by Lucy Diamond
‘When did you get into this – gardening, I mean?’ It was Sunday, and Catherine had rearranged her other voluntary work to come along to the community allotment George had told her about. It was a vast space with an orchard, two fields of vegetables and an old Victorian glasshouse. There were loads of people there too, all working together while their children raced around playing tag. Catherine was helping George cover one of the vegetable patches with old tarpaulin to kill off the weeds, weighing down the corners with broken bricks. ‘Have you always had green fingers?’
‘Yeah, since I was a lad,’ he replied. ‘My dad had an allotment and I used to help him; it was our thing.’
‘That’s nice,’ Catherine replied, with a sudden memory of Mike spending hours with Matthew, making and painting Airfix models together. That was our thing, she imagined Matthew saying fondly to some woman in the future. ‘Does he live round here, your dad?’
‘Not far,’ George replied, heaving a log onto the edge of the tarpaulin with a thud. ‘Bakewell way.’
‘Lovely,’ she said. ‘And you’re close, are you? Do you get to see him much?’
‘Most weeks,’ he said. ‘He’s on his own now – my mum died a few years ago. I try to pop round when I can, help him out with little jobs, you know.’
‘I remember you saying the other night, he struggled when she was ill,’ Catherine said. ‘That must have been hard. I’m sorry.’
He straightened up and gave her a small, brief smile but there was a flash of pain in his eyes. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Well, this is done. How about we start cleaning out the glasshouse next? Could do with a scrub down before we get the planting underway in a few weeks.’
‘Sure,’ she said, hoping she hadn’t just put her foot in it somehow. Everyone had their fragilities.
The glasshouses certainly hadn’t seen a lot of TLC recently. Grimy and cobwebby, the panes thick with muck, there was a graveyard of dead plants at one end, a couple of small citrus trees overwintering in pots and a lot of empty space besides. George filled a bucket with warm soapy water, and he and Catherine began cleaning the grubby panes, flicking away curled-up woodlice and dead spiders as they went.
‘So when am I going to meet the rest of your family, Catherine?’ George asked conversationally after a while. ‘Do you think they’ll come down here to help out one day?’
‘The rest of my … Oh,’ she said. Er, never? ‘Well, my kids have both gone away to uni now, and my husband … He’s left as well. Basically.’
‘Ahh.’ He looked mortified. ‘Sorry. I didn’t realize.’
‘Yeah. I kind of downplayed the whole abandoned wife thing in Italian class,’ she said, trying to sound breezy and upbeat about it. ‘Doesn’t tend to be a good conversation starter.’
‘I bet.’ They scrubbed in silence for a few moments and she felt awkward. The admission was a conversation ender too, clearly.
‘It’s fine though,’ she said bracingly before the silence could open up too wide. ‘I mean … you know. I’m getting on with it.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and all that.’
‘Yeah,’ she said. Time for a change of subject. ‘How about you, are you married? Any kids?’
‘Not any more,’ he replied. ‘No kids. My marriage broke up a couple of years ago, so I kind of know what you’re going through.’
She concentrated on a particularly grubby bit of glass so that she didn’t have to look at him. ‘What happened?’
‘We were living in London, both lawyers, can you believe,’ he said, and she tried not to look too surprised. Dressed as he was now in faded black jeans, a thick blue fisherman’s jumper and muddy wellies, with a day’s stubble around his chin, she couldn’t picture him in a sharp suit, addressing a courtroom. ‘Then Mum became ill and I took some time off so that I could come up here and help Dad. There’s only me, see. No brothers or sisters.’
‘Ahh,’ Catherine said.
‘After Mum died, I felt torn in half. Dad was so helpless, didn’t have a clue how to look after himself. Mum had always done everything for him,’ he said. ‘Meanwhile, there’s Jess back in London, fed up with me not being there and asking when I’m coming home.’
Catherine felt for him. ‘Impossible choice.’
‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘We talked for a while about us both moving up here, relocating. A lawyer can work in any city, after all. But she …’ He shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know. She’s Home Counties, always was a bit patronizing about Yorkshire, reckons it’s all flat caps and whippets. I guess it didn’t fit in with the image she had of herself, of how she wanted us to be.’
‘So you moved back up and she didn’t?’
‘Not immediately. We tried to carry on as we were but the writing was already on the wall. We started arguing all the time about stupid, trivial things that were just an excuse to shout at each other. Then she had an affair with one of my friends and …’ He spread his hands wide, soapy water dripping from his sponge. ‘That was that.’
‘And how are you now?’ Catherine asked tentatively. ‘You seem pretty together to me, but I know it’s tough.’
‘Yeah. Well, it took a while. Moving away from my job, my friends and my home and trying to get over a failed marriage all at once felt like falling down the rabbit-hole, you know? I was suddenly in this completely new world: back up north, single, a flatlining career … it was scary.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘But then again, it gave me the chance to re-evaluate everything, like a stock-take of my life. I realized that actually, I was never that happy being a lawyer. Some of the clients I had to represent – I knew damn well they were guilty as hell, but I still had to defend them, that was my job. Took me two seconds to decide I didn’t want to do that any more once I’d moved up here. Got into carpentry instead. Now that’s proper work. Making something with your hands, creating something lovely or useful with wood … That’s bang on. That’ll do me.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Catherine said. She sat back on her heels, not caring how filthy the ground was. ‘Mike leaving made me have a long think about what I want to do, too. For so many years I was just somebody’s wife, somebody’s mum. I think I forgot how to be me, if that doesn’t sound too mad.’
‘It doesn’t sound the slightest bit mad to me.’ George smiled at her. He seemed to have forgotten about glass-cleaning now as well. ‘And have you remembered how to be you yet?’
‘I’m getting there,’ she said. She remembered Mike’s face, his startled expression when she’d spoken up for herself so doggedly the other night in the pub – when she’d actually threatened him. ‘Yeah,’ she said, nodding. ‘I’m definitely getting there.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Mi dispiace – I’m sorry
Anna was starting to think she was never going to live down the ‘Handsome Colleague’ thing. It was going to be carved on her effing gravestone at this rate. All week, work had been complete and utter pants, the Embarrass-Anna show. Colin, the old stirrer, kept wolfwhistling whenever Joe walked through the office, and Marla insisted on saying repeatedly what a lovely couple they made. ‘I always had my suspicions,’ she fluted.
‘It was just a stupid nickname,’ Anna growled approximately ninety-seven times a day. ‘I was only trying to get back at my boyfriend. How was I to know that Imogen and the designers would sabotage it?’
Joe had been terse with her ever since publication. ‘Next time, if there’s trouble in paradise, don’t drag me into it,’ was all he said, flinty-eyed. She felt like the worst friend ever.
‘I don’t see what the problem is, the readers loved it,’ Imogen said airily. She was applying lipstick in her office when Anna went in for a whinge. ‘We’ve already had letters in asking when you and “Handsome Colleague” – ’ she made quotation marks with her fingers – ‘will be out on the town again. It’s going to be like that Gold Blend ad all over again. Remember? You’re probably too young. The sexu
al tension went on for years.’
Anna stared at her, not sure if her boss was serious, joking or just plain unhinged. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked. ‘The restaurant review was only a one-off, wasn’t it, while Marla was away. She’s back now, so …’ She tailed off, wishing Imogen would stop pouting at herself in the mirror and pay attention.
‘Ahh, but the readers love a story,’ Imogen replied, turning and dazzling Anna with her smile. ‘It’s what I’ve always said. I think I’m going to switch Marla onto something else for a few weeks – Ruth’s maternity cover, that’ll do it. I’ll tell her she needs to help the new person settle in, show them the ropes.’
Anna didn’t like the way this was going at all. ‘But Ruth is one of the news reporters,’ she said weakly.
‘Yes,’ Imogen said. ‘And Marla’s always telling me how flexible she is. I’m sure she’d love the chance to go out on the road and do some real journalism for a change.’
Anna stifled a snort. Yeah, and I’m Jarvis Cocker, she thought. Marla would have an absolute nervo at the thought of leaving her comfortable desk for anything other than a slap-up meal and another cushy review. Then she grasped the full implications of what Imogen was saying. ‘Wait, so you mean …’
‘Yes,’ said Imogen. ‘I do. You can write this week’s restaurant review too; your second attempt was very good, you know. And make sure you invite Joe along again. I can’t wait to see what happens next – and nor can our readers. They’re going to love this!’
‘She said what? Is this some kind of joke?’
‘I wish it was,’ Anna said miserably. She and Joe were in the little kitchen area and she’d just broken the news to him over the steaming kettle. ‘I’m really sorry, Joe. I made a massive mistake. And you don’t have to do it. In fact, it would make both our lives easier if you didn’t. I’ll totally understand if you say no.’
His expression was hard to read as he reached for the box of teabags and dropped one each into their mugs. ‘Julia’s going to go ape,’ he muttered.
‘Yeah. I know. Listen, don’t worry, I’ll go back to Imogen and say it’s not possible.’
‘But then again, I did have such a laugh with you in Enrico’s last week,’ he said unexpectedly. He raised his gaze to hers and she felt hot colour creeping into her cheeks.
‘You did? I mean … yeah. So did I.’
‘And to be honest, with Julia … we haven’t been getting on very well for ages,’ he said.
For some reason, Anna went all goosebumpy. ‘Sorry to hear that.’ But if she was honest, she didn’t feel sorry in the least. She actually felt quite glad. Was that wrong of her? Did that make her a really terrible friend? Yes, she thought firmly. Yes, it did.
There was an awkward silence filled by the whooshing of the kettle and then an abrupt click as it finished boiling. ‘If it makes things easier, I don’t mind speaking to Julia,’ Anna volunteered. ‘I could say, you know, there’s nothing going on, I just called your boyfriend “handsome” because …’
Joe was looking at her in such a strange, steady way that she lost her tack. ‘Because,’ she floundered, ‘I was trying to wind up my ex.’
‘Ahh,’ he said. ‘No other reason?’
She coloured. ‘Well …’
‘Ooh, here they are, the lovebirds in the kitchen!’ Imogen sang just then, bustling in and switching on the Nespresso machine that only she was allowed to use. ‘Planning your next date, are we? Plotting romantic instalment numero duo?’
‘Imogen!’ Anna practically shouted. God, she was embarrassing. ‘It’s not a date!’
‘Course it’s not,’ said Joe. ‘And we object to you setting us up in that way.’
Do we? Anna thought, crestfallen. ‘Yes,’ she added quickly. ‘Absolutely. We do. Because the two of us … It’s ridiculous to even think anything’s going on. Like I would fancy Joe!’ Her words came out shriller and more indignant than she’d intended them to and she saw Joe wince. Argh. Now she’d gone and hurt his feelings again, just when they were getting somewhere.
‘Exactly,’ Joe went on. ‘So if you’re serious about us going along with this charade, Imogen, then we’ll expect to be justly rewarded, considering the mental torture we’re both going to suffer.’
Mental torture? Anna thought, wounded. There was no need for him to be quite so—
Then she noticed the gleam in his eye. ‘Right, Anna?’ he said with a surreptitious wink, while Imogen fiddled with her machine.
‘Er … right,’ she said, although she still didn’t know what he was up to. ‘Right.’
‘Might I remind you two that I am your boss, and you’ll jolly well do what I say,’ Imogen told Joe in her most headmistressy voice. Anna could tell she was more amused than cross, though. ‘Go on then, what are you after? And don’t say a pay rise, because we both know Dick Briggs is never going to swallow that one.’
‘Well, as it happens, there is something I wanted to talk to you about,’ Joe said. ‘Sean Davies, our local rugby hero, is in the Wales squad, as you know, and hoping to be picked for the next Six Nations match. I’ve been meaning to ask if I can go along and watch it. If Sean ends up playing, I could get a wicked interview with him afterwards.’
Anna’s shoulders sagged in dismay. Oh Joe, she thought crossly. Bloody typical man! Of all the things he could have asked for, and it was a flipping rugby match. She thought he had more chutzpah than that.
‘And when is the next match?’ Imogen asked, lips pursed.
‘The twenty-third of February,’ Joe replied. ‘Wales versus Italy. In Rome.’
Anna’s mouth fell open. Rome? Had she heard that correctly? Okay, rewind, she took it all back. He was a complete and utter genius, who’d just played Imogen brilliantly.
‘And Anna was saying that there was an Italian cookery course she wanted to go along to as well,’ he went on, nudging her. ‘Also in Rome. Perfect for the travel section.’
Was she? Had she? He was so making this up. She loved it!
‘Weren’t you, Anna?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘Oh. Yes,’ she lied. ‘That’s right.’
‘Actually, it’s the same weekend,’ Joe said, and Anna felt a sudden dropping sensation inside and her legs went wobbly. Whoa. Joe was trying to wangle them both a trip to Italy. Together. No way was Imogen going to go along with this, but all the same … Joe was trying to wangle them both a trip to Italy! What did this mean?
Imogen laughed. ‘The same weekend, eh?’ she said. ‘Now there’s a coincidence.’ She took her espresso cup and sipped it thoughtfully. ‘Leave it with me,’ she said. ‘But in the meantime, book the next restaurant, please. And make it somewhere romantic, whatever you do.’
As she walked away, Anna and Joe both gaped at each other then burst out laughing. ‘This is so not going to happen,’ Anna gurgled.
‘But it was so worth a punt,’ Joe said, passing her her mug of tea.
‘Did you really just make all of that up on the spot?’ Anna marvelled. ‘You’re wasted as a sports reporter – you should write books.’ She laughed again. ‘Best blag ever. Cookery course in Rome, indeed. That was inspired. I’d better go and find one on the internet, just in case she calls our bluff.’
‘I bet you could get a train from Rome out to Rimini, too,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t that where you reckoned your dad was?’
‘Oh my God, yes,’ Anna breathed. ‘I could, couldn’t I?’ She stared at him in excitement, unable to believe what might happen. And paid for by work, no less!
‘Better brush up on your Italian,’ he said, putting the milk back in the fridge. ‘And book us another restaurant to review. It’s worth faking a bit of romance for Italy, right?’
‘Yeah,’ she said, then found herself wilting a little. Faking a bit of romance? It wasn’t that she wanted there to be a real romance … Well, she didn’t think so anyway. Did she? ‘God, yeah,’ she added quickly, trying to sound more certain. ‘Fake it till you make it. I can fake it with the best of t
hem. I was with Pete for two years, after all. Total faker, me.’ She seemed unable to stop saying the word ‘fake’ all of a sudden. ‘So … Actually I think I’ll just shut the fake up,’ she said, trying to pull herself together. ‘Thanks for the tea. And fingers crossed for Rome!’
Anna could hardly wait for Italian class the following week. ‘You’ll never guess what,’ she said breathlessly as soon as she stepped into the classroom. ‘I’m going to Italy – to Rome!’
‘No way!’ squealed Sophie. ‘That’s brilliant news. How come? And what about Rimini?’
‘Yeah, I’m going there too,’ Anna said, laughing at her own good fortune. She could still hardly believe that Imogen had agreed to it. ‘In a few weeks’ time! My friend at work wangled us both a trip.’
‘Whoa! Lucky duck,’ whistled Phoebe.
‘That’s smashing,’ said Roy, who had come to the lesson alone, looking rather pale and tired but there nonetheless. ‘Good for you, pet.’
Catherine gave Anna an arch look that said, You’re so sussed. ‘This wouldn’t be anything to do with the Handsome Colleague, would it?’ she asked.
Anna grinned. ‘It’s not like that,’ she said.
‘Oh, isn’t it, Madam? Saturday’s review sounded as if you were getting on very well,’ Catherine replied, eyes narrowing. ‘There was practically steam coming from the page.’
‘God, yeah,’ Nita agreed. ‘I was like, they are so going to kiss at the end of this dinner. Phwoarr!’
‘I missed it, what happened?’ Phoebe said. ‘Was it footsie under the table, Anna? Smooching over the bread basket?’
Anna giggled. ‘No, I …’ she began, then glanced at Sophie, aware that she was swallowing up valuable lesson time with the details of her personal life. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m taking over the class here. I’ll tell you all about it in the pub after we’re done here, how about that?’
