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I didn’t sleep. At seven I bought the biggest bunch of flowers the petrol station had, two coffees and a croissant, and drove to the university.
It was enormous. I hadn’t thought about that. Eleven buildings, three car parks and about four thousand students, all of whom seemed to be carrying lanyards. I didn’t know her course code. I didn’t know which exam. I knew her name was Bryony and she had freckles.
I stood outside the medical building for an hour and a half holding carnations. The coffee went cold. A security guard asked me, twice, who I was waiting for.
“Bryony,” I said. “She’s sitting an exam. Nursing. Red hair.”
“Surname?”
I didn’t have one.
He walked me back to my car, very politely, the way you’d escort a pigeon out of a supermarket.
On Friday I went to the Velvet Room. Scarlett was on the stage. When she came over she was smiling, but there was a crease between her eyebrows.
“Security emailed the whole nursing year,” she said. “Warning about a man with flowers hanging round the exam halls. Description sounded familiar.”
“I just wanted to wish you luck.”
“I know.” She sighed and squeezed my hand. “It’s sweet. It’s also a lot, Owen. Twenty quid a song. Let’s keep it in here for now.”
She danced for me. She was lovely. And at the end of the song she went back to work, and I drove home with a bunch of wilting carnations on the passenger seat.
Ending 11 of 25: Flowers for Nobody. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.