by Rachel Dove
‘Lizzie?’ he called. She was shaking her bottom now to the beat, bending over the island putting the contents of the trays into large Tupperware containers. Coconut macaroons by the looks. Even her baking was off. She didn’t even like coconut. He tried again, louder this time.
‘Lizzie! Lizzie!’ He went up behind her, and tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Lizzie!’
Lizzie threw her arms up, screaming. Irvin was showered with coconut shavings and walloped in the face with a baking tray as Lizzie threw her arms up in surprise. Spinning around, she smashed him in the gut with the other tray, before landing him a punch on his nose. Irvin didn’t even get chance to breathe before Lizzie had him laid on the floor under her knees.
‘Lizzie, it’s me!’ he croaked, his chest compressed under her weight. The dress she was wearing was so frilly he almost choked on the fabric, and the garish colours made his eyes smart. ‘Get off, it’s only me!’
Lizzie’s face fell as she sparked recognition. ‘Oh, Irvin, oh God, I’m sorry!’ She jumped up, and Irvin took a grateful gulp of air as his lungs were allowed to draw breath again. He coughed and wheezed as he stood up. Lizzie brushed herself down, picking up the trays and sweeping up the coconut from the floor. She didn’t help Irvin up, and he dragged himself up on the cabinets, leaning against the island for support.
‘Lizzie, what are you doing?’ he shouted. She reached for a remote next to the mixing bowl, clicking off the entertainment system in the corner.
‘What?’ she said, in the sudden quiet of the room. ‘I’m baking. What does it look like?’
Irvin sighed. ‘I know that, but what about the music, and the …!’
He gestured wildly at her attire, and noticed for the first time she was wearing some gaudy earrings, which looked like cherries on stalks. In all the years he had known her, the woman had never worn anything other than studs, declaring that other types of earrings were ‘trashy’. The ones she was wearing looked like they were picked up in a car boot sale. Irvin felt like he was in the twilight zone. He half expected Bobo the clown to come round the corner, and for her to fold herself into his tiny car and drive off into the sunset.
She shot him a look that could be interpreted as pity.
‘Irvin dear, it’s called broadening your horizons. I have been learning new things. Retirement is not an end stage you know, it’s a journey of self-discovery!’ She flicked her dress in his direction as she snapped the lids on the baked goods. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to get this in the car and delivered before they start to sweat.’
‘But what about tomorrow?’ Irvin called after her retreating form. ‘It’s Valentine’s Day!’ The door answered him in the form of a slam.
Irvin was once again left in an empty house, wondering what the hell was going on. ‘Journey of self-discovery’? What was that all about? Lizzie sounded like she had swallowed a self-help book. It wasn’t the Lizzie he knew. Just what was going on?
Irvin looked around him in disbelief, till his eyes landed on something that told him once and for all that something was really, really wrong with his wife. It was a recipe book, but not as they knew it. A baking book by the latest hot cook. The woman had baked and cooked for thirty years, only ever using the recipes passed down to her by her mother and grandmother. Irvin knew that they were all kept in a box. Index cards containing recipes gleaned over the years, written by hands that no longer touched the earth, covered in stains from past meals and scribbles in the margins. They were her treasure, and she turned her nose up at modern recipes.
He remembered one year early into their married life, he had bought her a Mary Berry cookbook, and she had accused him of not loving her any more. She was that offended by his gift that she didn’t speak to him for a week, and the book went to the hospice shop so fast the edges of the pages were singed when they arrived.
Irvin walked across to the counter with trepidation, opening the book to where a solitary floral Post-it note sat. Irvin’s face paled as he read the title of the dish. That was it. There was no two ways about it. His wife was gone, replaced by a strange rather fluorescent woman. Invasion of the sanity snatchers. Two questions swam around in Irvin’s brain as he rushed to grab his car keys and follow his wife.
What was he going to do when he found her, and what on God’s green Earth was a savoury muffin?
***
Saturday. Valentine’s Day and Roger was acting like Ashton Kutcher in that film. He had come to work bright and early, full of the joys of spring and dressed from head to toe in pink.
‘Salmon,’ he had corrected her. ‘With a fuchsia infusion. Not pink, dear, it’s so last season.’
Lily laughed. She had opted for a pair of cream slacks and a pastel pink checked shirt. Nothing too obvious for the day, but in keeping with the event. She wasn’t feeling the love, in all honesty. Stuart had already been on the phone, crying off the night. Apparently they needed some management help for the ball that they held every year. The ball that every year he stood her up for, but never invited her to. She knew he wasn’t working all night; he was always hung over and vague on the details the day after. Hardly a chore to help rich people wine and dine themselves, was it? As usual too, there was no card or present coming her way.
‘Busman’s holiday’ was the excuse that Stuart came up with every year, and Lily had stopped even asking.
After the way Will had stormed off the other day, Roger had not even mentioned either of them, or asked about her plans. He was obviously sparing her the embarrassment of discussing either subject, and she was grateful to him. She had rung her dad earlier, thinking she would ask him round so they could be miserable together, but he hadn’t rung back. She dare not ring the house. She had texted her mother twice and heard nothing. The woman really was as stubborn as an ox. Lord only knew what she was up to. Lily saw her car fly past on occasion, so she was certainly keeping busy. It stung a little, them not speaking. Lily could do with a friend, and her mother had always been there to chat to. Lily felt a little adrift, and it was both thrilling and terrifying.
Her phone beeped on the counter as she was waving goodbye to Ben, the village vet who was the happiest newlywed she had ever seen. He bought half the shop, a goofy excited expression on his face. He was a good guy, and it was lovely to see.
She gave him a final wave as he drove off looking like a float parade with all the flowers in his vehicle. Picking up her phone, she saw Will had replied. She had texted him, short and to the point, telling him that Mrs Ness wanted a quote, but that she wanted Lily to go too. She had asked him to contact her if he could make it. She steeled herself before she read his reply.
Am surprised to hear from you. Thank you for taking this, after how rude I was the other day. I can come on Sunday. Would you like me to pick you up? Will
No kiss, but he was polite. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so awkward after all. Lily replied.
Will meet you there. Lily.
Full stop, no kiss. She knew he would find out the address from Archie. She needed to stay aloof from this guy. His mood swings were unnerving, and the way she felt when she was around him wasn’t good. It made her and Stuart seem wrong, somehow. How could that be good, when a stranger made your relationship feel alien to you?
A text pinged back and Lily’s stomach-flip reaction told her that she was right: there was something to be wary of. Was it worth risking her future marriage over a man who wasn’t even single?
I understand. See you there. Will x
The kiss at the end made her heart leap despite herself. She wanted to take it off the screen and put it in her pocket, a little electronic love token. She rolled her eyes, rubbing her hands down her face as she put her phone in the drawer. Technology. Just another way of getting mixed signals from a man. At least with a facial expression accompanying the words you had some hope of working out what they were conveying.
The shop door opened and Simon walked in, collecting his order for Elaine. L
ily brightened, giving her friend a smile.
‘Morning, little sis!’ he said, chucking her under the chin with his fist.
‘Err! Your hands stink!’ She wrinkled her nose, pushing him away. Simon frowned, sniffing them himself.
‘They’re not that bad!’ He chuckled, holding them out to her palms up.
Roger came up, taking a whiff. He gagged and stuck his tongue out. ‘Eugh! You touch your lady with those hands? You need some stronger soap!’
Simon chuckled again. ‘These hands are good fine working men’s hands. The smell will be gone tonight. We have been busy today, people coming in for ingredients for their fancy meals. We had a special on garlic and onions. Speaking of which …’ He grabbed a carrier bag she hadn’t noticed before off the floor. ‘I got you these, figured you could at least have a nice dinner tonight. I put some potatoes in for you too. And some nice steaks from the butcher’s.’ He flicked his gaze to Roger. ‘I got some veg for you too, in the van.’
Lily took the bag, looking between the two men. A strange look had passed between them, and Lily knew something was amiss.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, putting the bag into the small kitchen fridge. ‘What’s going on?’
They both cleared their throats, looking awkward.
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ Simon assured her. ‘Have you got my order?’
Lily nodded. ‘Weirdest order I’ve had in a while. Unicorns? Really?’
Simon looked relieved that she had let it go, and he didn’t quite meet her eye.
‘Yep,’ he said, his face lighting up at the thought of Elaine. ‘She loves unicorns. What can I say, she’s a southerner!’
Lily shook her head, smiling good-naturedly. ‘It’s lovely to see you so happy.’
Simon nodded, an odd look on his face. ‘Yes, well. Everyone deserves to be happy, with someone who deserves them.’
Lily looked at him but he didn’t say any more. Was he talking about her spending time with Will? She blushed, feeling guilty. Did the whole village know how she was feeling, or just Roger and Simon, because they knew her so well? Either way, it wasn’t good.
She went to get his order from the back, where they had metal pails filled with water and shelves to house the orders. The bouquet was a mix of pink and white flowers, with a wooden unicorn embellishment tucked in among the blooms, and next to the bouquet sat a large white unicorn soft toy, wrapped in matching cellophane and tissue paper. She brought them both through as carefully as possible. Simon laughed when he saw them.
‘They are perfect, Lils – she will love them. Thanks, faceache!’ He took them from her, while she swiped his card.
‘You are welcome, arse wipe,’ she said. They did come out well. She loved giving customers what they wanted.
‘You should do more gift stuff like this; you have the room,’ Simon mused, looking at the unicorn teddy. ‘I would put some bears or something in the window. Not everyone likes flowers but gifts would do well.’
Lily nodded. ‘I thought that myself. I wanted to stock cards too. The Post Office only have room for a tiny rack, and the choice is not great, but the supplier wanted a fortune.’
Simon nodded. ‘Tell me about it. I had to go to Leeds to get a decent one.’ He shrugged. ‘I had better go. I got a half-day so I could get ready for tonight. Enjoy the food. Roger, you coming out with me?’
Roger nodded, trotting after Simon. Lily waved. They both stood at the van a long time chatting, and Roger didn’t look happy at all. He was waving his arms around wildly, Simon nodding along with what he was saying. They caught her watching and they both smiled, waving wildly through the window. She waved back and walked away. They must have been talking about her and Will spending time together, and now they were comparing notes. Her cheeks burned. She felt as though she was about to get told off by her parents. Shrugging it off, she answered the ringing phone. It was a busy day, and she just wanted to get through it.
‘Love Blooms, Lily speaking.’
***
Will was taking his frustrations out on a fence post on the far end of the estate. One of the sheep had gotten free, going on a minor rampage in Archie’s vegetable garden, and by the time Will had arrived at work Archie was so mad he was trying to scare the poor lamb to death with a carrot. He was brandishing it like a long sword, declaring the terrified animal to be all kinds of unpleasant things under the sun. Will had picked up the lamb, took it back to the pen to spare it further distress, and sent Archie off to the main house to make himself an Irish coffee and calm down. He walked the grounds, finding the damaged fence and was now making it right again to spare any more carnage.
When he had moved to Westfield a year ago, to help his uncle on the estate, he had felt as though Archie had thrown him a lifeline. He was drowning in his mortgage, every month a constricting, terrifying race to get the money in the bank to make the payments on the house in Harrogate. In the end, he just couldn’t do it any more. He didn’t want to. It hadn’t even been his choice of house. It had never felt like home.
When Archie offered him the job, complete with details of a far cheaper house for sale nearby, he felt his prayers had been answered. When the house sale went through, that journey to Westfield with all his worldly possessions in the moving van behind, he felt as though he was flying. The release of the stress was immense, but he knew it was just a temporary thing. He realized he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He loved his work on the farm, but it was less gardening and more maintenance. Now the work was up to scratch, with the jobs Archie struggled with all done by Will, he was soon realizing that there wasn’t enough work for two people. He wondered whether Agatha really had needed another gardener full time, or if it was more of a favour to his uncle.
Archie was getting older, and he did need help on occasion, heavy lifting and fence building included, but his flowers and fruit and vegetables were still spot on. The gardens bloomed, and the fresh produce coming out of the allotments was massive. They generated so much that Agatha regularly donated it to the food bank in the next town, and to the community centre for their café.
When he had got the call, Will was pleased that he could help his uncle, who had always been there when his busy working parents weren’t. He was on hand when he lost his parents too, one after the other. He had inherited his green fingers from his uncle, and he had given him the courage to choose a life outdoors, away from the office desk job his parents had wanted him to do. Life in a cubicle sounded like hell to Will; he would be like a wild animal trapped in a cage.
Before he moved here, he had been on the verge of calling his in-laws for help, asking them for a job, a loan, anything to help him, but he could never bring himself quite that low. He needed the money, and landscape gardening being seasonal wasn’t always great for managing such a big mortgage on his own.
Now, he was fast realizing that he might have been helping Archie, but it was his uncle who was really the saviour in this situation. He had given him the chance of a new life, and never even asked for a thank you in return.
Will walked the fence perimeter of the estate, slowly checking every panel and post. The air was fresh, and the mist on the fields beyond gave off a magical air, coating the green and brown with a milky-white covering. He pulled his bobble hat further down over his ears and zipped his coat up to the top against the chill.
He was making his way back to the main house when he noticed some tulips growing by the fence, and he stooped to look at them. They were perfect – clumps of red and yellow growing. He reached for his snips, cutting some to take with him.
Walking up towards the main house, he saw that Archie’s truck was gone from outside his cottage. He headed past the fountain and found Agatha sitting outside on a porch chair, watching her two large dogs run around on the lawn, playing with a ball and a tug rope.
‘William,’ she said, smiling at him as she lowered her book to her lap. Will saw it was one o
f the latest crime thrillers.
‘Sorry to interrupt, I was just letting you know the fence is fixed before I left for the day.’
Agatha nodded, putting a bookmark into her novel and placing it on the table. ‘Thank you, William. Tea?’ She nodded to a fully laid out tea tray. Will started to shake his head no, but Agatha had already pointed to a seat near to her and started to pour piping hot tea into a fresh cup and saucer. Will said down, putting the tulips into a neat pile at his feet.
‘Those are lovely. Are they for someone?’
Will shook his head. ‘Not really, they are from the estate.’
Agatha nodded, motioning to the sugar pot. ‘I like to add my own milk and sugar, make it my own.’ Will nodded, adding one lump and some milk before stirring his cup. He picked up the cup and saucer, taking a deep drink of the hot sweet drink.
‘Lovely, thanks. I needed to warm up a bit.’
Agatha smiled kindly. ‘So, William, how are you? Enjoying the work?’
Will nodded, taking another sip. ‘Good thanks, but I think Archie manages well on his own, for the most part. I have been asked to quote for a lady in the village tomorrow – Mrs Ness? I am hoping to build up some more work in the village.’
Agatha looked thoughtful. ‘Mrs Ness is lovely. She will no doubt take you on, William. I will make sure I tell my people that you are free for clients. Do you have a card?’
Will nodded, taking a business card out of his wallet. He placed it into her manicured hand.
‘Thank you, William. I want you to be happy here. Archibald has been positively cheerful since your arrival. It’s nice to see.’
Will thought of his uncle Archie. Cheerful was not the first word people used to describe him. He chuckled, and Agatha grinned. ‘He has, truly! It’s been wonderful. Aside from this morning of course. He was cross about that lamb, wasn’t he? I was glad you were there to save the poor thing!’ She started to titter, and Will joined in. They were howling with laughter soon, the tears rolling down their cheeks. Agatha pulled herself together, straightening her clothes and reaching into her coat sleeve for a handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes.