Ivy Lane: Autumn: Part 3

by Cathy Bramley

  Tell her, Tilly, trust her.

  I exhaled deeply and turned to face my friend. Gemma stared back, all trace of laughter gone, her eyes full of tenderness, waiting for whatever it was I wanted to share. She squeezed my hand and smiled encouragingly.

  And so I began my story.

  I leaned my head on her shoulder, she rested her head on mine and we both stared at the stars and I told her how I’d met James at university and how I’d known after one night that I would be his for ever. I told her about our woodland wedding, the tiny house we’d renovated together and how we’d been planning to move to Cornwall for his new job with the National Trust. And then I told her, my voice barely more than a whisper, about the baby, the car crash and the end of my perfect, perfect life.

  The guilt was the worst thing. Guilt for being alive, for carrying on without them both. Every time I laughed or lost myself in the moment, seconds later the memory returned and a knife twisted in my heart as a sharp reminder. Each May, when our baby should be celebrating his or her birthday, I pined for the entire month about what might have been and on October the fourth I mourned what I had lost.

  Widow. Bereaved. Alone.

  And the flipside: guilt at not making the most of the life I had escaped with.

  By the time I had run out of words, the moon had risen directly above us, my face was stinging as tears chilled against my skin and Gemma’s body was trembling against mine, her grip tight on my fingers.

  She took tissues from her pocket and passed me one. We both had a good blow and gazed at each other. I bit my lip and waited for her to speak.

  ‘I’m so sad that you’ve had to go through that,’ she said finally. ‘And I’m so very proud of you for the way you’ve coped. You’re such a strong person.’

  I laughed softly at that and twisted the tissue into a tight rope. ‘Rubbish. I hide from the truth. Look how long it’s taken me to tell you all this. I’m too scared to trust, or to give anything of myself in case . . . in case it happens again.’ I scanned her face, looking for answers. ‘Maybe that was it for me. Maybe I’ve had my one chance of happy ever after.’

  ‘No way.’ Gemma shook her head. ‘I don’t believe that for a minute. In fact, I think you’ve done exactly the right thing. You’ve given yourself time to heal.’

  She bent towards me and kissed my cheek.

  Nobody had ever said that to me before. The counsellor, my mum, even James’s parents – everyone had always been in such a hurry for me to Get Over It. To find a way through the grief and make it out to the other side.

  I felt my shoulders sag and realized they’d been tensed up around my ears.

  ‘Life twists and turns in directions that we can’t foresee and don’t always deserve,’ she said. ‘Nobody has it completely smooth but you’ve been through more trauma than most people will suffer in their entire lives. Physically, mentally, emotionally . . . It would have been weird if you hadn’t withdrawn from relationships for a while.’

  I thought about her life: falling pregnant at eighteen, re-mapping her career around her family and now, just as her life had seemed so settled, pregnant again. Less catastrophic, but no smooth journey either.

  ‘How long, Gemma, how long will it take me to get over it?’

  She sighed and took my hand in hers. ‘I guess your past will always be with you. But,’ she raised her eyebrows and gave me a tentative smile, ‘I did notice a new glow to your cheeks when a certain TV director was around. I’d say that you’re making excellent progress. When you’re ready, you’ll love again. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘But what about James? When I move on, it’ll be without him.’

  ‘He was lucky enough to have your love for years. He wouldn’t want you to put your heart on ice for the rest of your life.’

  She wrapped her arms around me then and I leaned against her, returning her hug. We sat in silence for a few minutes while I let her words sink in and I knew she was right.

  A brilliant white light appeared from nowhere, blinding my eyes. We both screamed and clung to each other. A second later there was a thud of heavy feet as someone jumped out in front of us. We screamed again.

  The torch dipped to the ground revealing a tall man dressed in a dark jacket and a hat pulled down over his eyes.

  ‘Bloody hell, you two!’

  It was Charlie.

  ‘For God’s sake, Charlie,’ I panted, ‘you frightened the life out of us. You all right, Gemma?’

  She was clutching at her heart, mouth open and gasping for breath. ‘Nearly peed my pants, you idiot.’

  He crouched down in front of us and flashed the torch from me to Gemma. ‘Don’t stop on my account,’ he said with a grin. ‘You’ve just made one of my fantasies come true.’

  ‘Charlie!’ squealed Gemma indignantly.

  We both laughed and shoved him against his shoulders playfully and he toppled over onto his back into Brenda’s ravaged potato patch.

  ‘Ouch.’ He brushed the leaves off his jacket and settled himself on the bench next to me. ‘So. Any sign of him, then?’

  Gemma and I exchanged blank looks.

  ‘The mysterious vegetable thief,’ said Charlie. ‘Isn’t that why you’re here? I thought I’d prowl about in the dark and catch him red-handed. I heard rustling coming from the trees and came across you two doing . . . whatever you were doing.’

  He raised his eyebrows hopefully. I ignored the implied question and rolled my eyes at him.

  ‘You’ve decided to take matters into your own hands then and sort out the mystery once and for all?’ I said.

  He scratched his head through his hat and sighed. ‘To be honest, I’m not that bothered about losing a few veggies, if someone’s that desperate for them. But what I can’t stand is all the suspicion, the whispering behind hands and finger-pointing. I just want us to all be friends again.’

  I caught Gemma’s eye and we both pulled ‘aww’ faces.

  ‘You big softie,’ I said, nudging him in the ribs. ‘You don’t think it’s one of the community service lot, then?’

  He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. ‘Nah. Stands to reason it’s someone with a key. And the only way they could get away with it is under cover of darkness.’ He shone the torch under his chin to light up his features ghoulishly and gave an evil laugh.

  ‘You’re hardly going to surprise them if you keep flashing that thing around,’ said Gemma.

  ‘Good point.’ He turned it off and laid it on the grass. ‘So,’ he said slapping his thighs, ‘come on, tell Uncle Charlie. You are freezing your butts off in darkness because . . .?’

  I looked at Gemma and she nodded and squeezed my hand. I stared down at our hands, at her wedding ring and my bare fingers and took a deep breath.

  ‘Charlie, there’s something I haven’t told you about myself. Before I came to Kingsfield, I was married to a man called James. Today is the anniversary of his death. Two years today. I didn’t want to be alone.’

  I’d said it. Now both of my friends knew. And as painful as it was to see the sadness in their faces, I was so relieved not to be keeping the truth from them any longer.

  ‘Ffff. . .’ He dropped his face into his hands, leaned forward until his elbows touched his thighs and groaned. The next instant I found myself crushed to him, his arms tight around my back, his breath in my hair, murmuring how sorry he was, over and over again.

  ‘It’s OK, Charlie. I’m OK.’

  Gemma cleared her throat and stood up slowly. ‘Shall I, er . . .?’

  I struggled my way out of Charlie’s embrace. ‘No,’ I said and pulled her gently back down. I looked at my watch. Nearly nine. ‘Please, stay a few minutes longer.’

  ‘Tilly,’ Charlie hesitated, ‘I hope I haven’t been, you know, out of order? Listen, forget about going cycling together. Oh God. If I’d known . . .’

  I laid a hand on his chest. ‘It’s fine, Charlie. Really. But I just need friends right now.’

  That wasn’t completely
true. My face burned and I was glad of the dark. I thought of Aidan and that magical moment in the summer when his lips had met mine. I needed more than friends in my life; I wanted to be loved, to know the happiness of being half of one whole again.

  The three of us sat in contemplative silence, lost in our own thoughts, gazing up at the stars, linked by hands and friendship.

  Suddenly Charlie’s body tensed. ‘Shush,’ he hissed, reaching in slow motion towards the torch.

  There was a rustling coming from Shazza and Karen’s plot only a few feet away. I could just about make out a shadowy shape hunched low the other side of a row of bamboo canes.

  ‘They might be dangerous,’ whispered Gemma.

  ‘Yes, don’t be a hero, Charlie,’ I added.

  Charlie raised one eyebrow James Bond-style, eased himself off the bench and crept stealthily towards the intruder. Halfway up the path separating our plots, he lunged forward out of sight and shouted, ‘Gotcha!’

  There was some grunting and scrabbling and I heard a second voice swearing at Charlie to leave him alone.

  ‘Come on,’ said Gemma, wriggling to her feet.

  Against my better judgement, given her condition, we advanced warily to see a pair of flailing legs pinioned underneath Charlie’s bulk and slender fingers wrapped around two freshly dug leeks. I kept my arm through Gemma’s to make sure she stayed on the path until we knew what we were dealing with.

  ‘I can’t breathe,’ gasped a small voice. ‘You’re cracking all my ribs. I’ll sue, you know.’

  ‘He’s only a lad,’ panted Charlie, shining the torch into his prisoner’s face. He hauled himself to his feet, dragging the slight figure up with him. He barely reached Charlie’s chest, but he was doing his best to wriggle free.

  ‘Hold on,’ said Gemma, shrugging me off. She stepped over the remaining leeks towards the pair of them and peered into the boy’s face. ‘I know you, don’t I? You’re Lee, Frank Garton’s son. You’re in Mia’s year at school.’

  The Frank Garton? I leapt forward and pulled Gemma back to safety. He didn’t look dangerous, but he could have had a knife for all we knew.

  ‘So is it you, then, you little scumbag?’ said Charlie, holding him by the hood of his hoody. ‘Have you been stealing off everyone’s plots?’

  ‘I’ll phone the police,’ I said, patting my pocket to find my mobile. ‘Keep well back, Gemma.’

  I was expecting the teenager to duck backwards out of his hoody and do a runner any second. I’d seen that move with boys younger than him many a time in the school playground.

  But I’d got it wrong this time. At the sight of my phone, Lee flung his arms round Charlie’s torso and burst into noisy tears. ‘Please don’t tell the police. We’ll all be put into care.’ His voice was somewhere between a croak and a yodel – the curse of the teenage boy.

  We three adults looked at each other and I slid the phone back into my pocket.

  We’d better go and have a chat,’ said Charlie, jerking his head towards the pavilion.

  Two hours later as I curled around my hot-water bottle in bed I still couldn’t get the haunted look on Lee’s face out of my head.

  Over mugs of illicit tea in the pavilion we had heard the full sorry story.

  It seemed that since Frank Garton had been in prison, his wife had taken to her bed with depression, leaving Lee to look after his four younger siblings. With no money coming into the house, things had got to the point where Lee simply didn’t know where to turn to feed his family. When he found the spare key his dad had had cut for the allotment, he’d thought it was the answer to his problem.

  He’d been missing school to care for his mum, keep the house clean and look after the little ones. His main worry, he told us, was social services getting involved, and the family being split up.

  My heart ached for him. What a responsibility at only fifteen.

  I had no idea how I was going to help him. But I definitely would.

  I stretched an arm out in the darkness to touch the cool space on the empty side of the bed. It was late and I needed to be up early for work in the morning.

  Nine o’clock had come and gone.

  The earth had kept spinning, I had carried on living and that was exactly as it should be. I had my own place in the world and for the first time in two years, I didn’t feel quite so guilty or alone being there.

  Chapter 7

  It was Friday evening and I had broken up for October half-term. Hurrah! Much as I loved All Saints Nursery and Infants School, I was very much looking forward to having some time to relax.

  As soon as I got home, I had a shower, washed my hair and made myself a quick bowl of pasta. Yesterday’s leftovers, which I’d intended to have, hadn’t looked the least bit appealing. I’d had Gemma and Hayley round, unlikely trio you might think, but we’d bonded splendidly over pizza, a tub of Ben & Jerry’s and my wedding album. We’d shed some tears, obviously, especially when Hayley found out about James and that I’d lost my baby, and then cheered ourselves up by watching Bridesmaids. Despite the emotional interlude, we had had fun, although I was pretty sure that Hayley would never be flippant about the implications of drinking and driving again.

  It had been one of those eventful weeks at home and at school when before I’d had chance to react to one event, another had come along and sent my poor brain spinning off in a new direction.

  My job share colleague had made a sudden decision to retire at Christmas and I had been summoned to Mrs Burns, the head teacher’s office.

  ‘Tilly, you would be doing me a huge service if you would consider applying for the full-time post,’ Mrs Burns had said. ‘There would be a formal interview, of course, but in all honesty, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have in the job.’

  ‘I’m flattered,’ I’d replied. In fact, I was thrilled! And although the prospect was a little bit daunting, the wonderful thing was that I knew I could do it. I enjoyed my job and the thought of having total ownership of a class certainly had its appeal. Mrs Burns had given me the half-term holiday to think it over, which was what I fully intended to do.

  I’d had some good news for Lee Garton, too. A spot of discreet digging had unearthed a young people’s soup kitchen based in a local church and now Lee and his brothers and sisters were sitting down to a hot meal each night after school. I’d also phoned his school and had a word with his head of year to get him a bit of support from that quarter. It wasn’t a complete solution – I knew that – but it was a start.

  Then Gemma had told me that she was giving up her half of plot sixteen and the committee wanted to know if I’d take it on. If it hadn’t come along at the same time as the job offer, I probably would have taken it. Plot 16 B had taken over my life this year, which had been exactly the right thing to do. But I wasn’t sure if I wanted the allotment to become an even bigger commitment; I rather thought my social life was the next item on the agenda. I was really going to miss all the fun Gemma and I had had this year at Ivy Lane, though, and had extracted a pledge from her to visit me at least once a week to keep me company.

  Since the fruit and vegetable thefts had stopped, Gemma, Charlie and I had kept our promise and not breathed a word about it to the rest of the Ivy Lane community. The plot holders were still puzzled by what had happened but, by and large, peace and harmony had been restored. Brenda had apologized to everyone who she’d accused and the community service team had finally been welcomed into the fold.

  And Aidan was coming back to Ivy Lane. Tonight.

  At seven o’clock, every single Ivy Lane plot holder was crammed into the pavilion. A large television screen kindly donated for the evening by Green Fingers dominated one end of the room. My stomach was fluttering as I tried to locate my favourite TV director amongst the crowd when Vicky bustled past.

  ‘You look nice, Tilly!’ she said.

  ‘Thank you.’ I smiled and did a little twirl.

  I wished I could say the same for my bedroom; it looked like it h
ad been ransacked by the fashion police. What do you wear to a premiere of your very own episode of Green Fingers? It had been a difficult choice. On the one hand, it was only an evening in the pavilion, but on the other, Aidan would be there. Working on the principle that the last time I saw him I’d been wearing a dress and that seemed to have been a roaring success, I’d plumped for a plum-coloured wool dress with high-heeled boots.

  My breath caught in my throat as I spotted him. Far side, bottom perched on the edge of a table, arms folded, ankles crossed, head thrown back in laughter, flanked on either side by Peter and Nigel. A sudden memory of our summer kiss popped into my head and my heart performed a perfect somersault.

  His hair was a bit longer, his face deeply tanned – and he had the beginnings of a beard, but apart from that he was every bit as I remembered: totally gorgeous.

  Up until this moment, I hadn’t been sure what my reaction to seeing him again was going to be and now I had my answer. Goosebumps, quickening pulse and hot cheeks.

  Right, Tilly, if you get another chance with Aidan, do not burst into tears and do not turn him down again.

  What was I thinking? He’d given me his number and I hadn’t got in touch, why on earth would he risk rejection a second time? His card had been tucked into the corner of my mirror since August. But I hadn’t phoned him. I’d thought about it – I’d even keyed in his number on one occasion – but something had held me back and I’d invented a million reasons not to call.

  I was still chewing my bottom lip, quite possibly wearing my owl face, when he looked across and caught sight of me. I smiled and held my breath, waiting to see what he did next with his face.

  He smiled and lifted his eyebrows and then to my absolute relief, murmured something to Nigel and Peter and bounded across.

  I let out a long calming breath and smoothed the skirt of my dress.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, smiling shyly. My heart thumped, my mouth was dry and my hands floundered around uselessly. I clasped them behind my back. I could barely stop myself from swinging from side to side like a little girl.