Sam studied the picture again. She thought she could see the imminent retreat in the hunch of the fox’s neck.
‘So why don’t you paint, if that’s an ambition of yours?’
‘I wouldn’t get that instantaneous response, would I? By the time I’d set myself up, it would have gone. There’s no such thing as still life in nature. All I can possibly do is try to capture the essence of something I’ve noticed. Noticing is my job.’
‘If that’s your job, you’re excelling at it. Not that I’m an expert or anything but you’ve got a real talent. Is that what you did before living here? Were you an artist or a writer or something?’
Diana laughed. ‘There’s no such thing as a before or an after if you’re truly creative. You can’t stop and start. There’s just a beginning and an end, and in between, a life.’
‘Did you teach?’ Sam felt like Diana’s student, so the question didn’t seem daft, but Diana roared with laughter.
‘Can you honestly imagine me teaching?’
Sam looked at Diana, and imagined her teaching. She felt like a pupil at the feet of a great guru in this woodland academy. Everything Diana said was imbued with the sadness of experience. The best teacher, Sam concluded, was a sad teacher, haunted by her subject, defeated by time.
‘You could definitely be a teacher.’
Diana remained silent.
‘So, what were you?’ asked Sam, boldly.
‘Why your obsession with what I was? I am much more interested in who I am now.’
‘But if I understand what you were, I can better understand who you are. I want to know where you’ve been, I want to trace the paths that have led here. I think your whole story is interesting, not just your ending.’
Diana looked cross. ‘This is not my ending and you’re entirely wrong about me. My story is not at all interesting. I was a fierce young woman, then a cross middle-aged woman. Now I’m an old woman looking for peace. That is my story.’
‘You’re not old, you’re fifty-four. You’re in your prime!’ Sam thought of her own mother, who was a few years older. Her mother looked much younger than Diana, she dyed her hair and dressed with meticulous care, but her attitude was much more wizened. Sam’s mother wasn’t interested in learning.
‘I’ve lived much more than many, and that makes me feel a bit older than my years. But, regardless of birthdate or longevity, this is definitely my final phase. Some people don’t make that shift, the shift towards reconciliation and then dissipation until it is forced upon then, when their bodies give them no choice. I made that choice sooner, while I still could.’
Diana got up, taking the book she had been holding with her back inside the caravan and she quickly emerged with another. She flicked through it looking for a specific entry. ‘This is early on,’ she said, already eager to share her notes before she’d yet found the page. ‘This is when I began to think about these things earnestly. It was just me and the foxes and I found myself here, alone for my first long winter, wondering what I had done and what I might miss by being here.
‘Here we are: I split my life into its phases, as perhaps we all can. She counted down a list. Nine in all. Nine phases. Firstly, Birth then Growth. Neither of those I could control, they happened to me without my input. Then Expansion. That was my first conscious phase, taking what I had – either naturally or from my early education or from my family – and specialising by expanding my knowledge into certain areas. That was me, all on my own, though I needed others to lead the way, to show the way if you like. Professors, mentors, books. Then there was a period of Accumulation. The amassing of wealth, material things, knowledge, power, family, friends – all of those things you add as proof you’re a successful adult. They’re your trophies, your medals, your validation.’
Diana looked towards the trees, as though seeking their corroboration. Sam waited patiently until Diana, with no obvious trigger, shook herself out of her reverie.
‘Where did we get to? Accumulation. Yes, I was good at that phase. I accumulated well. Then Creation, Reflection, Reconciliation, Dissipation and Death.’
Death hung in the air between them.
‘Death doesn’t count as a phase of course. Death, like birth, is just a moment. Too brief to be a phase. But death is so much easier to face if you’ve done the reflecting, the reconciling and the dissipation beforehand.’ Diana looked at Sam who appeared puzzled.
Diana tried to explain. ‘Imagine that those first phases – Birth, Growth, Expansion, Accumulation are all on the way up and Reflection, Reconciliation, Dissipation and Death are all on the way down. Then Creation, yes, well that’s the blanket that covers the peak and can drape right down on either side. You might be creative throughout all the other phases, they might overlap or run concurrently but it is very unlikely to be seated in isolation. It will develop because of, or despite, those other phases.
‘Birth is just a moment. It’s not the opposite of death, it’s the same as death. A step forward from one thing to another, nothing more nothing less. My phases demonstrate that you could live a very short life completely providing you consciously move through those stages. Reflection is much the hardest in modern days. We find it very hard to look at ourselves objectively without wanting to kill ourselves in despair.’
‘Not all of us,’ said Sam defensively, despite recognising that despair in her own response to self-examination.
‘Yes, all of us. If you examine your life carefully and don’t want to kill yourself in despair, then you’re simply not doing it right.’
Sam frowned, shocked by Diana’s vehemence. Even if there was a grain of truth in her verdict, supposing Diana did speak for her, then she certainly didn’t speak for Danny. Danny was steady and true and respectful of life. She didn’t want everyone to be cursed by the same familiar blight. She didn’t quite know how to answer Diana though so settled with a very tepid, ‘You’re cheerful today.’
Diana scoffed. ‘It’s not my job to be cheerful. If you want to be cheerful go and play tennis or watch television or do one of those other mindless activities people do when they don’t want to think about the short time they have left to reconcile their purpose with their actions.’
Sam didn’t respond. Instead she sat quietly, watching Diana’s face darken and become light again as her thoughts swept across her mind. The woods were still, it was hard not to settle back into a peaceful truce.
‘So, I wonder where I am, in terms of your phases?’ Sam lay back on the ground and looked up at the leaves above her. ‘I was born, of that I am certain. And I grew.’ Sam laughed self-consciously. Her long legs were stretched out beside the fire and she propped herself up to look at them, in wonder, as if she’d missed that phase altogether and had only just realised it had happened. She flopped back down again. ‘And then what?’
Diana consulted her list. ‘Expansion.’
‘Hmmm.’ Sam thought about her early adult life, her stint at university, then her career with its flare of early success, her illness, her secret writing. She’d expanded, certainly.
‘Yes, yes, I suppose I’ve done that phase, though if I had realised it was a necessary stage in life and that one day I might be asked to account for it, as I am now, I might have tackled it very differently.’
This piqued Diana’s interest. She had recently been thinking about the different choices you could make to impact your outcome. ‘How?’
‘I’ve always worked better to a deadline so I’d probably have tackled it with a bit more determined gusto. If I’d treated it like coursework I’d probably have got an A star. As it is, I’m thinking more like a C plus. Certainly I’d have been more positive. More useful.’ Sam frowned in concentration. ‘I’m competitive so I’d probably have tried much harder. I haven’t really expanded, I’ve just followed a slow spiral, circling away from the core of me, gradually moving outwards, but never far enough that I couldn’t just leap back to here. Contracted again.’
Diana seemed to understand
this because she didn’t ask for any further clarification. ‘And Accumulation? You’re still young, I suppose, but what have you accumulated?’
‘Not much. Surprisingly little.’ She thought of her followers, her 100,000 subscribers who regularly interacted with her blog. She had been busy accumulating these but she could close her account tomorrow and they’d all disappear immediately. They were fleeting. She could only count them, not know them. She probably wouldn’t be able to find them again. ‘Almost nothing,’ she concluded finally.
Diana considered this before answering. ‘Well, that’s not a bad thing. I think the period of Accumulation might be the least impactful in the overall scheme of things. It’s the one to which we often attach the most importance, but it doesn’t actually contribute to our well-being particularly. The more successful you are within the Accumulation phase, the more time you’ll have to devote to the Dissipation.’
‘And it all has to go, does it?’
‘Yes. Yes, it does I’m afraid. Because you can’t take it with you.’
‘But what about your family, your friends?’
‘Well, you obviously don’t have to get rid of them, but you should devote some time to undoing any harm, getting rid of regret. That’s why Reconciliation is important. That’s the time you decide who and what is important, what you can live without, what you can’t. What you can die for, what you can’t. My Reconciliation is ongoing.’
Sam was pensive. She thought about the friends she’d made and lost: the childhood ones, the family ones, those she’d made at university and then at work, before she’d become ill. She’d let them go quite deliberately, neglecting them before they’d had a chance to neglect her, aware of the sullying impact her illness would have on their glowing, burgeoning health. Some, she reasoned, might not even have realised she’d cut herself off from them.
Sam tried to imagine what Diana might have been through, prior to her current Reconciliation. The conversation had become hard and spiky again, so she softened the edges by returning to an easier subject. ‘I think I’d like to try being more creative, too. I look at that picture of a fox and know I could never do that.’
‘Drawing just takes practice. I write and I draw every day. Could you write do you think?’
Sam laughed. ‘I do write. But I need a distraction from writing. It’s eroding me.’
Diana didn’t see any paradox in this. ‘Then do something else.’
‘I think I must. If I don’t have the confidence to draw and I want to reduce the amount I write, then perhaps I could just tend to my garden. What do you think? Would that count?’
‘Would it count? Would it count? Are you joking? There is nothing much more creative than gardening.’ Diana picked up a small pine cone and tore it apart carefully before holding up a seed that had been buried amongst the tough layers of shell. ‘The seed is one component. Choosing between the seeds, adding light, water, nutrients and then nurturing it through to adulthood. Yes, I think if you devoted yourself to that then you could tick the creative box, most certainly.’
Diana passed the small woody seed to Sam who rolled it between her thumb and forefinger thoughtfully.
Chapter 31
As soon as the alarm went off Sam reached for her phone and looked at the weather forecast, scrolling forward to look at the prognosis for the next fifteen days. Each day showed a mix of sun and showers. ‘Yes,’ she said, under her breath and she jumped out of bed enthusiastically. She called to Danny through the bathroom door. ‘I’ll drop you at the station this morning if you don’t mind. I need to borrow the car.’
‘No problem,’ he shouted back, through a mouthful of toothpaste.
At the station, Sam pulled the car into the drop-off zone and waited while Danny gathered his backpack and came around to the driver’s side. She wound the window right down.
‘I like this,’ he said, reaching his head right inside the window and kissing her on the lips.
‘Have a good day at work, dear!’ she said, ironically but pleased with him and her day ahead.
She was about to close the window, but Danny leant his forearms on the car window sill. ‘I feel,’ he looked around, ‘I feel enviable.’ He grinned happily. ‘Everyone now knows I have a beautiful wife who drops me at the station. I’ve become somebody in their eyes this morning!’
Sam pulled a puzzled expression. ‘Do you really think they’ve noticed?’ she asked, motioning through the railings towards the static commuters, each with their eyes down on their phones as they waited for the train.
‘Oh, of course they have noticed. They’re just pretending not to stare because they know their wives aren’t as pretty.’ He leant in and kissed her again. ‘The routine has changed this morning and it’s only Monday. It doesn’t get more exciting than this around here. People will be talking about me for ever.’
Sam laughed. ‘I’m off, I’ll leave you to your fantasy life. I’ve got stuff to do.’ She hit the button to close the window, driving off with a wave into her rear-view mirror. Danny watched her go and lifted his arm a little self-consciously before turning towards the ticket office.
Sam drove home, immediately putting her wellington boots on before setting off through the garden gate. She walked down the longer path and circled the perimeter of the big field, taking her time to allow Diana the chance to have her breakfast before stopping at the caravan on her return.
‘Knock knock!’ she shouted through the closed door. ‘I’ve come for the good stuff you promised me,’ she called. A moment later the door opened, and Diana handed her an orange plastic bag.
‘Be extremely careful,’ Diana said sternly. ‘They’ll spill. They’re packaged separately. If there are only a few in a package, be extremely frugal. Don’t waste a single one. They will have taken me a huge amount of effort to get them so use them wisely. If there are plenty, then they are easier to come by but, still, be careful. Each one matters to me.’
Sam looked grave as she took the precious parcel, and thanking Diana she hurried off home, clutching the plastic bag to her.
Once Sam was back at Broome Cottage she still had some time to kill before the shops opened so she used it to hoe any last weeds she’d missed from the flowerbed. Eventually she’d passed enough time and was able to drive to the garden centre where she was the first through the doors.
She walked past the greenhouses and the rows and rows of pots for sale, ignoring the beautifully planted hanging baskets and burgeoning displays, and heading instead to a big enclosed shed. Here she spent a bit of time reading the backs of several different packages, before settling on a 25 kg sack of grass seed and lugging it clumsily into her trolley. From the same building she bought a rake, a watering can and a sprinkler attachment for the garden hose before heading home to get to work.
Using a saucepan from the kitchen she took a scoop of grass seed at a time, scattering it methodically on the bare beds. She ignored the occasional weed she’d missed, figuring that if it had got this far, she’d give it a chance to meet its potential.
Once she’d covered all three sides of the beds she then mowed the lawn on the highest setting, taking just the top centimetre off. Rather than carrying the grass cuttings to the compost as she’d seen Danny do, she detached the collector from the back of the machine and removed a handful of grass at a time, spreading it on top of the newly seeded beds, hoping the seeds from the clover, dandelions and other naturalised flowers would intermingle with the rather uniform grass seed she’d just bought.
When she was happy with her progress, she went back inside and collected the plastic shopping bag from the kitchen. Within the bag were a dozen different parcels, each carefully taped up. She tackled them one by one, carefully peeling back the tape, unfolding each reverently and smoothing them out being careful not to spill any of the contents.
The paper the seeds were wrapped in were pages from a glossy magazine: expensive houses with immaculate lawns; society pages with glamorous couples staring vacantly
into the camera; huge pale kitchens with suspiciously empty worktops, stripped pine tables adorned only by an elaborate vase of flowers and implausibly big dressers showing off china that had probably never been used. Briefly Sam wondered why Diana would have such a magazine in her caravan, her lifestyle was so diametrically opposed from these, surely these wealthy people with their improbable happiness must seem alien to her, but then, she remembered, didn’t we all love to gawp at people that were different to us? Isn’t that difference the very thing that had drawn Sam to Diana in the first place?
She dismissed the thought and focused instead on the treasure inside the wrapping. The first package contained a vast amount of seed. Fashioning a funnel from two edges of the paper, Sam poured it carefully into a cup which she carried out to the garden and there she spread it extravagantly, taking generous pinches and flinging them with abandon onto the bare earth, letting it mix with the grass seed but also throwing it joyfully around her, allowing it to land on the lawn.
She returned to the kitchen for the next parcel. As she worked methodically through the packages, some revealed just a pinch of minuscule seed, each one so insignificant that it was impossible to imagine they might contain life of any sort and Sam handled these with particular care. She used a biro to drill small holes in the lawn, dropping just a seed or two in by rubbing them between her thumb and finger and when she was certain they’d found their mark, she covered them each up with a bit of earth, working fastidiously. This was slow, laborious work and by the time she had finished she realised she’d lost all of the morning to the process.
Not risking stopping for lunch she then paced up and down the garden with her watering can, treading heavily and watering as she went, helping the seeds to settle and find their home.
She took tiny incremental steps, making sure each one overlapped, leaving nothing to chance and being absolutely certain that each seed had the benefit of her weight on it, so they couldn’t be carried off by the wind.
Growing Season Page 16