Coming Up Roses

by Rachael Lucas

  ‘Do you – did you have any children?’

  Thomas shook his head. ‘No, we were never blessed with a family. It’s a shame. Violet would have made a lovely mum.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She reached out a hand, patting him on the arm.

  ‘Oh, don’t listen to me getting maudlin.’ He grinned at her, perfect false teeth under his white moustache. ‘I do all right. It’s a funny old thing watching this little village – well, it’s more of a town now, really, isn’t it? – growing and changing. I’ve seen some real differences over the years. When you’re a gardener, you notice things.’

  ‘Well,’ said Daisy, realizing as she did how much she looked forward to it, ‘I’d really appreciate your help on the gardens at Orchard Villa. And they’re not going anywhere.’

  Thomas looked markedly brighter. ‘That would be lovely, m’dear. Now, when shall we meet next? Shall I pop around in the week? Any time good for you?’

  ‘Whenever suits you. I’m always in.’

  Always in, no plans, thought Daisy. Safe in the garden. And that’s just how I like it.

  Daisy trudged down the hill, rain seeping in through the hem of her coat. It was funny that so far the only person in the village she’d met was sixty years her senior. This summer of house-sitting was going to be an odd one, if the only thing she had to look forward to was a cup of tea with an octogenarian and watching her plants grow.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning the rain had cleared. The sun hung in a bright blue sky, but there was still a late-spring nip in the air. After a sleepless night, Daisy had decided to make some more progress on the front borders before the village garden police had her rounded up and put in the stocks for bringing shame upon Steeple St John. She’d been bent double hoicking up some particularly stubborn thistles for ages, and her back was beginning to ache. She straightened, pulling off her fleece as she did so. She was roasting hot, probably beetroot-faced, and sweating. What she needed was a huge drink of Coke, and there was none in the house. Patting her back pocket to check she had the keys, she decided to reward herself with a quick trip to the corner shop.

  Not that my life here’s uneventful, she thought wryly, as she pulled the gate shut behind her.

  ‘Ah, we meet again!’

  Daisy, unable to resist a three-for-two offer when it came to chocolate, was just stuffing two bars into her bag and preparing to stuff a third into her mouth as she opened the door of the little newsagent.

  Standing right in front of her, immaculately dressed yet again – she probably gets out of bed and looks perfect, Daisy realized – was Elaine Thornton-Green.

  ‘I was just thinking about you,’ she said, brightly.

  ‘You were?’ Daisy plopped the chocolate bar back into the bag, slightly reluctantly.

  ‘Yes. You haven’t forgotten my little gathering on Thursday night, have you?’

  Gathering on Thursday night. Daisy put her hand in the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out her keys, a crumpled tissue, a couple of dried-up leaves, and – Elaine’s business card. Oh God, there was no getting out of this, was there?

  ‘I’m not sure I can,’ she said, automatically. ‘I’ve got plans this Thursday.’

  ‘Oh, that is a shame.’ Elaine’s face fell.

  ‘Maybe another time?’ Daisy felt a bit guilty. Not guilty enough, mind you, to change her mind.

  ‘Yes, that would be lovely. Yes, let’s do that. I’ll give you a shout soon.’ Elaine brightened at the thought, squaring her shoulders as she headed into the shop.

  Elaine had seemed genuinely disappointed, Daisy realized, as she headed back to the garden with her bag of consolation prizes. She was probably just being polite. In any case, she wasn’t ready to get out into the real world just yet, no matter what her sister might say about getting back out there.

  She was quite happy with her little routine. It was safe. She got up, she gardened all day, watched TV box sets and ate chocolate, cried herself to sleep and then slept fitfully until morning. Her parents, who’d been planning to leave the house locked up for the duration of their trip, might have been surprised when she’d turned up, shell-shocked, on their doorstep a few weeks back, but they’d been more than happy to hand her the keys. Good old Daisy, her mother had said. Plenty more fish in the sea. This works out just perfectly for all of us, doesn’t it?

  Not really, Daisy had thought. But she’d bitten back her response with a smile, and waved her parents off as they headed for India. She was safe here, alone, in Steeple St John.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘You okay?’ Daisy, feet up on the sofa, was glad to hear Miranda’s voice. The sisters had always been close, and with their parents on the other side of the world, it was comforting to know there was at least one person out there who’d notice if she fell off the face of the earth. Besides Thomas, of course. Oh, and there was always Elaine.

  ‘You made it outside the garden walls yet?’ Miranda’s voice was teasing.

  ‘Yeah, I had tea with my new friend Thomas.’

  ‘I was thinking more people your own age, Daise. Don’t make me come up there again. I’ll come, y’know. I’ll force you to go to a barn dance, or whatever it is the yokels do for entertainment . . .’

  ‘There’s a Parish Council meeting next week. I could go to that?’ Daisy had been reading the signs on the noticeboard outside the library when a woman beetled up, opened up the glass casing with an important air, and pinned her sign over the top of several others. ‘Priorities, my dear,’ she’d said. ‘I hope we’ll see you there?’

  ‘Come on, Daise.’ Her sister’s tone softened. ‘Look, I know you’re feeling like shit, but seriously. I’m worried about you.’

  Daisy adjusted the fleece blanket that was covering her knees, cradling her wine glass in her hand. It was easier when Miranda was bossing her about. When people started being kind she could feel the tears prickling, threatening to spill over.

  ‘I’m fine.’ It came out thickly, and she swallowed back the sob with a gulp of red.

  ‘You don’t sound it. I’ve got to finish up this project by the end of the week, but I’m going to come and see you as soon as it’s done, ’kay?’

  Daisy nodded, silently.

  ‘Daise?’

  Of course, she couldn’t see down the phone. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Promise me you’ll try and get out a bit?’

  ‘I will. Speak to you tomorrow.’

  ‘Love you.’

  ‘You too.’

  Daisy finished the last of the wine and headed upstairs. As she shoved her jeans off the side of the bed Elaine’s card fell out of the pocket, landing at her feet. She picked it up and looked at it thoughtfully. Miranda would call that a sign from the universe. She turned it over, running a thumb across the expensive-looking card.

  Elaine Thornton-Green

  homevintagelife.com

  Everything about it suggested luxury. Daisy rolled over, picking up her phone, and typed in the web address. Heading up the website was a picture of Elaine, smiling at a kitchen counter, a plate of gorgeous-looking scones in front of her. She scrolled downwards through the website. Elaine in a perfectly manicured garden, chic in a sunhat, a pair of secateurs in hand (which, she couldn’t help noticing, looked like they’d never been used). How to make the perfect chicken soup. How to renovate a wooden dresser. Vintage styling for modern homes. It was a perfect lifestyle magazine, featuring Elaine as a sort of British version of Martha Stewart. No wonder she’d been a bit unimpressed with the chaos of Daisy’s parents’ garden. She didn’t just look immaculate at all times. Her whole life was immaculate.

  Sod it, thought Daisy. If I go to this thing, I’ll get Miranda off my back. There is no way that I’m going to have anything in common with this woman or any of her friends, and then I can just get on with being on my own. Leaving the card by the phone to remind herself to text in the morning, she rolled over and went to sleep.

  It didn’t occur to her until the
following afternoon, as she felt her mobile buzzing in her pocket, that last night had been the first night she hadn’t fallen asleep crying. Nor had she woken in the small hours with nightmares of familiar faces mocking her, laughing.

  She checked her messages. Elaine had replied to the morning’s apologetic response that she wasn’t busy after all, and if it was still okay, she could make it.

  SO glad to hear you can make it. Ours is The Old Rectory on Cavendish Lane. See you at 8. E. x

  *

  Cavendish Lane was the most sought-after street in the village. Each house was unique, set in huge gardens that backed onto the cricket pitch at one end and the allotments at the other. It was close enough to the train station that harried commuters could walk there in five minutes, meaning that houses on the street were often snapped up before the For Sale signs had even arrived on their perfectly manicured front lawns.

  Daisy, feeling more than a little bit awkward, was edging her way slowly down the lane, trying to work out which was The Old Rectory. There were no numbers and half the houses appeared to have no names, either. But there it was – the name was painted on huge stone pillars which stood in front of a beautiful Georgian house. A precise row of five multi-paned windows stood above a panelled wooden front door at the end of a raked path of fine gravel. The path was lined with perfectly trimmed lavender bushes, not a single blue-grey leaf out of place. Daisy took a deep breath before pushing open the spiky metal gate.

  As she drew closer she could see a hand-painted sign confirming she was in the right place. The front door was a pale, matt, expensive-looking grey-green. On either side of the tiled step sat two shiny bay trees, their slim trunks tied with bows of rough sacking material. Their painted wooden tubs were topped with a layer of blue-grey slate. It was perfect. Bracing herself, Daisy pressed the shiny brass doorbell.

  ‘Ah, you must be one of Elaine’s ladies.’ A ruddy-cheeked, sandy-haired man opened the door. He wore a checked shirt beneath a ribbed woollen sweater, with standard posh-boy-issue thick brown cords. He reminded Daisy of an older Prince Harry. ‘Come in.’ He waved her into the hall, his voice well modulated and clear. ‘Elaine?’ He smiled at her, politely.

  ‘Oh, lovely. Daisy!’ Elaine appeared in the hall. She was slim and chic in a patterned wrap dress, with a pair of butter-soft leather boots which showed off slim calves. ‘Excuse Leo, he’s leaving us to it. Bye, darling.’

  ‘Have fun, girls.’ Leo stretched across, giving his wife a kiss which didn’t quite connect with her cheek. Scooping up his car keys from the tall table by the door, he strode off down the path, pulling out his phone as he did so.

  ‘Come through. Let me take your coat.’

  Daisy allowed herself to be ushered into the house. The whole place was completely show-house spotless. The gleaming black and white tiles in the hall bore no wet dog footprints. There were no piles of unread post and junk mail on the dresser. There wasn’t a teetering mound of coats on the bottom of the banister, either.

  Elaine waved her into the kitchen with a gesture and slightly satisfied facial expression which suggested she was used to comments of admiration – not surprisingly. The kitchen was huge, immaculate and gleaming. Rows of smoothly painted wooden doors in a pale creamy white were tucked beneath acres of cool marble countertops. A double-fronted American fridge, bigger than anything Daisy had ever encountered, hummed quietly. There was an Aga here, too, but unlike the much-loved, slightly battered one back at Orchard Villa, this one was a buttermilk cream, and the metal fitments sparkled and shone.

  Daisy took it all in with a little gasp of admiration. And – mmm, delicious. The most amazing array of sushi lay on huge white platters, the black and white contrasting against jewel-bright centres, stretched across the central island.

  ‘This is gorgeous. And sushi, too. I love it.’

  Elaine looked quite proud of herself. ‘I made it myself. It’s surprisingly easy, actually.’

  ‘I didn’t even know you could do that,’ said Daisy, who until now had thought sushi mainly came from restaurants, or from those gorgeous takeaways at the train station.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Elaine, airily. ‘Doesn’t take long. The secret’s in a good knife. Much like gardening – I’m sure you’ll agree, the tools are everything.’

  Daisy nodded, looking around the kitchen as Elaine poured some soda water into a pitcher full of ice and mint. She was a bit dumbstruck by the gorgeous perfection of everything.

  ‘Mojito?’

  Daisy had to grudgingly acknowledge that her sister had a point. Faced with another evening with a bottle of red, a bag of Doritos and a rerun of Friends, this was rather nice. But where was everyone else?

  ‘If you just pop through to the orangery, I’ll be with you in a moment.’ Elaine, who seemed a little distracted, looked over Daisy’s shoulder towards the front door.

  Daisy looked at the three doors that led out of the kitchen, and headed for the middle one.

  Elaine laughed. ‘That’s the boot room. It’s through there, on your left. Have a seat.’

  Daisy stepped through into the biggest conservatory she’d ever seen. It was lush with plants, deliciously warm, and completely empty. Where was everyone? She picked up her phone, surreptitiously checking the date. No, it was definitely Thursday, and it was definitely eight o’clock. But the ‘gathering’ so far seemed to consist of two people.

  She sat down on one of the sofas, sipping her drink, looking out at the patio, which stretched out beyond the glass. The garden looked amazing. Just as she stood up to investigate, she heard Elaine call out.

  ‘Ah, doorbell!’ She sounded relieved.

  ‘Jo, this is Daisy. Daisy, Jo.’

  Standing before her was a woman who looked a bit older than Daisy – early thirties, perhaps. She was dressed in a pretty sea-green patterned tunic, with long dark blue leggings, and a pair of sparkly green pumps. She tucked her pale blonde hair behind her ears, showing ornate beaded earrings.

  ‘Just going to check if . . .’ Elaine ducked back out of the room, not finishing her sentence, leaving a waft of expensive scent in her wake.

  Jo caught Daisy’s eye and raised her eyebrows almost imperceptibly, with a smile which made her feel slightly more at ease. She too had been given a glass. She sat down on the sofa opposite Daisy, who was swirling the ice of her drink, releasing delicious wafts of lime and mint into the air.

  ‘Do you—’

  ‘So are you—’

  They both started to speak at the same time just as the doorbell rang again, making them laugh.

  Daisy took another large mouthful of mojito, feeling the rum warming her throat. Everything was perfect on the surface, but the atmosphere was weird. Elaine was like a cat on hot bricks, much less assured than she’d seemed when they’d met. Daisy clutched her phone as a talisman. Miranda had been delighted to hear she was going out, but had been put on rescue alert. One quick text and her sister was primed to call, claiming an emergency, so that she could make her escape. It was a long-held pact which had saved both of them in the past.

  ‘Here we are.’ Elaine’s smile was enormous now as she returned to the room followed by four women. ‘So glad you girls could make it. This is such fun!’

  ‘Steph, Jane, Sarah, Jacqui.’ Elaine waved a hand to identify each woman, all of whom were dressed in almost identical outfits, like variations on a theme. ‘This is Daisy’ – Daisy stood up, feeling suddenly awkward – ‘and this is Jo.’

  They had the same expensively blow-dried hair as Elaine, but where she was willowy and chic in her wrap dress, they were dressed for an evening out with sparkly tops, skinny jeans and pin-sharp heels.

  ‘The girls are all mums from Brockville Prep, where Leo is head.’

  ‘Lovely to meet you, Daisy.’ Steph appeared to speak for all of them. The other three held back slightly. She felt herself being scanned, outfit-wise. She’d taken advantage of the early spring sunshine and had put on ankle-length trousers and a long fitted
shirt, and twisted her unruly red hair back with two jewelled combs. Checking her reflection in the hall mirror as she’d left the house, she’d felt quite good. Under Steph’s measured appraisal, she now felt distinctly gardener-ish and not at all glam.

  Steph extended a hand, glancing in one of those micro-second looks that some women do so well from her own immaculately manicured hands to Daisy’s short, scrubbed-to-within-an-inch-of-their-lives gardening fingernails. The handshake was brief and insincere. So much for Miranda’s theory last night that Daisy might meet a brand new best friend. This lot were like the Mean Girls gang she remembered from school. While Steph was giving her the once-over the other three had spread out, helping themselves to the freshly made jugs of mojito, giggling in the corner like fifteen-year-olds.

  ‘Oh yes, please do help yourselves,’ said Elaine redundantly as she headed for the kitchen, bringing back another jug. Daisy caught Jane and Sarah – or Jacqui, she couldn’t remember who was who – exchanging a glance, which suggested they intended to do just that.

  ‘So, how do you know Elaine?’ Jo, sensing an ally, leaned in closer to Daisy, her elbows on her knees.

  ‘Oh – well, actually, I don’t,’ Daisy confided. ‘We got off to a bit of a dodgy start when I soaked her in the garden when my hose went haywire, and she invited me round. I wasn’t going to come.’

  Jo raised her eyebrows again.

  ‘I mean,’ Daisy realized that sounded a bit rude, and she was supposed to be making an effort to be sociable, ‘I’m only in the village for the next six months. I’m staying in my parents’ place while they’re off travelling. Elaine asked if I’d like to come along. I didn’t have any plans, and . . .’ she trailed off, taking a sip of her drink, which had rapidly turned into a slush of melted ice and mint leaves.

  ‘Let me top you up,’ said Elaine, brightly. She handed Daisy a fresh glass. ‘The girls are getting started on the sushi if you two would like to join us?’

  Daisy and Jo both looked up. While they’d been chatting, Steph and her gang had headed through to the kitchen. They were cackling uproariously and somehow were already on their third drinks.