The Flower Maker

Chapter Three

Mr Andrews came into the shop after lunchtime as if he had never stepped foot in there before. It was as if the shop was a cave inhabited by some wretched creature. Yet his arrogance was as big as the mountain where the cave nestled, the top hat he wore as tall as his snobbery.

Rebecca was not worth a passing glance as usual. It was something she was grateful for yet it reinforced, like wire holding up a paper petal, her shortcomings.

'I hope you have something good to show me today.' Mr Andrews tapped his gloved fingers together.

Being the proprietor of an upscale fashion store, Mr Andrews was always popping in to see Rebecca's new work. And if he liked what he saw, he would buy the flowers and use them on the dresses he made for ladies of high society.

Did Rebecca reap the rewards that he reaped? A cut of his profits from the dresses?

The shame of being exploited always followed Mr Andrews into shop, quickly finding its victim and opening a wound that transcended any physical scar.

Rebecca would never want to become someone like Mr Andrews, but she dreamed of being him. Fantasized about creating her own wears for wealthy clients.

'I will be right back, sir.' Rebecca popped into the back of her shop before reappearing -like a bird in a cuckoo clock, mechanical and rigid- with outstretched arms.

Cradled in her hands, as if she was holding her life, was a rose made of lace. It was as if she was holding an oyster that had just opened, an aura emanating from the majestic pearl inside. It looked as if veins of gems were ballooning from the earth.  

Rebecca placed the rose on the counter with pleasure. But like a lit match, it was short-lived.

'Is that it?'

Not the cruelest of words, but they stung Rebecca immensely. She had made the rose for this visit.

'I was hoping for something more exotic.' He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. 'But I could use it for something.'

Hope flooded Rebecca as Mr Andrews began to play with the coin.

'I can't decide though.' Then with a gleam in his eye, Mr Andrews flicked the coin in the air. But as it came down, he snatched it and returned it to his pocket. 'Sorry, I'm going to pass.'

It was as if he had pilfered Rebecca's soul. He had been toying with her.

Mr Andrews left as he came.