Daffodils
Emma tells herself she’s not really doing anything wrong. She should have handed her university ID in months ago, but there doesn’t seem any harm in using it one more time, and the university does have exceptionally good libraries.
She has hit a blank wall, or rather, she is faced with a dichotomy– cognitive dissonance brought about by two opposing pieces of information. As she wanders between the closely stacked shelves of books, the old language of her previous life comes back to her and she breathes out.
‘Can I help at all?’
A young woman approaches– probably a postgraduate earning some extra money by working in the library. The weekend shift was never popular with the regular staff.
‘Yes, I’m looking for books on theTitanic.’
‘Really?’The girl’s surprise is palpable. She smiles. ‘I’m sorry– it’s just that I thought I recognised you from…’ She names the research project Emma was part of when she worked here.
Emma doesn’t know whether or not to be pleased. She is certainly proud of her contribution– or is it her appearance that made her noteworthy?
‘My boyfriend is working on his PhD with the team. He always spoke very highly of you. He was sad to see you go and so sorry about…’
The girl can’t finish and Emma doesn’t want her to. She is just pleased that her former colleague had something good to say about her and feels guilty that she always thought the PhD student was a bit of an entitled plonker. She hopes he is worthy of this girl standing in front of her, so smiley and friendly.
‘Yes, theTitanic. Everything you’ve got.’
This turns out to be quite a lot, and soon Emma is sitting at a long wooden table surrounded by open books. She has decided (like the scientist she is) to go back to first principles. She got sidetracked in the middle of the night with thoughts of a florist, had even started thinking of her as The Florist, a very specific person to be sought out. She reflected what adifference a simple pronoun made: ‘The’ rather than ‘a’– notjust any old person. Then she had brought herself up short:shouldn’t she first establish whether there were flowers on board at all?
She has conducted quite a lot of online research at her kitchen table. But then she hit her ‘cognitive dissonance’ and decided a change of scene and a good library were called for.
Every so often the assistant appears with more books, engaging her in easy conversation. Emma is filled with gratitude towards this smiley girl; it is good to be reminded that shecansometimes chat and interact like she used to be able to. At the garden centre, she talks to the customers in the Flower Cabin, doesn’t she? All right, it’s not exactly conversation, but she’s doing okay.
The girl reappears at her side, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Have you found anything more?’ It seems she is now fascinated by the flowers on theTitanic, too.
Emma nods. ‘I’ve got some more quotes.’ She glances down at her notes. ‘When asked about her memories of the ship, one passenger clearly recalled that “theTitanicwas a ship full of flowers”.’ Emma frowns. ‘What varieties of flowers is less clear. Roses are mentioned, as are daffodils, carnations and daisies.’ She pulls another book towards her. ‘And here it lists all the things that were brought on board in Southampton, and there is a note in the loading log of five hundred vases.’
‘That’s amazing,’ the girl enthuses. ‘So what exactly are you struggling with?’
Emma spins a number of books around so the girl can see them more easily. ‘Look at these.’ She points to the few interior shots of theTitanicthat she has found, often repeated across other books. ‘Not a flower in sight.’
The girl studies them. ‘I see what you mean. So why all the vases?’
‘It makes no sense,’ Emma admits, which still leaves her with the unanswered question:
Was there ever a florist on board?
When Emma answers Guy’s Skype call, it is the closest she has come to smiling in a long time. She is back home in the kitchen, her half-eaten supper abandoned by her open laptop.
‘What are you so pleased about?’ Guy demands.
Emma thinks he sounds relieved. Their conversations haven’t always been easy. Disjointed calls. Guy wanting to help her. Emma sure of her brother’s love and grateful for it, but unable to tell him how she really feels.
‘I’ve just found the flower stores on theTitanic.’
‘You’ve what?!’
‘It’s where they stored the flowers. Sorry, that sounds a bit random, but I’ve been doing some research about flowers on theTitanic. I was just looking at deck plans, and on B deck near the Café Parisien I found a flower store and then another on G deck. Did you know, theTitanicwas a “ship full of flowers”?’ There is a touch of triumph in her voice.
‘Can’t say I did.’ Guy laughs, sitting back more easily in his chair and sipping his wine. ‘You know me– only interested in history if it’s about art.’
Guy runs a very successful gallery in Singapore and has always had a passion for art, ever since he was obsessed with comic book artists as a young boy.
‘So what’s with theTitanicand flowers? Is it your new floristry thing?’
