by Kate Hewitt
“Yes, I suppose.” She took another sip of now-lukewarm coffee. “But that makes it sound like something to be endured, doesn’t it? To be got through.” Anna looked uncertain and Esther decided not to pursue the line of thought. She’d been feeling like life was something to be endured right here in Thornthwaite. “I’ll miss them, though.”
“I know. Even when I didn’t come home very often, I knew they were here.” Anna’s lips trembled as she tried for a smile. “And that made a big difference.”
“Yes, it did.” Even though she’d only lived a few miles away, Esther hadn’t come back to the vicarage, save for her mother’s regular Sunday roast dinners. Even so, just like Anna, knowing her parents were here and always willing to listen or help had made a big difference. “Right.” She rose from the table and put her mug in the dishwasher. “I should crack on.”
“Are you working?” Anna asked. “It’s Saturday.”
“No, I just have a few things to do.” Esther wanted to take a proper look at the walled garden. In the five days since her father had suggested the community garden idea, she’d rolled it around in her mind, veering between excitement, terror, and a dismissive certainty that it could never work, that she shouldn’t even try.
She hadn’t gone out to the garden again, hadn’t wanted to tempt herself with something that was probably impossible. But yesterday afternoon an email had come back from the head office responding to her tentative email query with a potential redundancy package that was surprisingly generous. It almost felt like fate, or, as her parents would say, Providence. She hadn’t responded yet, though. Hadn’t dared to dream.
“What are you up to today?” Esther asked Anna, whose sudden smile was like a ray of sunshine.
“Simon and I are going to go rambling.”
“I didn’t think you were much of a hiker,” Esther remarked, and Anna shrugged, still smiling.
“Needs must, and I’d be happy doing anything with Simon.”
Esther felt another pang of envy; Anna’s happiness seemed so simple, so untarnished and pure. Why did everything have to feel so complicated with her? But she wasn’t going to think about that now. She wasn’t going to think about Will or her job or the bleakness of everything that sometimes felt like a weight on top of her chest, making it hard to breathe, never mind actually do anything. No, for a little while she was going to lose herself in the possibilities of a walled garden.
The day was sunny with a hint of spring-like warmth as Esther opened the door into the walled garden, feeling a bit like Mary Lennox in The Secret Garden, poking about the overgrown vines and brambles, discovering the magic of it for the first time.
The garden looked just as wild and unmanageable as it had a few days ago when she’d viewed it with her father, or even more so, now that she was regarding the space with a more discerning eye. It was more Sleeping Beauty than Secret Garden, a hundred years of thorns and brambles covering everything. The wilderness was so impenetrable that she couldn’t take much more than a step forward, but this time Esther was prepared.
She reached for the large pair of secateurs she’d brought and started cutting a path out of the bramble one snip at a time. It was slow, tiring work; what she really needed was some sort of cultivator or tiller, or even a backhoe, although that wouldn’t fit through the gate. But since she didn’t have any of those and she wanted to have a look around, secateurs it was.
It took her the better part of an hour just to make the tiniest of dents in the wilderness, but it was enough to get a sense of the place. Standing on top of a fallen log in the middle of the garden, a sea of bramble all around her, Esther could make out the glasshouse, covered in bindweed, and just about glimpse the foundation of the Victorian cold frames. Her mind started to wander, and then to race.
The glasshouse needed a bit of TLC, but it was big enough to grow orange trees along with tomatoes and cucumbers, and any other plants that couldn’t survive Cumbria’s harsh climes. Besides the little orchard, which had a half dozen twisty trees, there was space for several good-sized veg plots, and perhaps even a decorative section as well, with chairs and tables, a communal outdoor space to have coffee mornings or concerts…
For a second, Esther could almost imagine it—the sun shining, people milling around, sitting in chairs or working their plots. She started to smile.
The sun had gone behind a bank of clouds and there was the damp smell of rain in the air, so Esther climbed down from the log and headed back to the vicarage, her step slowing when she saw the familiar battered and muddy Land Rover in the drive, next to her own. Will. What was he doing here?
Hope and fear tangled in her chest as she resumed walking towards the front door, only to have it open before she’d touched the knob. Will stood there, looking rumpled and tired and rather wonderful, his blue eyes widening in shock when he caught sight of her.
“I thought you were out.”
“I was in the garden.”
His eyes narrowed. “The garden?”
“What are you doing here?” Esther asked, mainly to ward off any questions about the garden. She wasn’t ready to tell anyone about her fragile, barely-there plans.
“Your mum asked me to fix the downstairs loo.” Will had always been her parents’ informal handyman, but Esther thought they could have called someone else this once, considering the situation.
“Oh.” They regarded each other for a few tense seconds. “Is it fixed?”
“Not yet. I was just going out to get a wrench.”
“Right.” She sidled past him, taking off her boots and coat, feeling uneasy and hyperaware of Will’s presence. A few moments later he came back inside armed with a wrench and, knowing it was what her mother would do, Esther asked, “Would you like a cuppa?”
“Wouldn’t mind,” Will said, brushing past her into the bathroom.
Feeling a bit woebegone and not wanting to figure out why, Esther retreated to the kitchen.
*
He should have said no to Ruth Holley when she’d asked him to look at the loo, Will reflected darkly as he started taking the thing apart, conscious of Esther moving about in the kitchen, only one thin wall—the downstairs loo was a later addition, carved out of the study—between them. But he hadn’t said no, hadn’t even thought of it, because Ruth was still his mother-in-law and the vicarage still felt like his second home, even if Esther—his wife—didn’t want him anywhere near it.
For the last week he’d tortured himself by remembering her set, grim expression when she’d spelled it out for him. I don’t want your baby. Ever.
He should have clued in when she’d walked out on him so precipitously. She was done with him, had been done for a long time. Why hadn’t he seen it? And really, why had he been surprised? He’d always felt lucky, landing Esther. A bloke like him, without much to say, having kept his head down most of his life. He’d been amazed she’d looked twice at him.
“Tea.” Will glanced back to see Esther standing in the doorway of the bathroom, bearing a mug of tea.
“Thanks,” he said gruffly, half-wishing he hadn’t agreed to a cuppa, but knowing he did because not to had seemed churlish, childish, as if he was having a strop simply because she didn’t like him anymore. He always had a cuppa. It was practically a family joke, except he didn’t even know if this was his family anymore, and that hurt him as much as anything else.
He’d lost his own family when he’d been nineteen, out of both tragedy and then his own stupidity, and when the Holleys had welcomed him as their own he’d felt part of something bigger than himself, for the first time in years. Too many years. And now he felt the lack, the nothingness, all the more. He really was alone.
Esther took a step into the bathroom and Will scooted up and held out a hand. “Thanks,” he said again, taking the mug. She remained where she was, although Will had expected her to go. He looked away, because he didn’t want to see the expression on her face, whatever it was. Resignation, impatience, contempt? Hatred?
Anger fizzed through him at the memory of those awful words. I didn’t want your baby.
“Will, I’m thinking of giving up my job.”
He turned quickly towards her, tea sloshing out of his mug. “You mean quitting?”
“Taking one of those redundancy packages.” Esther twisted her hands together, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “You remember when they were offering them a few years ago?”
“Yes…” Vaguely. Esther hadn’t considered it for a moment. “But you love your job.”
“I used to,” Esther corrected. “I haven’t for a while.”
Something else he hadn’t known. Something else she’d kept from him. Will looked away.
“So I thought I might take it,” Esther said, her voice wavering. “But I also thought you should know, because… well, because I know my salary wasn’t all that much, but it was still something…”
It took him a few seconds to realize what she was implying. “I don’t need your money, Esther.”
“I know things are tight on the farm…”
Will’s chest hurt with an unbearable ache. He turned back to the loo, wanting to focus on something he knew he could fix. “I don’t need your money,” he said again, his voice low. “I don’t want it.”
He expected her to leave then, but she didn’t. She simply stood, her hands twisted together, her expression tense and unhappy, while he tried not to look at her and failed.
“How are things at the farm?” she asked eventually, and Will let out a huff of disbelieving sound. Why was she bothering to ask?
“They’re fine.”
“And… Toby?”
Toby? She cared about their dog, but not him? Of course, fair enough, he’d been little more than a pup when they’d got together. “He’s fine, too. Slowing down a bit, but he has for a while.” He reached for a wrench, determined to concentrate on his work, and eventually, after what felt like an age, Esther tiptoed away.
Will let out a sigh, whether of relief or resignation he couldn’t say. He felt both. He felt too much, sadness swamping him that after ten years together, it had come to this, and he still wasn’t sure he really understood why.
Chapter Nine
The next morning Esther woke up to the pealing of the church bells and the distant sounds of her family getting ready for the morning service. She lay in bed and listened to the pipes protest and rumble as someone took a shower, and then heard Anna call something to their mother. They were all going, of course, Anna too. Esther was the only one who was staying at home, feeling miserable after that awful, awkward conversation with Will.
She remembered the dark, narrowed look he’d given her, almost as if he hated her now, or even worse, that he was indifferent—or perhaps just trying to be. Either way, it made her insides writhe and sink with misery, even as she acknowledged he had every reason to hate her after what she’d said. What she’d felt. Nothing could make up for that.
Sighing, Esther rose from bed and dressed, determined to keep busy today, which would at least keep her from thinking. She ate a quick breakfast before gathering garden tools from the shed in the little courtyard behind the kitchen and then headed out to the walled garden.
The sight of it both invigorated and intimidated her; the space she’d cleared yesterday was smaller than she’d remembered, the wild of brambles, weeds, and nettles taller and thicker, as well. She felt like Prince Phillip in Sleeping Beauty, hacking his way through the thorns. She didn’t know who or what was the evil fairy in that scenario, but she decided not to examine it too closely. Not to examine anything, because the point of getting out here under a pale blue sky, the air fresh, the earth damp and crumbly underneath her feet, was not to think. To take a break from her brain, which frankly felt rather wonderful.
And it was wonderful, to get dirty and sweaty, accomplishing something, seeing the pile of garden waste grow bigger by the gate. Perhaps they could have a bonfire. She was so busy cutting and hacking that she didn’t hear the creak of the gate or anyone approach until Anna called out, “Hey, don’t go too crazy!”
Esther looked up, blinking her sister and Simon into focus. A droplet of sweat fell into her eye and she swiped her forehead with her arm. “I’ve barely made a start.” She glanced around at the garden, which was still about ninety-eight percent bramble.
“What are you doing out here, though?” Anna asked, her eyes crinkling with concern. “This has always been nothing but bramble, except for when Dad got those pigs—do you remember?” She turned to Simon with a smile. “We called them Romeo and Juliet, although, actually, I think they were both sows. They ate everything, but the smell of them bothered the neighbours on the other side of the garden.” She nodded towards a couple of converted barn cottages whose slanting roofs were visible above the far wall of the garden. “So Dad had them carted off to the abattoir. Rachel cried, as I remember. She’d got quite attached to them.”
“We had bacon and sausage for a year, though,” Esther reminded her, and Anna let out a peal of laughter.
“Yes, and that’s what Dad called them both, wasn’t it?” She turned back to Simon, her eyes alight. “We called them Romeo and Juliet, and he called them Bacon and Sausage. Horrible.” But she was laughing, and Esther found herself smiling at the memory, even as it tugged a deep place inside her that she hadn’t accessed in a long time. Jamie had been alive then. He’d been the one to call them Bacon and Sausage first. Ruth had tsked-tsked but Roger had thought it clever and amusing.
Her heart gave a sudden, surprising wrench as the memory gained an almost crystalline clarity; for a second, Esther felt as if she could walk right into it, take up where they’d left off twenty years ago, when things had felt simple and happy, and she… what had she felt? Lighter, perhaps. Less driven.
“Esther,” Anna said, and it felt as if she were calling from far away. “Esther, are you coming?”
Esther blinked both her sister and Simon back into focus; Simon was looking at her with gentle, frowning concern. “Sorry, what?”
“Are you coming inside?” Anna asked, and Esther could tell it was not the first time she’d made the invitation. “Rachel and Dan are here, and Mum’s doing a roast, due to Simon.”
Simon rolled his eyes. “You mean due to you being here all the way from Manchester. I’m old hat already.”
Anna gave him a teasing look and linked arms with him, and Esther watched them in a mixture of envy and happiness for her sister. They were both clearly smitten, and she was glad for them.
“So?” Anna raised her eyebrows and Esther realized she was still staring, saying nothing. “Are you coming? I need to do the Yorkshire puds. Don’t you do the green veg usually?”
“Yes. And make the custard for the pudding.” Both had been her jobs since she’d been about nine, and judged old enough for the responsibility.
“You know how we all have different jobs for a Sunday roast?” Anna said to Simon, and he smiled down at her, his hazel eyes full of affection.
“You might have told me once or twice.”
“Sorry.” Anna let out an embarrassed laugh. “Family traditions are important, that’s all.”
“Very important,” Simon agreed, and they started walking back towards the vicarage. Esther propped the pair of shears she’d been using to hack through the undergrowth against the wall and then carefully closed the garden gate.
“So what are you doing back there, Esther?” Simon asked conversationally as they made their way across the lawn to the front of the vicarage.
Esther hesitated, a vaguely unwelcome realization trickling through her. In less than four months, Simon would be moving into the vicarage as vicar, taking over from her father when her parents moved to China. It still all seemed so incredible that Esther couldn’t quite believe it was happening that soon. And when Simon did move into the vicarage, he would of course be in charge of the property, including the garden. Meaning she needed his permission for her community garden scheme, some
thing she hadn’t considered until now.
“Actually,” she began, “I’m thinking of starting a community garden. My father gave me the idea,” she clarified quickly. “We never really did anything with the walled garden in all the years we’ve lived here. But of course you might want to do something with it…” She trailed off, realizing she was putting him in a rather uncomfortable position of having to say yes or feeling mean for saying no.
“A community garden seems like a fantastic idea,” Simon said easily. They’d reached the front steps of the vicarage and he held the door open for both her and Anna. “I’m certainly not planning to do anything with that space. I’ll have enough to do, keeping the grass mowed here.” He gestured to the expanse of garden they’d just walked through. “What kind of community garden? Veg and fruit, or flowers…”
“A bit of everything, really. Whatever people want to do, once they get stuck in.”
“So how come you’re clearing it by yourself?” Simon asked. “If it’s a community project?”
Esther stared at him gormlessly for a moment as a flush fought its way up her face. That was a very good question. A community garden was one that was worked by the community. Clearing it, planning it—everything should be done by the people of Thornthwaite, not Esther Langley alone.
“I’m just at the assessing stage right now,” she said, wincing at how pompous she sounded. “To see if the land is viable.”
Simon nodded, looking suitably impressed. “That sounds like a plan.”
It wasn’t, not really, and Esther’s thoughts circled fruitlessly as she went into the kitchen to do her part for the roast dinner. How was she going to get the community involved? How was any of this going to work?
“You want to do the veg?” Ruth looked both surprised and pleased when Esther volunteered, which made her feel both guilty and the tiniest bit annoyed. All right, yes, she’d been moping around, doing basically nothing, for three whole weeks, but it had only been three weeks. She’d been making the green veg and custard for Sunday dinners for over twenty-five years before that.