by Heidi Swain
‘We could draw up a rota,’ said Heather, who clearly liked to keep things organised. She was going to get along like a house on fire with Carole. ‘So that way everything gets watered and weeded, but no one has to be accountable for everything.’
‘That sounds great,’ I agreed, ‘and having everyone singing from the same hymn sheet is bound to go down well with the council. The green is lovely, but I reckon transforming it into an allotment will make it even more popular.’
‘Mum!’
We all spun around to see Tamsin standing on the doorstep with a wriggling Archie in her arms.
‘I’d better go,’ said Lisa. ‘I need to pop down to the shop for some milk before I do the school run and the rest of the ironing and that little terror looks like he needs the exercise.’
‘And I want to make a start on perfecting this file,’ I added. ‘The sooner we can get cracking the better.’
‘Will you be all right?’ Lisa asked Heather. Clearly our new friend’s welfare was fixed at the forefront of her mind.
‘Yes,’ Heather nodded, ‘in fact, if you fancy the company, I wouldn’t mind a walk to the shops myself.’
Lisa looked at me and winked.
‘Some company would be great,’ she smiled. ‘I’ll show you where the mum and tot group meet up if you like.’
I watched the pair of them walk away, thinking that we were all going to get a whole lot more out of a community garden than just carrots and coriander. A communal garden would fill our hearts and minds as well as our bellies and I was looking forward to enjoying the benefits which could be harvested from a lungful or two of fresh air.
Chapter 6
Having been privy to my brother’s working pattern at the council in Wynbridge I knew it wouldn’t be long before the thoughts of the Norwich team would be distracted by Christmas and so I headed to see them the day Glen dropped round his and Heather’s letter. However, my attempt was nowhere near as successful as my efforts to bring Lisa, Heather and me together and, in spite of my determination to put our case forward with renewed vigour, our reorganised file fell on deaf ears.
‘It’s all down to the Wentworth legacy,’ said the young man behind the protective glass as he squinted at his computer monitor. ‘The residents know this.’
To my mind he only looked about twelve and doubtless had no authority to consider the matter further at all. The thought annoyed me because it was exactly the sort of thing my mother would have said, and it wasn’t long ago that I would have been rolling my eyes at her attitude; yet here I was, adopting it as my own.
‘But we don’t want to rip down the railings or park on the grass,’ I tried again. ‘Our efforts would improve the space. The diverse planting would encourage more insects and we don’t need storage or water because it’s practically on our doorsteps.’
‘Exactly,’ he pounced, passing back the file of papers, ‘if it’s that close to home, then why don’t you just turn over your gardens instead?’
‘But you’re missing the point,’ I said, trying to push the file back again. ‘We want somewhere where we can all grow together. We want to make it a community project and the green is accessible to everyone.’
I still baulked at the words coming out of my mouth – all this from the woman who had moved to the Square determined to hide from the world. The young man opened his mouth on the counterattack, but was stopped by a stern-looking colleague wearing tweed. She nudged him out of his seat and dumped her solid frame in his place. The swivel chair groaned in protest.
‘Are you representing the residents of Nightingale Square?’ she demanded over the top of her glasses.
‘I am,’ I said, drawing myself up and strengthening my resolve that I wouldn’t be fobbed off a moment longer. ‘I’m a resident myself there now and—’
She nodded, snatched back the file and slid off the chair.
‘Come with me,’ she said, pressing a buzzer to allow me access to the holy inner workings of the county council.
‘Thank you for your help,’ I said to the young man who was now bright red and had been no help at all.
‘The thing is,’ began the woman once she had shut us in a windowless office. ‘And this is strictly between us.’
‘Of course,’ I agreed, trying not to think how claustrophobic the room was.
‘It’s all rather a mess.’
‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘Is it?’
‘Yes,’ she said, slapping the file down and offering me a chair. ‘It is. And I’m not just talking about the green.’
‘Oh dear,’ I said again.
‘When the Wentworth family left Prosperous Place,’ she explained in a low voice, ‘the council were asked to take responsibility for certain areas related to it.’
‘Such as the green,’ I interrupted.
I knew this already.
‘Exactly,’ she said, ‘and that responsibility still holds. We really don’t have the power to be able to grant a change of use. Our job is simply to maintain it as it is.’
‘I suppose we all knew that, but we hoped—’
‘The only way anything can change,’ she cut in, ‘is if a direct descendant of Mr Wentworth himself buys back Prosperous Place. If that were to happen,’ she added, ‘then the responsibility of the green would revert back to the family and they could do whatever they liked with it.’
I sighed. ‘Well, I can’t imagine that’s going to happen, unless of course, they’re part of the company who has put in an offer to tear what’s left of the place apart.’
‘Afraid not,’ she told me. ‘From what I’ve heard, there’s no rich relative on board, so the green will stay firmly in the council fold.’
‘Shame,’ I tutted, ‘we might have been able to appeal to their sense of family values.’
‘Huh,’ she grunted. ‘I don’t think that sort of thing exists any more, certainly not in this instance anyway. You don’t know the half of what’s going on.’
‘We know there are plans to turn the house into apartments,’ I informed her, ‘and I have to say we’re pretty appalled.’
‘Hmm,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘That’s just the tip of the iceberg. There are plans afoot to build far beyond the house. If it all goes through then the grounds are going to be swallowed up as well. They want to extend, you see. Apparently, the juxtaposition of the old and very modern will appeal to those looking for executive living in the city.’
‘You mean they’re going to slap up some steel and glass construction and call it progress?’
‘From what I’ve heard,’ she seethed, ‘that’s exactly what they’re hoping to do.’
I was dismayed and given her disapproving tone, so was she.
‘But they can’t just do that,’ I protested. ‘Surely the history associated with the place should warrant it some sort of protection.’
‘You’d think so,’ she went on. ‘But there’s no listing on the building and a lot of people are in favour of the changes. According to some, a development like this will put Norwich on the map.’
I thought back to my estate agent, Toby Fransham. This was just the sort of development he’d love to get on his books. It would knock his hi-tech new-builds into a cocked hat.
‘A love affair with the past,’ the woman sighed, ‘doesn’t fit in with the kind of future most people are looking to invest in I’m afraid, and you aren’t the first person I’ve said that to today either.’
‘Do you really think there’s no hope at all?’
Her expression wasn’t encouraging.
‘Everyone is going to be so disappointed,’ I said, thinking of more than the green.
‘I know,’ she nodded, pulling a scrap of paper from her pocket, ‘and I shouldn’t be doing this, but if you give me your number, I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, feeling too deflated to appreciate the risk she was taking. ‘I won’t say anything about this to my neighbours until I’ve spoken to you again.’
‘So,’ I said to the dejected group of faces looking back at me, ‘to sum up, we aren’t going to get our community growing space and to make matters worse, we’re going to potentially lose our lovely view as well.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ said Mark, shaking his head.
‘But it hasn’t gone through yet,’ countered Rob hopefully. ‘Has it? I mean, there’s still a chance it won’t happen.’
‘I’ve had it made very clear to me,’ I hated telling my neighbours, ‘that it really is just a formality now. Unless there’s a miracle between now and the New Year, Prosperous Place as we know it is doomed.’
I had gone out of my way to avoid making the announcement for as long as I could, but now that we were well into advent calendar season and Susan, the woman from the council, had offered nothing more helpful than the name of the architects in the time since my visit, I had to fill them in. Despite being gathered together to bask in the warmth of the first fire in my very own grate there was still a chill in the air, but it had little to do with the declining temperature.
‘I’m surprised your place hasn’t heard anything about this,’ said Mark to his husband Neil, who had finally made it out of his office before the ten o’clock news.
I had been rather taken aback when Mark had landed on the doormat with Neil on his arm. Still in his impeccable designer suit, but with his silk tie loosened, Neil was the complete opposite of his casual other half who favoured fatigues over formality, and I had been embarrassed when Mark had picked up on my surprise.
‘You think I’m punching above my weight, don’t you?’ he had teased, gazing adoringly at his handsome beloved. ‘You’re thinking I’m his bit of rough.’
‘Ignore him,’ said Neil, passing me a very lovely bottle of already chilled champagne. ‘Welcome to the Square, Kate. I’m sorry we haven’t met before.’
Looking at his expression I got the impression that he was wishing we still hadn’t met. Based on the little I had gleaned from Susan and a timely conversation with Mark when I popped to the bakers, I had made some enquiries about the team of architects who were working on the plans for Prosperous Place and discovered Neil’s name on the list of employees. I had been wondering if he was going to say anything about it when we finally met, but apparently not.
‘Yes,’ said Lisa, catching what Mark had said. ‘Perhaps you could put a few feelers out, Neil. Try and find out exactly who’s behind this travesty.’
He was saved from having to say anything further as Evie began to cry and it was impossible for the conversation to continue with her in the room. She certainly had a decent set of lungs on her, but Heather was looking far happier now she had set foot back out in the real world and knew she had friendly faces close by on whom she could call.
‘I think we had better head back home,’ said Glen above the din as he jiggled his daughter up and down in his arms and moved to the hall. ‘Sorry to break up the party, Kate.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I told him, ‘I only wish I had better news to share with you all.’
‘You tried your best,’ said Graham consolingly as Carole continued to scrutinise the books on the shelves while surreptitiously checking for dust.
‘As did you,’ I reminded him. ‘Unfortunately, this is one green conversion that isn’t meant to be.’
‘We’ll start looking for somewhere else in the New Year,’ said Harold determinedly. ‘Perhaps we should turn our front gardens over to growing carrots instead of clematis. It’s what happened here in the war.’
Having spent hours tidying and rearranging my diminutive frontage I wasn’t all that keen to pull it up and start again.
‘Like you said, we’ll wait until the New Year,’ I said firmly. ‘Who knows what the next few months will hold.’
‘Never mind the next few months,’ tutted Lisa. ‘I’m more concerned about the next few weeks. Christmas is on the horizon and in case you hadn’t worked it out, that means madness in our house.’
‘More madness than usual?’ Rob laughed as he pulled on his coat.
He had told me when he arrived that he couldn’t stay long because he was meeting Sarah in the city. Carole had caught us whispering in the hall and looked well pleased but, in spite of my annoyance I hadn’t said anything to blow his cover.
‘Cheeky bugger,’ Lisa laughed, before thoughtfully adding, ‘yes actually, far more madness.’
‘Are you up for that, Kate?’ John asked. ‘Do you fancy spending Christmas with our crazy brood?’
‘If only you’d asked yesterday,’ I told him with a sigh.
‘What difference would that have made?’ Lisa asked. ‘You’re only two doors away. You can’t escape us that easily.’
‘I’m going to be rather further away than that this Christmas I’m afraid,’ I explained.
‘What do you mean?’
‘My mum phoned last night.’ I swallowed. ‘She’s guilted me into going back to Wynbridge for a few days.’
I still wasn’t entirely convinced it was going to be a good idea. I’d spent last Christmas at home because things with David had been decidedly rocky and it had been quite a tonic, distracting myself by helping out in the Cherry Tree Café and with my niece and nephew, but this year was different. Everything was signed, sealed and sorted. Perhaps I should have turned Mum down and set about creating some new traditions and Christmas routines for myself, but it was too late now. The deal was made.
‘Can’t you just say you’ve changed your mind?’ John suggested.
The ‘tut’ which escaped Lisa’s lips was loud enough for everyone to hear, even above Evie’s wailing.
‘Would your mother let you go back on Christmas arrangements?’ she scolded.
‘Um,’ he said, looking sheepish. ‘Yeah, point taken.’
‘I won’t be gone long,’ I reassured them. ‘I’ll definitely be back in time to celebrate New Year.’
‘Well, that’s something,’ said Lisa who had told me on more than one occasion that the party in our small part of Norfolk was one not to miss. ‘I want to make sure your new year gets off on the best foot possible, if you know what I mean!’
I did know exactly what she meant, but wasn’t all that convinced that a lump of coal and a dram of whisky was going to be enough to get my life completely back on track.
Chapter 7
I have to admit it felt comfortingly familiar crossing the bridge which spanned the River Wyn and parking up in the prettily frosted market square. Sitting in the car I had hired for the occasion, I could see Jemma and her business partner, Lizzie Dixon, clearing tables in the Cherry Tree Café.
That little café had been Jemma’s dream for almost as long as I could remember, and with the support of her husband, my dear brother Tom, and with her best friend-turned-colleague working tirelessly by her side, it had soon become a reality and was now one of the most popular daytime eateries and craft workshops in the local area.
I had never been jealous of Jemma before, so I didn’t much care for the pang I felt slyly slithering about in the base of my belly, but my dear sister-in-law really did have it all. A loyal and loving husband, two adorable children and a thriving business made her, in my eyes at least, the luckiest woman alive, and her outstanding successes showed up my own dismal failures in flawless HD.
The second I had acknowledged, and shut out, this caustic feeling I realised exactly why this Christmas was going to be so much tougher than the last. Last year I had been deluded, hanging on to the belief that I had willingly immersed myself in every festive thing my mother had thrown at me, but what I had actually been doing was acting on autopilot.
The way I was feeling now as I watched Jemma bustling about was a sharp contrast to last year, because then I had been numb. I had gone through the motions, ticking all the merry boxes and letting everyone think I had a handle on things when in fact I had buried myself in a mountain of mince pies so I didn’t have to face up to the reality of what was waiting for me back in London. Perh
aps my reawakened feelings were a positive sign, even if they were angling on the side of mean.
A sudden sharp tap on the passenger window pulled me out of my maudlin meandering.
‘You going to sit there all night or are you going to come and say hello?’
‘Jesus, Tom,’ I scolded, my hand flying up to my chest as he opened the door and leant inside. ‘Are you trying to finish me off completely or what?’
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ he grinned, ‘but you look a damn sight brighter than when I saw you in September.’
That was hardly surprising, considering he had just given me the scare of my life and every drop of blood in my body had rushed to my face, but I was reassured to hear him say it nonetheless, and the relief in his tone suggested he felt the same. If he thought I looked more like my old self then Mum wouldn’t have too much to fuss about and, as far as I was concerned, the less fuss I had to face during the next few days the better.
‘Of course I do,’ I told him. ‘I’ve been moving on, haven’t I? And, as we all know, time’s a great healer.’
‘Bullshit,’ he replied, a smile playing around his lips.
‘Yeah,’ I agreed, even though it pained me to do so. It really was bullshit.
There hadn’t been a single day when I hadn’t missed David, when I hadn’t ached to feel his strong arms around me, when I hadn’t wondered what would have happened if I had packed away my guilt, seen beyond his bad behaviour, sacrificed my heart’s desire and made a concerted effort to try and mend our marriage.
The passing of time had healed very little of the deep ache and emptiness nor purged me of the responsibility I lugged around because I believed I had been the one who pushed him to do what he did. It had taken two of us to make the marriage, but breaking it, turning the fairy tale into a horror story, that was down to me and consequently, I had paid the ultimate price.
