The Flower

By Heather-April

The twenty-eighth of June 2005 was the day Zoe Kings life was turned completely upside down. With her fathers tragic death, every glimmer of her mothers hope was taken away from her. Forced to leave everything she knew and loved, Zoe and Kalani moved halfway around the world. England.

The family was torn apart after her fathers death and moving so far from his grave made it impossible for Zoe to feel close to her Dad. That was until she finally got through to her Mother and got exactly what she wanted. Moving back to Australia was the dream Zoe never thought would become a reality but when her Mom finally realizes how important visiting her Dad was to her, the strength that was once hidden away for so long was released.

Australia was no different from her childhood memories. The trees still swaying in the wind, the sun still blazing and the beaches still filled with little children playing fetch with their beloved pets. It was as if time stood still and started again when she got back.

One day was all it took for the Smith brothers to come rushing back into her life as if they had never left in the first place. Their friendship that once was broken was slowly but surely piecing itself back together again. The love she once felt for the three boys was coming back again. Faster than she thought possible.

But for one person, her friendship grew to something more.
Luke?
Bentley?
Michael?
Louis?
Richard?
Who will her heart choose?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524629656

Heather-April

Heather-April Malcolm is a first time Author with a dream and passion for the art of Writing. With her online blog, her literary achievements have rocketed to the sky. With interviews and articles, Heather’s experience has landed her into her first year in her educational life in college for Professional Writing.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

I will never forget you – those five words have been echoing through my mind since I left Australia. They were my best friends. They made me happy, made me laugh and because of them, I had confidence in myself. I blame them for me changing into this person though. They made me this person, they made me a loser. They broke my trust and my confidence. Why would they do this after how long we were best friends for? Did that mean nothing to them? Did they ever care about me? These questions have been running through my mind for the past eight years, and I will never forgive them for what they did to me, and to our friendship.

You see, from the minute I was born we lived in a three storey house with a beautiful garden and a porch that was surrounded by flowers. For three years, the house to the left of us, which was almost as beautiful as our house, was vacant. A month after my third birthday my Mother and I were playing at the front of our house with one of my new toys when we noticed a large van stopping at the house next door. A few minutes after the van pulled up, we saw a beautiful woman with long blonde hair climb out of the van, shortly followed by three little boys who looked to be around my age too. Mom decided to go and introduce ourselves to our new neighbors and after that, our families were inseparable.

There was Luke and Bentley who were twins, who were two years older than me, and their younger brother Michael who was only one year older than me. Because our ages were different and we were so close, it made me feel like I had three older brothers who were looking out for me every single day. Since the day we met, the boys and I were best friends, and although we were never in the same year or classes at school, we never met anyone who replaced either of us in our relationships.

After six years of being best friends with the Smith Brothers our friendship was put to the test. When I was nine years old, my Father was in a Motorcycle accident. He was in a coma for 5 weeks before his life was taken from him. I had never lost anyone like that before, in fact, I had never lost anyone before. I never thought that loosing someone could ever hurt that much, it was like my heart was being poked and prodded with needles. It was almost going numb. Losing Dad changed the way I looked at the world, and life as a whole. Yes, life is this amazing gift that has been given to each and every single one of us, but death is our unavoidable fate. When you learn this at such a young age it makes it difficult to understand many things. Like why people hurt other people, why you cheat on your partner, why you are mean to your friends, and why you leave them when they need you the most.

That is what happened to us. I was forced to move away from my amazing home. My beautiful house, amazing friends and most importantly, where Dad was buried, all of this because Mom could not deal with the pain that had been forced upon us because of what happened to Dad. Mom did not just want to move town, or street, or anything minor like that. No Mom moved us to another Country.

England.

It was miles and miles away from everything we ever loved. All my memories with Dad had slowly started to disappear because I was not constantly reminded of who he was. An amazing man; funny, talented, smart, creative, Dad was my hero. My friend. My everything. And he was taken from us. I thought this was going to be hard to deal with, but taking away my best friends made it somewhat harder to be the happy little girl I once was.

We left Melbourne on the 28th of June 2005. It was almost a month after the one year anniversary of Dad dying. I guess Mom just could not deal with the pain we were experiencing and needed to stop it somehow, but moving to London did not stop our pain, it just made it worse. We were not reminded of the happy times we shared with Dad, or the times he showed us how much he loved us. We only ever thought of him being hurt, in a coma, dying. Dad did not die a lonely man who had no family or friends that loved him. He died with the love of his life and his little girl holding his hands, telling him we loved him. He died a happy man, but never seeing the happy memories made this difficult to focus on.

It did not mean Dad was not dead. And it did not mean that we did not think of him every minute of the day. We did. And each year, on the anniversary of his death Mom and I would make a deal with each other. We promised that we would go back home, to Melbourne, just to visit Dad’s grave and place some flowers down so he knows we are thinking of him. Although, after the fifth year my Mom went out and got completely drunk and refused to go, I came to the conclusion that I was never going back. I would never get to visit my Dad again. I am eighteen in one week and still, I cannot come to terms with never visiting my father’s grave ever again. That is a right that no person should ever be deprived of.

Morning my Mother said as I sat across from her at our dining room table. Here’s breakfast, your favourite, pancakes. The smell of the pancakes, sweet and doughy made my stomach rumble. It was the most amazing smell you would ever know.

Thank you I replied as I drowned my pancakes in Golden Syrup. It was almost like a weekly tradition we had made since Dad passed. His favourite meal of the day was breakfast because he would almost always get what he wanted. Pancakes; and he would smother them in Golden Syrup. Dad loved them so much, so that meant Mom and I absolutely loved them too.

You know Zoe, it’s only one week until your 18. I still don’t know what you would like – Maybe a new phone or computer? What do you think?

I don’t mind, Mom. Surprise me I tried to dismiss that it was my birthday. I honestly could not care less that one more year of my life has passed. Why should I care? In less than a month’s time, mom will tell me she wants to go see Dad, but then she will drink and drink and drink some more, until she can not even stand.

Zoe, you’re a teenager. You are always saying I want this, I want that, and now that you can get anything you want, your saying that you don’t mind and I’ve to surprise you? She had a good point. I did tend to say to her, can I get this, and can I get that. If she really meant I can have anything I want, then there was only one thing I truly wanted for my birthday. But I doubt she will give me that.

You know what I would absolutely love for my birthday – more than anything in the entire world?

What’s that?

To go home and visit Dad My Mother stood from her seat and walked away from me. She never wanted to talk about Dad. But I did. I’m sorry

It’s not fair Zoe. I have told you time after time that I cannot go back there. We have a life here okay. Your Dad is dead. I’m sorry. But you need to move on from that Mom left the room after saying that. It hurt. Why did she think it was okay to make Dad’s death so little.

I decided I could not fight anymore. Dad has been taken from us, and now, he has been taken from me all over again. All I wanted was to tell him I loved him and put flowers down on his grave. Let him know I think of him every minute of every day and show I would travel half way around the world just to lay down some flowers for him. Why would Mom not do that for him?

I never told Mom this, but I took some pictures and other things with us when we moved from Australia. I had roughly ten pictures of our family, and with the Smith’s. I also had a shirt that Dad wore around three times a week. He was practically obsessed with it. When I hold it close enough to me, I feel like I am holding him too. And when I smell it, I can smell his strong aftershave that he wore every day. Like his shirt, he was obsessed with this aftershave too. It got to the point that he would have about six bottles of the same aftershave. He could not stop himself from buying more, even though he had some bottles that had not been touched yet.

I remember waking up every Sunday morning with a big plate of pancakes that were literally drowned in Golden Syrup. Dad would climb into my bed and we would watch a movie and eat the pancakes together. Mom would hate it because we always got crumbs all over my bed, but once Dad kissed her, she was completely happy again. They really loved each other. After we finished our pancakes, we would all get ready and head out to a Soccer match. Dad and I were big fans of Soccer. We did not really support a team; we supported the sport as a whole. Girls at school never really got why I would talk about Soccer and not typical little girl things like dolls and make-up, and eventually even boys. None of that really interested me.

Mom never spoke to me that entire day and when she finally said something to me it was, I’m away to bed, night. Not even an, I love you, and she would say that to me every night before she went to bed. She walked away from me before I had a chance to speak. It was upsetting knowing I had hurt her like that, but all I said was I wanted to visit Dad. It was what I truly wanted for my birthday, she cannot be angry at me because all I done was answer the question she asked me. I sometimes feel ashamed of myself when I think of Dad. Mom hates it. Anything that is remotely to do with Dad, she shuts down and refuses to have a conversation about him. I know she is still hurting, she lost the man she loved and I do not know what I would do if I was in her shoes. But I am still here. And I love my Mom so much; it just feels like sometimes I’m not good enough for her to be happy.

I got to my bedroom and decided to turn off my alarm – it was the summer holidays after all, why should I wake up early? I think after the events of the day, I deserved a couple more hours in my bed. I could feel that I was not going to get any sleep whatsoever and when I cannot sleep, I sit with the box of pictures with Dad and his top and try and remember what he would tell me when I could not sleep. His soothing voice started to echo through my mind

Go to sleep my little princess, I will be here in the morning, waiting for you to wake up – I love you

Hearing my Dad’s voice always got me to sleep. He would tell me, it’s a magic touch¸ and it was true. Dad got me to sleep by just telling me he loved me and will be there waiting for me in the morning, it made me feel special and cared for. I won’t say my Mom does not care about me and love me like Dad did, she does. But she does not know how to do some things that Dad did. It was natural to him.

During the night, my eyes finally started to close over, I remember hearing my Mom come in my room, but I was half asleep so did not open my eyes to say hi to her. She came in quietly and sat behind me in my bed, moving my hair from in front of my face. She was clearly sorry for not talking to me that entire day and for taking me away from Dad’s grave, but I completely understood why she done it, she thought she was doing the ‘right’ thing. She sat there, staring at me for a moment before she saw the box that I had left out by mistake. She must have looked inside of it because when I woke up in the morning it was gone, the only thing I had left was his shirt that I fell asleep holding the previous night. The fear of not knowing where all of my photographs and memories had gone was almost as scary as the day my Father died. These photographs were all I had left of Dad. I can never loose them!

I rushed out of my bedroom and down the stairs and into my front room. Mom was not there. I ran into the kitchen – nothing. I looked all over the house to find her, and she was no where to be seen. I sat on the sofa in the front room holding Dad’s shirt close to my heart. I tried my hardest to hold in my tears, but I let one escape my eye. It was then that I heard the door unlock and open. My stomach in knots, I stood and walked into the hallway and that was when I saw my Mom, standing with my box in her hands.

Mom, are you okay? clearly she was not, but I needed to say something to her. She looked like she had not slept. Her eyes had bags underneath them and were red as if she had been crying.

Have you always had these? She held up one of the photographs from the box.

I’m sorry, I just needed something to remind me of Dad I moved towards her to take the box from her. She let it go and it fell into my arms. She walked past me and up stairs. I wanted to say sorry again, but my mouth would not let any words out. I just stood there, watching as she disappeared up the stairs and into her bedroom. I did not do this to hurt Mom; I just needed some way of knowing my Dad was a happy man. I was so young when he passed, I have memories of him but they are starting to fade. Having photographs of the times we spent as a family brought them back into my mind.

Mom? I said as I opened her bedroom door. She was sitting on her bed, tears slowly coming down from her eyes. I’m sorry I took her hand and held it tight, she whipped her tears away from her eyes and looked at me.

Don’t say sorry Zoe. I should be the sorry one I had never heard my Mother sound like this; she was finally letting me in. Talking to me about Dad, and how she felt. He’s your Dad, and I took that away from you

No, you did nothing. He was taken away from both of us. It is nobody’s fault

I took you away from his grave. I took you away from all the memories you shared with him and told you over and over again that you can visit him again. Then I took that away from you too. What type of Mother does that? Hearing my Mother say this made me feel horrible. I have been pushing her over and over again to let me visit Dad. I knew she could not deal with the pain but I could not help myself.

You done what you thought was for the best for us both

Yes, by stopping contact with your Dad I wanted to be a good daughter and tell her that everything is okay, I do not even miss my Dad, but I would be lying to her face and she does not deserve that.

Your right, when you moved us here it did change everything. It stopped contact with Dad. It turned my life upside down… But you were protecting us. Mom looked at me like she was going to burst into tears. She put her arms around me and pulled me close to her. We sat hugging each other for what felt like ages. I could feel she was regretting moving to London but it was too late for her to feel this way now.

Mom kissed my forehead before letting go of me. I stood from her bed and walked to her front door of her bedroom. I turned to watch her as she huddled underneath the duvet. As I watched her, I heard her soft sob. All I wanted to do was go and hold her in my arms until she fell asleep but I knew that she needed to be alone. So I turned off her bedroom light and closed the door behind me. Leaving her alone, crying, made me feel like a horrible daughter, but I know my Mother enough to know that is what she truly wanted.

I woke up the next morning with a bang. I slowly stumbled downstairs, half asleep. I saw Mom in our kitchen putting everything in boxes. I was so confused what she was doing.

Mom, what’s going on? I said with my dazed voice. She turned to me with a massive smile upon her face.

We are going home. We are visiting Dad and this time, we are not leaving him again. My eyes shot open, am I dreaming or did my Mother just tell me we are going back to Australia?

What? She gave me a handful of unfolded boxes and sent me on my way.

I kissed her cheek and ran to my room to pack everything up. It felt like it only took me a couple of minutes to pack my entire room into the boxes. I was so ready to get out of England and back too where I belong. Packing my bags had never felt so good before. Finally I am going to visit Dad. I’m going to a place I called home and really meant it. Here, England, I liked it, until I started school. You see, teenage kids can be mean. When you are the new girl in school and are completely awkward around people and have an accent that no one can really understand properly. That is why people do not like me. I know I am not like all these other kids at school. I am completely different, and no matter what my Mom says, it is not always a good thing.

When you grow up knowing you are a loser and weird, and feel alone, it makes you think, are you ever going to have any friends? Are you ever going to have a boyfriend? I am like this because of those three boys. They made me scared to talk to people because they could easily let me down, like they did. They