Free Home to Roost by Tessa Hainsworth

come down to check out their houses after the snow and frost, and get them ready for the spring influx.
    Behind me is Guy’s old van. I’d parked fairly tight, to make room for other cars, but there was absolutely no need for the Peugeot to come in that ridiculously close, as there is nothing on the other side of it. Luckily, I see Guy coming out of the shop and I call out, ‘Guy, I’m stuck, can you move your van?’
    He lopes over to me in that gawky but endearing way he has. ‘Right’o, Tessa, will do it now. Hold these, will ya?’ He hands me a bouquet of carnations, not exactly at their best. He adds, anxiously, ‘They’re, uh, for Clara.’ He stops, blushes, looks at his feet. ‘Now I’ve bought them, I don’t know if she likes flowers. What’d’ya think?’
    ‘I think she’d love them.’
    He looks even more doubtful. ‘I dunno. I’m not sure she’s the flower type.’
    ‘Most women love getting flowers,’ I say patiently. ‘And now, please can you move the van?’
    But he’s not budging. He takes the flowers out of my hands with sudden determination. ‘She might hate carnations. I’m taking them back, I’ll change them for chocolates or something.’
    ‘Guy!’ I holler as he’s heading off back to the shop. ‘I really need to get on. Clara might be on a diet or something; flowers are really much better.’
    Back he comes. ‘Clara can’t be on a diet. She’s not fat. She’s perfect.’
    ‘I didn’t imply she was. Maybe she doesn’t eat chocolates to keep herself perfect. Give her the flowers but please let me out of here first.’
    He doesn’t move but stands forlornly, indecisively looking at the carnations. ‘Maybe it’s too early,’ he says, finally.
    ‘What is?’ I’m trying to be patient. I’m trying to remember that this slow easy life is why we moved here. No hurry, no rush, no stress. I try to go with what is happening at the moment without worrying about being even more late finishing my round. I take a deep breath. ‘What’s too early, Guy?’ I ask when he doesn’t answer.
    ‘Our relationship. Giving her flowers. So early on.’
    ‘It’s never too early.’
    ‘But we don’t even have a relationship.’ His foot is fiercely making circles in the patch of snow on the verge of the street.
    ‘Oh. But, uh, you want one, right?’
    He finally looks up at me. ‘Oh, Tessa, I do!’ His face looks so sweet, all lit up like a harvest moon, that I have to hide my smile.
    I push my advantage. ‘Then giving her those flowers is the best way to get one started. And as soon as you move your van, you can get on with it. Clara’s home, I just saw her a short time ago.’
    I’ve never seen him move so fast. He thrusts the flowers at me again and is about to open the door of his van when I see that someone has come from behind us and is opening the door of the Peugeot. I say, ‘Guy, never mind, the man in front of me is moving. Here’s your flowers, give them to Clara before you get cold feet again.’
    He still looks indecisive so I give him a gentle shove towards her house. ‘Oh look, you’ve got to go, she’s seen you from the window. You can’t run away now, Guy.’
    This is a little white lie but I said I was a romantic, didn’t I? And it works; he’s walking up the path to her door, if not exactly like Lancelot than at least not too hesitantly.
    I jump in the postal van, start it up, and wait for the man to get his Peugeot out of my way. There’s nothing behind him (his car is facing me) and there’s nothing on the road, but he’s not moving. I look closely and see that he’s on his mobile phone.
    I count to ten, noting that he’s got his seatbelt on so he must be going soon. Five minutes pass (I’ve counted to ten a zillion times) and he’s still talking. His face is turned away from me and he seems not to see me, or is pretending not to. Finally, when it seems he’ll be sitting there talking for ever, I get out of the van and walk over to his