The Garden Plot

by Sara Sartagne

  He sat for a moment in the car, thinking of Sam.

  With a grimace, he started the car for the drive home.

  “Hopeless!” wailed Magda. The text from her father said he was 'cured' and would call into the office before coming home. “All our work...” she muttered crossly, showing her phone to Lisbeth who was leafing through a glossy magazine.

  “How is your dad? Like, really?” Lisbeth asked after a moment, tossing away the magazine. Magda thought for a moment and then shrugged.

  “I dunno. He looks a bit tired and his face is always still somehow—you know, like he's plastic or something. Why?”

  “Aunty Sam came round for lunch last week—the first time she's been round to our house for ages. She’s dead skinny and barely ate anything, and even Mum mentioned it.”

  “What did Sam say?”

  “Oh, something totally unconvincing, like she had a lot of work on and kept forgetting to eat. But that’s rubbish, I think...”

  “D’you know, I could’ve sworn that something was happening when we bumped into Sam at the pub, before I arrived. But do you think Sam is attracted to Dad?” Magda asked.

  “S’possible. But that’s no use if they never meet again. How do we get them to talk to one another?”

  “I haven't a clue. I've been trying to persuade Dad to go down to the pub, join a darts team, anything to get him out of the house, so they might bump into one another again, but he just comes in from work, slumps on the sofa and then goes to bed. He’s barely been out to the village since the festival.”

  “Well, I daresay he has been working hard...”

  Magda snorted in an unladylike way, and then raised her head as her grandmother’s voice drifted up the stairs. Niamh had arrived a few days ago. Her grandfather would join her after his business trip in Europe.

  “Magda! Is Lisbeth staying for dinner?”

  “Are you?” Magda asked.

  “No, I need to get home, Mum’s expecting me. But we ought to get together soon to see what we can plan—”

  “What are you two scheming about?” Niamh said, opening the door. She looked at them and laughed. “Oho! What have I stumbled on? No, don't tell me, I don't want to know, I'll only be horrified. Magda, this came by courier,” she passed over a large white envelope.

  Magda frowned, and then caught sight of the logo on the corner. “It's the garden competition!” She tore open the flap and wrenched out the contents.

  “What's it say?” Lisbeth asked breathlessly.

  “Omigod, omigod! Sam's made it into the final! This letter is asking when they can come and view the finished garden!”

  “What?” Lisbeth suddenly looked aghast. “When do they want to come?”

  Magda was scanning the letter, written on thick, heavy paper.

  “'At your convenience, but within the next three weeks…’”

  “The next three weeks? How are we going to manage that without your Dad knowing? We're back at school!”

  “You entered the garden into a design competition without your father’s permission?” Niamh asked, catching on very quickly.

  Magda bit her lip. Niamh waited. “But Nanna, I paid for it! It's such a brilliant design, I just wanted for Sam to be recognised for it!”

  “Do you not think your father should have been consulted? It is his property!”

  “It's sort of complicated...”

  “I'm all ears.”

  Niamh folded her arms and waited.

  Stumbling a little, Magda told the tale of their attempts to get the adults together, with Lisbeth adding her comments.

  “Did you tell Sam about this?” Niamh pointed to the letter.

  “She said she didn’t want to enter the garden, but she looked, like, sooo disappointed about it. So no, she doesn’t know,” Magda admitted.

  “You entered the competition against the express wishes of your father and the designer?” Niamh stared and Magda went red. “Magda, what were you thinking?”

  “I know, I know. But if you’d have seen her face when we talked about it! And then Dad got all arse-y when we were talking about it at the garden launch and the conversation just went downhill! It’s not until October and everything will be better by then...”

  Niamh shook her head in disbelief.

  “Really, Magda, I’m lost for words. And surely the competition organisers will write to Sam about this?” Niamh frowned.

  Lisbeth nodded, but added quickly that she'd taken Paul, the office manager into their confidence, and he was watching the mail. Niamh's eyebrows rose again slightly, but she simply asked, “So when will she know she's in the final? Presumably she needed to know at some stage?”

  Magda exchanged a look with Lisbeth.

  “I don't suppose we'd thought that far,” admitted Magda. To her enormous relief, Niamh’s face lost its severe look and she laughed. Magda almost sagged with relief.

  “Oh Nanna! Dad’s been so miserable! And when he was with Sam, he was totally, like, different! The air used to—like—oh, hum between them!”

  “‘Hum’? Goodness,” said Niamh.

  Magda looked beseechingly at her grandmother. “But now—I’m not sure what to do. I thought the garden opening would smooth things over, but it got all complicated somehow and I don’t really understand why...”

  Niamh thought for a moment. “Are you sure they're attracted to one another?” Magda looked at Lisbeth and then nodded vigorously.

  “They just need to get in the same room, don't they Lisbeth?”

  “Well... I think Aunty Sam is as miserable as Magda says her dad is. I haven’t seen her look so...sad and lost before.”

  Niamh rose to her feet. “I think it would be best to double check before we do anything rash. I might pay her a visit.”

  Lisbeth looked alarmed.

  “Don't worry dear, I'll just call to congratulate her on the garden. After all, I was away for the garden launch. I'll just be passing on the way to the village, or something.”

  “It's a bit out of the way to be just passing,” Lisbeth murmured doubtfully. Niamh waved aside her concerns.

  “I'll think of something.” She swept out of the room. There was a silence.

  “Will it be all right?” Lisbeth bit a nail.

  Magda grinned, feeling suddenly much more positive. “Nanna will handle it—she's a wonder.”

  Sam was trying to get enthused about the designs for a very modern garden for a new client. It wasn't going well. She screwed up the paper she'd been doodling on, and threw it at the bin, which it predictably missed. There was a knock at the door, and Andy poked his head around.

  “Sam, Magda’s grandmother is here to see you about the garden. Are you available?”

  Sam stared and then nodded. A minute later, a tall, elegant woman walked into the room. Sam offered her hand almost in defence. Mrs Keane's features reminded her strongly of Jonas and she drank in the sight of her.

  “Niamh Keane—I'm very pleased to meet you, Samantha—or do you prefer Sam?” They shook hands, the slim fingers surprisingly strong and Sam instantly fell in love with the lilting voice tinged with a soft Irish accent.

  “Sam—Samantha was what my father used to call me when I'd done something wrong.” Niamh Keane laughed and the sound flowed round the room like soft toffee. Sam gestured her to a chair. After this promising start, an uncomfortable silence fell. Then Niamh spoke.

  “I know it’s awkward, given the wretched development and my son playing hide-and-seek, but I wanted to stop by to say how wonderful the garden is.”

  Sam didn’t know what to say. What did Jonas’ mother know? Did she know of the row they’d had? Or their ‘nearly-fling’? Looking into the guileless grey-green eyes, Sam decided not.

  “Thank you. I'm really pleased you like it,” Sam said breezily. She thought she saw a twinkle in the eyes watching her.

  “Magda invited me to her launch event, but I was in the middle of the Mediterranean at the time. The design is inspired—I won
dered how you'd come up with the ideas. I'm an avid gardener myself and I'd love to know.”

  Sam pulled out the plans and explained to Niamh how the garden took shape. Niamh was a good listener—almost too good, Sam thought, trying to remember to curb her tongue. But the temptation to tell the story of the design was very strong and Sam swept through it, explaining motifs and historical references and planting. She was careful to keep well away from any comment on the owner of the house, however. Niamh nodded, smiling.

  “Well, you've certainly delivered brilliantly. And now we’re being blessed with this wonderful Indian summer, too! I have plenty of opportunities to use it! Is that a photo of your team?”

  Sam turned to look at the bookcase behind her. There was the snapshot of her with Andy and Steve, which Magda had taken on her phone. They looked happy, she thought wistfully. She herself looked excited, almost misty-eyed.

  “Yes—Andy showed you in, and Steve is at college today. It was a team effort and one of the best projects we've worked on.”

  “Why was it?”

  Sam turned, taken aback by the swiftness of the question.

  “Um... Well it was a good design and it turned out really well. It suits the house, and I think it will suit Magda. And her father, of course.”

  Niamh's eyes glinted and she smiled. “Of course. May I see the picture?”

  Sam passed it to her and her visitor looked closely at it. “It’s a lovely photo,” she commented as she handed it back. Sam smiled, meaninglessly.

  “We're delighted with the way it turned out.” Her tone signalled a close of the discussion and glancing at the clock, she was surprised to see that more than an hour had passed. Her visitor rose and put out her hand in farewell.

  “Well, I’ve taken up too much of your time, but it’s been wonderful to hear from a fellow enthusiast—thank you! The garden is simply lovely.”

  Then she left.

  Lisbeth watched Magda's grandmother return to the house, and they both met her in the hall.

  “Well, Nanna? What did she say?”

  “She’s a passionate, talented garden designer who really knows her stuff,” said Niamh thoughtfully. “She’s got an almost instinctive feel for places and plants, and how they go together... Connor thought so, too.”

  “And Dad?” Magda prompted impatiently.

  Niamh became practical. “Well, she was very careful to avoid almost all mention of your father, and she's definitely lost weight—I saw the photo you took when the garden was completed and she's certainly thinner now than she was—what?—more than a month ago?”

  Lisbeth nodded.

  “So I agree with you that she's unhappy. And I know your father's not his usual self.”

  “What can we do?” Lisbeth said.

  “Something will present itself, I’m sure. You just have to be ready to take advantage.”

  30

  “Magda! Are you in?” called Jonas as he set down his briefcase. Magda ran into the hall.

  “Dad! What time do you call this? You're early!”

  He kissed her on the top of her glossy head. “Cheeky brat. Is Nanna around?”

  “Yes, she's in the garden, reading. Shall I bring you a gin and tonic?”

  “That would be nice. What are you after?”

  Magda looked aggrieved. “Consider me insulted.”

  He laughed and shrugged off his jacket. He felt bone tired and a seat in the garden with his mother and a G&T would be nice. Wouldn't it?

  The problem was, when he looked at the garden, he could see the ghost of Sam walking around the flower beds, her hair glinting in the sunlight. Everywhere, he saw her skill and—he recognised it now—her love for what she did.

  He walked slowly across the garden to his mother, sitting on the chequerboard patio with a glass and a book. Niamh waved a greeting at him.

  “Hello ma,” he swooped to kiss her cheek.

  “Jonas! How lovely to have you home early!”

  Smiling faintly, he took the seat next to her. “Anyone would think I never came home,” he grumbled good naturedly.

  Niamh looked at him steadily. “Well, even you must admit you don’t, recently. How was your day?”

  Jonas told her the brief details, portraying meetings as humorous when in actual fact, they hadn't been. At least the media had found another company to torment. If he was honest with himself, he couldn't remember his work feeling so...grey before. So lacking in sparkle. So dull.

  He noticed Niamh was watching him closely and he straightened his shoulders instinctively.

  “What are your plans for this evening?” she asked.

  “Actually, I thought I'd relax a bit, check email and then go for a gentle run, when it gets a bit cooler. I could do with a bit of workout... I’ve missed it.”

  “Have you forgotten your father arrives tonight?” Niamh said, quirking an eyebrow.

  “God, yes I had. What time does his flight land?”

  “About eight. I'll go and pick him up from the airport.”

  Jonas frowned. “You will? Isn't there a driver to pick him up?”

  “Jonas, I haven't seen your father for nearly two weeks. I'd quite like to meet him,” Niamh said gently.

  Jonas apologised, thinking he must be getting hard in his old age—or his mother was getting more sentimental.

  “When will you set off?”

  She glanced at her slim watch. “In about an hour, just to allow for traffic. About the same time as you go for your run, I imagine,” she said. She glanced up as Magda came across the lawn with a tray of drinks.

  “I'm going to meet Opa in a while,” she said as Magda put down the tray carefully and presented her father with his gin and tonic with a flourish.

  “Oh, yes, he arrives later, doesn't he? But you’re going yourself? Shall I save some supper for you? Mrs Brown left macaroni cheese and lamb cutlets.”

  “I don't think we'll want to eat late, but perhaps I could see what's in the freezer if your grandfather wants something. Coming?”

  “Mmm...yes. Yeah, right. Back in a minute, Dad.”

  Jonas watched as they walked across the garden and sighing, took a deep drink, welcoming the hit of the gin on the back of his throat. He watched the ice bounce against the slide of the crystal and wondered where his va-va-voom had disappeared. Neil had practically ordered him out of the office today.

  Jonas had packed his briefcase with papers he probably wouldn't read and left. Even the idiots driving on the motorways failed to spark any reaction from him on the way home. If he didn't know better, he'd have said he was depressed.

  He took another drink and then stopped, holding the glass to the light. Perhaps he should lay off the booze if he felt like this...

  Reluctantly, he placed the glass on the table and closing his eyes, he leaned back in his chair, feeling the early evening sun on his face. A run should help to sort him out. Hopefully.

  Sam sighed with relief as she stepped out of the shower.

  She'd been filthy, and even now, after twenty minutes in the shower, there was still dirt under her fingernails. She perched on the side of her bed, her towel tucked around her. When she'd sorted her fingernails, she dried her short hair—in need of a trim soon, she thought severely—and made an inventory of her aching muscles.

  God, am I getting old? It never used to be like this—where I can barely move after doing a day's work....

  Wandering into her garden in her dressing gown with a steaming cup of tea, she idly pinched off the spent heads from a couple of pansies and felt the warm sun on her face.

  Sam sat on her bench, looking with pride at her space, her private heaven. She would need to do a bit of tidying this weekend, if she could face it. She needed to do a lot of deadheading and tie up that clematis. She carefully tucked a loose strand of honeysuckle around a fence post, inhaling the perfume. It would have soothed her, if it wasn't for the hard lump in her stomach.

  The thought struck her that having a place of your own
was important, a huge comfort when the world was unwelcoming.

  She sat quietly, feeling the drink cool in her hands and watching the sun stroll through the blue evening sky. Sighing, she threw the remains of the tea on the garden, and went indoors to dress. The renewal letter for her Labour Party membership was on the kitchen counter. She wasn’t sure whether she would bother renewing it. A ping from her phone announced a text message from Amanda, inviting her to dinner on Saturday night. She grimaced.

  Not too sure about playing gooseberry at the moment, Amanda. She picked up her phone to send a polite refusal text and then paused. She'd send it later.

  It was too hot to dress in anything tight, so she slipped a light linen shift over her knickers, and pushed her feet into flat sandals.

  Food. Her stomach curled at the thought while grumbling at the same time.

  “Oh, snap out of it!” Sam muttered to herself as she started to open and then close, the kitchen cupboards. The freezer yielded no more tempting options, and sighing, she reached for a takeaway pizza menu.

  If Lisbeth discovers the amount of takeaway food I've been eating, I'll never hear the end of it she thought wryly. She picked up the phone to call in an order, decided it was too early, and put it down again.

  Finally falling on to the sofa, she sat in silence for a moment. Then she picked up the television remote and started channel hopping.

  Jonas waved his mother off in the car and turned to Magda.

  “Right—I should be about half an hour, maybe a bit longer.”

  “OK,” Magda said, brushing his cheek with her lips. “I may be over at Lisbeth's doing some reading when you get back, so have you got your keys? Right then, see you later. Love you.”

  Nice that someone does, thought Jonas as he started to jog gently. His muscles didn't hurt, but they felt weak.