The Secrets of Ivy Garden

by Catherine Ferguson

  There’s only one cloud on our Midsummer Night horizon.

  I keep taking furtive sniffs of the air around us, flaring my nostrils with extreme caution.

  ‘Any, erm, festering cabbage in there?’ I ask nonchalantly, as Sylvian starts unpacking the picnic basket. Because seriously, if the dreaded kimchee makes an appearance, I’m going home.

  Leaking sewage pipes do not a happy picnic make.

  ‘Fermented cabbage?’ He smiles affectionately at my adorable ignorance of nutritional matters. ‘No, I finished it off last night.’

  ‘Ah. Shame.’

  ‘Smoked salmon and dill salad?’

  We tuck in and the food is actually delicious. Not a putrid vegetable in sight. The champagne is also going down well. Rather too well, actually. But so what, I think. Apart from my fab girls’ night with Connie, this is the first time I’ve done anything special like this since I left Manchester. I’m just going to make the most of it and have fun.

  After we’ve eaten and everything is cleared away, we lie on our sides facing each other on the blanket, idly chatting, our glasses with the dregs of champagne resting on the tree stump.

  ‘So, do you think you might want to come down to Cornwall to check out that art college?’ he smiles, his beautiful green eyes roving lazily over me.

  I smile back, a little flirtatiously. ‘Maybe I would. I’d love to see that beach house of yours.’

  ‘Then let’s get it organised.’ He reaches for his glass, raises it in the air and drains it.

  A little quiver of excitement runs through me.

  Life is so strange. When I first arrived in Appleton, feeling as if things couldn’t get any worse, I could never have imagined that a month or two later I’d be getting to know a really lovely man and planning to apply for college.

  My eyes follow Sylvian as he moves the picnic basket off the rug so he can scoot closer to me. His movements are surprisingly graceful. I love watching him. It must be all the yoga that makes him so supple. What, I wonder, would Ivy have thought of him?

  I think she’d probably have said that as long as Sylvian was a caring man and he made me happy, that was fine by her.

  ‘I found out what you’re doing for Layla,’ I tell him. ‘Typing her stories. I think it’s really nice of you.’

  ‘She has talent.’ He smiles. ‘I was thinking I might enter one of her stories into a national competition.’

  ‘Oh, that would be brilliant! Will you tell her what you’re doing?’

  ‘Only if she wins. There’s no point asking her to enter because she’d just say her stories weren’t good enough.’

  I smile ruefully. ‘That’s so true.’

  ‘She needs a good confidence boost. That’s why I thought of the competition.’

  I nod enthusiastically. ‘If she were to win, she might actually start believing in herself. You have to do it!’

  ‘I will, then.’ He smiles into my eyes and my heart does a joyful little leap.

  We lapse into silence for a while. I’m thinking about Layla and how much I wish she’d have faith in herself and her abilities.

  Sylvian is watching me with a lazy smile. ‘You know,’ he says softly. ‘This is the perfect setting for tantric meditation.’

  ‘It is?’ I give him a coy, flirty look.

  He smiles. ‘It is. Like to try it?’

  Those green eyes are mesmerising. He looks so gorgeous lying over there. How can I possibly resist?

  He tells me to lie down and concentrate on my breathing. Then he kneels at my side, speaking in an infinitely soothing, hypnotic tone.

  ‘Feel your breath moving in and out of your nostrils. That’s right. Inhale and out. Now start becoming aware of the movements in your chest and belly as you breathe.’

  After a few minutes, I’m right in the zone, focusing on nothing but the air moving through me and feeling completely relaxed. (Well, except for the twig that’s digging into my back. And the sound of a car alarm going off somewhere in the distance. And my worry that my boobs probably look completely non-existent lying flat like this.) But apart from all that … it’s so lovely and relaxing!

  ‘And now we’re going to work on your first chakra. So I want you to contract the sphincter muscle.’

  I open one eye. ‘My what?’

  ‘Your sphincter muscle,’ he repeats. ‘It’s the one down in your—’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ I say swiftly, as an image of a bottom swims into my mind. Cautiously, I tighten what I think he wants me to tighten.

  It’s not exactly romantic, this sort of meditation. I preferred it when we were just lying on the floor next to each other, doing our deep breathing. Still, Sylvian seems to know what he’s doing.

  And tighten …

  ‘Now we’re going to introduce a chant to awaken the chakra. LAMMMMM! Try it.’

  Oh, hell. I know I should take this seriously, but really?

  Still, in for a penny … here goes. ‘LAM!’

  ‘That’s it. But lengthen the sound. LAMMMM! Feel the kundalini energy deep in your pelvis resonating to the sound.’

  ‘LAMMMMM!’

  ‘Feel the vibration deep down?’

  Actually, I did. And it felt rather nice. Wanting to be a good student, I practise a few times more. ‘LAMMMMM! LAMMMM! LAMMMM!’

  Hang on, what’s happening?

  Sylvian is suddenly astride me, although we’re not touching. In the dim recesses of my mind, I seem to remember that’s what kundalini energy and tantric meditation is all about. Not touching. Just building up the sexual energy until it reaches the most incredible pitch.

  Crikey! Aren’t I the sexually liberated one!

  I have a sudden worry that Ivy might be looking down on me disapprovingly, which is a bit inhibiting. But I tell myself not to be so silly. I just need to relax …

  ‘Now, with every breath in, charge your sexual centre with more and more vibrant sexual energy!’ commands Sylvian.

  I open one eye and give him a nod. I’ll give it a go!

  ‘Now, focus on your genitals! LAMMMM! There’s a liquid melting sensation in your genitals as you bring all your awareness to this build-up of sexual energy! Allow your pelvis to move as you breathe!’

  I’m doing pelvic thrusts now. Just as well I’ve had alcohol, otherwise I’d feel like a right plank. Still, it’s all good fun. And Sylvian seems happy.

  I thrust a little too enthusiastically and we actually touch by mistake.

  Oooh, he’s very happy!

  There’s a sudden rustling in the undergrowth.

  ‘What’s that?’ I yelp. The last thing I need is a badger charging at me when I’m in such a compromising position. ‘Sorry. LAMMMMMM! Ooh, yes, I can really feel that reverberating. Deep in my – er – genitals.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ says a sarcastic voice.

  My eyes spring open. That’s not Sylvian. Who on earth …?

  To my horror, Jack Rushbrooke has somehow arrived and is towering over us.

  The setting sun, a red ball of fire, is directly behind him, giving him a strange sort of devilish halo.

  ‘Hi,’ I squeak, scrambling to a sitting position and trying to push Sylvian away. But he’s staying firm (in more ways than one) in the straddle position.

  Oh, bloody hell.

  What on earth will Jack think of me? This is not what it looks like!

  Although actually, it’s exactly what it looks like …

  ‘I’d like a word when you have a minute,’ says Jack shortly, glaring down at me. Then he strides off.

  I stare after him. How bloody rude! I mean, okay, we were probably about to have tantric sex in a public place, but there was no need for Jack to look quite so horrified and disapproving, was there?

  I glance at Sylvian. ‘Sorry, do you mind if I …?’

  Sylvian rises smoothly to his feet. ‘I’ll go and get more wine,’ he says, as calm as ever, not looking in the least ruffled by Jack’s intrusion.

  I run after Jack and spot
him just as he’s about to head down Farthingale Road for his daily swim. His face is like thunder. He obviously doesn’t like Sylvian at all.

  ‘Jack.’

  He turns at the gate.

  ‘Well?’ I demand. ‘You wanted a word?’

  He thinks for a minute then he says, ‘Look, it’s probably none of my business, Holly. But you do realise Sylvian’s juggling women like a Billy Smart’s Circus clown?’

  I stare at him. Then I burst out laughing. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘I’m not being ridiculous. I’m just telling you what I know because I …’ He swallows and looks down.

  I stare at him as he scuffs at the ground with his foot. ‘Because you what?’

  He looks up. ‘Because I don’t want you getting hurt.’

  ‘But I’m not going to get hurt. Sylvian’s a lovely, caring man and we’re having a nice time, that’s all.’

  He nods. ‘So you’re not bothered that when he was supposed to be cooking dinner for you a few weeks ago, he actually chose to entertain a couple of attractive women all weekend instead?’

  ‘Sorry?’ Two women? What’s he talking about?

  ‘I saw them with my own eyes as I was driving past, going into Sylvian’s flat with wine.’

  I stare at him as a memory surfaces. Two women. In the village store squabbling over tortilla chips and asking the store owner if he sold scented candles. Presumably a gift for Sylvian.

  It was weird, certainly. If he had people coming round, why didn’t he just tell me? Or invite me along?

  I shake my head. ‘Just because he had two women in his flat doesn’t mean there was anything going on.’

  He shrugs and says nothing.

  ‘Look, is there anything else you’re not telling me?’

  He opens the gate. ‘You’d better ask Sylvian. I don’t do gossip.’ Then he strides across the lawn and into the conservatory, slamming the door behind him.

  I stand there, leaning on the wall, my mind ticking over. Jack’s not a liar, I’m sure of it. So those women were definitely there.

  Then I remember something. When I was listening to the women’s chat in the store, I’m sure one of them called the other woman ‘Sara’. Of course. Sara and Abby. Sylvian’s housemates.

  My shoulders relax. Of course. That makes perfect sense.

  Then I think: But does it really? Sylvian keeps saying how Abby and Sara would really like me and that he wants us all to meet. So why didn’t he take the opportunity of their visit to Appleton to introduce us?

  Something’s definitely not right …

  I walk back to Ivy Garden, and Sylvian is still there, stretched out on the blanket. He sits up when I arrive and says calmly, ‘That man could benefit from a good pummelling on a massage table. He needs to relax.’

  ‘You might well be right,’ I say, thinking of Jack’s thunderous profile.

  ‘I am. Now, that wine …’ He gets up.

  ‘Sylvian? Have you had Abby and Sara to stay the weekend? Were they there that Saturday night when you said you had poetry workshops?’

  He immediately sits back down and looks directly into my eyes. ‘Yes, they were.’

  My heart twists. So Jack was right. I draw a deep breath, trying to stay calm. ‘So why didn’t you tell me? Wouldn’t that have been the perfect opportunity to introduce us? You’re always saying that’s what you’d like.’

  ‘Because I was waiting for the right moment,’ he says simply.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask, puzzled. ‘It’s no big deal introducing friends, is it? It’s not like you have to plan it well in advance.’

  He sighs. ‘No, but it’s tricky. This situation.’

  ‘What situation?’ Something weird’s going on. I wish to goodness he’d just spit it out!

  ‘Us. You, me, Sara, Abby. I wanted you to know more about my lifestyle before I introduced you to each other. It’s important for all parties to go into it feeling it’s something they’re perfectly comfortable with.’

  ‘Your lifestyle? All parties?’ There’s a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. ‘What are you talking about, Sylvian?’

  He shrugs. ‘Polyamory.’

  ‘Poly what?’

  ‘It’s when you make a conscious decision to be in a loving relationship with more than one person.’

  I stare at him. More than one person?

  Seeing my confusion, he shuffles closer and takes my hand. ‘It’s an alien concept to many, and it might take a while for you to get your head round it. But I get a powerful sense that you’re more open to exploring other ways of living than most people are, Holly.’

  ‘So are you telling me you’re already in a poly-thingy relationship with Abby and Sara?’ I’m starting to feel quite nauseous. ‘And you all live together in your house in Cornwall?’

  ‘Well. Yes,’ he says simply.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ I breathe. ‘Unbelievable.’

  ‘It is, actually. You have to live it to understand how beautiful it really is.’

  ‘So basically, you can sleep with who you like?’ My voice is trembling, I feel so gutted. And stupid for not seeing the signs. ‘And were you intending to invite me to join your little harem?’

  ‘It’s not like that, Holly.’

  He’s so calm, I want to jump on him and shake him to make him react!

  He shrugs. ‘It’s not as if I’m at the centre, enjoying as many women as I like. It’s not like that at all.’

  ‘So what the hell is it like?’ God, how naïve have I been! I can’t believe I was starting to think there might be something between us …

  ‘Well, for instance,’ he says, ‘Abby also has a girlfriend who chooses not to live with us. And Sara, as well as being with me, is in a loving relationship with her ex-husband’s new wife.’

  ‘Her ex-husband’s new wife?’

  He shrugs calmly. ‘They’re separated.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Well, that’s okay, then,’ I say testily. ‘Christ, Sylvian, I’m sorry but I think it’s completely bizarre. And I also think you could have let me know all this a lot earlier.’

  I’m trembling with the shock of it all. I wasn’t in deep with Sylvian. We barely knew each other, really. But I’d started to trust him. And so to find out that actually, I didn’t really know him at all, is quite upsetting.

  ‘I didn’t want to frighten you off,’ he says. ‘I really like you, Holly. I was hoping it might work.’

  ‘Well, sorry,’ I say, getting to my feet. ‘It might sound boring to you and very in line with what society expects, but I’m afraid I’m a one-man woman. Always was, always will be.’

  He smiles sadly. ‘I’m not sure what to say.’

  ‘How about: “It’s been nice knowing you, Holly, and good luck?”’

  I hurry across the garden and through the gap in the hedge, feeling thoroughly let down and ridiculous. And sad. Really, really sad.

  I manage to hold back the tears until I’m back in the cottage.

  Then I spend the rest of the evening wondering why on earth I didn’t spot the signs that something wasn’t quite right – because they were definitely there …

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The next morning, I’m awake early, reliving the shocking moment when I realised Sylvian wanted me to be part of his ‘love-in’ down in Cornwall.

  I can’t believe I was actually considering leaving Manchester and going to college in Cornwall, just because that’s where Sylvian has his house. How stupid! I realise now I knew so little about the real Sylvian because he hid it from me, knowing full well he’d scare me off if I knew about his cosy little arrangement with Sara and Abby!

  Why didn’t I heed the warning signs?

  I remember thinking it was odd when he mentioned Sara and Abby for the first time. He seemed awkward, as if he hadn’t meant to tell me about them yet. Then there was all that talk about how much they would like me. And how I was sure to love them, too. He’d obviously just been priming me for the eventual reve
lation that he was into polyamory!

  Am I sad that things have turned out this way with Sylvian? Not really. The chief emotion I’m feeling is annoyance – at myself – that I allowed myself to be taken in by his charm and his silly half-truths …

  To fill in the time until the meeting with Ben at midday, and so that I’m not just hanging around brooding about Sylvian, I decide to go out for one of my walks.

  Ever since my disastrous drive into the country with Connie, I’ve been venturing out for a walk every day. Not very far. But I’ve been trying to go a little further each time, beyond the safety of the village, in an effort to get over my fear of being stranded.

  In one direction, the road is too narrow to be safe for pedestrians. But the other way has a grass verge to walk on. So far, the furthest I’ve managed is about half a mile, which takes me as far as a farm with a red barn. But that seems to be my limit. I get stuck at the red barn. I start to panic and my feet just won’t allow me to risk going any further into open countryside. But I’m going to keep on trying …

  There’s a knock at the door just as I’m about to go out. When I open it, Jack is standing there and my heart wallops against my ribcage.

  ‘Sorry about yesterday,’ he says, without preamble.

  I shake my head. ‘You’ve got nothing to apologise for. In fact, I’m grateful you forced me to face up to what was going on.’ I smile ruefully. ‘It would never have worked. Me and Sylvian.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry anyway.’ He glances at my trainers. ‘Were you going out?’

  ‘Just for a walk.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Mind if I join you?’

  ‘No,’ I say, surprised, glancing at his jeans and T-shirt. ‘No London today?’

  ‘Day off,’ he says and doesn’t elaborate.

  ‘I don’t go very far. Just to the red barn and back.’

  ‘Fine.’

  We set off. It’s a beautiful sunny morning and it feels lovely to have company on my walk. Not just any old company, either …

  Walking side by side when the grass verge allows it, we keep bumping arms, which makes my heart a little skittery.