The Garden of Lost Memories

by Ruby Hummingbird

  ‘Billy,’ her voice was faraway, as if she was still in the front room at her desk, not stood in front of us in her porch.

  ‘I don’t know how to repay you,’ Mum started and Mrs Maple batted her words away with a hand and ‘Don’t be silly, you get on.’

  ‘Thank you. Love you, Billy,’ Mum said and I am glad it was only Mrs Maple watching it as I felt heat in the roots of my hair.

  An hour later we were sat in the garden. Mrs Maple had planned to show me how to deadhead some spring bulbs but instead we were both sat on the chairs on the patio enjoying the sun.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ she said suddenly, and moved into the kitchen.

  My heart sank as I realised she would probably return with a plate of custard creams. But she came back with a sheet of paper in her hands and I realised it was the map. ‘Look,’ she said, lifting it to me, ‘we need to get going.’

  I didn’t ask questions – she never normally seemed to like the map, just followed her around her kitchen as she put various things in her basket, a glass bottle, a bag that rustled, and then moved to her porch, rooting around in the trunk until she pulled out a tartan rug.

  ‘Come on, look lively!’ She ushered me out the door. She sneezed. ‘Hayfever,’ she said, stepping onto the pavement. ‘You always said my sneezes made you laugh!’

  ‘Pardon?’ I replied.

  ‘Oh… oh, nothing…’

  We headed down the high street, Mrs Maple marching ahead with an energy I wasn’t used to. She seemed determined to lead us somewhere and I wondered where that was, trying to remember the spots on the map.

  I was just about to ask when I heard a high-pitched whistle and turned my head in the direction of the noise. Daniel was stood on the other side of the road by the café, two fingers in his mouth, staring straight at me. I felt myself shrink back. Half a term of taunts, laughter and smirks had made sure no one else wanted to speak to me. I was stressed out every time he came near me.

  Mrs Maple had stopped and I’d almost walked into her, watching in slow-motion horror as she handed me her basket, sneezing and searching for a tissue. So, there I was, holding the basket over one arm, accompanying an old lady to God knows where. Daniel was laughing, turning back to the café, calling to someone inside.

  Get me away from here, I thought, wanting to throw the basket down and run back home.

  ‘Come on, don’t dawdle,’ Mrs Maple said, taking her basket back.

  Dragging my feet along the ground, I followed, my mind taken up with all the things I wished would happen to Daniel. None of them nice.

  Mrs Maple looked over her shoulder at me, a small frown on her face. When she ushered me round the corner to a sleek brown building overlooking the meadow, I failed to react to her enthusiastic, ‘Ta Da!’ A bit hot and now very bothered, I just wanted to go home, get to my room, close the curtains and hide.

  Mrs Maple walked over to the door of the building. ‘You can rent boats,’ she explained. ‘We don’t have to,’ she added in a quick voice, ‘you seem a little out of sorts.’

  ‘Nah,’ I replied, not wanting to explain it all, embarrassed it was that obvious. ‘Boats,’ I said, ‘cool!’

  Her whole body relaxed and I realised this was obviously a bit of a big deal for her. She handed over the money and we were led outside where boats and canoes were moored to the bank of the river, rocking gently side by side, clunking with every ripple, pools of water collected in the bottom.

  Mrs Maple chose a rowing boat and the man in the polo shirt helped her in, placing her bag inside a waterproof sack that clipped under the seat. His hand was sandpaper as he helped me on and I wobbled as I sat down sharply on the hard, wooden plank. Passing me an oar, he gave us a gentle push and we floated backwards out onto the river.

  ‘Right,’ Mrs Maple was sat behind me calling instructions. ‘You set the pace, Billy, and I’ll follow you. Oops! Don’t direct us into the reeds there, good boy.’

  This was dragging me out of my glum mood – I’d never been in a boat before, or on the river. I’d walked over the Thames in London and watched speedboats and ferries move below but this was different. Everything was still and green and made my insides feel calm.

  We steered the small white boat slowly down the river, trees dripping into the water either side, reeds clustered along the bank, a bright blue-chested bird flapping manically on the surface of the water before zipping away like a rocket.

  ‘A hummingbird,’ Mrs Maple said, her voice filled with wonder as she continued to point out the different sights. The river cut through fields, a forest of trees stretching into the distance, the few clouds reflected in the surface of the water that danced with sunlight.

  ‘Aren’t willow trees wonderful, Billy? You know this was the stretch of river that inspired The Wind in the Willows.’

  I didn’t reply, I’d not seen the movie.

  ‘I imagine Mole and Ratty stretched out, chatting in the sunshine. Mother would ask me to make up their conversations.’

  This wasn’t the first time Mrs Maple had mentioned her mother. It was as if the map was reminding her of these things.

  ‘You’ve read it of course, Billy,’ she called from behind me.

  I shook my head.

  ‘That’s a shame. I suppose it’s all Harry Potter now. Scarlet once told me that was rather a success.’

  Truth was, I wasn’t much of a reader. I had to read for school and that was enough for me. Reading was boring, and most of the books didn’t even have pictures. I didn’t say anything to Mrs Maple though ’cos her house had a few bookshelves.

  A narrowboat passed us, and a man in a navy blue peaked cap gave us a wave from the back, one hand on a pole. A family of ducks paddled by and we passed a tree, a piece of old rope hanging from a branch.

  ‘That reminds me of a spot further along. We’d swing into the river and go swimming,’ Mrs Maple said. She was a lot chattier in a boat. ‘We used to swim in our underwear,’ she called out, a giggle too.

  Alarmed at that thought, I rowed a bit faster, my oar clashing with Mrs Maple’s. It was warm but there was no way I was going to strip down to my pants and get in the river, that’s gross. It’s all greeny-brown and you can’t see the bottom: there were probably crocodiles.

  ‘It’s time for lunch,’ Mrs Maple called a moment later. ‘Turn around and help me with the picnic.’

  Not custard creams, I silently prayed. Twisting on my seat, the oars trailing in the water as the boat rocked to the side, I gripped the edge.

  Mrs Maple struggled a bit to pull out the bag and I felt bad for gripping the side and not helping her. She reached inside, producing bananas, a box of raisins, fresh white rolls and custard creams wrapped up in tin foil. I knew it. We sat facing each other, my knees nudging Mrs Maple’s as I ate, unable to shake off the bad mood inside me.

  Mrs Maple turned to look at two swans and I made my move. ‘Oh no, my biscuit!’ I said, watching it slowly disappear into the murky water.

  Mrs Maple looked back. ‘Oh, what a shame, Billy.’

  I gave her my most disappointed face.

  ‘You’ve been very quiet today, Billy. Not seasick?’ She tilted her head to the side.

  There was barely a breeze as I tore along the edge of the box of raisins, littering the bottom of the boat with tiny pieces of cardboard. Maybe it was the way she was waiting, her eyes kind, or the feeling that we were totally alone that made me want to confess but I found myself opening my mouth, needing to get things off my chest.

  ‘I saw a boy from school on the way,’ I explained, ‘Daniel.’ His name, spat out. ‘He’s… he’s…’

  What was he? He was a bully, I thought, my mind full of all the nasty things he did. His names for me, his mimicking my accent, the rumours he spread about me so no one else wanted to talk to me – my mum was a prostitute, my dad was in jail, I had worms, I had nits, I wiped snot on everything, the clothes he made fun of, the feet he tripped.

  ‘No one stands up to him. Th
ey all listen and I don’t know… it’s not going to ever stop. I hate him. And no one cares, the teachers don’t even notice…’ Now I was talking, I couldn’t seem to stop. ‘He’s got these little mates and they make my life hell and it’s not true, any of it, and I swear some of the other kids would hang out with me but they’re too frightened. And there’s a WhatsApp group apparently called “I hate Billy” and it’s just full of them, swapping mean stuff about me. Javid showed me.’

  ‘A What’s what?’

  I explained, chest heaving up and down: ‘It’s like texts, like loads of messages you send to a group. And they all just talk about me on it…’

  Mrs Maple sat back, eyes going all round, as I went on and on.

  ‘And they say stuff about Mum that isn’t true. And I know Dad would want to beat them all up, but he isn’t here and Mum says we can’t see him even though that’s so unfair because she’s the one that left and he probably misses us loads and I just want to go home and not be in this stupid place and…’ I hadn’t noticed that the tears had started but there was no stopping them now. ‘But you can’t tell my mum because she’ll hate me for talking about it because she keeps telling me to just let it go and she’ll explain later, and she used to enjoy her job and now she works for that Dick so she’s always in a bad mood and tired.’

  A large bird flew overhead as I faded away, my face damp. Mrs Maple didn’t do much, didn’t even tell me off for swearing. She just sat there and I looked down, bringing my hands together in my lap, worried she’d be cross with me. Then she leant forward and placed her hand on my knee. ‘Oh, Billy,’ she said, ‘oh dear!’

  And there wasn’t much more she could say really. It was a small thing but it did make things a tiny bit better. That I had finally said something to someone and she had just listened.

  She thought for a moment, placing our rubbish back in the bag and clipping it under the seat again. ‘You need something to cheer you up,’ she said, and then, with barely any warning, she stood right up so that the boat rocked dangerously from side to side, my hands shooting out to clutch both sides.

  And then she jumped, just like that, right over the side, her feet circling for a moment before she hit the water, an enormous splash as freezing-cold droplets sprayed me in the boat.

  I leaned over the edge, the boat tilting as I watched her appear, hair flattened and soaked, mouth opening and closing, out of the water. ‘So cold!’ she gasped.

  ‘You’re mental,’ I said, with a massive surprise laugh as I watched her breaststroke about the boat, and suddenly I was leaping off the side too and bombing the water, splashing her, and it was freezing and it made me gasp and paddle so fast.

  ‘Oh my God!’ I cried, barely able to feel my skin, regretting my jump the moment I was in. ‘There’s an eel or… something…’ I was convinced something brushed my leg. ‘Oh my God!’

  Mrs Maple was laughing so hard she looked like she might go under.

  ‘What lives in here?’ I asked her, unable to get back on the boat now.

  ‘Nothing. Just swim, you silly thing!’ she called out. ‘Enjoy it.’

  We swam and swam, around the little boat, up and down under the willow trees, the water less cold the more I moved, Mrs Maple encouraging me. For a moment we were the only two people in the world and it was just the smooth, cool water, our tiny boat and our shouts of laughter.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ELSIE

  ‘He’s over again later,’ Elsie said as Scarlet perched on the edge of the table Elsie was sat at, a pile of books in her arms. She should be at home. She still needed to watch the second half of a movie she had started days ago. Her chalkboard wouldn’t get checked. But Elsie didn’t want to go. She’d decided to stay in the library today, to read at the desk and engage Scarlet in conversation when she passed by to restack the audiobooks or neaten the children’s section. ‘We’ll be in the garden again.’

  ‘I can see that’s where you spend your time.’ Scarlet smiled, turning to place one of the books back in its rightful slot. ‘You’ve got a good glow already.’

  ‘Skin damage, more like,’ Elsie blushed.

  Scarlet had greeted her warmly when she had appeared in the library, asking after Billy almost immediately. Since she had bumped into her by the pillbox Elsie felt that she now could talk more, asking after Harry, who was about to crawl any day now. ‘He sort of drags himself along the ground a bit, like he’s a man in a desert searching for water,’ Scarlet said, pausing from tapping at the front-desk computer to laugh.

  Elsie smiled, surprising herself, and then chuckled before telling Scarlet about their boat trip, her jumping in. How they had pushed the boat through the reeds to the bank, clambering up in their heavy, wet clothes to get back in, teeth chattering with cold, the man in the polo shirt staring at them as they stepped out dripping, moved through the village soaked, laughing and leaving a trail of wet footprints behind them.

  ‘I wish I could do more though. It’s been hard for him, he seems rather lonely.’

  ‘Bless him! Well, he’s lucky to have you looking out for him,’ Scarlet said, reaching to pick up some books left on the returned shelf. ‘Well, I don’t want to disturb you if you’re searching for your next read.’ That was the moment Elsie decided to stay in the small space, read a chapter or two there.

  Elsie watched Scarlet move to the back of the room, wondering why it had taken her so long to talk in a place she visited so often. She must have visited that library every week for the last twenty years. She had convinced herself it was a library, a place to be silent, but she knew this was an excuse. Plenty of people lowered their voices as they chatted with Scarlet or the other librarian, as they renewed their books or rented a DVD.

  Feeling more relaxed than ever, she made sure to wave her goodbye when she left. At home, sat at her writing desk, Elsie filled a sheet of paper in her purple ink, the tone brighter than it had been in years, news coming more easily, the usual pang as she walked down the lane towards the postbox a little less painful.

  Billy appeared after school, drawing up short when he saw she was not in her usual spot at the table. Elsie had thrown caution to the wind and was already in the garden, out of synch with her usual schedule.

  ‘What about your tea?’ Billy asked, clearly so used to Elsie’s routines that it made her flush.

  ‘I just felt like gardening,’ Elsie said, realising what a slave she had become to her timings, the order of her day.

  Today, she wanted them to sow some cosmos, a quick-germinating annual, and then trim the row of box balls next to the patio. She wouldn’t allow him near the larger shears, too dangerous for a ten-year-old, but had set aside a small pair of hand shears.

  Billy had his gloves and pink apron on before she had even fetched her own gloves.

  ‘We must get you overalls,’ she said, seeing him stood in the flowery item.

  Billy shrugged. ‘Feels like mine now. Anyway, it’s only for getting covered in dirt.’

  Elsie smiled at him. Such an amenable boy, he deserved friends, and lots of them, she thought as he walked down to the greenhouse and collected the tray of cosmos they were going to plant that day.

  He was a great pupil. One of the borders in the garden had been completely transformed and he was constantly asking her questions, some she couldn’t answer and had to look up in her ancient book on gardening. She had always done the same thing in the garden, honouring the memory of her mother, but Billy was keen to experiment, wanted to grow vegetables and more. She had been forced to line up some old clay guttering and bought Billy a packet of carrot seeds which were now taking hold.

  He was less interested in tending to her clematis and her poppies, but was a huge help with the more physical jobs, removing the ladder or the large spade from her hands with a gentle sigh: ‘Come on, Mrs Maple, let me.’

  ‘It’s Elsie,’ she’d protest every time.

  ‘Alright, Ells, alright, settle down.’

  Which always mad
e her laugh.

  Watching him work – the atmosphere easy as he mentioned the things he’d done at school, the focus on his lessons and not the other pupils – filled her heart and she was forming a few ideas of her own. Some of the work was hard and boring and she offered him the chance to earn pocket money. ‘Good for you to have your own,’ she’d said, handing him coins for an hour of weeding or mowing the lawn.

  ‘No, you’re alright,’ he’d replied, trying to give them back.

  ‘Don’t be silly, you’re saving me money, Billy, I’d only have to hire a gardener,’ she said, realising it was the truth, that some of these jobs were now beyond her. That thought made her stomach lurch for a second, but it didn’t sting as much as it used to.

  Sometimes she asked him about that nasty boy at his school, Daniel, and he would mumble a reply. It certainly didn’t seem like things were getting better. She should have said more that day on the boat, offered more wisdom, but what could she really share? She had never been to school herself, there was only ever her mother and her so there were no playground politics, no peers, no friends. She didn’t feel that she could help him aside from listen if he wanted to talk.

  It started to spit with rain and they ran inside, eating pitta bread and dip, Billy ignoring the small sticks of celery and carrot. His eyes glanced across to the dresser and with no real warning, asked, ‘So have you found out any more about what the tin means?’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, one hand cupping her neck, rubbing at it. ‘Oh, I’ve hardly thought about it, really,’ she said, fiddling now with the bottom of the tablecloth.

  ‘I still don’t get why your mum gave you the map of the village,’ he said, his small face screwed up.

  She answered his first question. ‘A lot of the things, the boiled sweets and such,’ Elsie said, feeling her insides squeeze, her voice rise a pitch, ‘were just lovely memories we had together.’ Why did it hurt so much to say that? She thought then of one place on the map, the place she was forever trying not to think about. Had her mother visited that place too? Had that meant the most to her? Was that why it hurt?