with cold water.
He pushed his cup away.
“Honestly, so alike?” Vera asked his retreating back.
“Spitting image.”
Anthony feigned sleep on the sofa, mind racing. *Coincidence? No. It happened. Admit it. Why she left… Idiot.*
“Anth, don’t nap—you’ll ruin your sleep,” Vera said. “Feeling alright?”
“Fine.”
He barely slept. Next morning, he phoned in sick—dentist appointment—and drove to the dorm.
“Claire Bright live here?” he asked the porter.
A different woman—but uncannily like Mrs. Higgins—eyed him.
“Who’s asking?”
“Her uncle. Passing through.”
Three girls clattered downstairs.
“There she is. Bright—visitor,” the porter called.
Claire glanced at him. “You are?”
“Come outside,” he said.
She didn’t move.
“You’re not her uncle,” the porter said. “I’m calling—”
“Don’t.” Anthony turned to Claire. “Your mum—Holly Bright? Born September 25th?”
She hesitated. “Yeah. So? Who are you?”
“I didn’t know. We were together once. Lectures end at three? I’ll wait.”
Outside the uni gates, Claire emerged at half-three.
“Hungry?” he asked in the car.
“Talk here.”
He told her everything.
“My mum died in childbirth,” she said flatly. “Granny wouldn’t let her terminate.”
Anthony handed her a card. “Anything you need—call.”
“Won’t your wife mind?”
“No. I’ll tell her.”
That evening, he did.
“Twenty-one years. Why now?” Vera asked in the dark.
“I saw her. She looks like Marina. I couldn’t lie.”
“What would you have done—not married me?”
“No. I’d have stood by Holly.”
Vera’s voice shook. “Years later, as they gathered for Claire’s wedding, the past no longer stung—only the flowers on the table remained, fresh and bright, like the future they’d finally learned to share.
