The Key to Anchor Lake ✓

16 : Blaire

B L A I R E

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I haven't seen Elizabeth for two days, not since our fight. My fight, really. She was calm and rational and I was the blubbering, yelling mess. I know she's home, though, because I can hear her every now and then – I hear the creak of the floorboards upstairs, or I hear her in the attic; sometimes I hear the radio floating down. We're existing in the same space, and yet somehow our schedules have no crossover.

I'm not sure if that's pure coincidence, or if she's making sure not to be around when I come down to eat. Maybe she vanishes when she hears me come out of my bedroom; perhaps she slips out of the back door and waits until I've dragged myself back up the stairs, so our paths never have to cross.

There's a chance I pushed it too far.

I feel bad. I didn't want to push her away – I wanted the exact opposite. I wanted to pull her closer, to find out how to get to know this woman, and I managed to shove her so far when I broke down at her that she has gone into hiding.

It fits with what Sukie said about her – a quiet recluse. Here I am, turning that lifestyle on its head and then yelling at her for not knowing how to deal with me when I don't know how to deal with her.

I also don't know what to think after the episode of The Anchor Lakey that I listened to this morning. After a couple of normal ones, Sukie and Oli bouncing off each other with jokes and theories and occasional in-jokes that I didn't understand, the twenty-fifth was completely different. Sukie, alone, sounding tired and sad and questioning everything. It made my soul ache, hearing her despair, and the ending made my heart race.

Jane, I think. That's all she said, and then the episode ended, and I can't stop thinking about it long enough to even start a new one. After a dreary day of lounging about the house yesterday, it's time to get out again. It's Wednesday afternoon now, approximately fifty-one hours since she walked away from me and I rage-cycled into Anchor Lake, and I'm back on the bike.

Wednesday means Olga's working at The Greenhouse, and after I spent all of this morning debating about whether or not to go, here I am, pedalling down this treacherous road. I don't know what to do about Elizabeth, but I do know what to do for Mum – I can buy her peonies and freesias to brighten up her current resting place, and maybe a bit of colour and a pretty smell will go some way towards thawing the ice between my aunt and me.

If Elizabeth hasn't forgot about me, of course. I wouldn't even be that surprised if that was the case.

Olga spots me before I open the door, and she grabs it for me with a smile. "Hi, Blaire! I was wondering if I might see you today."

"Hi, Olga," I say, already glad I decided to come out. Her face is almost as bright as the explosive bunches of flowers dotted around the shop, tin buckets with chalkboard squares advertising poppies and roses and lilies. It smells incredible in here, like walking into the botanical gardens of paradise.

"Peonies and freesias was it, that you wanted?" she asks, neatening up a bucket full of pretty sprigs of greenery.

"You remembered?"

She taps the side of her head and says, "When it comes to flowers, I never forget. How do you want them? One bunch of each? A mixed bunch? Anything else, or just those two flowers?"

"God, so many options," I say with half a laugh, trying to imagine what Mum would have liked. Colour. Plenty of colour. Something loud. "Um, two bunches, please. Could you feature peonies in one, and freesias in the other? But with other colours and flowers too, so it's kind of ... busy and bright?"