Ivy Lane: Winter: Part 4

by Cathy Bramley

  I spotted a seat next to Gemma and made a beeline for her. She only had four weeks to go until the baby was due and while she was absolutely huge, probably uncomfortable and almost certainly nervous about the impending birth, she looked impossibly beautiful and I couldn’t help feeling proud and envious all at the same time.

  ‘Call yourself a friend,’ she said, pouting at me as I squeezed in beside her. ‘I can’t believe my ginger cake didn’t win.’

  ‘Sorry, Gem, but if it’s any consolation, it certainly was the strongest flavour of any of the entries,’ I said and sipped gratefully at my water. I had a feeling the memory of her ginger cake, not to mention the heartburn, would stay with me for days.

  ‘Anyway, not to worry,’ she grinned and pulled me in for a hug, ‘I still think you’re amazing. This must be the busiest fund-raiser Ivy Lane has ever seen.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Definitely.’ She nodded earnestly.

  I beamed back at her with delight.

  My first event – the busiest ever! I felt a lump-in-the-throat moment coming on as I glanced around at the crowded room. The community had really come together today – not just the plot holders, but people from the neighbouring area too.

  And I was part of it. James would be so proud of me. Tears pricked at my eyes and I blinked them away.

  James.

  I’d hardly thought of him today, and whilst he would always be a part of me, it was comforting to know that I was putting the traumatic end to our marriage behind me. The old Tilly, who couldn’t see a way through the pain and sadness, had been replaced by a new Tilly, a girl with friends, a good job and a bright future. My new life was almost complete. Almost.

  I sighed happily and leaned my head on Gemma’s shoulder.

  Chapter 5

  I sat up with a start. I was still in the pavilion. Gemma was still here too, but the crowds had gone. I must have dropped off. I was only twenty-nine, what was I doing nodding off to sleep in the middle of the day? In public! How mortifying!

  ‘And she’s back in the room,’ giggled Gemma. She rolled her shoulders in a circle where I’d been leaning on her and winced. ‘Am I that boring that I send you to sleep with my conversation?’

  ‘I’m so sorry; of course you’re not boring.’ I rubbed my eyes. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Two.’ Gemma pointed to my mouth. ‘And you’re dribbling. Anyway, thank God you’re awake, I’m desperate for the loo.’ She rubbed her hand on her tummy and pushed herself up to her feet. ‘What with you on my shoulder and this one bouncing on my bladder, it hasn’t been the most relaxing thirty minutes of my life, believe me.’

  She wandered off to the loo, leaving me, still slightly dazed, trying to focus my eyes on all the activity around me.

  Nigel was stacking chairs, Roy was ostensibly sweeping the floor, although I noticed he only moved when Christine was in the room as she ran backwards and forwards to the kitchen carrying dirty crockery.

  I caught myself suddenly and jumped to my feet. This was my event; I shouldn’t just be watching everyone else at work! I strode towards the kitchen to find myself a job as Freya burst into the pavilion followed closely by Peter and a gust of cool fresh air.

  ‘Has Peter given you the tour, Freya?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, I didn’t see as much veg as I thought I would?’ She stared at me, wide-eyed, and pulled a face that I interpreted as meaning that she had some reservations. ‘I thought it would be all full of colour.’

  ‘I’ve explained that the allotment is not at its best in winter,’ said Peter, looking more than a little exhausted. ‘Let me know if you decide to go ahead with a plot and I’ll get the necessary forms to you. You’ll have to join the waiting list, mind you.’

  ‘I’ll think about it, Pete, yeah?’ she said, punching his arm.

  ‘Marvellous.’ Peter nodded to us both and scampered off.

  Freya pulled her phone out of her pocket and tucked her red tresses behind her ears. She stuck her tongue out in concentration as she tapped on the screen.

  ‘Me and some friends are going out for a few drinks next Friday, fancy coming along?’ she said with a grin.

  ‘Thank you. Er, Friday night? I’m not sure if I’m free, can I let you know?’ I stammered.

  Of course I was free. I was always free. And I did like her; she was full of life, just slightly more life than I was used to.

  She shrugged. ‘Sure. Let’s swap numbers.’

  ‘Of course,’ I breathed.

  She reeled off her number, I stored it straight into my phone and gave her mine.

  ‘I’ll give you a ring if I can make it,’ I said.

  ‘Great.’ She turned to leave and flashed me a big smile, her eyes sparkling wickedly. ‘It’ll be wild!’

  I gulped as I waved her off, trying not to look alarmed. I couldn’t remember the last time Tilly Parker went ‘wild’.

  A pang of guilt stabbed me as I took in the state of the room; it was virtually back to normal and I hadn’t as yet lifted a finger to help. My eyes were still looking for a useful task when Liz, pink-cheeked and looking lovely in a pale blue jumper and jeans, tugged on my sleeve.

  ‘I’m glad I caught you,’ she said. ‘I’m off to spend an hour in the greenhouse before it gets dark. But I wanted you to know how much I enjoyed the cake competition, Tilly. I can honestly say it has been my favourite allotment event ever.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I smiled and hugged her.

  ‘Baking is one of life’s joys for me and it has been lovely not to have to throw half a cake away, to be able to share my baking with others.’ She sighed and clasped her hands under her chin.

  An almost buried memory of Liz with half a cake at Easter popped up. That had niggled me at the time.

  ‘Why half a cake?’ I asked.

  A cloud passed over her face and she swallowed. ‘You’ll think I’m silly, but I don’t have anyone to share a cake with, so I always throw half of it away as soon as I’ve made it, to avoid eating it all myself.’

  I blinked at her. Part of me marvelled at her restraint (I could never throw cake away) and the other part wondered why she didn’t just make a smaller cake.

  She chuckled as she read my mind. ‘I could make a smaller cake, I suppose, but it just doesn’t feel right. A slice of cake should be a certain size. A slice cut from a small cake . . .’ She shuddered. ‘Oh no.’

  ‘I see,’ I said, pressing my lips together to supress a smile. Obviously I was just greedy; cake was cake, as far as I was concerned.

  ‘But baking aside, having a bit of male company in the kitchen . . .’ She sighed and her eyes sought out Nigel in the room and then drifted back to me. ‘It’s been, well, it’s been the happiest few days I’ve had for a very long time, Tilly, and I really mean that.’

  Liz and Nigel? Actually, now that I thought about it, they made a lovely couple . . .

  ‘My ex-husband, he . . .’ She stared at me for a moment, seeming to weigh up whether I was confidante material or not.

  I squeezed her hand encouragingly. ‘Go on.’

  Liz tucked her hand under my elbow and led me to the comparative privacy of the far corner of the room.

  ‘I’m no oil painting, I know,’ she murmured, ‘but he used to make jokes about me in front of his friends, about how plain I was and how it was a good job I could cook, because I was useless at everything else. In the end, he left me for a younger woman.’ She smiled at me but there was no mistaking the pain in her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I was touched that she had chosen to confide in me and cross at the same time that she had lived her life under this shadow for so long.

  ‘Don’t be. He gave me back my freedom. Well, my own space at least. I’m afraid years of his put-downs made me want to hide away. But spending time with Nigel,’ her eyes misted over, ‘what a lovely man. Such a gentleman. I’ve felt valued for the first time in years and years.’

  ‘And now you feel ready to love again?’ I said softly. />
  ‘Me?’ she squeaked. ‘Oh goodness me, no!’ Liz’s fingers fluttered up to her neck, which had gone slightly blotchy all of a sudden. ‘That part of my life is over now. I mean who would . . .? It’s not as if I’d be a catch for anyone.’ She sighed and my heart broke for her; she would be a catch, I was sure if it.

  ‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘I’d best get cracking.’ And with one final wistful glance at Nigel, she ducked her head and darted from the room.

  I popped into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water, thirsty after my impromptu nap, and found Brenda and Christine still in there washing up.

  ‘Isn’t that your bag, Tilly,’ asked Christine, nodding her head to a large shopping bag on the floor.

  ‘Sorry, Christine, it is, I’ll move it out of your way and I do apologize for not helping clear up.’

  She waved me away with a hand covered in soap suds. ‘You’ve done enough today. Go home and have a rest.’

  I smiled and sighed. ‘Thank you. I am shattered, I must admit.’

  I scooped up the bag and wandered back into the main room. Just as I was saying my goodbyes, Hayley appeared at the pavilion door and bounded over to me, her arm wrapped round a tall cake tin.

  ‘Have I missed the competition?’ she asked, giving me a one-armed hug as she looked round the room. ‘I have, haven’t I?’

  I glanced at her cake tin and my heart sank. It was so kind of her to come and support me and knowing her baking skills, her cake would probably have been a winner. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Hayley, we’re just clearing up. Well, everyone else is; I slept through most of the work.’

  Hayley grinned and shrugged one shoulder. ‘Never mind. The reason I’m late is because . . . drum roll please . . . I passed my driving test this morning!’

  ‘Yay!’ I flung my arms round her and kissed her cheek. ‘That’s fantastic! You are such a dark horse, I only saw you a couple of weeks ago and you didn’t mention a thing, I didn’t even know you were learning to drive.’

  She blushed and lowered her eyes, bouncing the toe of her Converses against the floor. ‘Didn’t know how you’d feel, worrying about another nutter on the roads.’

  ‘Oh Hayley,’ I whispered, swallowing a lump in my throat. ‘I’m really proud of you.’

  She coughed and held out her cake tin. ‘Anyway, have a look at this. I don’t normally do fancy stuff, but I saw this on Pinterest and thought I’d have a go myself.’

  She pulled the lid off the tin and I peered inside. There sat a large, exquisitely decorated cake, covered in pastel fondant icing.

  ‘That is fabulous!’ I said, meaning it.

  Hayley shrugged modestly. ‘It’s a multi-layered almond-flavoured sponge cake. When you cut into it each layer of sponge is a different colour. It came out all right, I suppose. Anyway, seeing as I made it for Ivy Lane, you might as well take it.’

  She thrust the tin into my hands before I had chance to argue. ‘Right,’ she said, turning to go, ‘I’m off. I’m supposed to be meeting Ben in half an hour to go Christmas shopping.’

  I noticed the flush of young love spring to her cheeks. I’d heard all about Ben at the bonfire party. Hayley had started catering college as well as working for Brenda. Ben was a fellow student and he sounded like he was a good influence on her.

  I kissed her goodbye and placed the cake tin in my bag. I certainly wouldn’t be able to face any of that today after all the cake I’d eaten during the judging. I collected the rest of my things and made my way to the door. Perhaps I should cut it in two and give half away. But no, that wouldn’t do at all. A cake like that deserved a special occasion, to be nibbled on daintily, to be shared, and preferably accompanied by Earl Grey tea served in delicate china cups.

  Half a cake. Someone to share it with. Liz and Nigel. Nigel and Liz.

  My breath caught in my throat as a crazy idea formed. Nigel was still here. I looked at the clock. Two thirty. Possibly an hour, maybe a bit more before it went dark.

  ‘Are you around all afternoon, Nigel?’ I called nonchalantly.

  Nigel scratched his head. ‘Not too long, another cup of tea perhaps, then I’ll pull up some leeks and head home.’

  I beamed at him. ‘Good, great, see you then. Bye.’

  I dashed to my car, flung my bags in the boot, and set the cake tin carefully on the passenger seat. My heart was racing and my hands were wobbly as I wrote two identical notes.

  Please come to tea at the stone bench in the woods behind plot 16 at 3.30 this afternoon.

  I chewed my lip while I deliberated and finally added a kiss at the end of each note.

  OK. I exhaled shakily. Now to plant the notes.

  I hurried along the road towards their plots. Nigel’s would be easy: he was still in the pavilion. But Liz was on her plot somewhere. I wedged one of the notes in the gap around Nigel’s shed door and tiptoed silently towards the plot opposite. Liz was in her polytunnel, humming softly to herself, completely absorbed in watering some seedlings. I snaked my hand through the open door and dropped the note on top of her bag. Slowly, being ultra-careful not to touch anything or make a noise, I withdrew my arm, creeping backwards. As soon as I was far enough away I broke into a sprint and headed for my car. I was going to have to move fast if this plan was to work.

  Back at home, I set the kettle to boil while I unwound the fairy lights from around the mirror in the living room and sent up a silent prayer a) that the batteries wouldn’t conk out and b) that they were, in fact, suitable for use outdoors.

  I made a flask of tea – Earl Grey, of course – and ferreted about in the back of the kitchen cupboard until I found my best china. I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat as I stroked a finger along the delicate cups and saucers, the dainty plates. The dinner service had been a wedding present. Pink and red and beautiful, decorated with tiny birds. Arguably the allotment wasn’t the best place for its first airing in two years, but then again, hiding it in a cupboard wasn’t doing it justice either. I took a deep breath, wrapped the china carefully in towels and stowed everything in my shopping bag.

  Nigel and Liz deserved this, I told myself as I drove back to the allotment in my little yellow car. They were two lovely, lonely people and they deserved a second chance at happiness, at love. I was meddling, I knew, but something told me to do it anyway.

  I hopped out of the car and darted along the road, past my plot and into the woods. I checked the time. Three fifteen. My breath was coming in short sharp spurts as I threaded the fairy lights through the branches to accentuate the arch above the stone bench. I spread out a blanket, placed the cake on a plate and set out tea for two.

  Finally, with two minutes to spare, I stepped back to check that everything looked OK.

  Oh my word.

  I held a hand to my mouth to stop myself from making a sound. It was every bit as magical as I’d imagined. The sky had turned a purple-grey as the sun began to fade and the tiny lights twinkled above the bench.

  It was the perfect setting to fall in love.

  I sighed happily, shrank backwards into the shadows and hid behind a tree a few feet away. I held my breath as I heard the sound of footsteps crunching through the undergrowth from the other side of the archway – two sets – accompanied by low voices.

  The footsteps stopped. I heard Liz gasp and Nigel chuckle.

  I let my breath out slowly. So far so good.

  I should go now. I should creep away and leave them alone, I had done my bit, the rest was up to them. And I would go . . . soon. I squinted through the trees to see what they were up to.

  Oh, hurrah! My heart surged with happiness for them. They were sitting on the bench, side by side, Nigel with his arm around Liz’s waist, her head resting on his shoulder, tea and cake forgotten for the moment.

  I was thrilled for them, truly I was. I wrapped my arms around myself and tiptoed away, intent on keeping a brave smile on my face. Tilly Parker, you are a match-making genius.

  Why was it that everyone else’s love
life seemed so much simpler to sort out than my own?

  Chapter 6

  The following Friday, I convinced myself that my body needed some TLC more than it needed a night at the pub with Freya and her friends. So it was pamper night chez moi. I’d had a steaming hot bath, given myself a pedicure, massaged a hot oil treatment into my hair and was about to apply a face mask that promised to ‘re-moisturize, replenish and rehydrate’.

  The cold weather had been playing havoc with my skin recently and being on playground duty every lunchtime this week had been the last straw. I had chapped lips, flaky patches on my cheeks and red nostrils from excessive nose blowing. My hair wasn’t much better either. An aversion to the hairdresser’s combined with a fondness for my hair straighteners meant that I had a serious case of the longest split ends in the western hemisphere.

  Normally I would have roped Gemma in to sort me out with a few beauty treatments, but her tummy was so round and taut these days, that even brushing her own hair left her breathless. So I’d carted home half the contents of Boots’ ‘emergency repair’ counter and was going it alone.

  Besides, Gemma was having an early night tonight. I knew this because she had been here earlier and we had spent an expensive hour shopping online for all her baby needs. In the end, she hadn’t fancied ‘real shopping’. She declared herself too big to waddle around sweltering shops that were packed with too many Christmas shoppers and too few loos, and so we had opted for some virtual shopping instead. In all honesty, this had suited me better. I probably wouldn’t have been the only non-pregnant woman in the baby department of John Lewis, but I would have felt like I was.