In a Country Garden

by Maeve Haran

  ‘I am a wee bit shagged out,’ Len confessed.

  ‘Then I must find Olivia at once.’

  ‘Hiro, do you remember the conversation we had about me not wanting to go to hospital?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hiro replied reluctantly. Robots, it seemed, had no option but honesty.

  ‘Well, now’s the time not to send me. Or fetch Olivia. Promise?’

  ‘I am a machine, Leonard.’

  ‘You’re the smartest damn machine I’ve encountered. Ouch!’ He grabbed his side, suddenly doubling over in pain.

  If artificial eyes could look alarmed, Hiro’s did now.

  Fortunately for him Olivia arrived in the room. ‘Leonard, what’s the matter with you? I could hear you groaning next door.’

  ‘Nothing at all, Olivia. Aaargh . . .’ Another wave of chest pain struck him down.

  ‘I’m calling an ambulance right now.

  She reached for the landline just as Hiro seemed to trip on the wire and disconnect it. ‘Oh dear,’ he apologized. ‘I’m sorry, Olivia.’

  ‘Leonard, make him plug the phone back in!’

  ‘I just need one of my pills, dear.’

  Hiro produced it instantly. In a moment or two Les started to look better.

  ‘You stopped me calling an ambulance!’ she accused Hiro. ‘That could be murder!’

  ‘He’s a machine, Olivia. I don’t think you can send machines to prison.’ A shadow of his usual twinkle emerged, lighting up the bleakness of the atmosphere. ‘Besides, I told him not to under any circumstances.’

  ‘So you’d die on the sofa with this lump of metal instead of me?’

  The anger and hurt in her voice cut through his pain. ‘It’s how I’d want it, love. Test match on the telly, crowds cheering. I’m ninety-two. What better way to go?’

  She turned angrily on her heel.

  ‘Leonard, I am your friend but next time you must call Olivia.’

  ‘But she’ll only call an ambulance.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll tie her up.’

  They were both laughing when Claudia arrived. ‘I was wrong about the old men from Sesame Street.’ She shook her head affectionately. ‘You two are Wallace and Gromit to the life! By the way, what’s the matter with Ma?’

  ‘She thought I was having a heart attack and I didn’t get her because she’d only call an ambulance.’

  ‘My God, Dad.’ Claudia knelt at his knees. ‘Shall I call the doctor at least?’

  Claudia took one of Len’s hands in hers. It was bony and veined like rivers on a map. She held it to her lips.

  He shook his head. ‘Do you remember what I asked you to promise? Not to make a fuss but let me go the way I want to?’

  ‘But Dad . . .’ she protested.

  ‘Hiro kept his word.’

  ‘Hiro’s not your daughter or your wife.’

  ‘He is my friend.’

  ‘That’s different, Dad.’

  ‘I know.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘And thanks for not saying he’s just a robot.’ Could you go and talk to your mother? Try and make her understand. I’m ninety-two and no bloody good to anyone . . .’

  Claudia hugged him tight. ‘You are to me.’

  ‘Then let me go, love. The old live too long. I don’t want to be kept going on some bloody ventilator just to make a statistic about longer lifespan. And remember, in the end it’s my life.’

  Claudia struggled to her feet, trying to hide her tears, knowing she would never persuade her mother that, for once in his life, her father wasn’t going to do what he was told.

  The newly cheerful Laura sat down with a ready meal and a glass of wine. She felt pleased with today. She’d been round the National Portrait Gallery and listened to a free lecture on the Lives behind the Tudor Portraits, which had been excellent. She’d always loved those paintings of Queen Elizabeth I and Henry VIII, so stiff and formal and yet almost as familiar as our own royal family. She especially loved a huge canvas like a cartoon which followed the life of a diplomat called Sir Henry Unton from his birth to his grave, all in different pictures. The guide told them it had been commissioned by his wife Lady Dorothy, the only woman apart from the Queen to draw up her own marriage contract. Go girl!

  She’d even sent Gavin a photo of Lady Dorothy, but what a civil engineer in Beirut would make of an Elizabethan feminist, heaven alone knew. Be impressed with Laura’s cultural breadth, she hoped!

  Just as she finished her wine a text came through. How was your day? I thought of you all the time but this is the first moment I could tell you. I liked the lady in the ruff. Will text again before bed. Gavin

  When her phone rang later she jumped, hoping it might be him, though they hadn’t actually spoken yet.

  But it wasn’t. It was Ella.

  ‘Hello, lovely Ella, how’s life down in the sticks?’ Laura laughed.

  ‘My, you sound happy.’

  ‘Yes, I am. How’s my gorgeous and efficient daughter?’

  ‘Gorgeous and efficient as ever. She’s a gem.’

  ‘She is, isn’t she?’ Laura asked proudly. ‘And my even more gorgeous grandson?’

  ‘He’s gorgeous too. In fact, your family runs over with gorgeousness. But, Laura, seriously, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘How did you lumber us with the monster that is Mrs Lal?’

  ‘You needed her as I recall,’ Laura replied a shade defensively. ‘Besides, she’s really quite nice when you get to know her.’

  ‘Nice?’ repeated Ella. ‘She’s been causing nothing but trouble.’

  ‘She probably feels a bit of an outsider with all you knowing each other so well.’

  ‘Hmm, whatever you say. So how are the fleshpots of London treating you? Simon behaving himself?’

  Laura sounded almost confused about who Simon, her ex-husband, was. ‘Oh. Well, I never hear from him as a matter of fact.’

  ‘And have you started looking for a permanent flat? The one you’re in’s only six months, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I really must start looking,’ Laura agreed absentmindedly.

  ‘And a couple of months have already passed.’

  ‘Yes, amazing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Are you really okay, Laura? You sound as if you’re on another planet. You haven’t started taking drugs now you’re back in the Big Stink?’

  Laura laughed. ‘Hardly. I never even took them in back in the day. I’m far too conventional. But yes, as a matter of fact, I am pretty happy.’

  Slightly hurt, Ella got the impression that, happy though she might be, Laura couldn’t wait for her to get off the line. ‘Okay, great, well goodbye for now, honeybun.’

  ‘Bye, Ella, love to all the others.’ She didn’t add that she missed them because miraculously, since Gavin had come onto her horizon, she didn’t. They’d probably only disapprove and tell her to be careful.

  Laura had a luxurious bath with her precious Jo Malone Lime, Basil & Mandarin bath oil, which cost so much she kept it for very special occasions, and poured herself another glass of white wine.

  An hour later she realized she’d actually fallen asleep in the bath. A sudden stirring of desire, something she hadn’t felt for years, flooded through her and her hand strayed downwards in the bath water.

  By the time the next message arrived she hardly recognized this turned-on, eager version of herself.

  Laura, it read, wasn’t it a Laura who inspired Petrarch’s poems? Tonight you are in my heart and I wish with my whole soul you were in my bed. Sleep well and dream of me. Gavin

  A secret smile of delight spread across Laura’s pretty features as she typed in her rather more modest reply.

  Bella was surprised when Spike turned up with his suitcase the following week. What’s more, the Mohican had gone, replaced by a style that revealed him to be surprisingly attractive. She almost commented that he brushed up well but thought better of it. To start with, it was the kind of thing her mother might say and secondly, i
t might give him the wrong idea.

  The thought of her mother flagged a small worry in Bella. She hadn’t heard from her lately and was quite concerned that Laura was living alone while all the friends she used to depend on were down here. She quite understood why her mum didn’t want to join them but she was worried all the same.

  Ella was passing at that moment and Bella introduced Spike to her.

  ‘I see,’ Ella replied robustly. ‘You’ve been brought in to chat to the old people. Are you planning a reminiscence hour when we all talk about the war?’

  ‘Now, Ella, you weren’t even born then,’ Bella reproved.

  ‘How about the Swinging Sixties then? We could have a singalong to the Grateful Dead.’

  ‘You look pretty alive to me,’ commented Spike.

  Ella looked at him over the new half-moon reading glasses she’d acquired which Bella thought made her the spit of Jenni Murray at her sternest. ‘Thank you. I can still walk and talk at the same time, amazing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Actually,’ Bella explained, ‘it was Lou’s idea. He wanted some young faces about the place.’

  ‘How’s your digging, young man?’

  ‘Spike.’

  ‘How’s your digging, Spike?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m studying social work and psychology.’

  ‘Important psychological fact: there is nothing like digging to restore equilibrium to the troubled mind.’

  ‘Right. I’ll try it sometime.’

  ‘Where are you living?’

  ‘That cottage over there,’ Spike replied warily, pointing to an area near Lou and Sal, and imagining himself being dragged out of bed on a freezing morning and ordered outside to dig by this Valkyrie in bifocals.

  ‘Welcome to Igden, you bring the age down significantly. Of course there is Noah.’

  ‘Who’s Noah?’ Spike was clearly imagining an old man with a beard given to predicting heavy rainfall.

  ‘Noah is Bella’s baby. Actually, while you’re here . . . Bella, can I enlist Spike to help me with a little repair job?’ She indicated the chicken wire fence she’d erected round a little bit of garden near her own cottage, cleverly disguised with climbing plants. ‘Someone’s been doing a bit of sabotage.’ They all inspected the large hole in Ella’s fence. ‘Wire cutters.’ Ella shook her head. ‘It’s Greenham Common all over again. Except this time I’m the enemy instead of nuclear weapons.’

  Bella stared, appalled. ‘My God, who could have done that?’

  ‘Somebody who minds very much that I created my own garden.’

  ‘Jesus.’ Spike shook his head. ‘I thought it was like an Agatha Christie when I walked in. Now I know it is.’

  ‘No one’s dead yet fortunately,’ Ella shrugged. ‘Now let’s get on with replacing the chicken wire.’

  Laura woke the next morning feeling uneasy and somehow dissatisfied. She realized it was because it was already eight and she hadn’t had her wake-up message from Gavin. He’d said he had a job in the desert; no doubt he’d had a really early start and maybe even no signal.

  His wake-up and goodnight messages were always her favourites, the highlights of her day. Today she was glad she was going to LateExpress for one of the occasional days she still worked for Mr A, mainly to give her life some structure. And of course the money was useful.

  She must stop checking her inbox every ten seconds or people would think she had OCD. But she couldn’t help looking at his photo. Maybe it was a bit weird of her but she’d photographed it and now she had it on her phone and could look at those warm brown eyes, with the laughter lurking just behind, whenever she wanted.

  Which was quite a lot.

  ‘Mrs Minchin.’ Mr A launched himself on her with a beaming embrace and twice his usual exuberance. ‘Top of the morning. You are looking so much better! Like a light has gone back on if you do not mind me saying. Mrs A and I were quite worried about you! But now I see we can relax. And how is my esteemed mother-in-law getting on in Surrey living with your very good friends?’

  Mr A had been overwhelmed with gratitude that the demanding Mrs Lal had opted for Igden Manor and a safe distance from himself and his wife.

  Laura instantly thought of Ella’s call about the trouble she was causing. She wouldn’t mention that.

  ‘Fine, I think. A few settling-in problems.’

  ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’ She could hear the panic in his voice at the thought of Mrs Lal, in full vengeful goddess mode, returning to London and blaming him for dumping her with such unsuitable companions.

  Laura decided to quickly change the subject. ‘So, what would you like me to do today?’

  ‘I am very sorry as it is not an interesting occupation, but could you flatten boxes for recycling? I have not liked to give offensive weapon to the class of helper I have been having.’ He took a sharp knife from his belt and handed it to her. ‘They are not responsible people like you.’

  Responsible and reliable Laura spent the next hour happily flattening boxes and every five minutes or so getting out her phone to check if there was a message from Gavin.

  There wasn’t.

  She wondered if she should message him again, but something – pride or an inner voice that told her she was not a silly teenager – made her stop.

  By the end of the working day there was still nothing, leaving Laura with such a sense of abandonment than she felt physically sick.

  How was it possible, she asked herself, that she could feel this intensity for someone she hadn’t met or even spoken to? And yet she felt she knew him, that the true Gavin had come through in the messages they’d exchanged, and that he was warm and empathetic, and absolutely nothing like her ex-husband Simon.

  The strength of her feelings scared her, but she was aware that fairy tales could be true: she’d been a kind of Sleeping Beauty and now she felt alive and awake, and she knew it was thanks to this.

  She wished she’d planned something for that evening instead of spending it alone. Even watching a DVD of her favourite film couldn’t take her mind off the echoing silence.

  Slowly she got ready for bed and cleaned her teeth. Maybe that was it then. Just a brief connection which for some reason, work or personal, he’d had to sever.

  And then just before midnight her phone, which she kept by the bed, beeped with a new message.

  Laura, my heart, I am coming to London. At last I can meet my soulmate, the woman who haunts my dreams. Will you meet me, Heathrow Terminal 5, in two weeks’ time?

  Laura, who had been halfway down the road to believing it was over, sat down on the edge of the bed and almost wept with joy and relief.

  She was going to meet Gavin at last. And the stupid incomprehensible thing was, she’d never felt like this – the wild, crazy joy, the sudden troughs of despair – for anyone before, not even Simon.

  Ella stood at her window with the binoculars she’d bought to watch the birdlife at the manor, which was surprisingly varied. Apart from the usual robins, blackbirds, wrens, blue tits and the occasional mistle thrush, since she’d hung a fat block in her new garden she had spotted a green woodpecker and a family of goldfinches.

  But today it wasn’t the birdlife she was studying but her neighbour, Mrs Lal. The bloody woman had just come out of her cottage and was walking suspiciously in the direction of Ella’s garden, glancing around her as if she were about to shoplift, but Ella suspected her real goal was Ella’s garden fence.

  She had just got something out of her Prada handbag and was leaning towards it when Claudia emerged and greeted her. She stuffed whatever she was holding swiftly back into the bag.

  ‘Morning, Mrs Lal,’ Claudia remarked as she was on her way to see Ella. Ella stood watching from her upstairs window. ‘Prada for gardening? I usually use a trug myself.’

  Mrs Lal smiled with an expression of surprisingly engaging mischief on her perfectly made-up face. ‘Shh, I am about to steal some of Mrs Thompson’s clematis.’

  Claudia had been about to
reply that she was sure Ella would willingly give her a cutting when a window opened and Ella herself leaned out.

  ‘Morning, Mrs Lal,’ Ella greeted her merrily. ‘If you’re after my clematis, you don’t need to use wire cutters, you know.’

  Underneath her pan stick the elegant Mrs Lal turned redder than her Christian Louboutin rouge lipstick which Claudia had seen for sale in Selfridges for £70, and shot inside her cottage like a frightened rabbit.

  ‘What on earth’s up with her?’ Claudia enquired, stunned, when Ella appeared at the front door.

  ‘She was only trying to cut a hole in my fence with bloody wire cutters! She’s already done it once. What are you going to do about it?’

  The usually even-tempered Ella, who they all often took their problems to in the Coven, looked so angry that Claudia was worried she might be about to pursue her quarry into her sanctuary.

  ‘To be honest, Ella,’ Claudia replied injudiciously, ‘it was a bit naughty of you to pinch a bit of the garden without asking. We are supposed to be a community.’

  ‘I hate bloody communities!’ Ella stormed. ‘I thought we’d agreed that this place could only work if we all had our privacy, and all I was doing was creating mine. I happen to find having my own a garden is vital to my happiness.’

  She slammed the door and disappeared.

  Claudia stared at the closed door, lost for words. So much for peace and harmony in the country.

  Ella stood in her pretty bedroom wondering if she’d made the most godawful mistake moving here. Maybe your best friends were the last people on earth you should try and live with.

  Claudia, feeling as if she had been attacked by an animal she’d thought was friendly, could see Rose McGill coming towards her and raised her hand in friendly greeting. But Rose was in no mood for pleasantries.

  ‘That bloody woman!’ She nodded furiously towards Mrs Lal’s cottage. ‘She’s only gone and insulted the chef! Criticised his signature dish and now he’s talking of packing his bags and going home to London!’

  ‘Maybe he isn’t serious,’ Claudia offered, wishing she were anywhere but here. ‘Chefs are always threatening to leave.’