Vanessa Carnevale - The Memories of Us - The best feel-good romance to take with you on your summer holidays in 2018

‘’Course.’

‘He wondered if he might be able to come and do that next time. Will that be all right?’

‘Um … I guess so. Might be a nice excuse to get me out of the apartment.’

Scarlett doesn’t laugh. Her eyes blink at me with disappointment before she hands me the list he’s given her. It isn’t fair on him. This is his home. I lean against the doorframe of the bedroom and watch Scarlett check off some of the items on the list: t-shirts, a jacket, two pairs of shoes.

‘He must hate me,’ I say.

‘He could never hate you. He’s head over heels for you. Why else do you think he’s agreed to stay away? Think about the kind of willpower this guy has.’

‘So, he does understand?’

She folds the last t-shirt and zips up the overnight bag.

‘Nope. He just knows how stubborn you are. Which means he doesn’t really have a choice, does he?’

‘You honestly think I’m making a mistake?’

Scarlett hauls the bag over her shoulder. ‘Yes. I think you are.’ She sighs. ‘I also don’t think this is good for you.’

‘What?’ I say, following her into the living room.

‘Not letting us into your life. We’re all worried about you.’

‘You don’t need to worry about me. You just need to give me some space to figure this out. To let me figure out who I am, and who I was and who I’m meant to be.’

‘Tell me what you know so far.’

‘Not much. Just a little about my mother … and flowers. I think she loved flowers.’

She smiles. ‘Flowers? You both adored flowers,’ she says, nodding enthusiastically.

‘She taught me what I know about them, but I don’t remember a lot,’ I tell her. ‘Mainly being in a flower field with her … it was spring and …’

Scarlett nods, encouraging me to keep talking. ‘Go on …’

‘Okay,’ I say, exhaling a breath, as I take myself back to that place of comfort.

It was the harvest of my ninth year. ‘Flowers start to heal themselves once they’ve been cut,’ said Mum, as she snipped the stem of a rose at the perfect angle, right at the place where it intersected a new leaf line. She said that everything I needed to know about life was in the flowers; they held all the answers to all the questions I might have.

I followed her into the field, my young body tugging an unsteady wagon through the uneven spaces between the rows of sweet peas. She stopped for a moment, tucked her pruning scissors into the pocket of her apron, and waited for me to catch up to her. Then, from behind, she framed my face with her hands and gently turned it towards the sun, just as it was emerging over the verdant hills in the distance. ‘That’s where all the warmth is, Gracie. The sweet peas know where to look for the light,’ she said, tickling my ear with her breath. The scent of my childhood wafted around us in that crisp morning breeze, an olfactory cocktail of blossoming flowers and freshly cut grass. We stood there in silence between the vines of ruffled blooms, the early rays causing the scattered dew drops to glisten; a gentle wake-up call from Mother Nature letting us know there was work to be done on our five-acre plot. Soon the bees would start swarming from their wooden hotels, orienting themselves with the sun, and the tulips would slowly yawn and stretch, opening their petals to greet the first morning light.

She kissed the top of my head and we followed the fragrance of roses to the edge of the plot along the fence line, where she started stripping the first bush of its flowers. She wiped the beads of sweat off her brow with the back of her goatskin glove, and passed a rose to me, as if she were handing me the most precious gift in the world. I ran my fingers along the stem, tracing the curves of the thorns, until I reached the bud.

‘They’re nature’s best healers. They know how to talk to us,’ she said, handing me more flowers. When we got home, I sat on an upside-down crate, counting the stems, knowing exactly how many days it took the first one to bloom after the beginning of spring. But I was still left wondering about their secrets; how they knew when to blossom, and how to blossom, and why they blossomed at all.

‘That’s it. That’s all I remember and I have no idea why,’ I tell Scarlett with a frown.

‘It doesn’t matter why. It’s progress, Gracie,’ says Scarlett with so much hope in her voice I want to believe her. ‘You know, we go to the Queen Victoria Market for flowers every …’ She stops herself. ‘Sorry.’ She cringes.

‘No, go on.’ I can’t explain it, but since she’s mentioned flowers, I don’t want her to stop.

‘You and I, Queen Vic Market. Every Saturday morning.’

Got it. Piermont and Lincoln’s on the first Sunday of the month. Queen Vic Market every Saturday morning.

‘Blake and Noah on the other hand, play golf on Saturday mornings.’

Of course. Typical blokey thing to do, I suppose.

‘How’s your list coming along?’ Scarlett asks, changing the subject. ‘Did you call your boss?’

I shuffle awkwardly.

‘Gracie?’ she says firmly.

‘I quit my job.’

‘What?! The doctors said that you need as much normality back in your life as possible. Why would you do that?’

‘Well, they didn’t exactly accept my resignation. Ava said they’re going to hold my position for a couple more months in case I change my mind. She said I could even freelance.’

Scarlett shoots me a look of disapproval. ‘You never missed a day of work.’

‘Well … things have changed. Life’s different now.’ I glance over to the tower of magazines by the couch. ‘I’ve flicked through pages and pages of those spreads and I can’t remember styling a single one. I can’t remember any of the prop suppliers I used to use and I don’t know a thing about lighting or room sets. Heck, I don’t even recognise the route stops on a tram guide! How can I go back to a job not knowing any of this?’

Scarlett rubs her temples, her cheeks filling with air before letting it out steadily. She opens her palms and holds them out, as if she’s trying to get a handle on all of this. ‘I get it, you’re overwhelmed and afraid, but it’s going to take time and we all understand that. I think it’s a matter of you accepting it. Accepting our help. You can’t spend your days flicking through magazines wishing your memory to come back.’

‘It’s not like I have anything else to do,’ I mutter.

She blinks and looks thoughtfully at me. ‘Gracie, there’s something else I’m worried about.’

I raise my eyebrows, waiting for her to speak. I feel so bad that she’s afraid to talk to me, that she’s tiptoeing around me like this.

‘Have you given any more thought to … the wedding?’

I cross my arms. I don’t want to think about Blake or the wedding or the fact that I can’t tie my own shoelaces.

‘No,’ I reply firmly, not wanting to elaborate because I can’t admit my intentions to her yet. ‘But there is something I’ve been wondering about.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Was I really as happy as you seem to think I was?’

She looks me square in the eyes. ‘Yes, you were happy. In fact, when it comes to Blake, you were lit up from the inside, radiant on the outside, life has never been a better kind of happy.’

I sigh, wishing I had a past to hold onto. Without any semblance of a past there is almost nothing. Aside from Scarlett, all I have is one vague memory of a field full of flowers and a brand-new wedding dress I don’t remember buying.