Poppy's Recipe for Life: Treat yourself to the gloriously uplifting new book from the Sunday Times bestselling author!

by Heidi Swain

  It was just the two of us left in the garden eating supper. Lisa and I had gone through the competition paperwork and painstakingly filled out the online entry form, including details and attachments that showed how the garden had been renovated and adapted over the last year as well as pictures of the celebrations and the learning that took place there.

  Along with Graham’s amateur poultry care course, there were the obvious seed-sowing, maintenance and harvesting lessons, as well as barbecue masterclasses from John. Carole was in charge of flower-arranging and I was hoping to contribute something myself soon.

  To my mind the garden was already a winner, whereas this hare-brained idea of Jacob’s . . .

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m not kidding. I think it’s a wonderful idea and, given what you’ve told me about your mother, I’m certain she would agree with me.’

  I didn’t doubt it. What he was suggesting was liberating her from all responsibility. If she got wind of this then I wouldn’t see her for dust.

  ‘You said yourself he’s already on a sticky wicket with the college,’ Jacob continued, ‘so this suggestion would sort that out in a heartbeat.’

  That much was true.

  ‘This could be Ryan’s best chance to get back on the straight and narrow now he’s having a wobble.’

  ‘So, you think he is then?’ I sighed. ‘You think there might be more going on than cutting classes?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jacob nodded. ‘Given what you’ve said, I think ducking out of his education might be an indicator of more problems than you know about.’

  ‘But I don’t know him,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘How can I ask him to come and stay with me when I don’t know anything about him?’

  Yep, that was the crazy idea Jacob had stumbled upon. He had suggested that I should ask my brother to come and live with me in Nightingale Square. Not permanently, just until he got his head straight and some of our mother’s influence out of his system. Jacob thought that being so close to the college would help with Ryan’s attendance too. If he didn’t have such a lengthy journey to face then he was more likely to go in. On this point I couldn’t help but agree, assuming of course that it was the travelling that accounted for his non-attendance.

  ‘Look,’ said Jacob, ‘just think for a minute, really think about the reality of the alternative option.’

  ‘About leaving Ryan to fend for himself when Mum goes to Spain, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  It wasn’t an idea that sat well with me. Ryan was still no doubt grieving for his father – who knew where his head was at right now? Simply agreeing to attend the meetings Mum had mentioned just wasn’t going to be enough.

  ‘Not a pretty picture, is it?’ Jacob nudged after I had been quiet for a few seconds.

  ‘No,’ I answered, chewing my lip. ‘Not pretty at all.’

  ‘Just ask him to stay with you for a while,’ Jacob went on. ‘Perhaps until the end of the summer term. Get the college student support team involved, so he can properly work through his feelings.’

  We had both agreed it was paramount that should happen.

  ‘Then set out some ground rules and give him some boundaries, banish the tech, even set him to work here,’ he continued. ‘You said your mum has no patience with him and I daresay he’s feeling pretty worthless and unloved. Now’s your chance to undo some of that with her out of the way. You could really help Ryan turn things round before they get out of control.’

  He made it all sound so simple – and was he finally admitting that coming to the garden helped? It was hardly the time to ask, but it sounded like it to me.

  ‘But I can’t,’ I said feebly, ‘I wouldn’t know how to.’

  In theory what Jacob was suggesting sounded amazing. It was a solution that had the potential to give my brother the space he needed to deal with the death of his dad and turn his life round again; but setting it all up and making it happen was a different story.

  ‘I know you don’t know how to deal with any of this, Poppy, but I also know that in your heart you want to and I think this is the best option you have.’

  ‘I know.’ I nodded. ‘I know you do.’

  ‘Don’t make a decision straight away,’ said Jacob, gathering our leftover bits and pieces into a pile before I sorted them out again to show him where to recycle them. ‘Sleep on it.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ I said with a sigh, ‘although I’m not getting much sleep.’

  We cleared away, checked the garden gate was locked and crossed the road into the square. It was a chilly night but clear and in spite of the street lights in the next road along, I could just about make out the odd shining star.

  ‘If it will help make your decision any easier,’ Jacob told me as we reached my gate, ‘I promise I’ll help you out as much as I can.’

  ‘Will you?’ I gulped. ‘How?’

  ‘I could take him to the youth centre.’ He shrugged, trying to make his kind offer sound low-key. ‘It wouldn’t make any difference to me. I’ll be going anyway. We’re setting up some counselling groups and one-to-one opportunities for those who want a bit more privacy.’

  Perhaps it might help Ryan to talk to someone he didn’t know.

  ‘I think the place could make a real difference to a kid like Ryan,’ Jacob elaborated, pushing his still-too-long fringe away from his face. ‘And there are plenty of jobs to do there. The whole refurbishment is volunteer-led. It could give him a purpose and keep him occupied while you’re at work and he’s not in college.’

  It didn’t feel such a daunting prospect knowing that I wasn’t going to have to face the situation entirely on my own. That is, of course, assuming Ryan agreed to come.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘That means a lot.’

  Jacob nodded and scuffed at the pavement with the toe of his shoe.

  ‘I don’t always mean to be a miserable bugger, you know,’ he suddenly burst out, his voice cutting through the quiet. ‘I’ve just had a lot of shit to deal with recently and it’s taken its toll.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, smiling, ‘not that it’s really anything to do with me, but I think you’re in the right place if you want to start over.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that,’ he said looking back to Prosperous Place. ‘I hardly got off to the right start here, did I? What with the neighbours from hell and me shutting everyone out. And I’m not still convinced about this whole garden malarkey either.’

  ‘But you enjoyed today, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did,’ he sighed, ‘but I didn’t expect to get roped in to doing stuff the second I showed my face.’

  ‘It’s kind of how it works over there,’ I explained. ‘And keeping busy can take your mind off things. You just said as much when we were talking about Ryan.’

  And given the nature of his job, teaching tiddlers, I was sure he was aware of that first-hand.

  ‘That’s true,’ he agreed. ‘But Lisa . . .’

  ‘Can be a bit much,’ I said, ‘yes, I know. Don’t worry, I’ll try and tone her down a bit when she’s in your face. You can trust me on that one.’

  An unexpected flash of pain shot across Jacob’s face.

  ‘I’m sorry, Poppy,’ he said, some of his former mask slipping back into place again, ‘but I can’t do trust. Not any more.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Trust and I have parted ways,’ he muttered, the pain still visible in his dark eyes. ‘I better get back,’ he added, taking a step away as the shutters came down a little further. ‘I hope I haven’t made your decision about how best to help Ryan even more difficult.’

  ‘You haven’t,’ I told him, quickly closing the space between us again and pulling him into a hug.

  ‘Poppy,’ he gasped, ‘please don’t.’

  I knew it was a little on the awkward side, hugging a man you barely knew, but I was doing it with the best of intentions. I wanted to show him some reciprocal kindness and was despe
rate to send him home with a head full of thoughts that the evening had been a good one and that he had been a real help, both to me and in the garden. It was clear that he had been hurt, and badly, but whatever had happened in his life hadn’t happened here. I didn’t want him to associate Nightingale Square with anything negative.

  ‘It’s okay.’ I smiled soothingly.

  ‘No really,’ he said, pulling away. ‘Too late . . .’

  For a moment I thought I had crossed the line and blown it, but then I noticed a stain developing around the pocket on his shirt.

  ‘The eggs for my breakfast,’ he said, looking down at the sticky mess. ‘Graham said the shells were a little on the thin side.’

  We exchanged a look and then we both burst out laughing and I knew that, for this evening at least, he really would be going to bed with a smile on his face.

  Chapter 10

  I slept better than I’d expected, but I was still up early the next day. My mind was buzzing, and not just with thoughts of Ryan, but also because I owed my neighbour a breakfast.

  ‘You’re up early,’ said Graham when I went back over to the garden almost before the sun was up.

  ‘I could say the same of you,’ I said, laughing, as I watched him collecting a huge bundle of rhubarb.

  ‘It’s thoughts of this stuff,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘We can’t keep up with it. It’s a shame to waste it but there are only so many crumbles, tarts and pies our freezer will hold. I thought we’d peaked a couple of weeks ago, but it just keeps coming.’

  Mentally, I flicked through the pages of my recipe book.

  ‘I’ll take some if you like,’ I told him.

  ‘Will you?’ he asked, sounding surprised. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’ I nodded. ‘In fact, I’ll take all of that lot, if you don’t mind helping me carry it home?’

  ‘I can bring it back with me when I’m done here, if you like,’ he offered. ‘I’ll chop the tops off and wash it in the big tin bath. That’ll save you the bother, but only if you’re sure you can find a use for it.’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘What have you got in mind?’

  ‘Rhubarb chutney,’ I told him.

  ‘Rhubarb chutney?’

  ‘Trust me’ – I laughed as he screwed up his nose – ‘it’s delicious. The perfect accompaniment to have with cheese, pâté, all sorts of things.’

  ‘And have you got all the ingredients you need to make it today?’

  ‘Believe me, Graham, I might not have the latest designer bag or a wardrobe full of shoes, but my stock cupboard is second to none. Give it a month and you’ll be tasting the result of a Sunday morning well spent.’

  He looked suitably impressed and I was delighted to have the opportunity to chop, peel, boil and stir. I was in no doubt that by the time I was pouring the steaming concoction into sterilised jars I would have decided whether or not I was going to follow Jacob’s advice or go my own way. And thinking about Jacob . . .

  ‘Anyway,’ I said, making for the henhouse, ‘I only came to see if there are any eggs. Am I too early?’

  ‘If the nest boxes are empty, there’s half a dozen left from yesterday still in the bothy. You’re welcome to those,’ Graham said.

  ‘Two will be enough for today.’ I smiled. ‘Thanks, Graham.’

  *

  I had planned to knock and run, but on second thoughts, given our recent track record with eggs, I decided it was best to personally hand them over. Jacob seemed to take an age to answer and when I remembered how early it was, I knew the reason why.

  ‘Sorry,’ I was saying before he had even turned the key in the lock. ‘I forgot the time. I didn’t realise it was still so early.’

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, looking around me and out into the square. ‘Is everything all right?’

  He looked much younger with his mussed-up hair and bare feet. He was almost cute.

  ‘What’s wrong, Poppy?’ he asked again when I didn’t say anything.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said quickly. ‘Nothing’s wrong. Sorry. I’ve just been over to the garden . . .’

  ‘Already?’ He frowned, scratching his head and making his crazy bed-hair even crazier.

  ‘Yes.’ I smiled, holding out my hands. ‘I owe you a breakfast, remember?’

  ‘Of course.’ He nodded, stifling a yawn. ‘I was really looking forward to that fried egg sandwich.’

  ‘And now you can have one,’ I said, carefully transferring the precious cargo from my hands to his. ‘Or two.’ I swallowed as the backs of my fingers grazed his palms. ‘Assuming you have some bread.’

  ‘Thick, white sliced,’ he said, grinning, ‘nothing but the unhealthiest loaf for me.’

  ‘Spread with real salted butter, no doubt?’ I tutted.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m a spreadable type of guy.’

  I didn’t comment.

  ‘The real stuff rolls the bread up,’ he elaborated. ‘Do you want to come in?’

  ‘No,’ I said, perhaps a little too quickly. ‘Thanks for the offer but I have to get back. I’m expecting a delivery of rhubarb.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ he laughed.

  I supposed it did sound a bit strange, even for me.

  ‘Well, thanks for the eggs,’ he said, holding them up.

  I backed down the path, trying not to think about anything other than my morning in the kitchen, and certainly not about how warm and soft the touch of Jacob’s hands had felt against mine. It had been a completely different sensation to the one elicited by the previous evening’s eggy hug.

  ‘Morning, Poppy!’

  I almost jumped right out of my skin.

  ‘Morning, Carole,’ I called back, once I had zoomed in on her leaning out of an upstairs window, ostensibly to shake a speck of dust from her bright yellow cloth. ‘Lovely day.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘You’re about early.’

  Penny to a pound she was thinking she’d caught me making the walk of shame. Mark had warned me that she didn’t miss a thing and was prone to putting two and two together and coming up with a whole lot more than four. At the time I had rather liked the idea of having someone looking out for me but now I wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Your husband said the very same thing about half an hour ago,’ I couldn’t resist replying with a cheeky smile.

  Just a couple of hours later, the kitchen air was filled with the scent of ginger, cardamom, sugar and of course rhubarb. As the ingredients slowly simmered and I carefully mixed and stirred, I felt the tension in my shoulders easing. This really was the dream. The only question now was whether I wanted to invite my brother to be a part of it.

  By the time the chutney had cooled I had made up my mind.

  *

  Ironically, after the barrage of texts I’d received (and ignored) from Mum, it then became impossible to get hold of her. Her messages ceased coming as abruptly as they had begun.

  After days of trying both her and Ryan’s mobiles, I finally got an answer on the house phone.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hey.’ I swallowed.

  I hadn’t been expecting Ryan to pick up and was a little thrown to hear his voice. He sounded different to how I remembered, but then he was practically a man now, so his voice was bound to have changed.

  ‘Hey,’ I said again, clearing my throat. ‘It’s me, Poppy.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Poppy.’ My heart sank.

  Clearly he had no intention of making this anything other than awkward and, given his previous Polly reference, I can’t say I was surprised.

  ‘I thought I’d just ring and say hello,’ I went on.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘So,’ I struggled on, ‘you haven’t been answering my calls or texts.’

  ‘I haven’t had any calls or texts from anyone called Poppy,’ was his speedy response.

  ‘Look, Ryan,’ I cut in. In spite of my determination not to, I was beginning to get riled. ‘I’m just ringing to ch
eck in. I’m sorry I haven’t called sooner, but if you’ll just let me explain—’

  ‘I’m not Ryan.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not Ryan,’ the voice repeated, slower and louder as if its owner thought I was an idiot.

  ‘Who are you then?’ I demanded.

  I hoped it wasn’t Mum’s latest man. She was living dangerously if it was. This guy sounded barely above the age of consent.

  ‘I’m Kyle, I’m a mate of Ryan’s.’

  Oh, for pity’s sake.

  ‘In that case,’ I snapped, ‘can I speak to Ryan, please?’

  ‘Who did you say you were again?’

  ‘I’m Poppy, Ryan’s sister.’

  ‘I thought his sister was called Polly—’

  ‘Look,’ I interrupted, ‘just put my mum on the phone, will you?’

  ‘She’s not here.’

  ‘Okay,’ I sighed, ‘do you have any idea when she’ll be back?’

  ‘Not for a few weeks,’ Kyle told me. He sounded very happy about it. ‘She’s gone to Spain with some bloke.’

  ‘Already?’ I squawked.

  ‘Yeah.’ Kyle sniffed. He was far too cocky about it all for my liking. ‘Me and Ryan are looking after the house.’

  ‘Put Ryan on.’

  ‘He’s not here either.’

  ‘Where is he then?’

  I doubted he was up the road from me studying at college, not with an empty house to fill with friends.

  ‘He’s just nipped out to get some more beers, I mean bread.’

  Brilliant. So, he was home alone and he was drinking. Or was Kyle just winding me up? I couldn’t imagine there was really anywhere irresponsible enough to sell alcohol to a lad of sixteen. Or was I being naive?

  ‘He’s not old enough to buy beers,’ I pointed out.

  Kyle didn’t respond.

  ‘Look,’ I snapped, ‘just ask him to call me as soon as he gets back, okay? On my mobile. He’s got the number. Please,’ I added, hoping a little belated courtesy might encourage the lad to at least pass the message on.

  ‘Don’t worry, Polly,’ Kyle eventually answered, through a huge yawn. ‘I’ll tell him.’