‘Actually, it was when I tried to put you off the business but you refused to listen. You made it clear you were determined to carry on with the box scheme and you weren’t going take any crap from me.’ He grins. ‘I was hooked.’
‘Well, I thought you were pompous and extremely irritating. You still are sometimes.’
‘Is that so? Well, you’d better get used to it because you’ll be seeing a lot more of me from now on.’
‘Is that a promise?’
‘You better believe it,’ he says, right before he brings his mouth down on mine.
A little while later, he murmurs into my hair, ‘I hated that Erik. Really hated the bastard.’
‘Did you?’ I love the idea of him being jealous.
‘Oh, yes. I wanted to rip his head off. And I’m not a violent person.’
I laugh. ‘So acting all disapproving of our drunken antics in the shed that time was just a cover to hide your lust?’
‘It wasn’t an act. There’s no point doing a job if you don’t do it well.’
‘See. There you go. Pompous.’
He growls, grabs me and starts tickling mercilessly.
I shriek and try to fend him off, then I think of a better way to stop him. I put my arms round his neck and pull his mouth down on mine. Then he pushes me back against the side of the truck so that our bodies are moulded together and things get steamy for a while.
Even the gates are quite forgotten.
Then at some point, I become aware of a noise invading my bliss.
I open my eyes to an alarming sight.
Mrs P is charging towards us at a speed that’s quite incredible, considering she’s a pensioner with heart problems. She’s bearing what looks like a big stick. As our eyes meet over Dan’s shoulder, she yells, ‘Unhand her, you swine!’ and before I have time to take any evasive action, the stick meets Dan’s butt with a resounding thwack.
He spins round. ‘What the…?’
Mrs P’s face is a picture.
‘Oh, Lord. It’s you.’
We’re both staring at her, gobsmacked.
‘I was coming to see Izzy,’ she explains, ‘and I saw a truck I didn’t recognise and then you pounced on her and she kept squealing. Well, I didn’t know what to think, so I ran back and grabbed my golf umbrella. And then I saw you tussling against the truck.’
Dan grins. ‘Pretty impressive. Remind me never to get on your wrong side.’
Laughing, I say, ‘Unhand her, you swine?’
Mrs P winces. ‘Heaven knows where that came from. These bodice-ripper books have a lot to answer for. Anyway, I’ll leave you to your – er – tussling.’
She gives me a big pleased grin.
Dan does a thumbs-up and a big, leery wink.
‘I’m off to a concert with Fairbanks,’ she calls. ‘A Dolly Parton tribute band.’
‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ I shout.
Dan looks bemused. ‘Fairbanks?’
‘He’s Banksy to you. Fairbanks is his Sunday name.’
‘And they’re an item?’
‘I think so.’
‘Sweet.’
‘Don’t be patronising.’
‘I’m not. It’s great they’ve found each other.’
Smiling, I break into song. ‘Love is in the air …’
Dan grabs me and stops my mouth which is lucky because I’m an appalling singer.
Eventually, when we come up for air, I say, ‘Will you do something for me?’
‘Anything.’
‘Can we put the gates in position? So I can see what they look like.’
So we carry them over and prop them against the gateposts. And Dan holds them together for me.
I balance on the fence on the other side of the road to get a proper look.
They really are beautiful. Like the gates of a mansion in a fairytale.
I only wish Midge could see them.
My eyes mist with tears.
And then I think: I haven’t lost her. Not really. She’ll always be here, ready with her words of wisdom whenever I need them.
I hop off the fence and we carry the gates into the garage.
‘They’re perfect,’ I say to Dan. ‘How can I ever thank you?’ I flash him an innocent look. ‘Bowl of soup?’
At which point, he suggests we go inside because he can think of several interesting ways and not one of them involves carrot and coriander.
Chapter Forty-Two
Much later, we wander down to the kitchen, deliciously wrapped up in each other and finding endless reasons to laugh.
I feel so relaxed and happy, I don’t even care that my hair is all over the place.
Dan finds his shoes, kisses me hard on the mouth and says, ‘Get my dinner, wench.’
I see him to the door, giggling because his shirt tail is hanging out, and he goes off to pick up Zak from the babysitter, while I wander back into the kitchen and start preparing a meal.
My heart is full to overflowing and before I know it, I’m thinking of Midge. What would she make of all this?
I smile to myself. She’d be delighted for me. I know she would.
Suddenly I remember her brooch.
I run upstairs and fish the red box from my bag, flick open the catch and take out the beautiful blue glass brooch with its delicate daisies. Then I carefully pin it to my pale blue top and go to the mirror to look at the effect.
Smiling, I’m about to dash downstairs to rescue the meal, when my hip catches the dressing table and the red box falls onto the carpet. I bend to pick it up, relieved it’s not broken.
Then I notice something odd. The lining of the box is loose and there’s something white underneath it. Curious, I take it out. It’s a sheet of paper, folded into four.
Holding my breath, I open it out.
And my heart nearly jumps out of my chest.
It’s a letter. To me. I glance at the familiar signature below.
From Midge.
Heart beating very fast, I stand there. Not reading. Just thinking.
Midge’s last words to me. I need to be somewhere special when I read them.
And I know just the place.
Throwing on my coat and grabbing my scarf and gloves as an afterthought, I run downstairs and out onto the freezing front lawn. Then I sit down on the grass with my back to the trunk of the apple tree, huddled into my coat for warmth. And with hands that are trembling slightly, I smooth out the letter and begin to read.
My Darling Izzy,
You always said I was too independent for my own good – and now I’ve gone and done it again! I’ve known about this dodgy ticker for a while now, but I didn’t want to worry you or your mother so I kept it to myself.
I hope you’ll forgive me. I was only thinking, as I always do, of what’s best for you, my darling.
But hey-ho, with a bit of luck, this blasted operation I need will be a rip-roaring success and you and I will get to share lots more happy times together.
But if you’re reading this, then it’s because I didn’t make it. And the thought of that fills me with more sorrow than you can imagine. Not because my life is over. (It’s been a good ’un. I’ve had my share of blissful moments.) But because I can no longer be there for you.
I am, however, leaving you this brooch. My most precious possession.
And something else.
Something you may not actually want when you know what it is.
Because it’s the most stubborn bloody apple tree it’s ever been my misfortune to plant!
The day you came into the world was special, and I wanted to do something significant to mark the day. So after visiting you for the first time in hospital, I called in at the garden centre and picked out a tree.
An apple tree.
And, foolish optimist that I am, I planted it right in the centre of the lawn, thinking that year after year, I’d be able to enjoy its summer blossom from my bedroom window.
Ha! Well, I’m sure you know what happened. O
r didn’t happen …
I hope you will live in my house, Izzy.
I hope you will live there and enjoy the garden and the peace and always remember that I loved you so very much.
I planted that tree for you, darling girl.
And maybe … just maybe … one day it might bloom for both of us.
Take care and be happy, Izzy. You are a wonderful girl and I’m so very proud of you.
All my love forever,
Your Aunt Midge
I remain there, sitting on the grass, resting against the tree as my breath hangs in the frosty air. I stare up into the branches, thinking how very glad I am that I’ll still be living at Farthing Cottage next time my lovely tree blossoms and fruits again.
I think about Midge. And all the fun, love and laughter we shared. And how, thanks to this magical tree she planted, I will always have a special place to come to be close to her. At times when I need her wisdom. Or when I simply want to remember her.
A car drives onto the gravel and car doors slam.
I wipe my eyes and turn.
Dan and Zak are walking towards me across the lawn.
Zak breaks into a run and lands, panting, beside me.
‘Dad says you’re cooking dinner tonight and it’s not raw carrots,’ he says, grinning at Dan and snuggling closer to me for warmth. ‘What are we having? I’m starving.’
By the same author:
Humbugs and Heartstrings
Two ex-friends. One Christmas to remember…
A tale about love and friendships, complete with a sprinkling of Christmas magic. Perfect for fans of Jenny Colgan and Lucy Diamond.
Click here to buy now.
Can one woman’s marriage survive her best friend’s divorce?
Veronica Henry meets Erica James in this must-have summer read.
Click here to buy now.
Acknowledgements
Huge thanks to my wonderful agent, Elly James at HHB Agency, who’s always there with her calming words of wisdom and encouragement when I’m being determinedly positive but feeling like running for the hills. (I love it all, really. Including the deadlines. Especially the deadlines.) A massive thank-you, also, to my lovely and ridiculously talented editor, Helen Huthwaite, and the rest of the a-mazing team at Maze. (See what I did there?)
I will always be indebted to Becky and her team at The Literary Consultancy (TLC) for spotting potential, and Celia Hayley who, on the strength of this book, gave me my very first ‘yes’ and set me off on this fabulous adventure.
Without you all, none of this would be happening. Thank you for making my dreams come true.
About the Author
Catherine Ferguson burst onto the writing scene at the age of nine, anonymously penning a weekly magazine for her five-year-old brother (mysteriously titled the ‘Willy’ comic) and fooling him completely by posting it through the letterbox every Thursday.
Catherine’s continuing love of writing saw her study English at Dundee University and spend her twenties writing for various teenage magazines including Jackie and Blue Jeans and meeting pop stars. She worked as Fiction Editor at Patches magazine (little sister to Jackie) before getting serious and becoming a sub-editor on the Dundee Courier & Advertiser. Moving south in her thirties, she set up Surrey Organics, delivering fresh organic produce to people’s homes - and this experience provided the inspiration for her first attempt at writing a full-length novel.
Catherine’s first novel, Humbugs and Heartstrings, was very loosely based on Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Green Beans and Summer Dreams is her second novel. She lives with her son in Northumberland.
About the Publisher
Australia
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Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
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Canada
HarperCollins Canada
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New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers (New Zealand) Limited
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Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London, SE1 9GF, UK
http://www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
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New York, NY 10007
http://www.harpercollins.com
Green Beans and Summer Dreams Page 34