‘Oh,’ said Troy. ‘Seems I’ve got a lot to learn.’
‘Yes,’ said Lauren, ‘you do. Let’s just take things one day at a time, shall we? You’ve got a lot of making up to do.’
Kezzie got off the train in Heartsease, and walked up the hill with a renewed sense of purpose. She took lungfuls of deep, fresh air, breathing in the country air gratefully. It felt great to be back, away from the fetid smells of London. While it had done her a power of good to see Flick and the others again, she’d forgotten the sheer madness and filth of the place. And although she’d had a fun evening, her sore head was a reminder that sometimes you could have too much of a good thing.
Kezzie turned out of the station and walked up the High Street, noting with pleasure the pretty redbrick cottages that lined the road leading up to the shops, and noticing anew the interesting variety of little shops, from the little black and white house from which Agnes Mayhew sold her crystals and witchy artefacts, to the sparkling, bright butcher’s shop where she’d taken to buying her bacon. There was Keef’s Café, where she regularly enjoyed a caffè latte, and the vintage dress shop, which sold all manner of gorgeous clothes, and the bakery, which was a daily temptation. She sighed with pleasure. It had been a good move coming here, and after Christmas Flick had promised her that she and Gavin would come over one weekend and help out with the Memorial Gardens.
As she was walking up the hill, Kezzie met Lauren and the girls walking down the hill with a rather attractive-looking man. The girls were holding tightly on to Lauren’s hands, and Lauren looked distinctly ill at ease.
‘Hi,’ said Kezzie, trying not to look as if she was dying with curiosity. This presumably was the ex boyfriend. ‘Where are you off to?’
‘The Memorial Gardens,’ said Lauren. She looked embarrassed, as if she’d been caught out at something. ‘By the way, Kezzie, this is Troy.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Kezzie, holding out a hand and shaking the one that had been laconically handed to her. Troy looked at her with a penetrating stare and gave her a dazzling smile. ‘Kezzie, lovely to meet you. Any friend of Lauren’s is a friend of mine.’
He had a lovely, deep voice, and Kezzie had to admit there was something rather seductive about him. She could certainly see the attraction.
‘Mum-eee, I want to go to the park,’ Izzie was tugging her mother’s hand, and Immie looked equally impatient.
‘Nice to meet you, Troy,’ said Kezzie, with a grin. ‘See you all later.’
She made her way up the hill, wondering what was going on with Lauren and Troy. She assumed Lauren had the sense not to have just jumped back into bed with him so soon, but you never knew. Perhaps she really loved the guy, despite what he’d done. Kezzie knew that if Richard turned up suddenly wanting to see her, she wouldn’t have the strength to resist, despite some of the hateful things he’d said to her.
She let herself into the cottage, taking in with pleasure the ethnic throws on Jo’s rickety sofa, the kilims on the wooden floors and the African masks from Jo’s many trips abroad. Kezzie tried to focus on the here and now, on the life she was leading, not the one she’d lost, but she couldn’t stop herself from remembering that last awful meeting they’d had. Richard, her lovely kind Richard, had been so cold and haughty.
‘How could you, Kez?’ He’d looked at her as if she were beneath contempt. ‘I thought I knew you … I was so wrong.’
Kezzie had been unable to say anything. What was the point in arguing about something that was true? She had let Richard down, and she’d let herself down. And in doing so, she’d lost everything she held dear to her. She deserved it, she knew, but Richard had been so cruel, so unkind – she wasn’t quite as wicked as he painted. Yet even with the painful memories of that last time together, she knew she’d still have him back. Which was all very well, but Richard wasn’t showing any signs of rushing to be by her side. He hadn’t contacted Flick or any of Kezzie’s other friends, and even though she hadn’t been looking on Facebook much, he’d made no attempt to contact her there. He couldn’t email or phone, as she’d changed both her address and number, but if he wanted to, he could get in touch. She knew she hadn’t made it easy for him to find her, but the fact that he hadn’t bothered, hurt most of all.
This was no good. Having had a nice weekend, she was about to descend into gloom. Kezzie would normally have popped in to see Lauren, but she was clearly otherwise engaged. She knew Joel was still likely to be out to lunch with his mum, so she’d just decided to sit down with a coffee and a cheery DVD when the phone rang. It was Eileen.
‘Hi Kezzie, just wondering if you were free,’ she said. ‘Only I thought it would be nice to come and have a chat with you about the Edward Handford exhibition and see what sort of material you’ve got.’
‘It’s mainly at Joel’s,’ said Kezzie. ‘Why don’t I give him a ring later and suggest we go and look through it? I know he’s keen to get involved, I’m sure he won’t mind.’
Joel hadn’t been long in from visiting his mum when he got the phone call from Kezzie announcing she and Eileen were going to come up and look through some of the extraordinary finds he and Kezzie had made.
Sam was watching Peppa Pig, and Joel had only planned to sit down with a beer and flick through Edward’s diary anyway, so he wasn’t sorry for the company. The evenings were starting to draw in, and the prospect of long, lonely winter nights was not a pleasant one. It would be good to have some company on a Sunday afternoon for a change. The weekends could often seem like the longest part of the week.
‘So, let’s have a look at all this material you’ve got,’ said Eileen, as Joel ushered her into the dining room, where he’d been keeping the trunk and its contents out of Sam’s way. He was conscious suddenly of how shabby it looked. He hardly had visitors any more, apart from Kezzie. Maybe he should start thinking about redecorating again. ‘It sounds really fascinating.’
‘I know it is,’ admitted Joel. ‘Every time we look at the letters and papers it’s like a treasure-trove and we find something new. I had little idea of who Edward Handford was, apart from the fact that he built the knot garden, until Kezzie started digging. Now I can’t think about anything else. From what I’ve read so far he and Lily had such a lot to contend with – they lost two babies before their eldest, Connie, was born – and I had no idea of any of it. He’s a fascinating character.’
‘Not many people do know much about him,’ said Eileen. ‘Personally, I think he’s one of those overlooked characters whose work was far more influential than gardening history lets on. He worked on so many famous gardens: Chatsworth, Hatfield, Sissinghurst. You name it, he’s designed a garden out there somewhere. He was massively in demand until the end of the First World War, and then he seems to have withdrawn from public life.’
‘That’s strange. Do you know why?’ said Joel.
‘Nobody knows for sure,’ said Eileen. ‘But I know his son died in the war, which is probably why he built the war memorial here. His wife died a year later, I believe. He devoted the rest of his life to philanthropic works – he built the village school you know – but he didn’t design any gardens after that. He seems to have become a bit of a recluse after his wife’s death And the world changed so much after the First World War, and he wasn’t part of it. So he faded into obscurity.’
‘Let me show you what we’ve discovered,’ said Joel. The trunk with all the paperwork in now inhabited the dining room, which was strictly out of bounds to Sam because it had an open log fire, and was therefore the safest place from sticky fingers.
They sifted through some of the letters that Joel and Kezzie had already read, and then Kezzie exclaimed in delight.
‘Oh my God, it’s here, I’ve found it!’
‘Found what?’ It was impossible not to get caught up by Kezzie’s enthusiasm.
‘Look,’ she said, carefully unfolding a large, brittle piece of yellowing paper. ‘This is Edward’s original design for his knot garden. I can’t
believe it. See – here are his plans, he drew the patterns out geometrically, and here are his notes about the plants. This is so incredible. A real find.’
‘I can’t quite make out his writing,’ Joel said, squinting a bit. The writing was very faded.
‘It says the borders are to have begonias, petunias, busy lizzies, and heartsease I think,’ said Eileen. ‘I hadn’t realized the original garden had quite that many flowers, I thought it would be simpler than that.’
‘Those borders round the outside of the knot garden itself are a bit fussy for our tastes today,’ said Kezzie, ‘but the Victorians did like their bedding plants. I think I’m going to need to simplify it a bit and mainly use heartsease for the beds, but I would like to find all the plants he used to commemorate the births of his children. It was such a lovely idea.’
‘Oh look, this must be Edward and Lily with their firstborn,’ said Eileen, finding a black and white picture of a stiff-looking couple. Lily was holding an infant in her arms and looking blankly into the camera; Edward looked proud and a black Labrador sat at their feet.
‘Yes, I think it must be,’ said Joel. ‘I’m guessing the baby is Connie, my great great aunt. Her sister Tilly was Mum’s grandmother. Hang on a sec,’ he rooted around in the bottom of the trunk and pulled out an old book, ‘I thought I’d seen it in here. This is the family Bible, I think it’s got all the births written in it.’
He opened the cover carefully. It was a version of the King James Bible, dated 1881.
To darling Lily, on the occasion of your 7th birthday, your ever loving Grandmother, was written in the flyleaf. Underneath it, Lily had written in childish scrawl, Lily Clark, her first Bible, and then below in a stronger, more adult hand:
Lily Clark b. August 10th 1874 married Edward Handford b. February 22nd 1871, 9th July, 1892
Edward James Handford b. 20th May, 1894 d. 20th May, 1894
Constance Mary Handford b. 24th April, 1895
Harry Edward Handford b. 14th May, 1898
Matilda Harriet Handford b. 12th July, 1900
‘Isn’t that amazing,’ said Kezzie. ‘What a fantastic find.’
‘I know, I can’t believe all this was sitting up in the loft and I never found any of it before,’ said Joel, grinning. He turned back to look at the photo. ‘They don’t look very happy do they? Or maybe that’s just Victorian photography.’
‘Who knows?’ said Kezzie. ‘From reading her diaries, Lily had a very tough time. She lost at least two babies: it was really sad.’
‘That’s how things were then,’ said Eileen tenderly. ‘Thanks for letting me look through all of this, Joel. I think we can make a fascinating exhibition of Edward’s life.’
‘Thank you for the interest,’ said Joel. ‘Without you and Kezzie I would know very little about my own family, and I’m thoroughly hooked.’
‘So can we count on you to help with the preparations for next year’s summer fete then?’ said Eileen, slyly. ‘Our first proper meeting is coming up after Christmas.’
‘Oh go on,’ said Joel. ‘I don’t suppose I have a choice, do I?’ But he smiled when he said it, and when he’d said goodbye to Eileen and Kezzie, given Sam his tea and put him to bed, Joel found himself drawn back to the trunk and its contents, and started to idly flick through Edward’s diary once more. He’d got the bit between his teeth now; he was fascinated by the story of his ancestor, and he was desperate to find out more.
Edward and Lily
1895–1898
Edward Handford’s diary, April 1895
The day draws near for Lily’s confinement, and we are both very anxious now. She is so afraid that this baby will not survive, and I cannot comfort her, because she may be right. What if it does not live? And how will Lily bear it if this baby dies? I try to cheer her up by spending time in the garden with her, to keep her mind from morbid thoughts. It is so beautiful here at this time of year, with the spring bulbs bursting with life, and the newborn lambs baaing in Mr Carruthers’ farm. I cannot let myself believe that we will be unlucky again, not at this time of year, not when the whole world is bursting forth with new life …
‘Congratulations, Mr Handford, you have a beautiful baby daughter.’ Doctor Blake came out from Edward and Lily’s bedroom looking tired but triumphant. ‘I’m pleased to report that both mother and baby are doing well.’
It was a hot, sultry evening in April, and Edward felt exhausted from the tumultuous events of the last twenty-four hours when Lily had informed him that the baby was coming. He had wanted to stay with her, to help give her the strength to go on, but convention and the doctor forbade it. Though Edward had been inclined for once to hang convention, when Lily asked him to leave, he could not resist her. He had spent an anxious afternoon pacing up and down, first in the garden, and then outside the bedroom door. The ear-piercing screams that she’d emitted had been harrowing, and it had taken all his resolve not to rush into the room to be by her side. But thank God, it was over.
Finally a child. A baby. Please God, she survived. He didn’t know what it would do to Lily – to them – if they lost this one too. He had longed and longed to take the sadness from her eyes. Now, maybe this baby would finally do it.
‘May I see them?’ Edward said.
‘Of course, but Lily is very tired. She needs rest.’
Edward entered their bedroom. Lily lay in their bed, her black hair straggled behind her, her face pale and pinched. She looked exhausted, but a brief smile crossed her face when she saw Edward. He went to embrace her, and then turned to the midwife, who was wrapping the baby in a shawl, before presenting her to them.
‘Lily, she’s beautiful.’ Edward felt an unfamiliar spasm in his heart as he held the crumpled bundle in his arms. The baby gurgled contentedly, before reaching out and grabbing his finger. He marvelled at the size of that finger next to his own. He felt clumsy, awkward; like a giant holding a beautiful porcelain doll. He knew he would never forget this day, this moment, this meeting, for the first time of the child their love had created.
‘What shall we call her?’ Edward said.
‘I don’t know,’ Lily turned away, as if she couldn’t bear to look at her, ‘but I want her christened quickly, just in case.’
‘Lily, the baby is fine,’ said Edward. ‘Look at her. She’s a beautiful, healthy baby.’
‘But what if she isn’t?’ whispered Lily. ‘What if she dies like the others?’
‘Lily, please don’t talk like that,’ said Edward in distress. ‘You’re tired, overwrought. You need some rest.’
‘But first, the baby needs feeding,’ the midwife said.
Lily looked at her daughter properly for the first time.
‘I’m not sure I can,’ she whispered.
‘Nonsense, every mother can feed her child,’ said the midwife. ‘There’s nothing to it, you’ll see.’
Edward got up to go.
‘I’ll leave you for now,’ he said, ‘and I’ll come back later, I promise.’
At Lily’s insistence, her father was called and Constance Mary Handford was christened within three hours of her birth. But that didn’t seem to satisfy Lily, who was anxious and peevish, and despite her best efforts, totally unable to feed Constance, or Connie as Edward had affectionately named her. Edward sat with them through several long nights, when the baby mewled for lack of food. She was growing weaker daily, and Lily had a set look on her face, sure she was right, and the baby would fail to thrive.
On the third day an exhausted Edward sent out for a wet-nurse, and took over the organization of the care of his daughter; Lily was clearly unable to. He had lost his wife. She had retreated somewhere into a haze of unhappiness and seemed unable to comprehend that she had a living child who needed her attention.
Edward, though, was enchanted with their daughter. As she grew stronger daily, she learnt to smile and laugh and she brought much needed joy back into the house. He was filled with a fierce, protective love that surprised him with its fe
rocity. But Lily he couldn’t reach. She was so frightened of losing her daughter it appeared she couldn’t learn to love her. All Edward could wish for was time to heal her wounded soul.
As time passed, Connie grew into a lively little girl, who smiled and played and ran everywhere. True to his promise to Lily to plant flowers to mark the births of their children, he’d planted snowdrops in the four corners of the knot garden, for Connie, as a symbol of hope. Lily slowly recovered from her post-birth torpor, and began to engage with the world again. She was often to be found in the garden, picking the heartsease that grew there abundantly and filling in the gaps when plants were lost. But to Edward’s regret, she rarely played with their daughter.
It’s as if she cannot bring herself to love Connie, he recorded in his diary. She is afraid to love her for fear of losing her. So I must love our daughter for both of us.
It was Edward to whom Connie came running when he returned home, when he’d been working away on one of the many gardens he’d been commissioned to landscape. To Edward, that she went crying or calling with her troubles. It was Edward who helped her take her first tottering steps, and listened to her lisp her first words.
Connie rarely bothers her mother, instinctively knowing she is unlikely to look up from the flowers she often draws in the garden and take notice of her. I know that Lily cares for Connie, of course she does, but somehow she cannot manage her in the way that I can. It is as if Lily regards Connie as an exotic creature, somewhat different and distant from herself. I pray in time that will change. But gradually, slowly, my Lily is returning to me. She comes with me regularly into the garden now, and draws plants again, as she once did. Every now and again she laughs at my foibles, and I am reminded of the joy we shared when first we were married, and I am grateful for that at least …
Lily’s diary, May 1898
Summer Season Page 13
