I wrote faded flower as a rushed entry for the Orange short story competition.

The theme was "Mother"  I was happy with the story overall but feel some sections could have been improved!

Faded flower- short story by Polly Ali- all rights reserved

It started with a basket of flowers a few months ago. A present of yellow primroses, purple hyacinths and dark pink pansies. Beautifully bright they lit up my porch. A lovely surprise, except they were from a dead woman. My mother.

It was a refreshing spring day, almost like summer with a balmy diffused heat. Yet despite the sunshine a darkness came over me like a storm gathering in the distance.

I was an adopted child. When I reached 21 years of age I received a sealed tin box in the post. The box itself was plain, a coppery colour with, "I am very old" specks of silver dotted all over it along with small dents . Officially my mother died when I was a few years old. The contents of the box told a different story or should I say a different reality?

A handwritten note scribbled on cream note paper said, "Sorry I had to leave you and the whole death lie, I didn't want it to happen. Circumstances intervened, but I want you to know me, so here are some pieces of me. I love you PS keep it secret". Was my mother on the run? Perhaps a spy? Or a woman with a double identity? Intriguing nonetheless. I didn't feel angry or upset then, after all I had no memories of her.

The basket of flowers arrived nearly nine years later. Why the contact? Guilt? Was she bored and wanted something to do? Was it even her?

Petals and leaves were scattered all over the shop floor, there was a heady aroma, the velvet, soft touch of petals and it was a divine atmosphere for the senses. Something no perfume can truly capture, a moment in time, raw nature and emotion in a bottle. I love working with plants and flowers.

A customer once said to me that a dress made of real flowers and petals would be a wonderful creation. As I scooped up roses from the floor I wondered if that could be practical and possible for any woman to wear. Dip the beauties in a suitable (or to be invented) preserving agent possibly and pin them all over an old dress? Or just a fashion creation, fresh for a catwalk. Whatever the possibilities it sounds wonderful.

Truly flowers are nature's finest personalties. I like to think of lilies as Merle Oberon, exotic, enigmatic and gorgeous. Tibetan blue poppies as Audrey Hepburn, light and beautiful, a refreshing pop of colour.

I wonder what flower my mother would be. Certainly not a rose or a peony. Despite her very feminine look that I could gather from a grainy photo from the box; long dark hair, fake eyelashes and a flowery gown dress her personal mementoes reflect a free spirit; an exotic butterfly that refuses to be captured. Not a flower that wants to be gazed at and definitely not one that would go in a vase.

Some of the mementoes in the box were cards, invitation cards, post cards, cards with scribbles of all sorts of things.

Holly Golightly party! New York 25^th May Confirm to Richard...

A ticket to a Chopin concert dated 1979

A snap of a city with Budapest scribbled on the back. Postcards of Venice and pencil sketches of masquerade masks and a long purple feather, most probably from a mask she once wore.

Poems by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. There was one that had notes scribbled against it:

I believe she is a wishing star, a dandelion head, floating everywhere and somewhere even unknown to herself. Or order within chaos?

I find plants amazing. A flowering plant is blushing, a pregnancy glow. Stems are rather like parents trying to hold us before letting us go or leaving. But even plants don't have it easy, it amazes me how some plants fight to grow however possible for example positioning themselves towards light, planning their stems to reach out with tendrils and grow around obstacles, looking for opportunities.

Is the box a sign of that, an attempt to help me somehow? A compensation for the missing stem, that affects her conscience? So many questions.

Raindrops fell from the dark skies and their viscous water drops fell down the windows at magnificent speed. I had guests coming over, a friend of mine, Joelle had recently got married and the newly weds were in my neck of the woods that Saturday. Her husband works in creative media and I've hardly met him so had to make an effort. Frozen mixed vegetables, spring roll pastry, fresh coriander, kiwis, papayas and mango were on the list. I always cook, I'm not one to grab ready meals unless disaster strikes or illness reigns.

I brewed myself a cup of tea, strong and dark with a splash of milk, a generous spoonful of sugar and my favourite additions a cardamom pod and a small stick of cinnamon. I opened my kitchen door and a black cat stopped in its tracks and stared at me. It belonged to no one and appears now and again, it looked away and walked off like it had no care in the world.

The cat brought to mind the Schrödinger's cat paradox. Basically it is a thought experiment where a cat is placed in a box with a flask of poison. If a radiation is detected the flask shatters killing the cat. A branch of physics, quantum mechanics suggests that after a while the cat is both dead and alive however if we open the box the can only be dead or alive.

Applying this perhaps my mother is suffering from this paradox, she is alive and dead in the tin box, alive from the mementoes and message to me but not in memory. Will she ever stop existing as a secret person and finally become real to me, one or the other?

I set to work. The vegetables were cooked lightly with spices and I made flour glue by mixing a splash of water to plain flour with a quick mix. The spring pastry was cut into strips

Small amounts of vegetable mixture were dolloped into the pastry strips and wrapped securely with the glue. I then fried these in a shallow pan and popped them into the oven to keep warm.

The boneless chicken was being cooked with spices, onions, garlic and ginger. During that I peeled the fruits into bite sized chunks. I added the cooked rice to the chicken and once heated through added a generous handful of torn coriander. Finally I made a quick random salad of tomatoes, cucumber, grapes and carrot. There is an alchemy to cooking which is utterly magical, I find it fun to experiment.

The cooked recipes themselves were tokens from the tin box, recipe cards, "food you may enjoy..."

There are some that I haven't yet tried; cherry jam, preserved lemons and lamb tagine.

Joelle and Richard arrived on time. Joelle has been my friend for as long as I can remember, she moved to Scotland after they got married and I was surprised at how much I missed her. Far from eye, far from heart; it doesn't apply to everyone. Was I becoming to preoccupied with myself? Richard was rather quiet and polite, I hardly knew him and had a feeling Joelle had to drag him here, after all I'm not that exciting.

They complimented me on my cooking but I noticed neither had touched the salad, something to do with the grape experiment maybe? However there was a surprise in store. I had judged Richard too soon.

He started talking about his time in New York and how he was invited to a Holly Golightly party and how fun it was and asked me if I'd like to go to one in a months time. I said that it would be difficult leaving the florist especially as it fell a day before Mothers day. Plus, quietly to myself, had he not gathered that I'm not the partying type? He then added that he had been given many Chopin CDs by a client and needed to give them away. I must say even then nothing suspicious had clicked in my head, pure coincidence, surely? However I did thank him and say it would be great to have a CD.

I made coffee for us all and we carried on talking. We spoke about childhood memories, holidays, plans for the summer and somehow ended up talking about books. This time it was Joelle, she said that she was reading poems by Samuel Taylor Coleridge and came across one titled the faded flower and had thought of me. There was no mistaking it this time, and as recognition crossed my face, she looked directly at me and said, "We met your mother and she would like to meet you".

That evening passed by so quickly. They stayed for about four hours, we then exchanged kissed and said goodbyes.

My head was in a spin. To cut a long story short I asked them to get her to contact me. You are asking why the cryptic nature of the visit? Well, they wanted to know if I had received the tin box and had opened it. If I hadn't, the matter would have been left , forgotten, like dried flowers crumbling into dust.

Apparently Joelle and Richard met my mother by accident, they either took a friendly liking to each other and, or somehow planned or accidental the plot was hatched. Perhaps that's how she found out my address and took a risk. I say apparently because who knows? Some things cannot always be revealed, people like the faded flower are often lost to love and truth are they not?

Two weeks later I got a message that she would be visiting. I wasn't very emotional, I went over the contents of the tin box and found the ribbon, a faded purple, it was part of one of my baby dresses.

I reread the postcards and notes.

Her ghosts must be laid to rest now, I hope so anyway. Even though I hardly know her she's made the decision to be alive and not dead in the tin box. The flask of poison is gone. And although I don't need a stem to hold me up, I do want to meet her.

The house will be full of flowers, I will cook food which she will like to make it warm and inviting.

There will be endless cups of hot drinks, coffee, tea or hot chocolate even all three. Perhaps I am getting carried away, maybe its better not to expect too much. There is one thing that I can expect though. I can imagine her waiting gently, standing on my porch and giving me a hug before speaking a word.