The Hanahaki Club: Episode 2

Episode 2: Losers in Love, Part 2

Haiku: Hanahaki

Petals on the tongue,

The broken heart sighs until

The very last breath.

A quick note:

Some of these characters swear. A lot—depending on your swearing threshold.

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Episode 2: Losers in Love, Part 2

Taran

Why the hell am I here?

Taran stared at the front of the community centre from the passenger seat of his sister’s car and gripped his seatbelt in one fist.

“I’ve got shit-loads of coursework to do,” he began, “I really don’t think—”

“You’re going in,” Cassie cut him off. “It’s just an hour. You promised you’d give the first session a go. If you find you really hate it, you don’t have to go again.”

“This is stupid.”

“Maybe,” Cassie conceded. “Or maybe it could be the key to curing this condition and avoiding surgery.”

“I don’t want to go. I can figure this out myself.”

“Fine.” Cassie started the engine again. “We can go home, I’ll make a cup of tea, and we’ll play twenty questions until you’ve told me all about this girl you’ve got such a huge crush on that you’re spitting up petals for her every morning. Even if you won’t give me a name, all I have to do is start guessing and your face will give it away, and then there’s always Kai… I reckon I could get him to…”

“Shit.” Taran hastily unbuckled his belt and reached for the door handle.

As he opened the car door, Cassie thumped him energetically on the shoulder. “That’s a good boy.”

Taran told her to screw herself, but in much less polite terms, and slid out of the car.  He slammed the door shut, swivelled around long enough to give her the finger—whilst she grinned and waved cheerfully through the window—and then stormed off towards the community centre. He took the steps two at a time and barged his way through the doors into the hallway where he stopped abruptly. Bile rose up in his throat and he swallowed hard and dug his fists into his jacket pockets. For a few seconds he battled the urge to run out of the doors again, but he knew that Cassie intended on sitting out there in the car for at least another ten minutes to make sure he didn’t make a bolt for it—because she was just that kind of psychopath. Instead, with all the will power he could muster, Taran stepped along the hall, following the signs to the ‘Blue Room’.

Just one hour, he told himself. One hour and then I never have to do this again. Shit.

The Blue Room was off a corridor on the right of the entrance hall and next to the kitchen. Taran pulled his cap a little further forward and kept his head lowered as he pushed open the door and went inside. The room was indeed blue—a pale washed-out sky blue—with dark blue chairs set out in a semi-circle and a dark blue table (not quite the same shade as the chairs) set up in the centre with a tea cannister, jug of water, bottle of squash, cups and a generous plate of biscuits. A woman was just opening one of the top windows on the wall behind the semi-circle of chairs, and, when she looked over her shoulder, she gave Taran a welcoming smile.

“Taran, right?” she said, leaving the window and coming over to offer her hand. “I’m Anabelle, the group facilitator. It’s good to have you here.”

“Am I the only one?” Taran asked as he briefly shook her hand and gave the clock on the left wall a quick glance.

Please say yes.

Please say no.

“We’re expecting four more attendees,” Anabelle replied. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon. Would you like a drink?”

Taran eyed Anabelle warily as she moved towards the refreshment table. She was in her thirties, with fair hair that didn’t quite reach her shoulders and could have done with a better conditioner and a bit of blow-drying to tame her unruly waves. Dressed in thick leggings, a knee-length jumper dress, an even longer thick-knit cardigan and chunky khaki green ankle boots, she wasn’t quite what Taran had been expecting from the group leader, but, from his ten-second first impression, she at least seemed approachable and easy-going, which was probably what you wanted from the mentor of a support group for losers with a deadly disease.

“Tea? Squash? I think there’s instant coffee in the kitchen if you prefer?” Anabelle said as Taran tentatively joined her at the table.

“Uh, tea, please.”

Taran watched Anabelle pour tea into one of the plain, cream-coloured cup and saucers. He hadn’t introduced himself, so how did she know his name? She probably had a file on each member of the group and knew who to expect, but how did she know who he was before even meeting any of the others? Taran felt his stomach churn and tried to distract himself with the plate of biscuits.

One hour. One hour. One hour.

He reached for a chocolate-covered biscuit and realised his hand was trembling. If Anabelle noticed, she didn’t say anything and simply slid the cup of tea she’d poured towards him.

“Milk?” she asked and then poured some into the cup when Taran nodded.

“Enough?”

Taran nodded again.

“Have you had to travel far?” she asked.

“Uh, no. I mean, just twenty minutes by car. From college.”

“What are you studying?”

“Graphic design.”

“That sounds interesting…”

The door opened, much to Taran’s relief, and prevented Anabelle from asking any more questions. A teenage girl, about his own age and wearing a red blazer over a grey jumper; a red, white and black striped tie; a grey kilt that just grazed her knees, black tights and the shiniest black ankle boots Taran had ever seen, stood in the doorway with a tight-lipped expression on her face. She had a black leather satchel slung over one shoulder and she was gripping the strap like the bag was a weapon she intended to use should the situation call for it.

Swat, Taran’s brain supplied. Definitely a high-achieving swattish type.

“Is this…?” she began hesitantly, clearly uncomfortable at having to voice the question.

“Yes,” Anabelle replied with a reassuring smile. “We’re the hanahaki group. I’m Anabelle, the group facilitator.”

The girl came stiffly into the room and held out her hand when she reached Anabelle. “Nice to meet you—I’m Remi.” Her eyes flickered uncertainly towards Taran, who simply ducked his head away from her, grabbed a second biscuit and his tea, and then moved to the blue chair at the furthest end of the semi-circle.

“Welcome, Remi,” Anabelle was saying as Taran bit into the first biscuit. “Did you have to travel far?”

“Just from Bearnston.”

Bearnston? Was that a Bearnston Heath uniform? Rich swat, Taran amended. So even the well-off weren’t immune to bad luck when it came to feelings.

Taran glanced at the clock. He’d been on time, but it was now four thirty-five and Anabelle had said she was expecting four more attendees. Had they changed their minds? Decided this was too stupid and humiliating, and they’d be better off staying at home and smothering their feelings with junk food and video games? Shit, that’s what he should have done. Screw Cassie and her threats. No way would she really talk to Kai. No way. Probably. Shit. Kai couldn’t find out. It would be game over if he did.

Why the hell am I here…?

Taran was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of pounding footsteps in the corridor outside and a few seconds later the door swung open and a slightly bedraggled figure leaned in the doorway, panting for breath. This newcomer was another teenage girl, with strawberry-blonde hair in an untidy plait that hung over one shoulder as she hunched up and coughed violently into one hand. For a painful second, she made a muffled retching sound in the back of her throat and then a couple of deep pink petals slipped from her hand to the floor.

“Ah, frick!” she muttered before straightening up, dropping her bag and bicycle helmet on the floor, right in the doorway, and turning to book it back up the corridor towards the toilets.

Anabelle nodded calmly to Remi and Taran as she headed towards the door. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Taran watched her carefully move the bag and bicycle helmet to one side, and scoop up the petals into a tissue, before stepping out into the corridor. He turned his attention to Remi, to gauge her reaction, but she merely poured herself a cup of tea, took a seat in the middle of the semi-circle and tucked her satchel under her chair. She caught Taran’s eye and her mouth twitched into something that was not quite a smile.

“Hi,” she said, without seeming to invite a response. Instead, she balanced the cup and saucer on one knee and fixed her gaze on the door.

Taran offered up a silent thank you that they seemed to be of the same opinion that this was no place for making friends or small talk.

Taran had eaten both his biscuits and finished his tea by the time Anabelle reappeared with the strawberry-blonde girl. He checked the clock again: four-forty-two. Why was time moving so slowly?  

“Sorry,” the strawberry-blonde apologised as she collected her bag and helmet and slumped in the seat right next to Taran. “I’m Emery,” she offered, as she shrugged off her coat and draped it over the back of her chair. She was wearing a navy blue uniform that was a little crumpled, her trainers were scuffed, there was a small rip in the right knee of her tights and her face was still a little flushed from her journey.

“Taran.”

“I’d say ‘nice to meet you’,” Emery said, “But that doesn’t feel right—you probably wish you didn’t have to be here too.” She gave Anabelle a grin as she brought over a cup of squash and the plate of biscuits. “Thanks.”

Taran watched her take three biscuits and immediately place one in her mouth, bracing it between her teeth whilst she wriggled more comfortably into her seat and then balance the other two biscuits on the knee with the hole in it so she could switch her cup to the other hand. Taran looked past her at Remi, who was still staring ahead of her, mind clearly elsewhere.

The door opened again, almost immediately, and two figures stepped into the room. Taran’s heart sank. More girls? Was he going to be the only boy? No wonder Anabelle knew his name without asking—not hard to work out when he’s the only boy on the list. This was bullshit. He was going to kill Cassie when he got home.

The first new girl, dressed casually, like him, pulled off her wool hat and ran her hand through her hair before giving the room a shy smile. Taran felt the blood rush to his face and immediately sunk down in his chair and glared at the floor.

“Hey,” the girl said. “I’m Merryn. Sorry I’m late.”

 No, no, no.

Taran did not need Anabelle to ask if Merryn had come far. Forty minutes by bus. Twenty minutes by car. What were the bloody chances? The universe hated him and he really was going to murder Cassie in her sleep for making him come.

He tugged his cap down further and prayed fervently that the ground would swallow him up, or the room would catch fire, or he would actually die from sheer mortification.

Merryn was from Fraxley College. His bloody college. Shit.

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Merryn

The moment she’d walked through the door of the Blue Room, Merryn had realised she couldn’t tell anyone here the truth. She hadn’t been able to tell her mum, so why she’d thought a bunch of strangers would be any different, she wasn’t sure. No way could she ever tell anyone that she had hanahaki for her sister’s boyfriend. They’d think she was a bitch. Maybe she was a little bit. Or maybe there was no maybe about it.

To be fair, she’d had a crush on Sye long before he’d started dating Leah. That was the problem with living next door to a cute boy who makes you laugh every day, looks at you like your inane ramblings actually matter, and buys you ice-cream when you’re sad, angry or excited about winning your first art prize. Except Sye wasn’t a boy anymore. He was twenty. Leah was nineteen, and it made total sense that they’d get together—even though Merryn, like the royal idiot she was, hadn’t seen it coming.

She’d been the only one. Everyone else had made shrill exclamations of ‘Finally!’, ‘At last!” and ‘I was wondering when you’d two get together!’ when Sye and Leah had announced, back in September last year, that they were now officially a couple. Merryn was happy for them—genuinely happy that the two people she cared most about in the world had found happiness in each other. Suddenly, it was clear how much they were in love; how bright their world had become now they knew that their feelings were mutual. It was the perfect love story: boy and girl next door, neighbours-to-lovers; tooth-achingly sweet, rom-com perfect.

How could Merryn not celebrate that? Even though she had, embarrassingly, cried herself to sleep that very same night. It was a new feeling to be happy and heartbroken at the same time.

But more than that, she was horrified that she had ever believed Leah’s repeated mantras of ‘He’s just a friend’, ‘Nothing is going on’, and ‘We’re not into each other that way’. Merryn hadn’t ever had expectations that her own affections would lead anywhere. She’d known Sye for a little more than three years—since they’d moved next door to his family after her parents divorced—and it seemed perfectly natural to her that the shyly warm feelings she’d developed for him when she was thirteen had continued to grow over the years into something more. But that was it—a one-sided, long-term crush. They really were just friends—all three of them: her, Sye and Leah. That was good enough for her. And she didn’t really think that would change. They’d always done everything together: chores, homework, film nights, summer days at the beach, shopping trips, birthdays, Christmas carolling, post-awkward-first-date analysis, video game marathons. They’d argued, laughed and cried. Been scolded together. Kept each other’s secrets. Stood by each other through thick and thin.

But now, Sye and Leah were more than friends and Merryn could barely look either of them in the eye. She left early to go to college, came home late, and holed up in her room, claiming coursework deadlines were keeping her too busy to hang out.

Was she a major bitch for feeling rejected, jealous, and maybe even a little bit angry and betrayed?

Yes. Probably.

Merryn didn’t want to feel this way; she’d assumed she could just bury her feelings and they’d go away over time. But then, three months after Leah and Sye started dating, Merryn had coughed up her first petals. Hanahaki disease? She’d never even heard of it before—understandable, because it was so flippin’ rare. There was no record in her family medical history of anyone else having had it. So why was she the unlucky one, spitting petals every day? Unrequited love was painful enough without also having it on display for everyone to see like that.

Of course, her mother wanted to know who was the object of her unrequited feelings, but Merryn refused to say. Just some boy she knew, she’d said. It wasn’t a big deal. She’d get over it. And then she’d had to beg hard to get her mother to promise that she wouldn’t tell Leah at all about the hanahaki. Her mother had agreed, but they both knew that they’d have to tell Leah eventually, especially if Merryn’s condition continued to get worse and she was forced to get the surgery.

If Leah knew, would she realise that Merryn’s one-sided feelings were for Sye? Would Leah hate her? Or pity her? Both sounded equally terrible.

These strangers would surely have an opinion.

Merryn had almost bolted when she’d stepped through the doors of the community centre, but then someone else—a girl who looked like she might be Leah’s age—had come in behind her and asked her if she knew where to find the Blue Room. So, here Merryn was now, in the Blue Room, facing four other young people with the same disease, the same dilemma, the same painful, humiliating feelings. There were three other girls—two who seemed close to her in age, plus the older girl she’d come in with—and then one boy, who, judging by the way he was hiding under his cap, must feel more awkward than any of them.

Perhaps they would understand her situation? Or perhaps, more likely, they were all normal, decent people who weren’t in love with their sister’s boyfriend. And perhaps they’d rightly judge her, tell her how horrible she was and that she should feel as ashamed and guilty as she already did.

But Merryn was far too much of a coward to hear that. No way was she ever telling anyone about who she had hanahaki for. If she was lucky, then someone else here would turn out to have an even worse secret than her; and then, she might, perhaps, feel a little—just a tiny, little bit—less disgusted with herself.

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Next time: Episode 3—Losers in Love, Part 3

Teaser:

If Izaak was in charge, the hanahaki gene would go to hell.

If Izaak was in charge, Leon Leadley would go to hell right alongside the crappy hanahaki gene.

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Author’s Notes:

Taran and Merryn: same college, very different sibling issues. So awkward.

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Next time: Episode 3—Losers in Love,

PJ

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