Pastures New

by Julia Williams

‘Oh lord, I am so sorry,’ said Saffron, her hand going to her mouth. ‘And there’s me ranting on about my little worries – I’m always putting my foot in it.’

  ‘Please don’t worry,’ said Amy. ‘I should have told you sooner. It’s just not a very easy thing to say sometimes.’

  ‘I’m sure it isn’t,’ said Saffron. ‘Bloody hell, Amy. That’s awful. How on earth do you cope? You always seem so incredibly together.’

  ‘I’m better since I’ve been here,’ said Amy. ‘But there are times when I think I’ll never get over it. I always felt like Jamie was my soul mate. I was only nineteen when we met. He was older – twenty-four. Neither of us had dads – mine left years ago, and his died when he was young – so it brought us together. And apart from my brother, I have no family here, so we became everything to each other. Jamie and Amy – “the rhyming couple” was what my mother-in-law always called us. I thought we’d be together forever …’

  Saffron shivered, thinking of how she would feel if something happened to Pete. She couldn’t imagine life without him. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  ‘Have you ever thought you might meet someone else?’ she asked gently.

  Amy shook her head. ‘I really couldn’t imagine it,’ she said simply. ‘I just can’t see how anyone else would match up. Maybe I’ll feel differently one day, but not now.’

  ‘Oh Amy, that’s so sad!’ said Saffron. ‘I wish I could do something to make it better.’

  ‘You already have,’ said Amy, taking her arm. ‘You’ve given me a chance of a new start, and been a good friend to me already. It’s all right really, I am so much better than I was even six months ago. Now come on, we have a job to do.’

  ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’

  Ben and Harry were outside Amy’s house, carrying plastic bags, flowers (Ben) and a bottle of wine (Harry). Ben felt stupidly nervous about this impromptu visit. Harry, on the other hand, had been very insistent, saying that he felt Amy needed company. Ben again had the sneaking suspicion that Harry was trying to manoeuvre him and Amy together, and he had to admit that the idea pleased him.

  Amy had just put Josh to bed, and was sitting down with a glass of wine, when she heard the doorbell go.

  ‘Hi,’ said Ben as she opened the door.

  ‘Hi,’ said Amy.

  ‘Here, have these.’ Ben thrust the flowers into her hand. ‘By way of apology for the other day.’

  ‘Thanks, but really, you shouldn’t have,’ said Amy, a little overwhelmed.

  ‘We’ve also got a surplus of stuff from our allotments,’ Ben said, holding up his plastic bags. ‘Would you like some marrows? I’ve got a surfeit, and there’re only so many ways you can cook a marrow.’

  ‘And I thought you might like to try some of my elderberry wine,’ said Harry, peeking out from behind Ben.

  ‘Be warned, it’s lethal,’ said Ben, laughing.

  ‘We thought that as you can’t get out much with young Josh, you might like some company,’ said Harry.

  ‘But this is too much,’ protested Amy.

  ‘Of course, if you’d rather be on your own …’ Harry said, but the concern in his eyes spoke for itself. Sensing an ambush, and feeling that neither of them would give in without a fight, Amy let them in. She was touched by their thoughtfulness – she was often lonely in the evenings once Josh was in bed, particularly as the nights were starting to draw in. It would be nice to have some adults around for a change.

  ‘Have either of you eaten?’ Amy asked. ‘I do a great spag bol.’

  ‘That sounds delicious,’ said Harry. ‘Here, let me open the wine.’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind the invasion,’ Ben said, following her into the kitchen, ‘but after we talked the other day, Harry and I, well, we both figured you might be lonely sometimes.’

  ‘Well, you figured right,’ said Amy. ‘Thanks for your concern.’

  There was a warm glowing feeling somewhere in the pit of her stomach. She was being looked after and cosseted by these two unlikely friends. It was a long time since she had felt so cared for.

  ‘And go easy on Harry’s wine, if you don’t want a sore head,’ added Ben, while Amy carried glasses through to the lounge.

  ‘Nonsense, old boy,’ said Harry, who already seemed half-cut. ‘Nectar of the gods, even though I say it myself.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with the taste,’ said Ben. ‘It’s just the morning after that isn’t so pleasant. And you know you should be careful with your blood pressure the way it is.’

  ‘Oh, tosh,’ said Harry, waving Ben away. ‘You worry too much. And after all, I only have myself to please. If I overindulge it serves me right.’

  The warm glow crept over the whole of Amy. Looking at the pair of them laughing and joking in her lounge was like having a breath of fresh air blowing into her life. She might never learn to love again, but Harry and Ben were both right: she could learn to live again. And a little chink of light had just wormed its way into her cold and barren heart. It was a start.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Mamas & the Papas were crooning from Ben’s car stereo as he headed up the motorway from his parents’ house. The leaves were less brown than non-existent, but Mama Cass had one thing right: the sky was an irredeemably awful muted grey. The colour of which fitted his mood right now – a sort of sad and subdued melancholy that always lingered with him after a visit home.

  He hated this annual pilgrimage down to his parents – the purpose of which was ostensibly to celebrate their wedding anniversary, instead of the act of commemoration and remembrance that it really was. It had been so many years that they had played out this godawful charade that Ben could scarcely remember a time when they had actually mentioned Sarah by name. It must have been a long time ago. But not mentioning her now made it worse. His father’s forced jollity as he held his mother’s hand and toasted another happy year of marriage, and his mother’s cheery smile, couldn’t quite hide the pain in their eyes. The pain that he had put there; the pain that he could never talk to them about. They had both tried so hard to eradicate the past, and yet the more they forced it away, the more it seemed to come back to haunt them.

  Still, who was he to criticise? Would he have done anything differently in their place? And as his dad had said on many occasions, ‘We still had you two boys, you know. You needed us too.’ But Ben’s brother was older, and now lived up north, busy with his own family. So it was left up to Ben, year after year, to face this increasingly hollow and empty ritual. How he wished he could cut through the flannel and talk to them about what had happened, but to do that would be to really open a can of worms. He still wasn’t sure he would ever be ready for that.

  Before he left for good, though, he had to perform one last ritual. His own annual act of remembrance and penance. The church of St Barnabas had been a feature of his childhood, from the days when he and Sarah had spent Sunday mornings scribbling on bits of paper at their mother’s feet. As he walked through the familiar door, went to the front of the church, and sat down in a pew, memories crowded in on him. He had been nearly three, and Sarah a baby, but he could still recall with clarity the moment the vicar poured water on her head, and she had squawked loudly. He remembered too how proud he had been watching David, his senior by five years, marching down the aisle at Harvest Festival, holding the banner for the Scouts, and how he had longed for it to be his turn. But by the time his turn came, the world had changed, the church had become a place of mourning, and his memories were spoilt by the horror of Sarah’s funeral, and the awful pitiful wail of anguish that had come unbidden and uncontrolled from his mother’s lips, and the weird and unsettling sight of his father crying. By the time that Ben had held the banner for the Scouts, such things didn’t seem to matter any more.

  Ben stared up at the high altar, a welter of emotions swirling around him. Why did he put himself through this annual torture? The rest of the year he could hold all this at bay quite easily – and he didn’t have
to come here, his parents probably never even knew he came. But somehow, he felt he owed it to Sarah – a mark of atonement almost.

  He went to light the candle he lit every year, and remade the promise he had first made all those years ago so that Sarah’s death would mean something. He couldn’t save her, but he could and would save others. Ben wasn’t particularly religious, but this simple act of remembrance, while immensely painful, always did him good. And his heart was somewhat lighter when he emerged into the grey wintry day.

  When he got back in the car, he realised he had missed the end of the song, and so he replayed it. On second hearing it didn’t seem quite so gloomy – offering more hope than sadness. Caroline had emailed him again to ask if he would come out at Christmas. He thought fleetingly of Amy. It might be nice to see more of her during the holidays, but her reaction to the bike incident had only served to remind him how vulnerable she was. Did he really want to get involved? And what was he to her anyway? Nothing, probably. And what was there here for him at Christmas? His parents always went to David’s and Ben tended to work through. Maybe skiing in Colorado was a good idea. Perhaps he would take Caroline up on her offer after all.

  ‘Well, that’s the lot then.’ Amy sat back and looked in satisfaction at the winter table displays piled up on Saffron’s kitchen table. Fronds of leaves and bits of green littered the floor, along with the odd discarded red and white chrysanthemum, a couple of bunches of red roses, several poinsettia and copious amounts of ribbon. There were two empty cans of gold paint spray heading for the bin, and one half-full can of silver paint left. It had been a good morning’s work, and Amy was about to set off for the neighbouring town of Upper Langley to hand them out to the rich and pampered good ladies of the parish, who seemed to have oodles of time to visit the local nail bar, but rather less for tedious things like flower displays. Thanks to Amy’s bright idea to put her leaflet into beauty salons as well as hairdressers the phone hadn’t stopped ringing.

  ‘I don’t think I want to see another pine cone ever again,’ said Saffron with a groan. ‘Remind me, who wants this lot?’

  ‘It’s for Linda Lovelace.’

  Saffron snorted. ‘That’s not her real name, surely?’

  ‘No,’ said Amy. ‘Her real name’s Linda Lowry. She’s an exotic dancer. Didn’t I tell you about her? I went round to take her order and she sat me down in the middle of her lounge, complete with pole-dancing kit, and told me all about it.’

  ‘You’re joking,’ said Saffron, roaring with laughter.

  ‘Nope,’ said Amy. ‘She even offered me lessons. Funnily enough, I declined.’

  ‘Oh that is sooo funny,’ said Saffron. ‘And there was me thinking that Upper Langley was the height of respectability. You’ll be telling me next that Mary Pritchard--Jones is a high-class madam.’

  ‘Don’t even go there!’ Amy shrieked with laughter. ‘That image is one I want to dispel as quickly as possible.’

  Mary Pritchard--Jones had come to them by way of Ben. She was one of his patients and a leading light of the district. She had happened to mention to him that she was planning a big fireworks party for her husband’s clients but couldn’t find anyone who did decent table decorations. Ben had put her in touch with Saffron, and that, combined with their nail-bar customers, meant they hadn’t looked back since. Mary seemed to know the whole of the rich list in Upper Langley, and her gratitude apparently knew no bounds.

  ‘Yes, we probably don’t want to pursue that idea, do we.’ Saffron looked around at the chaos and sighed. ‘I’m really pleased about all this work, but sheesh, there’s a lot to do. And I haven’t even scheduled in those two old dears who wanted us to come and dig over their garden. I thought I wanted to garden for a living. I’m not so sure now. It’s spoiling all my enjoyment of my own garden. I am so shattered, I can barely think straight.’

  ‘Ellie still teething then?’ said Amy sympathetically. She remembered what a trial that had been with Josh.

  ‘Is she ever,’ said Saffron. ‘Pete and I haven’t had a good night’s sleep for over a week now. It’s not as if I don’t want the work. But I keep looking at everything I’ve got to do at home too …’ Saffron trailed off and looked at the mess around them and gave a heavy sigh.

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ said Amy. ‘You do have three children, remember? Most people can barely cope with getting out of bed with a young baby, let alone juggling school runs and a business.’

  ‘I should try and sleep when Ellie does, but there’s always so much to do,’ said Saffron. ‘I feel really pathetic, but I’m just shattered all the time. It’s playing havoc with my sex life too.’

  ‘Perhaps you should go to Linda Lovelace for pole-dancing lessons then,’ suggested Amy with a grin. ‘Shall I give her a ring?’

  ‘Don’t you bloody dare,’ said Saffron. ‘I’m such a blubbery mess at the moment I’d probably break the pole.’

  ‘You’re not in the slightest bit blubbery,’ said Amy. ‘But if you won’t let me ring her, why don’t you sit with your feet up for a bit, and I’ll tidy up here.’

  ‘Would you?’ Saffron shot her a look of pure gratitude.

  ‘Here you go.’ Amy appeared ten minutes later with a steaming cup of tea.

  Saffron woke with a start; she must have dozed off. ‘Thanks. You’re a star,’ she said. ‘By the way, did I tell you about the fireworks display on the allotments?’

  ‘No, I don’t think you did,’ said Amy. ‘Which reminds me, I really do need to get down to mine and dig it over properly. What with one thing and another, I never seem to get round to it at the moment.’

  ‘It’s become something of an annual event. Everyone comes normally. The Coffee Club Crew serve hot drinks, while the Wine Producers lay on mulled wine– not their own, thankfully – and everyone else providesspuds they’ve grown themselves. Fireworks are usuallysupplied by the Guys, and a good time is had by all.Even Scary Slug Man comes.’

  Amy had been baffled by the different groupings onthe allotments at first, but now she was getting usedto the weird microcosm of society that seemed to existthere. The Coffee Club Crew only appeared to frequentthe allotments in the morning, and as they were all retired they started the day with croissants and coffee, hence their name. The refreshments were generally provided by Edie and Ada, who didn’t appear to have allotments themselves, but as widows of previous allotmenteers seemed to assume their role in life was now to feed all the elderly men they could find. As old croniesof Mavis, Harry often found himself in their sights, and was always moaning to Amy about them cluckingover him.

  Then there was Scary Slug Man – the strange bearded individual Amy had seen the first time she went onto the allotments – so called because he spent most of his time devising more and more deviant ways to kill the slugs who dared trespass across his borders. Saffron had assured her he was harmless, but Amy couldn’t quite get to grips with being friendly with someone who sang to slugs before dousing them in vinegar.

  The Wine Producers, of whom Harry was one, produced a variety of indifferent wines from their grapes and different berries. From time to time they would hold wine-tastings, and Amy in her ignorance hadn’t quite perfected the art of saying no, so she had had to sip her way through some truly disgusting offerings. Harry’s efforts were often somewhat better than the others, and she had had a couple of rather merry evenings trying out his elderberry wine.

  The Guys were two gay couples whose allotments bordered each other, both of which were impeccably tidy, and who, despite their constant bickering about who had the best crop, seemed utterly devoted to each other. All four, however, were keen pranksters, and Amy could well envisage what mayhem they could cause if let loose with fireworks.

  ‘Sounds scary,’ said Amy. ‘When is it?’

  ‘The Saturday after next,’ said Saffron. ‘Oh, and for the last couple of years a whole crowd of us have been coming back here and having drinks afterwards.’

  ‘Well, you can count me in,’
said Amy. ‘And if you want a hand with anything, I’ll be more than happy to help.’

  ‘That would be great,’ said Saffron. ‘It should be good, so long as Gerry behaves himself.’

  ‘What’s it got to do with Gerry?’

  ‘Nothing much, except that he’s got an allotment over the other side. But he doesn’t use it most of the time. I reckon he thinks that if the allotments are ever up for redevelopment he’ll have a bargaining chip for selling his house. He’s a bit of a persona non grata round here, though, because he started an affair with one of the leading allotmenteers’ wives when he was still married to me. They had a bust-up and the allotmenteer moved away, then Gerry and I split up, and the woman he went off with left him. And everyone had an opinion. I tell you what, I never want to be the subject of so much gossip again.’

  ‘No, I bet you don’t,’ said Amy. ‘So what did Gerry do last year?’

  ‘Well, he took it into his head that he should come along with his latest squeeze, but the kids were so upset about it, they managed to persuade him it wasn’t a good idea. I’m just hoping it doesn’t happen again. I mean, I can’t stop him coming or anything, but he always makes a scene, and it’s so embarrassing. Much better all round if he doesn’t come.’

  ‘Well, hopefully he won’t this year,’ said Amy. ‘Listen, I’d better get off with these now. Why don’t you stay here and have a kip while Ellie’s still asleep? I can pick the kids up, if you like.’

  ‘That’, said Saffron, ‘would be absolutely wonderful.’

  The following weekend, Amy decided that it really was time she went out on the allotments. So, shouldering her spade and pulling on her wellies, and insisting Josh did the same, she marched out to Caroline’s allotment. It was a clear, cold day in early November, and a low winter sun dazzled her eyes as she looked in horror at the work that lay before her. Even though it was the middle of winter, the allotment was still a tangled mess of brambles and convolvulus. She barely knew where to begin.