Coming Up Roses

by Rachael Lucas

  ‘I’d better get a move on,’ said Daisy, checking the time. ‘I need to get changed into something respectable before the visitors start arriving.’

  Ned looked at her with curiosity. ‘You sure? You look great as you are.’

  She looked down at the sawn-off jean shorts, flip-flops and T-shirt she was wearing. ‘Something tells me Flora wouldn’t agree.’

  The sun was beating down on Steeple St John. A steady stream of visitors had been making their way through the side gate of the Old Rectory since the doors opened to the Open Gardens at 9.30. Leo had flitted back and forth, in full charm mode, welcoming people graciously and praising the efforts of ‘my lovely wife’. Thomas and Ned were now sitting under one of Elaine’s many spare gazebos at the white village gates. They’d be there all day, handing out the badges that allowed visitors free access to the village gardens, taking notes on planting schemes and soaking up the festival atmosphere. The rare Bank Holiday sunshine had brought visitors from miles around, and the local shops were doing a roaring trade in ice creams and sunhats. Apparently, according to a delighted Flora, the pop-up W.I. cafe had sold out of every type of cake and had to make an emergency run to restock the tea supplies.

  ‘Pimm’s?’ Jo, who’d installed herself in the garden (complete with requisite badge, having taken a wander around the village with Martha earlier), didn’t wait for an answer. She was wielding a huge jug, and tipped a hefty measure into Daisy’s empty glass.

  Daisy groaned. ‘I’m going to have a hangover by about seven this evening at this rate. I’m getting too old for drinking in the afternoon.’

  Elaine emerged from the kitchen, hair held back by a pair of enormous sunglasses. She was in a cerise pink linen shift dress, an ecru cardigan draped over her shoulders.

  And that, thought Daisy, is the difference between someone like Elaine, and someone like me. She looked at her own flower-sprigged sundress. She’d found it in a vintage shop in Winchester, and she’d paired it with her favourite, battered denim pair of Converse sneakers and a denim jacket she’d found in her mum’s wardrobe which had probably been on the go longer than Daisy had been alive. It was lucky that Elaine had proved to be sweet-natured and thoughtful, or her perfection would be quite unbearable.

  ‘I’ll give you a hand in the kitchen, shall I?’ Jo scooped up her glass and headed inside.

  ‘It’s been a very mild spring, hasn’t it?’ An elderly lady interrupted Daisy’s thoughts. ‘Good for us gardeners.’

  She was holding a wicker basket over her arm, stacked full of tiny pots. Clearly she’d been one of the early risers who had cleared out the plant sale – when Thomas rang from his lunch break at the Grey Mare, he’d told her gleefully that the stall had completely sold out before noon.

  ‘Oh, this isn’t my garden.’ Daisy felt she had to explain. She’d spent the whole day helping out when Elaine was asked awkward questions about cuttings, or the best runner beans to grow in their heavy clay soil. Elaine had been keen to let people know that Daisy had taken over almost all the garden work, but Daisy, equally keen for her friend to maintain her image of perfection, kept shushing her. She’d managed to pop in and out of conversations with helpful suggestions, whilst maintaining the facade of being just another Open Gardens volunteer, checking people in and out as they arrived in the garden.

  The woman looked down at Daisy’s arms, giving a smile of recognition.

  ‘You’ve got the bug, though, haven’t you?’

  Like most gardeners in the village after long weeks of preparation, Daisy’s arms were covered in tiny scratches, her fingernails short.

  The woman smiled. ‘I’m Charlotte. I’m a friend of Thomas’s. Well, I was his wife Violet’s best friend, actually.’

  Daisy felt herself smiling. She stood up, holding out her scratched, still slightly grubby hand in greeting.

  ‘And you must be Daisy. Thomas has been telling me all about you.’

  ‘Oh, he’s so sweet. Thomas has been so lovely.’

  Daisy, who was feeling the effects of her mid-afternoon Pimm’s, was unusually effusive.

  ‘You’ve been good for him, my dear. I think Violet would be pleased to know he’s found some purpose. He’s been a bit of a lost soul until you came along.’

  This was lovely to hear, thought Daisy. She’d become very fond of Thomas, chatting away to him about everything under the sun while they worked. Over their tea breaks, and as they hacked away at the overgrown garden and tidied the orchard, she’d told him all about her childhood, her parents, Miranda’s illness, and so much more. Other times, they worked together in an agreeable silence.

  ‘Oh, hello.’ Elaine, who had returned carrying a jug of her freshly made elderflower cordial, placed it down on the table. ‘I’ve made a cool drink – but maybe you would rather have a cup of tea?’

  ‘Lovely. Oh, yes please.’ The woman sat down gratefully, setting the basket full of plants at her feet. ‘It’s been a long day.’

  ‘Daisy, do me a favour?’ Jo called out through the stable door, with a pair of soap-covered Marigold gloves on. ‘D’you see those three teapots up on the little table by the gazebo? Grab them for me and I’ll wash them up before any more visitors appear. There’s a group of women I recognize from Martha’s school on their way over – I just saw them hovering outside the front. They’re going to be after some of Elaine’s scones, I reckon.’

  ‘Excuse me a moment.’ Daisy climbed out of her chair. ‘If anyone comes in whilst I’m up there, can you do me a favour and just check they’re wearing their pink stickers?’

  ‘I think that’s a fair swap for a comfortable chair and a cup of tea, my love. Of course.’

  The edges of the lawn had been trampled on, and were sagging into the border in places. Daisy could see the tips of several of the delphiniums had been nipped off and bagged by canny gardeners, who would have them dipped in hormone powder and sealed off in little bags by now, safe on their way home. It was a common enough gardening trick, but the plants were now looking a bit tattered around the edges. A couple of weeks, though, and there’d be no sign anything had happened – at this time of year the garden changed daily, the unstoppable wave of verdant green taking over, filling every gap in the pots and borders. Daisy picked up Elaine’s Emma Bridgewater teapots, realizing as she did that she may as well pour the remains over the compost.

  She tipped the contents of the three teapots onto the leaf-filled compost bins. Fishing out a couple of ice-cream wrappers thrown in by well-meaning garden visitors, she hooked the empty teapots onto her fingers and headed back down to the terrace.

  ‘Yes, I know, my angel. I wish you were here, too.’

  Daisy frowned as she overheard a voice drifting across the garden. She’d thought the place was deserted, having checked in and checked out the last group of garden visitors herself a moment ago. Perhaps it was coming from next door?

  ‘I can’t wait. I’m imagining it right now.’

  The voice was definitely coming from somewhere in the garden.

  Daisy, having located the sound, stepped cautiously towards the back of the grey-painted potting shed.

  There was a groan.

  ‘Soon. God, yes. I want you. So much.’

  Oh my good God, thought Daisy. That’s Leo I can hear. Knowing every inch of the garden, she was able to keep herself hidden whilst tiptoeing carefully towards the back of the shed where she could see him, his back half-turned, talking urgently but quietly into his mobile phone.

  She scuttled down the garden at speed. Elaine, as she’d suspected, was pouring their elderly visitor a cup of Earl Grey.

  ‘Tea, Daisy?’ Elaine looked up, oblivious.

  ‘Let me just – I’ll –’ she stuttered, ‘I’ll just pop these in to be washed.’ Oh dear God, thought Daisy. Poor Elaine. She clattered in through the back door of the kitchen.

  Jo, happily washing up, was slightly merry from an afternoon of Pimm’s, humming to herself. She looked up as Daisy crashed the teap
ots down onto the marble counter.

  ‘You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘Worse than that. That bastard.’

  ‘Jamie?’ Jo grabbed a tea towel, drying her hands and rushing across the kitchen to stand in front of Daisy, pushing her hair out of her face, frowning in concern.

  ‘God, no. Way worse than that. I’ve just heard Leo on the phone, talking about – ugh –’ Daisy shuddered. ‘Taking about what he’d like to do to someone. And given that Elaine’s standing out there serving tea, we can be bloody sure it’s not her he’s got plans for.’

  ‘Jesus.’ The normally unruffled Jo recoiled.

  ‘Are you girls going to be much longer?’

  They both jumped as Elaine popped her head in through the kitchen door.

  ‘Just coming. I was just getting a—’

  ‘Paracetamol,’ finished Jo. ‘She’s been out in that sunshine all day.’

  ‘Yes.’ Daisy fished around in her handbag, which was lying on the kitchen table. ‘Terrible headache.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it, then. Thomas’s lady friend Charlotte is absolutely charming.’ Elaine smiled at them beatifically, and pulled the door closed.

  Daisy slumped down on a chair.

  ‘So how do you propose we tell Elaine that her upper-class twit of a husband – who, incidentally, I’ve never liked – is having it off with some filly from the village?’

  ‘I think,’ said Jo, one finger on her cheek, thoughtfully, ‘not today. This is her day. Leo’s still going to be an adulterous shit tomorrow. I’m home in the afternoon – why don’t we pop round here then – would that work?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Daisy, shaking her head. ‘I was going to be here tomorrow anyway.’ She gave a hollow laugh. ‘Believe it or not, I was coming round to clear up the damage from this afternoon.’

  Daisy was dazzled by the late afternoon sun as she stepped back into the garden, and it took her a moment to focus. She could see Elaine half-sitting against the terrace wall, flipping back her hair as she laughed. Beside her, coming into focus as Daisy’s eyes adjusted, she could see Thomas’s elderly friend, who was beaming with happiness, smiling up into the bright blue eyes of –

  Oh, for God’s sake. This was supposed to be a peaceful afternoon in the garden, and now everything was going haywire. She tried to step backwards into the kitchen, but the door had swung shut behind her so she banged her heel instead, giving out an involuntary yelp of pain.

  ‘Daisy, there you are.’ Elaine reached out a beckoning hand of welcome. ‘This is Charlotte’s nephew –’ she looked at him for confirmation.

  ‘George,’ confirmed Daisy. Elaine raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  ‘We meet again.’ George looked pleased to see her. His bright eyes twinkled blue in the summer light.

  ‘Yes. We’ve met.’ Realizing she was being rude, Daisy gave herself a mental kick up the backside, pulling herself together. She stepped across the patio and took his extended hand. He shook it with an amused expression.

  Daisy fiddled with a strand of purple aubretia that was hanging down between the stones of the terrace wall.

  ‘This place looks gorgeous.’ George scanned the now-empty garden. Fortunately the promised gaggle of village mothers hadn’t materialized. Leo, Daisy presumed, had made himself scarce.

  ‘Yes, you’ve done a wonderful job, both of you.’ Charlotte looked from Daisy to Elaine, her dark eyes squinting into the sun.

  ‘Oh, I haven’t done a thing,’ laughed Elaine. ‘I’m sure Thomas has told you all about it.’

  ‘You’ve done so much today. And this place has your heart in it,’ said Daisy, passionately. She felt a wave of protectiveness for her new friend, oblivious as she stood there that her house of cards was about to fall down around her ears.

  ‘Would you show me around, Daisy?’ George looked to Elaine politely, seeking her permission. ‘I’d love to have a proper tour. I’ve been enjoying the chance to get an inside look at some of the gardens here in the village.’

  ‘. . . And this is the vegetable garden. It’s designed in the style of a traditional French potager, with everything easy to reach, and a mixture of produce and flowers.’

  ‘Very impressive,’ murmured George. ‘Haven’t a clue about gardening myself, but it looks great. You’ve got a real talent for this.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t actually design it,’ Daisy began to explain.

  George turned to her as they reached the top of the garden. They’d stood for a moment, looking across the low stone wall that dropped away steeply, dividing Elaine’s garden from the Steeple St John allotments. With the unexpectedly warm spring everyone was ahead of themselves, and the patchwork of plots was dotted with early salad crops, the first shoots of courgettes spreading out across carefully prepared, sun-warmed earth. Gardeners were hoeing their patches, wheeling barrow-loads of topsoil from one spot to another. Several could be seen standing by a colourfully painted shed, chatting over tin mugs of coffee.

  ‘The thing is,’ George began, turning to her and fixing her with his mesmerizing blue eyes, ‘I think the garden’s gorgeous . . .’ His Dublin accent was low and persuasive. ‘But here’s the thing, Daisy. I’m a great believer in signs. When I saw you in the baker’s, I thought to myself, if I see that beautiful red-haired girl again I’m going to ask her out for a drink. And then there you were, in the pub, clicking your fingers at me.’

  Daisy laughed, protesting. ‘That’s not exactly how it happened.’

  ‘Well, anyway, I didn’t feel I could ask you out with your sister sitting there, so I thought maybe it’d be third time lucky.’

  He moved a fraction closer to Daisy again. She caught a faint scent of aftershave, something woody and fresh.

  ‘So here we are.’ He reached across, lifting a stray rose leaf from Daisy’s shoulder. ‘And I’m wondering – would you come out with me sometime, Daisy?’

  He looked directly at her. He looked younger up close, the laughter lines not so evident today.

  Daisy thought for a moment, testing out how she felt. Leo might be a lying shit, but that doesn’t mean George is, she reminded herself firmly. And he’s only asking you out on a date, not for your hand in marriage. She could hear Miranda telling her to just bloody well get out there.

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled at him. ‘Yes, that’d be lovely. I’d like that.’

  ‘Great.’ His accent was stronger suddenly as he grinned back at her, pleased with himself. ‘Shall we say Friday night? There’s a little place in Great Thorndon which does lovely meals. If the weather stays nice we can sit outside in the gardens. You’ll love them.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful.’ He did have a nice smile, thought Daisy. Her ex, Jamie, had been incredibly intense – all dark, flashing eyes and brooding silences. She’d spent a lot of time recently, whilst gardening, musing on whether the meaningful silences that had characterized their relationship had been more a sign that they’d run out of things to say to each other than anything romantic. Perhaps it had really been nothing more than a student romance – albeit one between mid-twenties students, not first-time-away-from-home, innocent eighteen-year-olds.

  She jumped slightly as George traced a finger down her forearm, barely touching her skin. She looked down, watching the hairs on her arm stand on end.

  ‘You’ve scratched yourself.’

  His voice was gentle. His eyes didn’t stray from hers for a second but held her in a steady, confident gaze.

  ‘Rose bushes.’

  His fingertip lingered on her arm a moment. The physical contact was a shock to her system after months of being single. She stepped back suddenly, surprised at the intensity of the feeling.

  ‘So. Friday night, then?’ Her voice was clear and slightly too loud. It broke the spell of the moment. He cleared his throat, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time.

  ‘Grand. I’ll call for you at eight.’

  He frowned slightly, glancing down again at his phone.r />
  ‘I’m sorry, I’m going to have to dash off. Something’s come up with work.’ With an apologetic shrug, he stuffed his phone back in his pocket.

  ‘I should be giving Elaine a hand, in any case.’ Daisy looked down beyond the vegetable garden, through the trellis that divided the garden. In the distance she could see a group of women heading up towards them, a gaggle of toddlers swaying their way across the lawn, tottering precariously close to her newly repaired box hedge.

  ‘I might just hover here for a second and guard my planting.’ She motioned discreetly towards the approaching visitors.

  ‘I’ll see you Friday, Daisy.’ Surprising her, he reached across and kissed her on the cheek, faint stubble scratching her skin, the scent of his aftershave lingering for a moment after he pulled away.

  ‘Friday,’ she agreed, and he was gone. She spun round, looking back for a moment across the allotments. A colourful windmill whirled round in a sudden breeze. She stood for a second, holding on to the stone wall. It had been a long, confusing day.

  A sudden last rush of visitors made their way in. Daisy watched as a young family from London tried to herd their three children up the garden and back down again. The mother, her short hair ruffling in the wind, laughed aloud as she chased a toddler across the grass.

  ‘It’s like herding cats,’ smiled the father, scooping up the smallest, a crawling, round-faced little boy of about one, into his arms. The baby grabbed a fistful of his hair and shouted with delight.

  By the time Daisy made it back down to the terrace she’d been subjected to yet more cross-questioning on the best type of runner beans and on the Native American ‘three sisters’ planting method from one of the women, who had just taken on a plot at the allotments. Daisy had then been heading back, having gathered an armful of weeds that had sneaked up behind the shed, when a different woman approached wielding a notepad and pen. She’d taken pages of notes during the Open Gardens, and wanted to ask Daisy all about the planting schemes in Elaine’s garden. She was, she announced bravely, intent on having her brand new garden featured next year. She explained to Daisy that hers was a newly built house, built in the old garden of a house along the street. Daisy, recalling the incongruous new red-brick houses she’d recently seen, swallowed her surprise. She hadn’t expected someone who’d been party to the dreaded garden-grabbing, the cause of so much conflict in the village, to be a keen gardener herself.