Poison Orchids

For a moment, she thought she was crying too. But then she realised she was just humming. Finally, she could hear the farm. A snippet of a song played in her head. One of the songs she always heard blasting over the farm’s loudspeakers. A song about summer days under the sun. She could really hear it. She could feel the warm, sultry air on her skin, and she wasn’t cold anymore. The air was always yellow at the farm. Golden yellow.

Everything at the party seemed to slide and smudge together. The driving beat of the music, people dancing, and the constantly changing light show of the pool. Body heat, sweat and perfume, and the sweet smell of mangoes saturated the air. Everyone who was wading in the in-ground pool—which stretched from indoors into the outdoors—was being baptised in the intoxicating elixir that was Tate’s farm.

She let the petals drop through her fingers. “People romanticise stars. They’re just hot-as-hell suns. Not centaurs. Not twinkling little jewels to wish upon. Just suns.

Earnshaw’s construction company. The Fieldings and the Earnshaws were,

He was just as suave and smart as last night, in a light-blue shirt and grey trousers. Despite the hot day he appeared cool and collected, whereas