by Jane Linfoot
‘It’s funny how things stick from when you’re young. Your dad and your flowers, my mum and my cake icing.’ Poppy slides an arm round my shoulders and gives me a squeeze.
Her mum died just after my dad, so she knows about that empty ache in my chest that won’t go away, even though it’s five years later. It was sudden for both of us too. Her mum was ill but hadn’t told her. Whereas my poor dad was completely well, but was struck by lightning playing golf. At the eighteenth hole, he was so close to finishing. If only he’d been at the nineteenth, and in the bar, he’d still be here.
‘That’s the funny thing.’ I frown at the weirdness. ‘As soon as I started, I knew how deeply to fill the trays, and how much compost to sprinkle on top for the different flowers. And to tuck the seed packet in the end of the tray so I know what I’ve planted.’ Just like Dad always taught me. Although somehow I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed it.
Poppy was the year above me at school, but their cottage always smelled of her mum’s baking. And there were always fairy cakes for tea, and icing sugar dusting the table, and fabulous birthday cakes.
‘They look very neat.’ She takes in the row of trays on the table in front of the small paned floor to ceiling windows as she munches. ‘And full of promise.’
I smile at the last word because I can feel the anticipation too. ‘When I was really small, my dad used to hold my hand to make holes in the compost for the nasturtium seeds. My finger was just the right size.’ And suddenly my mouth is full of saliva. Not because of the cake. Just because I’m thinking of my dad, and how lovely he was. And because I can’t believe I’m never going to see him again. As my mouth stretches, and I turn to bury my face in Poppy’s jumper, I can feel her shoulder shuddering too.
‘Sorry.’ I scramble in my pocket, hand Poppy a tissue, and we both blow our noses loudly. ‘Crying over nasturtium seeds. How silly is that?’
That’s the awful thing about losing someone. It doesn’t go away. And you can’t ever predict when something’s going to tip you over the edge, or what it will be. You can go for months and be fine. Then something completely ridiculous will have you in bits. Forget birthday badges. Badges would be way more useful for broken people like me. Lost my dad, prone to wobbles, would cover it. Or maybe they should make T-shirts.
It’s why I can’t understand how my mum’s forgotten Dad enough to marry someone else. When it happened, it was awful. She didn’t get dressed, and she wouldn’t leave the house. For three whole months, she walked round in Dad’s pyjamas. Then one weekend I came home, and she was in the kitchen in her lippy and her heels. I can’t tell you how much of a relief that was. Next thing, she was cruising in the med with Jenny. Also good. But I never imagined she’d get to this point, when I’m still welling up over seed packets.
Another big bang from the depths of the farmhouse drags me back to the orangery.
‘Ouch.’ Poppy and I are still exchanging grimaces, when there’s a clattering of boots on the stairs, and the echo of footsteps crossing the drawing room.
There’s a throaty laugh too. ‘Lily, I saw your car from the bathroom window …’
When your car’s bright pink, the bad news is there’s no place to hide. As for Poppy and me being interrupted in mid-snivel, hopefully Fred’ll be oblivious.
I swallow hard, and scrape my finger under my lashes. ‘Fred, how’s it going? Sounds like you’re having a smashing time up there.’ As an impartial observer, I have to admit, the checked shirt and dust streaked forearms are cheering me up.
He grins, and pushes a lock of hair out of his eye. ‘That’s what building work’s like. It gets worse before it gets better.’ Then he turns to Poppy. ‘Actually, I’m here to complain. First Lily’s too busy to come out with me, and now Barbara tells me she doesn’t want my garden either.’
As he puts his hands on his hips and sticks his leg out, the rip in his jeans separates. Who knew tanned knees could be so attractive? As for my mum spreading the word, for one time only, I don’t mind.
Poppy gives her nose a dab, and manages a half laugh. ‘You didn’t have any space in your garden, Fred. That’s the whole point. It’s good Lily’s found somewhere else.’
If it was anyone but Fred, I’d insist that nothing’s decided. I’m still reluctant to spend time at the Manor if there’s any other garden on offer. I’m agonising, when I notice Fred peering first at Poppy, then at me.
‘What’s up with you two and your red noses? Been chopping onions?’
So maybe we haven’t got away with it. ‘It’s just that cold that’s going around.’ I use the excuse to give my nose a last noisy blow.
Fred couldn’t have leaped back faster if I’d told him I’d got the plague.
‘Whoa, don’t sneeze on me. I’ve got way too much going on here to catch man ’flu.’ Given the orangery roof is glass, his upwards nod is directed at the sky not the bathroom, but we get what he’s meaning. ‘I was going to whizz you over to see my development, Lily, but maybe we’ll leave that for another day.’
Phew. Sounds like I made a lucky escape. ‘What’s this?’ Now I’m off the hook, I can ask.
Poppy’s grinning. ‘Fred’s quayside conversions. I was telling you about them, remember?’ For some reason she thinks this is hilarious.
Fred joins in ‘Rock Quay. Executive flats with sea views across the harbour. One foot in the door, you’ll be out of that pokey little attic in a shot. There’s a prime two-bedroom one ready now. Say the word and it’s yours to rent.’
I’m not sure if it’s a sales pitch or a take-over bid on my life. ‘That’s very kind, but I love the flat I’ve got, thanks. It’s very convenient living over the shop.’
Fred watches me tugging on my tissue, and retreats another step. ‘Don’t worry. As soon as you see it, you’ll want it. I’ll do it at the right price.’ He sends me a wink, before he goes on. ‘There’s a load of manure with your name on too. I’ll drop it over at the Manor.’
First a flat and now cow shit. Maybe Poppy’s right about Fred being eager to please. He’s certainly not holding back on the gifts.
‘Brilliant.’ Then a vision of a lane filled with logs flashes into my brain. ‘Actually, there’s no rush. Mid-April will be great.’ If I haven’t decided on anywhere else by then. I give an involuntary shudder. The closer it gets, the more I go rigid every time I think about what’s happening in April.
The inward whistle and derogatory head shake Fred gives is the same one builders give when they’re preparing you for a monstrous estimate. ‘There’s a lot of digging to make that Manor garden anything like suitable.’
I stand my ground. ‘I’m ready for hard work.’ Which I’m not at all. But I’m sensing it’s important not to back down here. ‘Or I will be as soon as my cold’s better.’ I grin as Fred flinches.
Now all I need to do is make sure the wedding fair isn’t derailed by a mis-delivered muck heap.
Chapter 17
Friday, 31st March
Rose Hill Manor: Tendencies and toppings
‘Did someone order fertiliser?’
It’s over three weeks later, and Kip’s leaning on the doorway, calling to where I’m hard at work, stage setting the winter garden.
As I break off to answer, I grab the chance to fix my flagging pony tail. ‘That’s a very random question to ask someone who’s mid-way through tying bows onto chair backs, with a wedding fair careering towards them at a hundred miles an hour.’ Every time I remember it’s less than twenty-four hours away, I can’t help letting out a strangled squeak. Somehow I stop the hyperventilating, and yank my voice lower. ‘We’re expecting hay bales, a bar in a horse box, a bicycle cart full of gin, a van load of suits and wedding dresses, and two pianos. But definitely not fertiliser. Why?’ If I’m sounding stressed, it’s only because I am. To the power of sixty-four.
Kip scratches his head absently. ‘The farmer who has the grazing here is outside with a trailer load of cow muck asking for you. That’s all.’
As I scurry through the house, I’m not expecting Kip to come too, but he’s at my heel like a lap dog.
He sounds relieved. ‘Just checking it wasn’t malicious. Like those mass pizza deliveries you hear about.’
The idea of so much stuffed crust is making my tummy rumble. ‘I’d settle for a food mountain over a muck heap any day.’ And I’m not suggesting malice, but if I was pushed I’d say manure arriving at this particular moment smacks of mischief. Although I’m not quite sure who it’s aimed at.
We go out into the bright sun, and sure enough there’s Fred’s second biggest tractor, blocking the drive. Nothing new there then. Bright blue, he’s in it most days at Poppy and Rafe’s. And the man himself is leaning against a back wheel massively taller than he is. If my mouth was watering at the thought of food, despite my better judgement it waters a little bit more when I take in that easy smile, and his scruffy Barbour.
‘So long as you’re loaded up with either straw, or pepperoni pizzas, I’m happy to see you, Fred.’ When it comes to toppings and bacon sarnies, I suspend my veggie tendencies every time.
Fred twitches his mouth. ‘Don’t worry, the bales are coming on the next trip.’ The wind sweeps through his hair, and his Paco Rabanne cloud reaches us before he does. ‘But seeing how well our seeds are coming along in the orangery, I’ve brought a load of manure. It’s April tomorrow. You’ll need to dig it in, pronto.’
Talk about fabulous timing. It’s true the seeds have sprouted brilliantly. The nasturtiums have already got four leaves. If Fred’s becoming over invested, it’s only because he’s on the spot every day when I call in to water them.
‘Great, bring it this way, you can pull alongside the gateway.’ Kip’s leaping across the gravel, towards the stables. ‘Come on Water Lily, I’ll show you too while you’re out here.’
What is it about guys? They don’t multitask. But the first chance they get to switch, they’ll happily drop whatever they’re doing, and hurl themselves into the next job.
I’m protesting as I run to keep up. ‘This probably isn’t even the garden I’ll be using.’
Kip’s laughing over his shoulder. ‘I’d say a ton of manure is the decider, wouldn’t you? Bagged and well-rotted too. You must be in his good books.’
I should be laying up top tables, and making bridesmaids’ posies, not chasing around after a farmer who won’t do as he’s asked, and a wedding venue manager who’s too easily distracted. As for being rail-roaded by Kip, if I wasn’t completely out of breath, I’d be blowing my top. When I finally catch up with him, it’s only because he’s stopped by a doorway in a high stone wall. I open my mouth to let rip. ‘I haven’t got time for this and I don’t even …’
Before I get any more words out, he holds up his hand. ‘You’re here now. See it first, then decide.’ He grasps the knob, and pushes the plank door open.
‘Whatever.’ As I follow him, I’m so busy huffing, shaking my head and staring at my feet, at first I don’t register anything.
‘So …?’ Kip’s waiting for a reaction.
As he says, I’m here now. When I swallow back my rage, and finally force myself to look up, every bit of anger melts away. Because we’re in a square space, surrounded by mellow, coursed stone walls. There are grass paths, criss-crossing between empty borders, and what look like fruit trees along one end.
I’m blinking with surprise. ‘It’s like something out of a picture book.’
Kip’s laugh is low. ‘The original secret garden. Just waiting for you. Unless you can find somewhere better, of course.’
For once only, that awful confidence of his is justified. If I scoured the country, I wouldn’t find many gardens as secluded.
‘No, it’s beautiful.’ I’m standing staring, taking in the space. ‘But it’s huge. I doubt I’ll be able to fill a corner.’ Even if all my plants grow, they probably wouldn’t take up a tiny bit.
He shrugs. ‘Use as much as you need. The maintenance guys keep the weeds down, but they never grow anything.’ He glances at his watch. ‘We’ll unload here. Wedding fairs don’t organise themselves. You’d better get on.’ He’s almost shooing me out again.
Despite the waiting work, I’m hanging back. Strangely reluctant to leave.
‘Glad you came?’ he asks, as I tear myself away, and we step back through the wall again, and out into the world.
But before I can answer, Fred’s tractor roars along, gravel spitting up from the wheels. So I leave them to it, hug my cardigan more tightly around me, and make a dash for the house.
Penryn traps come in all shapes and sizes. But for one time only, this enchanted garden might be worth the risk. And much as I wanted to limit my trips to the Manor, if I’m coming to spend time in that garden, I know I won’t mind at all. I’ll just have to make sure I come when Kip’s not around.
Chapter 18
Saturday, 1st April
Rose Hill Manor: Knitting and Shakespeare
‘Well, wasn’t this a wonderful idea of mine for a wedding fair? And I’ve decided on diamonds for my wedding theme, so we can begin whenever you’re ready, Lily. Only one question – where the hell’s the hot tub? And why the frig aren’t there any anchovies?’
You guessed right. It’s Nicole. With the volume, and the Princess Anne accent turned up to full strength for the benefit of the not inconsiderable crowds. And from where I’m standing next to the Brides by the Sea competition table – our not-so-sneaky way of getting people’s email addresses – that’s two questions, not one. As for diamonds, who’d have guessed that?
Luckily it’s afternoon by the time she rocks up, so I’ve already had a morning’s worth of sugar from the sweet cart. I reckon I’ve consumed enough rhubarb and custard bonbons to be able to withstand a nuclear winter. As for whether that’s enough to come through ten minutes with Nicole, watch this space. I slip in a last sour worm from my under-table store, just to be on the safe side.
‘So sorry Nicole, but Kip held off on the hot tub, to avoid scorch marks on the grass. And there’s a worldwide shortage of teensy fish due to a plankton virus in Portugal.’ Can you tell I made that up on the spot? Even worse than the white lies, my attempt at one of Jess’s customer-soothing purrs, sounds more like I’ve got a caterpillar stuck in my throat. ‘But Kip’s come through in spades on the smoked salmon canapés.’ Nicole’s downing those faster than Immie’s necking Poppy’s multi-coloured mini cupcakes. ‘And he’s onto a winner with the weather, too.’ Another instance of the guy falling on his feet. Like a cat, it seems like he just can’t help it.
The good news for all of us is it’s one of those balmy April days that make you think that summer’s already arrived. The sun’s splashing across the south facing terrace in front of the house, and making the lake shimmer blue with the reflection of the sky. Best of all, it’s warm enough to throw open the French windows. So couples are drifting from the ballroom, out onto the grass, and back in to where we’ve set up our Brides by the Sea area beyond the sofas.
David and my mum have finally arrived, after their morning spinning session. And along with all the other guys, he made a beeline for the microbrewery stall in the gazebo. From where she’s standing next to him out on the lawn, my mum’s perfectly placed to send Nicole dead eyes. For one day only Mum’s dumped her Adidas gear, and reverted to type, and she and Nicole are vying for whose chrysanthemums are most vibrant. My mum’s edging ahead with acid yellow blooms on fuchsia. But at dinner plate diameter, Nicole’s white on black definitely get the prize for size.
‘And we’re thinking four tiers, and an ombré dribble for the cake, Poppy. And every kind of cupcake tower.’ Nicole’s making an expansive hand sweep that includes all the cakes. On the cake table. And in the world too. ‘All with huge amounts of diamond clusters on, obviously.’ She blinds us with
another dazzle of her ring, just in case we’d missed it last time out.
Poppy taps her flowery cake book. ‘You’re pencilled in, Nicole. I’ll search out some serious sparkle, and we’ll finalise the design at our private consultation.’ Poppy’s been racking up the orders, because her cakes look stunning. As well as the drip cakes, everyone’s been drooling over her sugar dusted nude three tier, with raspberries and roses. And we’ve had a lot of takers for the Daisy Hill Farm Holiday Cottage cards. Given they’ve erected a nice new Weddings at Daisy Hill Farm sign, and most people visiting the wedding fair will drive past, we’re hoping that people will put two and two together. Then make their wedding booking at the farm.
From the way her brows knit, I can’t help thinking Nicole wanted more than pencilling in. Writing in in indelible marker perhaps? But at least she’s got her dress sorted, and her shoes, and her ring, which is more than I can say for Immie or my mum. Immie’s still sporting purple perspex, and my mum’s ring finger is bare.
Nicole hoicks Miles by the arm. ‘Right, we’ll see you later, we’re off for a wander by the water.’
Poppy waits until they’re outside, then she leans across to me. ‘I swear poor Miles got through the door without his feet touching the floor there.’
I grin back. ‘He might as well get used to it. And he doesn’t look as if he minds.’
As soon as Nicole’s safely outside, my mum tiptoes into the space she’s left, which is strange. Usually she’s way more expansive when she arrives.