Nomance (16 page)

Juliet contemplated her
from behind the counter, the secateurs frozen above her head. For a
single moment her livid face flickered with horror . . . then it
was gone, leaving nothing but an insane rage.

She charged.

Paralysed, Carla
watched Juliet bound through the gap in the opened counter. In the
same instant there was a hollow thump as her foot caught the tub of
fertiliser that Carla kept forgetting to move from the entrance to
the counter and, in a comical succession of slow, clumsy movements,
Juliet sank down and hit the floor with a loud slap.

The secateurs clattered
from her hand.

Carla looked down at
Juliet, prone and face-down at her feet and without having to think
about it she plucked up one of the largest potted roses from the
trestle and positioned it above the back of Juliet’s skull. A sob
of utter despair rose up from below and Juliet began to stir. Carla
let the pot go.

There was a dull
explosion. Shards of ceramic flickered in all directions and a
cloud of fine compost enveloped Juliet’s head and shoulders.

Her body jerked,
shuddered and was still.

Carla kicked the tub of
fertilizer out of the way and pulled Juliet along the floor till
she had got her out of sight, behind the counter. Next she secured
Juliet’s arms and legs with gaffer tape – she kept a roll on a
shelf under the till – and added a strip across her mouth, being
careful to avoid blocking the thin nostrils of Juliet’s
aristocratic nose. She didn’t want a death on her hands. And
anyway, there was no way Juliet’s family would hire
Romance
to provide the flowers for her funeral. Even so, the notion tickled
her and Carla couldn’t help chuckling to herself as she dragged
Juliet out into the hallway of the house. From there, at least, the
customers wouldn’t be able hear Juliet’s muffled groans when she
woke up.

Only now did she call
the police. She explained there had been at incident at
Romance
, the florist’s shop and hung up. She saw no reason
to answer any questions straight away when she would only have to
answer them all over again down at the cop station.

Besides, she could hear
Porchester crying.

She hastened upstairs
into her room and picked him up. ‘There, there,’ she murmured,
‘don’t cry.’

She smiled down at him,
cradled in her arms, and, in that unguarded moment of relief, the
last of her resistance melted away.

‘Alright,’ she laughed.
It was perhaps her first spontaneous laugh in years. ‘You can stick
around . . . ’ A cloud darkened her heavyset features. ‘But only if
we change your name – I’m not having somebody called Porchester
staying under my roof!’

End

Thanks for reading.

Juliet and Philip have
their own version of events -- it's called,
The Other Side of
Nomance
and hopefully it'll appear this winter.

Also on Smaswords,
A
Date in Winter
, a short collection of short verse.

Something I've
already published (with Untreed Reads) is called Postmodern
Medicine. This is a review, if you're curious:
http://www.nightowlscifi.com/nor/Reviews/Josie-reviews-Postmodern-Medicine-by-Trevor-Price.aspx

If you'd like to say
hello -- treforjohnprice AT gmail DOT com