by Karen Botha
LUCY
‘So, have you heard from him again?’ Paula is browsing an array of colourful plants she’ll never buy. A new garden centre has opened, not that we’re interested in the shrubs, but it's something different. It’s set in nothing more than a field, filled with shabby chic creations. Bushes are displayed in rusty trolleys and potato crates that nestle between wooden step ladders loaded with cracked tea pots bursting with flowers. A rocky waterfall tinkles in the background.
‘Yeah, a few texts,’ I reply.
‘Haha, nice try girly,’ Paula snickers.
‘Do you like these Lavender plants for the front where people park? They’re quite zen, but also hardy to put up with my shameful gardening abilities?’ I stoop to rub the flowers between my finger and thumb and inhale, hoping my distraction tactic has worked.
Paula grabs my arm and redirects me away from the lavender without answering. She’s heading for the coffee shop.
‘We’re the only people under fifty in here,’ Paula hisses as I do a casual sweep with my head and find she is indeed correct. We place the slab of wood used as a tray on the slatted white table. My drink spills creating a puddle which soaks into the timber, we both ignore it. I’m suddenly fascinated by the colourful bunting fluttering in the breeze above our heads. I know what's coming, we’re seated face to face with nothing but a herbal tea for diversion.
I try talking about something else, ‘Did you see the chalkboard signs saying they have classes showing you how to make all this stuff?’
‘Hmm.’ She’s not interested in making plant pots out of old tin cans.
I may aswell just get it over with, I inhale, ‘OK, well, he’s texted a few times, and we’ve chatted generally.’
‘OK…’ she’s waiting for more.
‘We’ve been out again,’ my chest tenses as I await the fall out from her exclusion.
Here we go!
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asks, but loudly and people turn and stare. Pretty much everyone in the vicinity turns and stares. The pale skin on my face is being overtaken by the pink chasing up from my neck.
‘Paula!’ I whisper as my jaw tightens and my spine goes rigid as I refuse to acknowledge the interested third parties intently waiting for the update on my private life.
‘It was last minute,’ I’m still hissing at volume.
‘Well where did he take you?’ she asks.
Oh if only she didn’t love details so much. ‘We actually went to a go carting night with his work,’ she won't take that quietly.
‘What?’ she’s screeching, ‘so you’ve met his work mates? Already? How so?'
‘Calm down will you!’ I’m calming down myself a little now, ‘I’ll explain one at a time.’
I tell her about how he called me with an hour's notice to ask if I was free as there was this go carting event to which partners were invited, but he’d not known until the last minute. I skip over the use of partners and my inclusion as such, but it did not go unnoticed by my ex-detective friend.
‘So you’re his partner now?’ She raises her brow, it concertinas.
And I have to be honest, ‘I think I am.’
‘Wow, but you've hardly seen him, what have you actually learnt about this illustrious Giles Harrington?’ She’s smiling, but cautious.
‘Well he’s been married.’ Her face is the picture of shock, her eyebrows raise even higher and her eyes and mouth both widen. 'See,' I delight internally.
‘OK, that’s early to be telling you his life story. What happened?’ she’s back to the fact gathering Paula I know and love.
‘It’s tragic; she died.’ I pause for her response.
She doesn't reply immediately, ‘how did she die?’
When I’ve finished telling her the story, she asks something I consider really odd, ‘do you believe him?’ Even though this is Paula who I adore for her outspokenness, I’m still taken aback.
‘Why do you ask that?’
‘Oh I don’t know, it could be the murder detective ingrained in my bones. That’s a fairly uncommon situation though you have to admit.’ She doesn’t stop for an answer. ‘How many people do you hear of coming home from work one day and finding their partner dead in bed? I mean, if she were ill, why did he go to work at all?’
If I approach this from her perspective, I can see why she would ask. ‘You’re right, once a murder detective, always a murder detective,’ I try to alleviate the building tension.
She smiles accepting my point, ‘Maybe; hopefully.’
There’s nothing but a limp red bag left in our respective tea cups, so we leave our audience and make our way back to the Lavender. I select the two bushiest ones in matching containers and place them in my trolley.
‘I’m pondering starting a vegetable patch,’ Paula announces.
I stop, incredulous, ‘How long have you been pondering starting a veg patch? When will you take care of that?’
‘For about two minutes and whilst you’re out with Giles.’
She doesn’t even really like veg that much.
We’ve tried to box my lonely plants in the back of the car with a few old plastic containers Paula keeps in the boot so her de-icer and jump leads don’t roll around. We wind down the front and back windows to let some air into our stuffy metal carriage.
The heat burns a warm layer of summer into our skin as we drive and sing loudly to the cheesy 80’s mix Paula has on repeat, loving the freedom of friendship. My phone vibrates against my leg in the foot well. I rummage in my bag and swipe the oil smeared screen. I stifle a whoop.
‘Hey, we’re off to a garden party,’ I tell her.
‘Huh?’ I’ve got her at the wrong moment, she’s navigating a roundabout. Navigating a roundabout where no-one wants to make the first move to actually drive around it. Each car at the front of their starting grid is sitting, staring at the unintentional weapon to their right. Paula puts her boot to the floor and we make it out of there alive if not with slightly more whiplash than we started with.
‘What do you mean?’ she asks once successfully manoeuvred.
‘Giles’ Mum has a garden party every year. Apparently it’s supposed to be the event all the local socialites are thrilled to attend. A very posh affair by all accounts. All the good, the bad and the ugly show up and then they invite some of their friends too. I’m not sure why she does it, but it seems to be a bit of a tradition.’
‘So I’m invited aswell?’
‘Yeah, it says,’ and I re-angle my phone so I can read the screen in the sunlight, ‘Mum is having her annual garden party and you and Paula are invited.’
‘Oh cool, I’d love that, and we get to meet some of Giles’ friends aswell - a new bunch of mates seen as you’re his partner now!’
‘Haha, good one. Although Giles said his best friend can’t make it this year as he’s working on this big all consuming project. So that’s a shame; but hey, we’ll be there.’
‘That will be fab, won’t it? Will Giles not mind though?’
‘Why would he? Besides which, he’ll probably be off hob nobbing keeping all the well-to-do guests entertained.’
‘Yeah, you might be right, bet that’s why she’s invited me too, to keep you occupied whilst his mum sizes you up from afar.’
‘Oh no. I hadn’t thought of that. I’ve not met her yet. She’ll want to work out whether I’m about to break her son’s heart. Hey - you need to be on your best behaviour too, she’ll be judging me by the friends I keep.’
She throws me a look, not the I’m-happy-to-be-invited look she’d been sporting a few seconds earlier, but one a little less impressed.
‘I was taught manners!’
I’m not so sure. I ignore her indignation.
‘She’s asked me to stay over. It’s a bit of a predicament, because if it is the fantastic evening that’s being promised, it’ll be nice to have a few drinks and not worry about leaving. But what happens if it’s all a little tiresome, or his mother is a d
ragon or something equally awful?’
‘Then you’ll have to take one for the team, you can’t turn her down, first impressions are important, and this is a big invite. She’ll be offended. There’s no going back from slurring your potential Mother-in-Law early on in a relationship.’
‘You’re right.’ I agree.
‘When is it?’
‘Hang on, think it said Saturday, two secs,’ I’m struggling with the light again. ‘Yeah, Saturday.’
‘Oh, no! I’m meeting Mo on Saturday.’
‘What, the same Mo you used to work with?’
‘Yeah, it’s about time we had a catch up.’
‘Can you rearrange it?’
‘I’ll check, would be such a shame to miss a garden party. It’s not like we have a load of friends throwing such lavish events.’
I reply to Giles, ‘I’m in, but Paula has plans to meet an old friend. She is going to see if she can shuffle her diary.’
We both sit in silence half listening to the synthesiser blasting out of the car radio, half imagining how Saturday night will play out.
‘I have another clothing dilemma, it’s black tie. Oh, I pray for the days when we’ve been together long enough that it doesn’t matter what I wear anymore.’
‘Yeah, there’s a lot to be said for the effect of complacency on a girls purse strings.’ Then almost to herself, ‘I hope I can rearrange Mo, I’d really like to come along and create two clothing dilemmas.’
Again, we drift into amicable silence watching pedestrians with their own clothing dilemmas, or actually not, when you see at what they stepped out in. Somehow, mothers navigating crossings with pushchairs and screaming kids in this area seem to choose outfits that are always that fraction too small. I turn the volume down on the radio as we hit suburbia and follow the sight of see-through leggings clearly displaying a G string and jiggling bottom cheeks. It happens too regularly to be a mistake.
My phone pings again. I’ve only just returned it to my bag, so once again I rummage; I really need to clear it out. I’m expecting it to be Giles, but it’s work. I shriek.
‘Listen to this,’ I manage to spit out between guffaws.
‘What?’ Paula is bemused, not yet understanding why I’m laughing so heartily at this text.
‘Hi I’m Chris,’ I read, ‘I’m good in cleaning and also be your driver got a car. I don’t want anything in return, I’ll be your faithful slave,’ I pause for effect, holding the phone towards her even though she’s watching the converging traffic. ‘Can you believe some of the things I get sent?’ I giggle, my voice high pitched, my vocal chords constricted in shock.
‘Well you should text him back and get him in, if you don’t, I will.’ Her giggles switch up a gear to howling. ‘Give me his number. Seriously, what do you put on your adverts?’
And that’s the thing, this type of message is fairly regular, and I don’t advertise, they obtain my details from a very health and wellness based website. ‘A bunch of chancers,’ I shake my head. It makes you seriously consider how many nutters move around amongst us without detection.
‘Uh, oh,’ I say as my phone pings another message, and together Paula and I both say, ‘wonder what he’s offering now?’
‘Hey, wow, Giles has come back,’ I read her the message.
‘Paula can bring her friend too if she likes.’
‘Really? Cool, let me ask Mo then, I wonder if he’d like to go to a garden party, it might not be his thing?’
‘Hey, you can be enormously persuasive when you want to be.’
‘Yeah, I’ll convince him. Hopefully he has a black suit hanging around somewhere that he can still squeeze into.’ She eeks her mouth up in one corner.
‘I’m sure he will, but if not, men are so lucky, they can always hire one.’
‘Well, I want to go that’s for sure, I’ll find a way to talk him in to it.’ She pauses a moment and I see a thought pass momentarily across her face.
‘Hey, we could get Chris in to serve us,’ and cheeky laughter becomes all consuming again.
GILES
I’m totally enraptured by Lucy. Since issuing her invite, I’ve had to endure countless questions about suitable clothing. Will she wear a dress, but how do heels work with that? As if I know. And will the men, or boys as she calls them, all in black tie, or will some show up in lounge suits?
I’ve spent the day helping Mum prepare for the party, well helping Mum instruct the team of event organisers and caterers to be more precise. It rained earlier when they were setting up which hindered progress somewhat. Mum took the optimistic view it would clear, and she was right. The last few hours have been beautiful. Pure blue skies with only picturesque clouds floating by. I’m so relieved, I want Lucy to be impressed and to enjoy this event. I want it to be as easy for her as possible.
It’s been a nightmare, I’ve not been able to wait to introduce Lucy to everyone. Finally, it’s evening. As the time approaches seven, I hover at the edge of the garden, watching for her as the sun starts its slow downward trajectory. My mood soars as she appears at the other end of the gravel garden path as she parks up in the large oval driveway. After all her nervous questioning, she looks a delight. I’m not sure if the dress, (yes she plumped for a long one with flat shoes) is blue or black, but it's perfect. Apparently it was selected because it can be dressed up or down.
I meet her with a glass of champagne and a kiss on the cheek. ‘You're beautiful.’ She smiles warmly and slips her arm into the hook I’ve created for her with mine.
Our bodies bond briefly as we step in time with each other, down the winding path to the terracotta Tudor house that has been in my family for generations. As one, we weave between the glowing lanterns that illuminate our way, accenting well established rose bushes. The light reflects beautifully in the dusk. I’m walking tall, my chest puffed out, with my heart as full.
‘Wow, what an exquisite home,’ she pauses taking time to inhale the beauty of this old house.
I’m unable to fill the silence, because, she’s right, it is a beautiful building. Although I’m often embarrassed about my background, I am also secretly rather proud. Instead of being humble, I plump for; ‘it was my Grandfather’s. My heritage is English originally you see, and he always kept this house when he moved over to Zim, or Rhodesia as it was in those days.’
‘Well, it’s just perfect, I love the thatched roof and beams, your Grandad had some admirable style.’
I smile, ‘you’re right, he did.’ I remove her arm from mine and take her hand.
As we saunter on, she asks, ‘so how come your Grandad ended up in Africa?’
‘He was an engineer, so he went out there for work,’
‘I see and then met someone and settled?’
‘Yeah pretty much from what I understand. My brother, Wyndham and I, were born out there but when my Father died, we moved over here to go to school and Mum took up this house again.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry about your Dad,’ she squeezes my hand without realising, ‘guess that’s hard. I wasn’t aware he had passed.’
‘Yeah…’ but I don’t want this to be a solemn conversation. I change the subject, ‘it’s a long time ago now and a terrible story. I’ll tell you some other time when we’re not supposed to be so jovial.’ She reaches across and hugs my arm with her free arm. We move on without comment.
The notes from the band which plays every year begin to cohere into a recognisable tune. It greets us before we reach the other guests. Shake, Rattle and Roll creates a breezy mood, and she adorably wobbles around in time to the muted trumpet, trilling along to the banjo and double bass. As we turn the corner onto the terrace, she catches her first view of the musicians.
‘I love their striped jackets and straw hats, very English country garden.’ She has the most amazing smile that reaches all the way to her twinkling eyes.
‘Well hello,’ comes a strongly accented female voice I recognise well from behind. We both turn together and m
y Mum outstretches her hand to Lucy. ‘You must be the famous Lucy I’ve heard so much about,’ you can always rely on my Mother to say something cringe worthy, ‘hope you’re not about to break my son’s heart?’
‘It is indeed Ma, Lucy meet Virginia, my Mother.’ I sweep one arm between the two ladies in my life.
‘Hi Virginia, pleased to meet you, and no I’m not planning that,’ Lucy replies, flicking a wink at me. She smiles as she takes my Mums hand. ‘You have the most amazing place here, I love it.’
‘Ach well, it’s all inherited you know, but I do love it too,’ and she turns to view her home in the eyes of a newcomer. ‘Weren’t you coming with friends?’ she asks.
‘Yes they’re en route, but Paula had to go and pick up Mo after he finished work, so I made my own way here rather than being late. I’ll meet them when they arrive.’
‘Excellent, then let me show you around before they turn up,’ Mum says. With that, the three of us head off to explore my family dwelling. It’s odd viewing something so familiar as a stranger would. We take things for granted, and this place is no exception. We’ve had a lot of happy times here, some heartbreaking too; but it’s always been a home right from when we first moved here.
I mentally stand back and in detaching, I see the allure of functionality. Ancient beams hold up the old part of the kitchen, mixed with the new orangery displaying the garden from a modern glass and steel case. I can appreciate the central, curved staircase, an opulent display of grandeur next to the inglenook fireplace in the hall. But normally, my eyes are dim to this beauty against the complacency of routine.
Once outside, Mum heads off to mingle and I’m left to show Lucy my favourite places in the garden. We scoot past the posse of party guests and head off to the pool.
‘I love this place. These gates were put up to stop my brother’s kid falling in when he was younger. It’s so far from the house, no-one would be any the wiser.’