Surreal

Chapter 5 | Daisies

Daisies. Daisies. And many more beautiful daisies.

I sniff the bundle of flowers cradled in my arm, and am immediately lulled. My dad hates the smell, but is also allergic. Mum - she's never really cared for it, but allows me to bring bundles home every so often. I'm not quite sure where I get the love of flowers from. A unique gene of my own, I suppose.

On this mid-summer's day, the sun blares through the cotton clouds that drift lazily through the sky. Its bright rays shimmer off the tall, green grass that sway to and fro from the gentle breeze. Gail munches happily in a hidden patch of clover, her chestnut coat shining radiantly in the warm sunlight.

I immediately think of James, and what a beautiful sketch he could create with this perfect scene. I do wish he were here now, but since the day I saw that lovely picture he drew of me, I haven't had the courage to approach him. Three days to be exact, and I miss him like a baby.

A blissful sigh escapes my lips as I stop, my eyes roaming freely over the enormous view. All the glory of England can be spotted from this point. Sloping hills, with perfectly trimmed hedges, bright red barns and old brown ones, quant, yet inviting farm houses, and the many shining coats of horses scattered throughout. If I had to choose a perfect life, I would choose this.

If only James were here.

I let out another sigh, bending down to pluck more daisies from the dirt. Bees buzz around the flowers, large amounts of pollen stuck to their toes, and I can only think of the delicious honey it will soon make.

Suddenly, two hands cup themselves around my eyes, and I gasp ferociously, dropping my bundle of flowers.

"Guess who?" asks an all-too-innocent voice. A voice I happen to recognize immediately.

"The Queen?" I poke humorously, resting my hands on my hips, but he only tightens his grip around my eyes.

"No, guess again."

"I know who you are," I slur.

"Who?" he pesters.

"James Nicholls of Great Britain, now let me go!"

"Ooh, feisty today, aren't we?" he grins, releasing his hold on my head. "There, be free."

"Thank you," I nod, bending down to gather my scattered flowers. "Now help me pick these up."

"I most certainly will," he obeys my command and bends down next to me, and I watch his long fingers carefully pick the daisies from the ground. He does have such nice hands.

"How did you know I was here?" I ask inquisitively.

"I merely guessed, Katherine darling," he smiles, never taking his eyes off his daisy-picking. "You seemed like a daisy person to me, and today is such lovely day. I've often come here to gather daisies for my mother."

"How kind of you," I reply with the hint of a tease in my voice. It does feel like it's been so long since we've talked, and I've quite missed it. Then suddenly, out of the blue, I remember the reason I haven't seen him in "so long". The sketch. Oh dear.

My nerves break down and I can feel my cheeks brightening. Why the sudden change in feeling just because I remembered, I don't know. But now I feel as if a secret is being splayed across my forehead, and if I look up from picking the flowers, he'll see and know and everything will be awkward for us.

"There," he states with satisfaction as he leans back, a fist-full of daisies in his hand. He looks at me and smiles, extending his full hand to me, "Here are your daisies, Miss. Katherine."