by Heidi Swain
‘Promise you won’t look up until we tell you to?’ begged Lou.
‘If I must,’ Colin sighed.
He still wasn’t entering into the spirit of the occasion but I was certain he would soon get into the swing of it. My brother and my best friend turned him back round and led him further along the road to stand directly in front of the shop that they had worked so hard to transform.
From the freshly painted exterior alone, the place looked completely different. I couldn’t wait to see what they had achieved inside. The layers of paper had been removed from the windows now and everyone strained to see beyond the balloon- and bunting-festooned sills.
‘You can look now,’ said Lou, letting go of Colin’s arm but not moving away.
Slowly he looked up, his eyes travelling from the pavement to the new green and cream colour scheme and then further up to where the Reading Room signage was covered in a swathe of fabric. Ryan held out a piece of cord that was attached to one corner and Colin, looking more than a little shell-shocked, stepped forward to take it from him.
‘Pull it,’ my brother told him, ‘but not too hard.’
Colin pulled as instructed and the fabric fell smoothly away to reveal the name A Good Book, scribed in a flowing font that matched the new exterior perfectly. The crowd began to cheer and Lou stepped up to take her place next to Colin again.
‘A Good Book,’ mouthed Colin, his eyes wide in wonder.
‘That was Jacob’s idea.’ Ryan beamed.
I looked at Jacob, who shrugged his shoulders and smiled. I had no idea he had come up with a new name. I didn’t even know one had been in the offing.
‘There’s more,’ said Lou, as a guy with a camera rushed in front of them and began to snap away, ‘come and see.’
Inside the shop was a revelation. Gone were the dark, dusty, towering shelves that had overpowered the space and created an uninviting ambience. They had all been carved up, painted and replaced with a welcoming, open warmth, tucked-away places to sit, discreet groupings of chairs, a shiny new coffee machine and even a bespoke ‘book nook’ for young customers.
‘But when . . . how . . . why . . .’ Colin began to splutter as Mark proudly steered him towards a table next to the counter that was filled with glasses of fizz and a book-shaped cake bearing the shop’s new name in exactly the same font as the sign.
‘While you were away,’ said Lou through tearful laughter, ‘with a lot of help from Ryan and because’ – she swallowed – ‘we love you.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ said Ryan gruffly, ‘but Lou thought you could do with a hand, given everything else you’ve had going on, and it’s kept me out of mischief and my sister’s hair.’
‘Do you like it?’ Lou asked, sounding a little breathless. ‘Is it all right?’
Her eyes hadn’t left Colin’s face and I don’t think she’d heard a word of what Ryan had said.
‘Like it,’ said Colin, turning round as everyone filed inside and began filling the seats, thumbing through the newly arranged stock and admiring the coffee dispenser, ‘no,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘of course I don’t like it.’
Jacob looked at me and winked, one of the biggest smiles I had ever seen on him lighting up his face.
‘I absolutely love it!’ Colin shouted, scooping Lou up and spinning her round. ‘And I love you for doing it,’ he added, planting a kiss on her cheek before putting her back down and bumping fists with Ryan in a more modest show of affection.
Colin’s words weren’t quite an undying declaration, but they were good enough for Lou, who pulled him back into a hug and hung on as if he were a lifejacket and she’d just fallen overboard.
‘If I might interrupt for a moment,’ asked the guy who I had seen taking photos outside, ‘I was just wondering if the three of you might have time for a quick interview?’
*
Later that afternoon, when Jacob came back to Greengages so we could walk to the radio studio together, he told me the party at Colin’s was still in full swing. Harry had told Ryan, who was every bit as popular as Colin and Lou with the journalists reporting the event, not to worry about covering for me in the shop and between us we arranged to meet everyone else back in A Good Book after the radio spot to discuss how our airtime had gone.
‘Are you nervous?’ Jacob asked as we signed in at the station.
I stole a quick glance at him. His earlier smile had been replaced by the furrowed brow that had been so familiar when he first moved into the square, and I could see that his hands were shaking every bit as much as mine.
‘What do you think?’
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Yeah, me too.’
I fiddled with the few recipe cards I had grabbed from the counter in Greengages while we waited to be taken up to meet the presenter. I think it was quite possibly the longest twenty minutes of my life but once we were in the studio, each with a massive microphone in front of us and chatting about the beautiful garden, it all became easy. Talking about fresh tomatoes and the earlier abundance of rhubarb felt fine.
‘So,’ said Steve Simpson, the station’s most popular and longest-serving presenter, after the initial flurry of chat had settled, ‘when your garden representative called to tell us who’d be joining me this afternoon, he said the garden still didn’t have a name.’
‘Oh, that’s changed now,’ I said, leaning closer to the foam-covered microphone. ‘We’ve decided it should be called the Grow-Well Garden.’
This was another of Jacob’s bright ideas. Clearly, he had a knack for names.
‘The Grow-Well Garden,’ Steve repeated. ‘I like it. Is that because everything does indeed grow so well there? Is there some sort of magic in your manure?’
‘Something like that,’ Jacob explained. ‘But it doesn’t just refer to the plants. The garden name reflects what happens to the people who go there as well. I think Poppy would agree that we’ve all benefited from gardening with our neighbours. We’ve all grown every bit as well as the plants.’
I was delighted he understood that. The name he had come up with matched the sentiment perfectly. Jacob really was a green-fingered convert. I loved that the garden had made such an impact on him, in such a short space of time and against such odds.
‘Definitely.’ I nodded in agreement, even though the listeners couldn’t see the gesture. ‘A communal space like the Grow-Well offers company to those who might otherwise be lonely,’ I said, thinking of Harold and Kate and Heather, who, for various reasons, couldn’t always venture far, ‘and there really is something, as you put it, magical in helping something to grow.’
‘And then harvesting the results,’ added Steve, with a nod to my pile of recipe cards. ‘I can see you’ve come prepared,’ he went on, laughing. ‘Tell us a bit about what you’re hanging on to there, Poppy.’
I explained about the recipes I gave away at work – giving Greengages a mention, which I knew would make Harry’s day – and then Steve surprised me by telling me that he already had half a dozen of the cards in his kitchen at home.
‘And I can confirm,’ he added with a wink, ‘that the chuck-it-all-in chutney I made last autumn was an absolute triumph.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it.’ I flushed.
‘Stick with us, folks,’ he said, grinning at me, ‘and we’ll be back after this to take a couple of calls.’
After a quick breather while the listeners were treated to Blur’s ‘Parklife’, the switchboard was alight with callers wanting to know all about the garden, how to successfully grow outdoor tomatoes (a question neither Jacob nor I were really qualified to answer) and whether we had a Twitter account for folk to follow.
Jacob told that particular keen caller that at that precise moment we hadn’t but he was certain that by the end of the day we would. We exchanged smiles; he was no doubt thinking the same as I was – that Ryan would be able to help with that.
‘And we have time for just one more question,’ said Steve, who was clearly deligh
ted with how the interview had gone.
‘This is for Poppy,’ came a man’s voice I vaguely recognised.
‘Hi,’ I said. ‘How can I help?’
‘I was wondering if you were ever going to get round to putting your recipes in a book?’ he asked.
‘They’re just a hobby really,’ I answered. ‘I don’t think there’s anywhere near enough interest in them to warrant it—’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ interrupted Steve. ‘I think it sounds like a wonderful idea.’
‘I agree,’ joined in Jacob. ‘You could publish one for each season and include photos from the garden.’
I shook my head; the idea was ridiculous. But it did sound nice.
‘Well,’ I conceded, ‘I’ll definitely think about it.’
‘Perhaps you could sell them to raise funds for the Grow-Well,’ the caller suggested.
Now that really was an exciting idea.
*
Back at Colin’s shop, which had now closed for the day after a very brisk day of trading, Jacob and I were greeted by a heroes’ welcome. Almost everyone from the Grow-Well Garden was there and they all gathered round Colin’s laptop to listen to the interview again via the station’s catch-up facility.
‘You were both fantastic,’ said Lou after we had gone through the excruciating experience of listening to ourselves online, thrusting glasses of prosecco into our hands. ‘You sounded really good together,’ she added with a wink.
The wink was an unnecessary addition to her comment and made me feel grateful that Lisa was in London promoting her book. I knew exactly what Lou was insinuating and in lieu of Lisa I waited for Ryan to comment. Although his loaded comments had been somewhat lacking of late, I was sure he would have something to say. When he didn’t I looked around and realised he wasn’t there. Gus was enjoying the comforts of his new basket in the shop window, from where he had an uninterrupted view of the street, but my brother wasn’t with him.
‘Where’s Ryan?’ I frowned.
‘What did you think of my question, Poppy?’ called Mark from across the room.
‘That was you!’ I called back, momentarily distracted. ‘I knew I recognised the voice.’
‘I thought it was a great idea,’ said Jacob, ‘I’m sure they’d sell.’
‘Me too,’ Mark carried on, coming across to join us. ‘And if it helps you decide, I’d happily contribute a few simple bread recipes.’
‘Really?’ I asked.
Perhaps his idea wasn’t such a crazy one after all. Working on a collaboration wouldn’t be anywhere near as daunting as doing it on my own. Perhaps I could even ask John to share his top-secret barbecue marinades.
‘Really.’ Mark nodded. ‘And I love the seasonal idea, Jacob. I’m sure between us all we could cook enough up, Poppy – no pun intended – to produce four small issues. It could be a little slice of simple country life right here in the heart of the city. Maybe Colin could be our stockist.’
‘Hmm,’ I said, imagining four prettily decorated books packed full of simple ideas to encourage folk to grow, preserve, barbecue, bake and enjoy produce they had grown, or had at least a hand in growing, themselves. ‘Perhaps he could.’
In spite of the fact that Norfolk was a rural county there were, as with most places, plenty of folk who were completely cut off from the countryside and had little idea about where their food came from and how it was grown. Perhaps something like these books Mark was suggesting would provide an opportunity to help them think about that a bit.
‘Did I not give you Ryan’s message, Poppy?’ Colin came over and asked.
He looked a little wobbly round the edges but I couldn’t be sure if he was tipsy or simply on a high from the day’s excitement. Either way, I wasn’t going to broach the book stockist suggestion with him then; I was more concerned about what my brother was up to.
‘No,’ I said, ‘you didn’t, what message?’
‘He said to tell you that you were great on the radio,’ he explained, counting off each comment on his fingers, ‘that he’s heading into the city for a bit with some lad called Joe and that you aren’t to worry because he won’t be drinking.’
‘Oh,’ I said, feeling instantly worried as Colin wandered off again. ‘Right. Thanks.’
I’d already had one dose of my brother heading out on his own and I hadn’t much enjoyed the result. I abandoned my half-full glass on the shop counter as an immediate ache began to pulse through my head.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ said Jacob, trying to hand me back my glass. ‘I’m sure everything will be fine.’
I ignored the glass and raised my eyebrows.
‘Look,’ Jacob continued, ‘there’s a lad called Joe who comes to the youth club. He’s a good kid.’
‘Is he friends with Ryan?’
‘I’m not really sure,’ he admitted. ‘But he’s the only Joe I know and it’s not as if Ryan has been gadding about the city getting in trouble, is it?’
‘I guess not,’ I said, biting my lip and trying not to replay the last time he had gone out. ‘But he’s not really mentioned any friends to me, and certainly no one called Joe.’
‘He’s your sixteen-year-old brother, Poppy.’ Jacob smiled. ‘I daresay there’s plenty he hasn’t mentioned to you.’
As much as I hated that, I knew it was true.
‘I think I’ll head home,’ I said. ‘It’s been a really busy day.’
‘I’ll walk you back,’ said Jacob.
‘There’s no need.’
‘I know there’s no need,’ he said, putting his glass down next to mine, ‘but I’d like to. Besides, you aren’t the only one who could do with an early night.’
It was a warm evening. The weather reports were all warning of unprecedented soaring temperatures for July and that was something I personally wasn’t looking forward to at all. I was a sunny-spring and smoky-autumn kind of girl and I didn’t mind cosy fireside winters either, but summer heat left me cold.
‘Are you okay?’ Jacob asked when we arrived back in the square. ‘You’ve barely said a word since we left the party.’
I was feeling a bit rotten for ducking out so early, but the fact that Ryan was out goodness knows where and with goodness knows who had kind of knocked my desire to celebrate on the head.
‘I’m not sure I much like this parenting lark,’ I admitted, pressing the palms of my hands into my aching temples. ‘It’s harder than I thought it would be.’
‘You’re his sister,’ Jacob said gently, ‘not his mother, and you’re doing the best you can. You’ve more than made up for the years you had drifted apart and I know for a fact that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or disappoint you, Poppy. Not again. He’s learned his lesson now.’
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ he reiterated. ‘I’m certain you can trust him to do the right thing.’
I wished with all my heart that I felt as sure of that as Jacob sounded.
‘He thinks the world of you,’ he carried on. ‘We all do.’
I dropped my hands and looked up at him and he gently pulled me into a hug. This wasn’t the sort of gesture I associated with Jacob but I allowed myself to relax into his embrace. I realised it had been a long time since I had been held. It felt safe and comfortable and I clung on a little tighter, unwilling to let the momentary sanctuary go.
I’d been single for quite a while now and I realised in that moment that my life was somewhat lacking in physical comforts. I wasn’t thinking about sex and passion, but the simple intimacy and reassurance of an all-encompassing hug. The desire to be held, to be held up, if only for a minute, was something I missed far more than a sweaty hour in the sack.
Given the chance I would have stayed there, wrapped in Jacob’s arms, all night. I could feel his breath in the crook of my neck, his firm grip holding me close and the warmth of his body meeting and mingling with mine.
I shifted a little to look up at him again. He was staring down at me and I
could tell from the size of his pupils that he had more than a hug on his mind. It was a shock to see his expression, but not an unpleasant one, and I remained rooted to the spot.
Very slowly he lowered his lips to meet mine. His kiss was tender and soft and over all too quickly. As I felt him begin to pull away I moved with him, determined not to lose the connection. The kiss deepened as he came back, the tip of his tongue slowly caressing my lips, and I opened my mouth, letting him in deeper as my body came alive and desire took over. So much for only missing the comfort of a hug. My libido had suddenly burst into flame and felt searing hot.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, suddenly dropping his arms and stepping away. ‘What am I doing?’
He sounded angry rather than aroused.
‘Poppy, I’m so sorry,’ he said again.
‘It’s okay,’ I said, trying to reach out to him.
‘No,’ he said, his hands straying to his hair as he took another step back. ‘It’s really not.’
‘It was just a kiss,’ I said.
I knew it was way more than ‘just a kiss’ really, but it clearly wasn’t the time to make a song and dance about it.
‘Blame it on the prosecco.’ I smiled.
I would have blamed it on anything if it meant I could have wiped away the look of horror on his face.
‘I didn’t really drink any.’
‘Well, the stars then.’
‘I can’t see any stars.’
I was out of ideas.
‘Friends don’t kiss, Poppy,’ he pointed out, still looking stricken, ‘especially ones who have acknowledged the spark they don’t want to encourage. It’s too risky.’
‘Stop being so dramatic,’ I said, trying to calmly shrug off what had just happened, but he was right; it was a risk.
Jacob was my friend, a good friend, and I wasn’t going to allow one heart-stopping kiss, the best kiss I’d ever had, actually, to jeopardise that if that was all he wanted from me.
‘I’m going to go,’ he said, before I had a chance to make it all right.
He couldn’t even look me in the eye.
