She touched his arm lightly, then went to clear up the empties and wipe down tables. When she looked up, she caught Troy looking at her when he thought she wasn’t watching. He looked rather sad and thoughtful. She wondered, for the first time since he was back, if he really meant everything he said. Perhaps this time, he had changed, and for the better.
Joel was at home lovingly working on Edward’s desk. He’d decided that if he was going to open the house for the Edward Handford exhibition, he needed to get on and renovate. Thanks to Kezzie having wangled some grant money for the garden from a small gardening charity, he’d had to spend less on the restoration than he’d budgeted for. Which meant he felt able to splash out on a decorator, and had managed to get the dining room and lounge finished. The hallway was next on the list, and in the meantime Joel had resumed work on the desk. As the only bit of furniture still surviving from Edward’s day, Joel wanted it to form pride of place in the exhibition.
He finally finished stripping off the old layers of polish and lacquer, layers and layers of it, which he’d spent weeks doing when Sam was small, before Claire had died. But now he had attacked it with renewed vigour, and he was rewarded for his efforts by being able to see the original walnut in all its beauty. He took a piece of sandpaper to it, and started to sand it down gently. This was such a beautiful piece of furniture. It gave him a thrill to think of Edward sitting here, writing at it, looking out of the front of the house, just as he did. The more he read Edward’s diaries, and looked through the other material he and Kezzie had found, the greater his affinity with his great great grandfather, who had moved into the house in the first throes of love, and created a garden in memory of that love.
For Joel too, it was love that had brought him here, though to begin with it was the garden that had attracted him – he clearly remembered as a child the excitement of coming to visit Uncle Jack, and finding it locked, sneaking into it in much the same way as Kezzie had. He could still remember the thrill, as he swung himself over the wall, and dropped down into the garden.
Back then it had been half tended – Uncle Jack had employed a curmudgeonly old handyman, whom Joel had instinctively avoided – but rarely visited, so the borders had been a jumble of weeds and plants. He particularly remembered there was a lot of heartsease, but then you found a lot of that growing round here. But he could also make out the patterns of the knot garden, just about being kept in shape, although he hadn’t really appreciated what he was looking at. The bushes round the side of the garden had been very overgrown and Joel had spent a lovely half hour having adventures in them before he’d been called indoors. Forever after, the secret garden had held a magical place in his heart. When his mum told him about Uncle Jack’s will it had been a no brainer to come here.
Realistically, though, when he saw the house he should have known it wouldn’t be to Claire’s taste. It hadn’t, if he were honest, been altogether to his. He had taken her to Lovelace Cottage as a surprise, but their first view of the place had been hardly propitious. Uncle Jack had been a bachelor, with no children, and precious little money. So the house had fallen into a state of disrepair, and was in desperate need of modernization. What Joel remembered as romantic and exotic from his childhood had turned into a decaying lost paradise, and even he had balked a little as he opened the creaking iron gate, and led Claire by the hand up the path.
The crazy paving was broken and cracked, leaving the surface uneven. The grass was growing long and wild, and the flowerbeds were a riot of weeds, with the odd snapdragon and forget me not poking out. The scent of the wisteria over the front door was strong, but the plant itself had, triffid-like, taken over the whole of the front of the house and needed cutting back. Claire had blinked in the May sunlight. The sun played upon her face, and she raised her hand to shield herself from its glare. Her fair hair was tied in a high ponytail, and her face was alive and laughing.
‘Um, it’s a bit overgrown,’ she said. ‘And who in their right mind would plant a privet hedge so close to the house? It must be hideously dark inside.’
‘I don’t suppose it was like that originally,’ he said. ‘Nobody’s done anything here forever. I’m sure we can trim that back so it’s not so overgrown. Come on, let’s go in.’
He opened the front door with some trepidation. Uncle Jack was a cantankerous old soul, and from his childhood memories the place had never been clean. Claire was used to the spick and span modernity of their flat in town; would she be able to cope with the amount of work needed here? Even Joel, who loved the idea of restoring an old house like this, felt a little daunted.
They had walked into a house trapped in time. There was dust everywhere, mote beams danced in the green, red and blue shadows cast by sunlight pouring through the stained-glass window of the front door, but the overall impression was of gloomy darkness. The stairway in the hall, though impressive, was made of dark mahogany, and matched the wood panelling up the walls. The parquet floor was partially covered in a faded red and white rug, which had seen better days, and pictures of various aged relatives stared vacantly out of ancient photographs.
‘Who’s this?’ Claire chanced upon a family photo of a stiff-looking Edwardian family: the parents sitting down, the mother with her hair in a bun, looking terribly severe, the father sitting rigid and squinting into the sun, the children solemn and serious, two girls and a boy dressed in their Sunday best. They didn’t look a happy bunch.
‘I think it’s my great great grandfather Edward Handford, who designed the gardens here,’ said Joel. He looked around him, trying to picture what the place could look like without the dust, and the oppressive darkness. The rooms had high ceilings, and there was masses of space. This could be turned into an amazing house, but he could sense Claire’s lack of enthusiasm. ‘I know it’s dark and old fashioned, Claire, but I’m sure if we took away the panelling and opened up the stairway the place would seem lighter. See that window halfway up the hall? If we made that bigger, it would bring in more light. Come on, let’s look upstairs.’
Claire followed him upstairs, pursing her lips as they went through room after room that looked tatty and worn, as if nothing had been touched here for centuries.
‘I feel like I’m in Miss Havisham’s house,’ said Claire, as they walked out of one particularly cobwebby room. ‘How on earth do you think your uncle managed living here?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Joel. ‘Look, I know it’s a lot of work, but can you really resist those views?’
He pointed to the back window. The back garden, as overgrown as the front, stretched down a hill before them, and gave way at the bottom to views of the South Downs. Joel drew the curtains back, and threw open the casement window. Light came pouring in. Suddenly the dark, poky little bedroom they were in was transformed into something much brighter. The sprig-like wallpaper, now faded, had been pretty once. It was possible to see that the room could be bright and pretty again.
‘This could make a lovely nursery,’ Joel cajoled Claire. ‘I know it doesn’t look much now, but really there’s bags of potential. And where else are we going to get so much space for the money?’
Although they were planning to take out a mortgage to buy the house from Joel’s mum, she had generously given them a good price, one they couldn’t really afford to turn down.
‘I suppose,’ said Claire reluctantly.
He looked out of the window and out towards the bottom of the garden. There was a faint sound of sheep in the background, and the birds were singing.
‘You don’t get sounds like that in London,’ he said.
‘True …’ said Claire, still uncertain.
‘You don’t like it?’ Joel had been so certain she would be brought round, once she’d seen the potential of the house. He’d only visited here a few times in his life, but there was something about the mystery and romance of this place that had intrigued him. He couldn’t wait to get going on the restoration.
‘It’s not that exactly,’ said
Claire, rubbing her stomach, ‘it’s just such a big move. With Junior on the way, and all the work here, I don’t know how we’ll manage.’
Joel took her hands in his. ‘It will be fine, I promise,’ he said. ‘I am going to make this house perfect for the three of us, and for however many of Junior’s brothers and sisters who come along. It’s going to be fabulous, you’ll see.’
And that’s what he’d done. The first six months they’d been in the house, they’d put in central heating and Joel had worked as hard as he could to strip out the dark wood, bring in more windows, and open the old house to the light. He’d wanted to bring love and laughter back into the house. And now Claire was gone, and the work that had gone into their home seemed wasted and fruitless. He wondered if Edward had felt the same in the end about the garden. Why else had he let it go to rack and ruin? It all seemed such a waste.
Chapter Eighteen
Lauren couldn’t stop thinking about Troy, as she pushed Sam down the hill to the park. It was one of those sharp, cold days you get in early March, but at least the sun was out, so she thought they both needed some fresh air. Over and over she repeated back their last conversation. Troy seemed to be hell bent on showing her he’d turned over a new leaf – he’d even started to pay her a bit of maintenance – and she felt that maybe, just maybe, he actually was.
Her mum was not as convinced, though, and every time Troy’s name came up in conversation, she did her level best to make Lauren ‘see sense’ as she put it. ‘That lad is never going to do right by you,’ she said. ‘He hasn’t got it in him. Don’t let him pull you down.’
Part of Lauren agreed with her mum. It was still early days, and while Troy seemed to be getting on with the kids, and enjoying their company, who was to say when the novelty would wear off? Lauren knew she should keep her wits about her, and remain wary, and yet, and yet …
As she turned into the playground she gasped in horror, all thoughts of Troy driven from her mind. Someone had clearly been having a party. The remains of an impromptu barbecue smouldered in a corner, and bottles, some of them broken, were scattered all over the ground. And yet again, someone had sprayed graffiti over the swings.
‘Oh, this is the pits!’ Lauren said to no one in particular.
‘Isn’t it?’ Another mum Lauren vaguely recognized, came up behind her. ‘We should get on to the council.’
‘What are they going to do?’ said Lauren. ‘I’ve tried that before. All that happens is someone comes down here, paints over the graffiti, and then goes away again. Nobody actually does anything.’
‘Well, what can we do?’ said the mum, introducing herself as Rose Carmichael. ‘The police never come down here. Nothing will ever change.’
‘That’s a bit defeatist, don’t you think?’ said Lauren. ‘I’m not sure it’s as bad as all that. If we all did something, maybe we could change things.’
‘I suppose,’ the mum looked unconvinced. ‘Have you got any big ideas about what you could do?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Lauren, ‘but at least I’m willing to try. I think it’s time we took matters into our own hands and reclaimed the playground for families.’
She took out her mobile and rang Eileen.
‘Eileen, have you got a moment to come down to the playground? It’s in a terrible state – worse than normal. I really think we should start sorting it out. We can’t wait forever for the Parish Council to do something about it.’
‘I’m only on the High Street,’ said Eileen. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’
Lauren put Sam into the swing and pushed him half heartedly while the other mum did the same with her little boy.
‘I just don’t get why anyone would do this,’ she said. ‘It’s so mindless.’
‘I know,’ said Rose. ‘Were you serious about doing something about it?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Lauren.
‘Well, if you’re prepared to do something about it, I’m in,’ said Rose. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Lauren, ‘but I’m sure my friend here can help.’
Eileen was striding up to them with a horrified look on her face.
‘This is awful,’ she said. ‘I keep bringing this to the attention of the Parish Council but so far they’ve done nothing. Even with Tony as Chair now, it takes so much to get them to change anything. So I wouldn’t hold your breath and imagine this will make any difference.’
‘I’m not,’ said Lauren, ‘which is why I want your help spearheading a clean-up campaign. Maybe if we prove to the council how much we need this place, they’ll sit up and take notice.’
‘So now you’re running the Save Our Playground campaign, as well as being on the Summer Fest committee and the PTA?’ Kezzie grinned when Lauren told her what had happened. ‘Well, good for you. I think one committee is enough to send me potty.’
‘Yes, well, someone needs to do something,’ said Lauren. ‘Otherwise the situation will just get worse. I think we should catch the little scrotes who did this and make them repaint the playground.’
‘Quite the community policewoman, aren’t we?’ said Kezzie.
‘Well, someone needs to be,’ said Lauren. ‘I can’t help thinking if the place were spruced a bit more, the vandals might be put off.’
‘They might,’ said Kezzie. ‘I really ought to get out there and start planting properly. Sod waiting for the Parish Council’s approval – I may just do it anyway!’
‘Oh, I think we can make enough fuss to ensure that,’ said Lauren. ‘I don’t think the Parish Council can turn a blind eye any longer. I’m going on Radio Sussex to talk about it and I’ve already spoken to the Heartsease Gazette and the Chiverton Post. I’ve got a petition going, too, and thanks to mums in the playground and a Facebook page I started, I’ve got a hundred signatures already.’
‘Blimey, that’s impressive,’ said Kezzie. ‘Tell you what, I’ll see if I can persuade some of my guerrilla gardening pals to come down for a few days. I did ask them if they would when I saw them last. They’re pretty good at turning a barren patch of land into something that looks halfway decent.’
‘And we should really start Neighbourhood Watch patrols,’ said Lauren. ‘The local police aren’t going to do anything.’
‘I bet it’s bored kids,’ said Kezzie. ‘They probably just need something to do. When I was younger I used to get a buzz out of breaking into parks at night. Me and my mates didn’t cause much damage, but we caused enough. I got tired of being so destructive, but enjoyed the buzz of breaking in. So I became a guerrilla gardener instead.’
‘And now you’re a landscape gardener. How did that happen?’
Kezzie paused. She still felt uncomfortable talking about the reasons why she’d come here. And now that Richard appeared to have completely closed the door on their relationship, she was even more reluctant to come clean. She liked Lauren, and didn’t want her to think badly of her.
‘Richard persuaded me that I had a God-given talent that could be put to better use. I was pretty disillusioned with my job at the time, and then I got made redundant, so it seemed like a good idea.’
‘Why did you split up? If you don’t mind me asking.’
Kezzie pulled a face. As ever, when she thought about her last meeting with Richard she felt sick to the pit of her stomach. How could a moment of such stupidity have caused such a catastrophe? If she could have one wish in life it would be for that evening to replay differently, for her not to have had Emily that day, for Emily not to have done what she did, for Richard to still be in love with her.
‘I – well, let’s just say I cocked up big time,’ said Kezzie. ‘I did something really stupid and now Richard doesn’t want to see me any more.’
‘What on earth did you do?’ said Lauren. ‘It can’t have been that bad.’
‘It was in his eyes,’ said Kezzie, blinking back tears. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be so wobbly about it after all this time. It drives me nuts that I still am.�
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Lauren reached over and gave her a hug. ‘Come on, Kezzie, we’re mates. Talk to me about it, it looks like you need to get it off your chest.’
So reluctantly, Kezzie told Lauren the story she’d told Flick. With Flick she had been fairly sure that she wouldn’t be judged, but Kezzie had heard Lauren go on about how much she hated drugs; she wasn’t sure Lauren wouldn’t be offended.
To her relief, when she’d finished Lauren snorted, ‘Is that all?’
‘What, you mean you wouldn’t have been cross if I let the twins eat magic muffins?’
‘They’re four years old,’ said Lauren. ‘That’s different. You know I don’t agree with drugs. But it wasn’t as if you told Emily to help herself. She shouldn’t have just assumed she could eat whatever she wanted without your permission. And frankly, she does sound quite obnoxious. Which is fair enough, she’s a teenage girl. I hated one of my dad’s girlfriends so much, that I put pepper in her tea. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if Emily knew exactly what she was doing and ate those muffins just to cause trouble between you and Richard.’
This was more or less what Kezzie had thought. ‘Do you really think so?’ She felt hugely relieved that her friend was being so supportive.
‘I sure do,’ said Lauren. ‘And if you ask me, Richard’s an idiot, letting his teenage daughter dictate his love life like that. I mean, he could have cut you some slack, couldn’t he?’
‘Do you know, you’re right,’ said Kezzie, wiping away her tears. ‘He damned well could have. He doesn’t deserve me.’
‘No he doesn’t,’ said Lauren. ‘Sorry, I hope you didn’t think I was interfering.’
‘Not at all, you’ve made me feel much better about it,’ said Kezzie, in control of herself again. ‘So come on, how are we going to go about patrolling the playground?’
Summer Season Page 18