Ivy Lane: Winter: Part 4

by Cathy Bramley

  The blasts of air whistled through the gaps in the greenhouse and I shivered. Several plastic plant pots, carried along by the wind, blew past and it occurred to me for the first time that I really didn’t relish being outdoors for much longer.

  ‘I saw you put the note on his car window so I went across and read it. I couldn’t believe it.’ He lifted his blue eyes to mine and shook his head.

  I pulled my bottom lip in between teeth. My face was probably absolutely scarlet by now. I had to admit that some of the blame had to be laid at my door. I hadn’t been totally straight with Charlie and I should have done more last night to make it clear that I would never see him as anything other than a friend.

  ‘I’ve been patient, waiting for the right moment to ask you out, but then last night, I realized I was running out of time.’ He puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. ‘Christine had got some spare pumpkins in the pavilion so I brought them in here and carved them. I don’t know why I did it really; it was a bit of a sad thing to do.’

  ‘How did you get into my shed?’ That had been bothering me, I was sure it had been locked.

  He shrugged. ‘It was open.’ He scratched his nose, pulled his phone out of his pocket, squinted at the screen and slipped it away again.

  I frowned at him, still unconvinced.

  ‘You ruined my night, Charlie.’

  Charlie groaned. ‘You and me, we’ve got so much in common. I know losing your husband like you did is much worse than me and my wife splitting up. She had an affair and threw me out, just like that, and I thought I’d never get over it. I actually think I went a bit mental for a while . . .’ He paused and gazed at me hopefully. ‘We could be so good for each other, Tilly.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Charlie, I really am.’ I reached for his hand and rubbed it gently. ‘But I don’t feel the same way.’

  ‘Aidan jets off all over the place with his job. You need someone to be here for you. I’m here, Tilly.’ He brought my hand to his lips and was about to kiss it before I wriggled it away.

  ‘I can’t explain how love works, Charlie,’ I said sadly, moving towards the door, ‘but I know that Aidan is special to me. He makes me happy and I think I deserve a bit of happiness, don’t you?’

  He scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor. ‘Fine, but just so as you know, I can’t just be friends. I’m sorry, Tilly. It’s him or me.’

  ‘Charlie, that’s not fair!’ I exclaimed.

  He just shrugged and turned back to his seed trays.

  I stared at his back in disbelief for a few seconds before wrenching open the door and flinging myself back out at the mercy of the elements.

  What had just happened in there? Charlie’s friendship was important to me and I’d hoped he would understand how I felt. Now it looked as if I’d lost both him and Aidan in less than twenty-four hours.

  Way to go, Tilly.

  The wind was so strong that I could barely breathe. I pulled my hat down round my ears and stomped along the path towards the pavilion, intent on making it home for a restorative hour of Mary Berry before my temper worked itself up into a proper fury.

  A movement on the pavilion roof caught my eye; the gable end appeared to be moving. I stopped in my tracks and stared, clamping a gloved hand across my mouth in horror. All of a sudden there was an almighty creak, followed by a tearing sound as the wind lifted the corner of the roof clean away from the walls of the building. An entire panel, almost a third of the roof, splintered off with an ear-splitting crack, flipped over in the air and then came thundering down in the car park, missing the visitors’ car by a whisker.

  I screamed as a second roof section – smaller this time, thankfully – was wrenched off the building, tossed up by a swirl of wind, and came crashing down to the ground, partially blocking the pavilion doorway.

  Where were the visitors? Where was Peter? Oh my God, please say that no one had been hurt.

  Heart clattering, I ran towards the pavilion and heard Charlie’s footsteps close behind me.

  Peter, Wendy and Richard appeared white-faced at the pavilion door. Peter shoved the torn roof panel to one side and I joined them inside. I look up at the huge holes in the roof, it was surreal. The posters on the noticeboards were flapping and a stack of loose papers were blowing around the floor.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness no one was in the car park when that happened,’ I panted, clutching a hand to my chest.

  ‘Someone could have been killed,’ said Wendy, her voice shaky.

  Charlie arrived only seconds behind me. ‘Is everyone all right?’

  I nodded but noticed that he didn’t look at me directly. Richard wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders. I wondered briefly whether someone would put an arm around me. I could certainly do with it. My knees had turned to jelly.

  ‘The rest of that roof could go at any second,’ said Peter, rubbing a hand over his face. ‘This is all we need after the fire in the shop in July. I’d better get on the phone to a roofing specialist to secure it.’

  ‘Come on, let’s move those roof panels from the car park first,’ said Charlie. ‘We should be able to lift them between us.’

  We bowed our heads against the wind and carried the smashed panels around the back of the pavilion and stowed them safely.

  ‘I shouldn’t wonder if this has put you off Ivy Lane somewhat,’ shouted Peter as Wendy and Richard said their goodbyes.

  ‘Goodness, not at all!’ cried Wendy. ‘This is the most excitement we’ve had in months! Count us in, don’t you agree, Richard?’

  ‘Good grief, yes!’ said Richard, pumping our hands before dashing out to their car. We waved from the pavilion as the two of them drove off with promises to be back in touch soon.

  Trees were almost bending over double in the howling wind and I wasn’t looking forward to the walk home one bit.

  ‘Dear, oh dear,’ said Peter, shaking his head. I took in the dazed expression on his face and slipped an arm around his waist. Poor man, it looked like this was excitement that the Ivy Lane chairman could well do without.

  Chapter 2

  Although the pavilion had been given a temporary watertight covering, it was still out of action for the time being and so I had persuaded the headteacher, Mrs Burns to let us use the school staff room for the next Ivy Lane allotments committee meeting.

  Actually, it suited me anyway. It was Bonfire Night and I was going out with Hayley to the big bonfire party in Kingsfield later. I needed this meeting to be short and sweet so that I could get home and change; and I knew the school caretaker would usher us out in an hour so that he could lock up.

  ‘Tea,’ I said, placing a tray with a teapot, mugs, milk, sugar and a plate of homemade chocolate-chip cookies on the table in the centre. ‘Help yourselves to cookies, the children and I made them today.’

  ‘This is very kind of you, Tilly,’ said Peter, doing as he was told and tucking in.

  ‘The pleasure’s mine, really.’ I sat down in the chair between him and Nigel and picked up my notebook from the floor.

  I meant it too. This was exactly what I needed: to keep busy and stop myself thinking about Aidan. I was driving myself barmy; every time a silver Alfa Romeo flashed past me I found myself peering through the windows to get a glimpse of the driver. I’d heard absolutely nothing from him since Hallowe’en and I suppose as time ticked on, it was getting less likely that I ever would.

  I tutted under my breath. This was precisely the problem: every time I had nothing to think about, my thoughts drifted back to him . . .

  ‘And thank you for offering to join the committee,’ said Nigel.

  I glanced over at Christine and smiled. ‘Offer’ wasn’t quite the word I’d have chosen. As usual, she had talked me into it without me even realizing, but I didn’t mind. She and Roy were about to become grandparents again; if I could take some of the weight off her shoulders over the coming months then she would have more time to be with her family.

  ‘Formal nomination, et cetera,
can’t be done until the next AGM in February,’ he continued, ‘but I can’t see it being a problem; we’re desperately short of numbers.’

  Christine took control of the teapot and poured tea for us all. ‘So, what’s the situation with the insurance for the roof, Peter?’ she said, handing him a mug.

  ‘Thanks.’ He set it down and flicked through his paperwork. ‘I’ve had a letter from the insurance assessors. The good news is that I have permission to go ahead and authorize the repairs. I’ve spoken to a roofing company and they can start next week.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Nigel.

  ‘And the bad news?’ I asked.

  ‘Most of the damage to the roof will be covered by our insurance, but I’m afraid there will be a shortfall that will have to be met from the Ivy Lane bank account.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Nigel, smoothing his tie with a frown. ‘That is a problem. Coming so soon after the fire in the shop.’

  ‘You’ve hit the nail on the head, Nigel,’ said Peter, nodding.

  ‘Funds are at an all-time low, so they are,’ explained Christine glumly, taking a noisy sip of her tea.

  ‘I’m afraid this will wipe out what little is left in the pot,’ sighed Peter.

  ‘Oh dear.’ I offered round the plate of cookies again in an attempt to cheer them all up. ‘And what is it we need funds for exactly?’

  ‘The Christmas party,’ they all answered as one.

  ‘Oh no,’ I gasped. ‘The Christmas party is a must! Please don’t say it’ll be cancelled?’

  The Ivy Lane Christmas party was the next highlight on my social calendar – actually, the only highlight on my social calendar. I’d heard so much about it during the course of the year and I was really looking forward to it. Apparently, it was always a jolly affair, with festive food and drink and the awarding of the prizes from the annual show. Not only that, it would probably be Gemma’s last allotment event for ages. Her baby was due at the end of December, she had already given up her plot and for all I knew, she might not come back to allotment gardening for years.

  The show had to go on.

  ‘No, no,’ Peter assured me, ‘we won’t cancel it. It’s just that this is usually the one free event of the year. All food and drink is traditionally provided by the committee. It won’t go down well if we have to charge an entry fee or ask people to bring their own.’

  ‘Mmm,’ I said, sneaking a glance at my fellow members, ‘I can see the problem.’

  Secretly, I didn’t think that anyone would mind. I mean, everyone knew about the fire in the shop and the damage to the roof. Surely they would understand and not grumble? But this was my first official committee meeting, far be it from me to contradict anyone. Besides which, I had a sort-of plan forming.

  ‘When will the pavilion be ready for use again, Peter?’

  ‘Two weeks,’ he said, consulting his diary. ‘Weather permitting.’

  ‘How about we christen the new roof with a fund-raising event?’ I said, feeling quite excited at the prospect. ‘A cake sale, perhaps?’

  This would be perfect. My new-found passion for baking needed an outlet other than feeding myself huge quantities of cake. And my energies needed an outlet, too; I’d foolishly been thinking that I would have a blossoming romance with Aidan to keep me busy this side of Christmas but as that didn’t seem to be the case, an event could serve as a substitute, albeit a poor one.

  I smiled encouragingly at the three of them. Nigel scratched his head, Peter tapped his cheek with a pen and stared blankly at his papers and Christine lifted her shoulders in a weary sigh. Not quite the reaction I’d been hoping for.

  ‘There’s a lot of work involved in these events, you know, Tilly.’ Nigel frowned. ‘And I’m not really sure that all the effort would pay off financially.’

  ‘I’ll organize it all,’ I added, pulling my hopeful face.

  That seemed to do the trick: they all perked up considerably.

  ‘And we can have a tombola and a raffle. Those sorts of things always raise loads. And you love seeing the pavilion busy,’ I reminded Christine.

  ‘True.’ She nodded thoughtfully. ‘Although I don’t know if selling cakes to the other plot holders will make us much money and there aren’t many people around at this time of year.’

  ‘I do love home-baking, though.’ Nigel sighed wistfully. ‘I remember the cakes my wife used to make. Shop-bought ones aren’t the same at all.’

  My heart twisted for him. It was easy to forget sometimes that I wasn’t the only one who had lost their special someone.

  ‘Well, I think this should be a cake sale with a difference,’ I said, patting his arm. ‘And to make it more exciting, why not introduce an element of competition? We could make it easy for everyone to enter – even you, Nigel. There can be all sorts of prizes so that it’s not all about baking skills. We could have a category just for men, or does that sound sexist? Perhaps a beginners’ category, to be fair? How about one for the most unusual flavour? Ooh, I know, we could have a theme . . .’

  I was off. All sorts of ideas were popping into my head. We could invite the whole neighbourhood, it needn’t just be the Ivy Lane community. This would bring us all together again before Christmas. I felt a shiver of excitement. Oh yes, this was going to be such fun.

  Peter chuckled. ‘I can see you’ve got it all worked out, Tilly.’ He flicked through his diary and scribbled himself a note. ‘What about the last Saturday in November, how does that sound?’

  Three weeks from now. I clapped my hands and managed to restrict my excitement to an acceptable small squeak.

  ‘That’s perfect.’ I grinned. ‘We’re going to make loads of money, I promise, and then Ivy Lane will have the best Christmas party ever.’

  The following Saturday I met Gemma for lunch in the café on Shenton Road. The café was a short walk from my house, but I had picked up my new car from Mike’s garage a few days before, so I decided to drive. Having my own car was a huge milestone, if a little scary at times, but I’d done it and I was proud of myself. And it felt so good to be able to jump in the car and just drive whenever and wherever I wanted to.

  I parked right outside the café and spotted Gemma straightaway through the glass in the prime spot by the window.

  I tooted the horn until she noticed me and we waved excitedly at each other.

  ‘Tilly! How’s the new set of wheels?’ she squealed as I joined her at the table. She struggled to her feet to give me a hug.

  ‘Amazing! It’s a bit weird driving again, but oh, the bliss of taking shopping home in a car instead of stuffing everything in the panniers of my bike. I think I bought up half of Tesco’s stock in my excitement last night!’

  ‘I’m so pleased for you, babe,’ she said softly.

  ‘I’ll take you for that baby clothes shopping spree I promised you soon, if you like?’

  She nodded and we stared at each other knowingly for a long moment until I felt myself going a bit teary.

  ‘Anyway, you look fantastic,’ I said, planting a kiss on her cheek. Gone were the dark circles and pale complexion from a few months ago and in their place: bright eyes, glowing skin and an inner calm that made me feel positively pasty by comparison.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ she giggled, flicking her curls off her face as she sat back down. ‘I’ve ordered us both bacon sandwiches and a pot of tea, hope you don’t mind?’ She pulled a face. ‘I’m starving. I was even contemplating eating the ketchup just before you walked in.’

  I laughed and shook my head. ‘This might not help matters then.’ I plonked myself in the chair next to her and pulled a poster from my bag.

  Gemma took it out of my hand and read aloud. ‘Ivy Lane Great Cake Competition? Now I definitely need food,’ she groaned and rubbed her rotund belly with one hand. ‘Ooh, thank goodness,’ she hissed, looking over my shoulder. ‘Here it comes.’

  ‘Bacon sandwiches and tea for two.’ The waitress set our order down on the table and smiled at us. She bent low and
hissed into Gemma’s ear, ‘I’ve put extra bacon in yours.’

  ‘You’re literally a life saver,’ Gemma beamed and took a giant bite.

  ‘Excuse me, would you mind displaying one of these, please?’ I said, pinching the poster from Gemma’s fingers.

  ‘Sure.’ The waitress was roughly my age with luscious red hair, and a smattering of freckles across her pale cheeks. ‘Oh, I’d love an allotment,’ she sighed, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. ‘Is it very hard work?’

  ‘Depends on who you ask.’ I smirked at Gemma. ‘But no, not really. Come along to the cake event of the year and have a look around for yourself. You could join the waiting list if you like what you see.’

  ‘Thanks, I might do that. Although I’m not much of a cook.’ She walked over to the noticeboard and pinned it up my poster.

  ‘Look at you, advertising the place!’ exclaimed Gemma, squirting a generous amount of ketchup on top of the bacon. ‘Mother will be so proud.’

  ‘I’m on the committee now, you know.’ I smiled at her haughtily.

  ‘So tell me about this cake thing, then,’ she said, taking a large bite of her sandwich.

  I poured us both a cup of tea and filled her in. Since coming up with the idea last week the event had snowballed and had taken over my life. With the rest of the committee’s rather bewildered consent I had created a cake sale with a difference. Each person would enter their cake to be sold and judged under a certain category: novelty cake shapes, cakes with hidden vegetables, the ‘taste better than they look’ cakes, the ‘unusual flavour’ cakes and ‘first time ever in the kitchen’ cakes.

  This list, I rather thought, left no room for anyone at Ivy Lane to try to wriggle out of it.

  I had designed posters like the one I’d just given to the waitress and pinned them up everywhere and had leaflets printed which I was hoping Mia might help me deliver. Plus every child at school had gone home with one in their reading folder yesterday. I’d phoned up every plot holder and begged them all to take part and I’d arranged for people to buddy up, so those who didn’t bake had someone to call on for help or some moral support if their Victoria sponge failed to rise, or whatever. Liz had offered to help Nigel, and Vicky and Dougie, who both claimed not to be able to cook a thing, were going round to Brenda’s for a baking lesson. I’d even phoned Wendy and Richard after Peter had told me they were definitely taking a plot next spring. Wendy had hooted with excitement until she’d realized that the event clashed with their three-week Caribbean cruise, so they couldn’t make it. Charlie hadn’t picked up his phone so I’d left him a message and everyone else had agreed to come. I was thrilled!