by Suzanne Snow
Maggie began to explain its origins. ‘We had a family on the island who were as self-sufficient as possible, and they helped us with ideas and practical upkeep. We registered the school with a gardening charity, which gave us access to lots of support, and put up the polytunnel with the help of a grant. But then the family had to leave the island for work elsewhere and the project stumbled to a halt. I’d love to get it up and running properly – it would be such an opportunity to engage the children in nature and to develop scientific, as well as practical, knowledge and skills. Quite a bit of our learning is done outdoors, weather permitting, as we have a fantastic environment and community around us.’
‘Absolutely.’ Flora was pleased by Maggie’s enthusiasm for restarting the garden and what that could mean for the pupils. ‘You won’t hear any argument from me! I think it’s a wonderful idea and I’d love to help if I can, whilst I’m here.’
She saw at once that it was a tip. The polytunnel was still in good order but the rest of the plot was a mess, with flourishing weeds and abandoned pots dumped in heaps, some still with plants inside. The plastic compost bins had blown over and spilled their contents, adding to the chaos. Four raised beds looked to have contained fruit at one time, but they were long since past their best and the strawberry patch was full of mare’s tail, which would be almost impossible to eradicate. Nevertheless, Flora felt her excitement grow, as she pictured the plot as a productive and working garden – and the results which could, given plenty of hard work, be achieved in the coming months.
‘It really is a disaster,’ Maggie said sheepishly, bending to pick up a watering can and tossing it into a nearby wheelbarrow. ‘I’m sorry, Flora, I haven’t looked at it for a while and I feel embarrassed to have dragged you here, now I’ve seen the state of it again.’
‘Oh no, don’t be,’ Flora assured her, already making her way over to the polytunnel to explore. ‘I’ve seen far worse. It will need some work for sure, but it can definitely be sorted out.’
Just then there was a roar behind them and they both turned to see children erupting from the building and running over to discover what was going on. They were followed more slowly by two adults, who Maggie explained were a teacher and classroom assistant. The children skittered to a halt as they spilled into the garden and Maggie asked them all to stand quietly so she could introduce Flora.
‘This is Miss Stewart, who is a professional gardener, and we’re very lucky that she’s visiting the island for work just now and has agreed to look at our garden to see how we can improve it.’
Flora smiled at the little group, noticing the glum stares of two older boys and the wide-eyed wonder of three tiny children, almost certainly reception age. She hoped she could engage everyone’s interest, eventually. The nine remaining kids looked the most interested and a couple of them were already scrabbling about in the soil.
‘Hi,’ Flora said, dropping down so she was roughly on the same level as them. She picked up a handful of the soil, and was pleased with the quality and texture. ‘Who knows what this is?’
It was a question with an obvious answer and almost every hand went up, so Flora picked one of the older boys to reply. She thanked him for his answer and gave them a very quick and simple explanation of why the soil was so important to everything in the garden. Maggie asked her to tell the children how she became a gardener, and Flora took a breath as she began.
‘Well, I was planning to be a musician at first.’ She was standing with her back against one of the compost bins and she smiled at the little group, pleased by their attention. ‘I went to a very good school to learn about music but then, when I was fifteen, I was really poorly and had to miss quite a lot of lessons.’
‘What was wrong with you?’
Flora smiled at the direct question from an older girl. ‘I had glandular fever, which is a type of infection, and it caused a swelling in my tummy and then another illness called pneumonia, which made me very poorly. Even though the symptoms went away eventually, I was very tired for a long time and couldn’t go to school. My parents were working every day, so I went to stay with my grandma to get better.’
Flora had never forgotten those weeks and months. She remembered the endless sore throat, the constant sense of being unwell, and the shivers and aches that left her feeling cold on even the warmest days. Nausea that nibbled away at her appetite until it was gone, and the weight and strength that slipped away with it. And then the days when she was too tired to do barely more than lift her head from the pillow, before finally she was able to emerge outside, blinking in the sunlight in her grandma’s garden, her symptoms eventually improving.
Flora dragged her mind back to now, aware that everyone was listening, and endlessly grateful that she had recovered. Her gaze fell on a little girl with a neat blonde bob, topped with a fringe, and big blue eyes. She was standing further back, next to a slightly bigger girl – perhaps a year or so older – and they were holding hands tightly. Flora smiled at them, surprised when the younger girl just stared back without responding. The older girl looked down and gave the little one a nudge, which resulted in the merest stretching of her lips.
Flora couldn’t fathom why, but she felt that her story had been worth sharing just for the sake of this little blonde girl alone. So she continued. ‘My gran has a beautiful garden, even though it’s small, and when I started to get better, I was able to spend time outside and help her. It wasn’t long before I had completely fallen in love with nurturing plants and watching them flourish, and I honestly believe that the garden made me better. Not because it could heal me physically, but I was feeling quite sad about missing school and home. Growing things in the garden helped me to feel excited again, and then I minded less about school and not seeing so much of my friends.’ She paused, smiling at each group in turn. ‘The garden I’m visiting here on the island is big, definitely special and important because of its history, but it doesn’t matter about the size of the space you have. What really matters is what you do with it and how it makes you feel. When I was still at my grandma’s, I decided I wanted to become a horticulturist, which is just a big word for a gardener. I went to university to study and worked hard, and here I am.’
‘Thank you, Miss Stewart, what a lovely, happy ending. We’re awfully glad to hear you got better, aren’t we?’
There was a chorus of agreement and Flora stood up with a grin. ‘Well, who wants to explore in the polytunnel and see what we can find? But please be careful – it’s important not to touch anything and then put your hands near your mouth, okay? You must always wash them when you’ve finished outside.’
It was a bit of a scramble to get in and the teachers had to organise the children in an orderly queue to make sure no one was pushed aside. Flora glanced around for the little blonde girl and saw her standing with her friend, just inside the door. She gave her another encouraging smile, but knew not to expect a response this time. She made her way over to a section of shelving, where there were some seed trays and pots, and picked up a couple to examine them. She felt a movement at her side and when she looked down, the little blonde girl and her friend were standing next to her, watching with wide eyes. Flora picked up another small pot and bent down, still taller than either of the girls.
‘Look,’ she told them, holding the pot out in front of her. ‘These are sweet pea seedlings. Someone must have planted the seeds a while ago and they’ve germinated. Do you know what they look like?’
A shake of the head from the older girl, but still no reply from the smaller one.
‘Well, they’re plants of course, but they have the most beautiful and delicate flowers, which smell amazing and come in all sorts of pretty colours. I love them; we grow lots in the garden where I usually work. If you look after these plants by giving them room to grow in the sun and some water, you’ll have flowers in the summer, too. These little plants are like a promise of happiness to come.’
Flora smiled at them and then she paused, the po
t in her hands, as the little girl’s lips parted, and she tried to speak. It was a few moments before any sound followed and Flora had to stoop low, her ear close to the little girl’s face.
‘Will they be pink?’ It was a tiny noise, a whisper that Flora heard through the clamour around them. The simplicity of the question from this little girl, who had somehow captured Flora’s attention, brought a rush of emotion she hadn’t expected.
‘They might be,’ Flora told her quietly, unwilling to say yes and then risk disappointment if they turned out to be anything but. Flora felt that trust from this little one could be lost in a heartbeat if she didn’t offer the truth. ‘They’re usually a mix of colours so they probably won’t all be pink. Is pink your favourite colour?’
A nod, while those still, blue eyes watched her steadily. ‘What’s your name?’ Flora asked.
The older girl looked down quizzically as the blonde girl opened her mouth and, again, it was a minute before any sound followed. Flora was ready this time, close enough to hear the tiny murmur she made.
‘Tamsin.’
‘That’s a really pretty name,’ Flora told her, looking at the other girl and repeating the question, quickly learning that she was called Bonnie. There was a call then, from the teacher, and the children were bustled away, some protesting, to return indoors. Flora watched them go and it was only as they lined up that she saw Tamsin was still holding the pot of sweet pea seedlings in her little hands. Her eyes softened as she looked at the small girl, and then they were gone.
‘Oh, Flora, you were fabulous!’ Maggie was enthusiastic as ever and Flora laughed, her thoughts still with the little girl. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised to hear you’ve got a couple of budding horticulturists after that. They loved you.’
‘They’re very sweet, especially the little blonde one – Tamsin, is it? She asked me if the sweet peas we found would be pink.’ Flora was busy straightening pots that had fallen over but she heard Maggie’s gasp and looked around curiously. Maggie was staring at her in astonishment and Flora wondered what on earth she had done.
‘Did you say that Tamsin spoke to you? Did Bonnie tell you her name?’
Flora was worried now, a frown creasing her brow. ‘No, I asked Tamsin and she told me. That was it, I think. She didn’t say anything else, apart from asking if the sweet peas would be pink. What’s the matter?’
Maggie shook her head in wonder. ‘Absolutely nothing. Tamsin has barely said ten words together to anyone other than Bonnie at school and none at all since her parents died nine months ago.’
Chapter Twelve
At Róisín, Flora had managed to unearth a wheelbarrow and some not completely useless tools which she carted back to the formal garden, dumping them in the long grass beside the hidden herbaceous border. After a couple of hours of good hard labour, hacking at brambles and nettles, she had cleared a space about two metres squared down to perennial weeds and the stumps of a couple of shrubs. Experience had taught her not to rush into removing anything that could prove important, so she took photographs and made notes of what she had discovered.
Since the visit to the school garden yesterday, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Tamsin and the appalling bereavement she had suffered. Flora felt a closeness and connection to Tamsin that she couldn’t explain, given the very little she knew about her.
When she had returned to the hotel after visiting the school, she’d called a colleague at Middlebrook and requested some help. She knew they had hundreds of sweet pea seedlings growing in cold frames and she had asked for around a dozen of a particular variety to be carefully wrapped and sent up to the island by courier as quickly as possible. There was a part of her that knew the gesture to be fanciful, but if it meant that Tamsin would have her pink flowers come the summer, then Flora was prepared to do whatever it took to get them to Alana, even if she had to drive back and fetch them herself. The only shop on the island, a mix of post office-cum-general store, sold compost and basic pots, which she planned to buy once her package had arrived and before delivering the plants to Tamsin, so she could show her how to care for them. She was still thinking about the little girl as she carried on clearing the patch of ground, digging out the remains of a dead shrub.
‘Hey, Flora, are you about?’
She heard Mac’s call and stood up, spade in hand, to see him pacing impatiently on the terrace outside the house, an urgency in his body that she was beginning to recognise. He spotted her and quickly ran down the steps. They hadn’t spoken since the night of the ceilidh, although she had seen his car on the drive and knew that meant he was somewhere on site. It wasn’t hard to imagine he was avoiding her on purpose after the way they had parted, and Flora squirmed whenever she remembered her agitated admission that he had hurt her.
‘Hi.’ There was a look of apology in his eyes, slightly at odds with the suggestion of exuberance on his face. ‘Are you really busy? I’ve found some more old papers boxed up in the attic and I think they could be significant. I haven’t read very much yet but there’s stuff about the garden and the family who built the house. I thought maybe we could go through it together, if you’d like to and can spare the time? Two heads and all that, and I know you like doing research.’
Flora immediately grasped his excitement, understanding only too well his desire to know more about the people who had created this special place. ‘You mean am I busy apart from trying to clear this lot?’ She waved her hand over the remains of the plants at her feet and saw his grin. ‘But I’d love to see it.’ Her passion for research was another thing she had forgotten she shared with him and yet he had remembered, and the knowledge pleased her.
‘Flora, look… about the other night.’ He hesitated, the exuberance fading as concern flashed across his face. ‘I’m truly sorry if I’ve hurt you. That was never my intention – it’s the last thing I want, after everything you’ve already been through.’
‘Mac, don’t, it’s really not necessary.’ Flora bit her lip, trying to hide her frustration that yet again she had revealed more than she had intended. ‘I’m not going to be here for too much longer. Can we just put the wedding and everything behind us, and focus on the garden? Please? I really don’t have anything else to say.’
‘If that’s what you want?’
What else was there? She didn’t voice her question; a shrug sufficed as her reply. She pulled off her gloves and dropped them to the ground as Mac hovered, waiting for her to join him so they could go and explore.
She dusted off the worst of the soil clinging to her jeans and boots, and they ducked underneath the scaffolding stretching across the back of the house. They reached a French door set beside a wide, curved bay window and Mac pushed it open, standing back so that Flora could enter first. They were in a large, mostly empty drawing room, except for a couple of old armchairs, a desk with an office chair in front of it, a laptop sitting on the surface and a messy pile of boxes propped nearby.
The high ceilings and painted panel walls were still bright, despite the discolouration they had suffered over time. The oak floorboards were scuffed and worn but the room still retained its spacious and innate beauty – from the chipped, ornamental plasterwork to the marble fireplace and huge sash windows overlooking the garden. Dust clung to everything and the remains of a broken chandelier lay abandoned in a corner, and Flora began to realise the extent of the restoration project that lay ahead. She spoke, her voice loud in the vacant space around them.
‘Shall I take my boots off? I don’t want to make more of a mess.’
‘No, they’re fine, leave them on. It’s better not to be wandering around without anything protecting your feet whilst the house is like this.’
She glanced outside, her view of the garden partially obscured by the scaffolding poles poking up from the ground. It was the first opportunity she had had to view the garden from inside the house and she studied the perspective of the design for a minute, noting tiny details that she had missed outside. She se
nsed Mac watching her as she rearranged her long hair back into a ponytail that drew it away from her face.
‘This is a stunning room, so beautiful. I haven’t seen any of Lassiter’s houses before and I was expecting something more formal, more masculine, I suppose. The light in here is amazing; it must be exceptional on clear days.’
Mac smiled and she saw that he was pleased by her approval. ‘The design is quite unusual in that all of the principal rooms are on the ground floor and open directly onto the garden. There’s a library next to this room and a dining room at the far end of the house.’
‘What will you do with the house? Are you planning to alter it?’
He leant back against the desk as he watched her. ‘No, just modernise it, keeping to the original principles of using local craftspeople, wherever possible, to take it from the last century into this one. I love all the personal, private details that turn it from a building into a home and I’m still exploring, still finding stuff that was left behind.’
Flora looked away first and Mac moved towards the armchairs positioned to capture the view from the windows. ‘Shall we sit here? It’s probably more comfortable than the desk and I haven’t got two chairs to fit around it.’
‘That’s fine.’ Flora watched Mac as he lifted a couple of the boxes across to the bay window and dumped them between the chairs.
‘There’s no Wi-Fi here yet and the 4G’s pretty rubbish. Sorry, I know it’s not ideal for doing research.’ Mac pulled the lid from the box nearest his feet. ‘Hopefully, we’ll find some information in this lot that I can follow up later in the office or when I finally get Wi-Fi in a couple of weeks. Or you could at the hotel.’