Being neighbourly

I was OK until her text came.

‘Having such a fab time. Thank you for looking after Betty & the orchids. I don’t know what I’d do without you! Months have flown- See you Sat.’

I go straight round. Betty (healthy as anything) nudges around my ankles. As I push open the lounge door (for the first time ever) there’s a smell.

Decay.

Had she even mentioned them before? God! Drooping stems and browning sticks rise up from pots over every surface. I wonder, with sinking heart, if I could match up replacements from the dried flowers on the floor.

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