Coming Up Roses

by Rachael Lucas

  Daisy nodded with feeling. She’d only been in the village what felt like five minutes and somehow, already, she felt more rooted here than she had in her time at agricultural college. No point thinking about the fact it wasn’t going to last.

  ‘I’m very grateful for you two girls,’ Elaine continued. ‘It’s not easy making friends in a place like this, and it’s not easy to stand up and admit you’re lonely and you don’t know a soul.’

  ‘I think,’ Jo put down her fork again for a moment, ‘it’s a lot more common than we realize. Places like Steeple St John – people move in thinking they’re going to have the perfect village life. It doesn’t always work out quite like that, does it?’

  Elaine shook her head with feeling as Daisy began to speak.

  ‘The only person I’ve spoken to other than you two is Thomas, my gardening friend, who’s eighty-four. My social life isn’t exactly sparkling.’ Oh, and Ned, the scruffy vet – she’d forgotten him.

  Jo nodded agreement. ‘It’s hard when your children are older and you’re working. If I’m honest, Elaine, I wasn’t sure I wanted to come the other week, but I’m glad I did.’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ said Elaine, joking. ‘I’m awfully glad you did. Leo’s never around. And he doesn’t seem that keen on having me around at school functions, either.’ She gave a small sigh.

  ‘So how about you, Daisy? Any skeletons in the cupboard you want to share with us to make me feel better for hogging the conversation?’ Jo’s eyes sparkled with laughter, her tongue loosened by the Pimm’s.

  ‘No skeletons,’ said Daisy. ‘Just one shitty ex and a very much ex-best friend. But they’re in the past.’ As she spoke she realized it was true. Thomas’s theory about gardening being therapy really worked – somewhere along the way the searing pain of the wound had stopped aching, and now all she was left with was a scar. One she’d always carry, and definitely one which would leave her a bit cautious in the future. But it felt good to realize Jamie didn’t have any hold over her heart any more.

  ‘That sounds pretty healthy,’ said Jo. She stood up. ‘All that Pimm’s. Must run to the loo.’

  Daisy grabbed her moment to ask Elaine’s advice. ‘I’ve been thinking – d’you think I should start keeping a diary of my progress on the garden? Maybe some kind of blog?’

  It would be something else to put on her gardening résumé, too – with her parents gone for six months, she could follow the garden through the season. It might even make an article for a magazine, if she did a decent job of it.

  ‘Oh yes, wonderful idea!’ Elaine pulled out her phone again. ‘Yes, definitely. People love that sort of thing. And it’d be so lovely for you to keep, too, as a record.’

  Daisy had been keeping notes and taking photos as she went along. Leafing through Thomas’s old notebooks the other day, she’d realized it’d make the sort of thing she’d love to read.

  ‘I might need a bit of help.’ She was feeling inspired now, realizing that the garden was once again giving her something to look forward to and a purpose. And she had friends, too. A whole life was beginning to unfurl.

  ‘Not a problem at all. Once you’ve done your bit in the garden at mine tomorrow, let’s have a coffee and I’ll show you how to get started. It’s so simple. I just love the idea.’

  Locking the big wooden door, Daisy kicked the battered snake draught excluder back into place. She’d made it back in her first year of secondary school in sewing class, and it was still in one piece, almost. The only thing she’d ever sewn, she was inordinately proud of it and it reminded her of home.

  Polly glanced up from her bed, half-opening an eye. She didn’t seem to want to raise her aged bones out of sleep and parade into the garden for a late-night pee, clambering to all fours with a groan as Daisy watched, waiting patiently. Daisy was in a good mood. The evening had been lots of fun in the end. She could feel the friendships growing, tiny little shoots reaching out. It was just like bringing on spring seedlings – it took time and nurturing, she thought, but it was worth taking it slowly and carefully.

  Opening the kitchen door, Daisy heard Polly growling, an almost unheard-of event.

  ‘You all right, darling?’ Polly was standing quite still, her hackles raised, old teeth bared in warning.

  At the top of the garden, frozen in the moonlight, stood a fox. One paw was raised in the air and for a second the three of them stood there, caught in time, sizing each other up. With a sigh, Polly seemed to recall she was no match for a young vixen, and at the same moment the fox skipped gracefully out of sight.

  The walk home from the pub down Main Street had been chilly, the clear sky providing no warming cloud cover. There could still be a late frost, and if there was it was going to play havoc with the magnolia, which had been warmed into early flowering by the unexpected sunshine of the last couple of weeks. Crossing her fingers that it wouldn’t get any colder, Daisy grabbed her book. Maybe a couple of chapters before she fell asleep . . .

  The phone was ringing for ages before Daisy realized it wasn’t in her dream. She reached out, finding her mobile first, throwing it to one side as she realized the sound was coming from the home phone on the other side of the big bedroom. It was still pitch dark outside.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Darling! Did we wake you? David, what time is it at home now?’

  ‘Mum.’ Daisy, prising her eyes fully open, looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table. ‘It’s half past three in the morning.’

  ‘Oh.’ There was another pause, and the muffled sounds of her mother clearly explaining, hand over the mouthpiece, ‘David, it’s the middle of the night, not breakfast time at all. It’s half past three.’

  ‘Mum? I’d quite like to get back to sleep.’

  ‘Sorry, darling. Oh well, you’re up now.’

  Daisy gritted her teeth. This was pretty typical of her parents. Both academics, they were that curious mixture of frighteningly bright and incredibly scatterbrained. Well meaning, but a bit unthinking.

  ‘I am, yes.’

  ‘Right. Well. The thing is, darling, that we’re having a wonderful time.’

  ‘I’m really happy for you, Mum,’ said Daisy, hopping from foot to foot in the chill air. Across the floor, a cosy bed with a duvet and a warm patchwork quilt was calling her name.

  ‘We’ve fallen in love with the East. Absolutely besotted. It’s heaven here.’

  ‘Great.’ Daisy muffled a huge yawn.

  ‘We’re thinking we might extend our visit by a few months.’

  Oh, now this was good news. With her parents off travelling for a bit longer, she’d have time to really make a difference to the garden. She’d probably be even more excited about it if it wasn’t the middle of the blooming night.

  ‘That’s great. I’m really pleased. Amazing news!’ Her voice was hearty. Please, please let me go back to sleep, she thought.

  ‘Really?’ Her mother’s voice echoed down the line. ‘Are you sure you’re all right with that, darling?’

  ‘Yes, yes, definitely. Really more than all right.’

  ‘Well, that is a pleasant surprise.’

  ‘G’night, Mum. Love to Dad.’

  Chapter Eight

  The Steeple St John village hall had been built with a millennium grant in 2000, and so was far from the usual dilapidated brick building with wonky loos and freezing cold linoleum floors. When government cuts had seen the town’s library closed in favour of one central library an unhelpful seven miles away, the people of the town had gathered together to create their own community-based library, run by volunteers and headed up by Flora Douglas – retired head teacher and, as Thomas had explained previously, stalwart of every committee in the village. Her library was open three days a week, and the hall was packed from morning until night with Pilates groups, meditation classes, baby yoga, and countless educational after-school classes for the over-scheduled children of the village.

  Flora was at the helm of the Parish Council meet
ing today, hair an immovable, immaculate helmet of ash grey, a pink silk scarf tied around her neck, setting off her pale skin and blue eyes beautifully. She stood up from her central position at the front table. Daisy had slipped into the back row of seats, running late. There was a moment of chatter before Flora clapped her hands together. She swept the room with an expert glance and the room fell silent. There was no mistaking her history as a head teacher. Daisy felt herself sitting up straight and putting her knees together, primly.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen: I’m going to make this a quick one, because I don’t want to overrun when we’ve got Mindfulness for the Absent-Minded at half past, and we need to get the mats out. But I thought I’d update.’

  Daisy rummaged in her bag, realizing she’d better turn her phone off. Looking up, she saw Ned sitting at the opposite side of the room, arms folded across his chest, legs sprawling out into the aisle. He turned, sensing her, and gave her a broad wink.

  ‘And that’s the trouble, you see.’ Flora was finishing up. Her brief update had taken twenty-five minutes so far. ‘If you don’t have any village connections, you aren’t going to feel a sense of responsibility for what happens if you sell up and bugger off.’

  There was a murmur of agreement. Daisy, who’d drifted off and had been thinking about the detective thriller she’d been watching last night, shook herself back to the present moment.

  ‘And unless anyone has any further questions, that will be all.’ Flora’s voice carried across the sound of people who were already preparing to head out of the room.

  There was a scuffle of feet and a screeching of chairs on the wooden floor as everyone headed for the exit.

  ‘You’re for it now,’ said a low voice in her ear. Daisy looked up.

  Ned stood beside her, an amused expression on his face.

  ‘What d’you mean? Oh God, let me guess. She can tell when you’re not paying attention, right? I had a teacher like that. Used to spend every lunchtime in detention when I was in fourth form.’

  ‘You weren’t paying attention? I’m shocked,’ teased Ned. ‘You missed the really exciting bit about the painting of the new double yellow lines. They’ve waited seven years for them, y’know.’

  ‘I heard that bit.’ He did make her laugh.

  ‘I was meaning . . . watch out at six o’clock.’ He nodded very discreetly towards the front of the room. Flora was approaching at speed, followed by Thomas.

  ‘Ah, Thomas said we were getting some more young blood. Daisy, isn’t it? And you’re new to the village?’

  ‘I am, yes.’ Daisy felt slightly uneasy. Flora was wielding a clipboard and a purposeful expression.

  ‘Daisy’s living at Orchard Villa,’ Thomas explained. ‘We’ve been doing a spot of work on the garden.’

  ‘Not before time,’ said Flora, in a slightly schoolmarmish tone. She pursed her lips.

  Daisy shuffled her feet, awkwardly. Every time someone passed comment on the previous state of the garden, she felt a bit guilty, as if she, and not her scatty parents, had been the one to ignore it until it reached a level of overgrowth reminiscent of Sleeping Beauty’s castle.

  ‘It’s very good to see you here, in any case. And you’re a gardener?’

  ‘She’s a very good one,’ said Thomas, with a hint of pride. ‘Not often I’ve seen one who has the practical skills and the theoretical knowledge. She’s like an encyclopaedia when it comes to Latin names, is Daisy.’

  Ned gave a low whistle of admiration, laughing. ‘I know who to pick for my team if I’m entering the pub quiz, then.’

  ‘You’ll be an asset to our horticultural committee, then. Next meeting’s Friday week. Do say you’ll come along and give us a hand?’

  Daisy’s vague protestations that she didn’t know how long she’d be in the village carried no weight with Flora.

  ‘Many hands make light work, my dear.’

  And so, somehow (wondering afterwards quite how it had happened, and deciding that Britain was probably held together by people who’d fallen into things, too polite to say no) she found herself obediently writing down her mobile number and email address.

  Walking back towards Main Street, where Ned had left his beaten-up old Volvo, Daisy couldn’t work out quite how she’d been bounced into it. ‘It was a bit like school. She might as well have said “See me after class, young lady” – she reminded me of my old headmistress.’

  ‘Well, you’ve signed your life away now.’ Ned gave her a sideways look. ‘All I did was pop in too, remember. “Tick the box,” we said. “Get involved in the community,” we said. And now look what’s happened. We’ve been assimilated by the Flora-Borg.’

  ‘It’s a hard life,’ Daisy teased.

  ‘You have no idea, Daise. No idea at all.’ Swinging into the front seat of his mud-splashed car, he raised a hand in a farewell salute. ‘See ya.’

  She watched him pull away, laughing.

  ‘Daisy!’

  She was heading back towards Orchard Villa for something to eat when she heard Elaine calling and crossed the road, meeting her outside the gift shop.

  ‘I’m going for a coffee at the Bluebell. Are you busy? Fancy joining me?’

  Daisy realized she’d kill for some of that lemon drizzle cake right now. ‘Yes, please.’

  They passed the little market square, where a woman in jodhpurs and long brown leather boots was dragging a sack of carrots towards the open door of her Land Rover, which was parked half on, half off the pavement.

  ‘Hang on, darlin’. Let me give you a hand with that.’ The fruit and veg stallholder appeared from behind the canvas hoarding. He wiped down his hands on his apron, grabbed the heavy sack and tossed it onto his shoulder as if it was weightless. ‘How many d’you want?’ He looked up, catching Daisy’s eye with a nod of recognition. ‘Nicer weather today, hey?’

  He slid the sack into the boot of the woman’s car, closing the boot for her, before turning back to focus his full attention on them both.

  ‘No photos today?’ He raised an eyebrow at Elaine, flashing her a cheeky smile as he slipped back behind the stall. ‘I’ve got the place looking perfect for you, polished my plums and everything.’ He indicated the beautifully laid-out display, selected a scarlet apple and tossed it across to Elaine, who caught it neatly, one eyebrow flashing upwards in triumph.

  ‘I’ll inspect them later, if you’re lucky.’ Elaine turned on her heel in a swirl of hair and expensive perfume. Daisy stood for a second, half laughing, half amazed.

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  They headed down towards the Bluebell Cafe.

  ‘You’ve got a bit of an admirer there, haven’t you?’ Daisy looked at Elaine.

  ‘Oh God, no,’ said Elaine, shaking her head. A blush stained her cheeks, contradicting her words. ‘Mark’s just a bit of a flirt, that’s all.’

  Daisy raised an eyebrow, laughing. ‘First-name terms?’

  ‘I quite often take photos for my website on market day. American readers love that whole quaint English village thing. Mark’s very sweet really, chats away while I take photographs, that’s all.’ They stepped into the cafe, breathing in the vanilla-bean and coffee scent.

  ‘Mmm, heaven.’ Elaine changed the subject. ‘What d’you fancy?’

  She sat down, loosening the belt on her navy mac. Today’s outfit had a French influence – her hair knotted in a loose chignon, a few artful strands escaping. At her neck she wore a jauntily knotted red and white silk scarf. Her long legs were encased in cream cigarette pants which showed off her slender ankles. Daisy glanced from Elaine’s perfect outfit to her own. She’d pulled on her favourite jeans and battered cowboy boots, aware she’d better make an effort for the Parish Council meeting. She still looked scruffy in comparison.

  Daisy had sat absorbed in Elaine’s online world for a good while the other night. The website depicted a beautifully drawn picture of English village life – and of her picturesque house, her delicious food, her carefully photo
graphed craft projects, and her dry, archly funny tales of her eccentric headmaster husband (never referred to by name, only as My Dear Husband; but it wouldn’t take a genius to work out where Elaine lived, nor where he worked – there wasn’t much privacy these days). It all looked – and sounded – utterly blissful. Each article was followed by a string of enthusiastic comments, asking where she’d bought her furniture, rhapsodizing over Elaine’s lovely home. Daisy had been shaken back to the real world by a call from Jo.

  ‘Daisy, have you got a moment?’

  ‘Course. What’s up?’

  Jo had explained in an anxious, quiet voice that she just needed a moment to run something past her. Daisy, glad of the chance to get out of the house, had grabbed her bag and headed up towards Jo’s little cottage, taking a bottle of red just in case Jo’s dilemma needed something stronger than a coffee.

  It was a pale-faced Jo who opened the cottage door. Taking one look at her, Daisy raised the bottle with a sympathetic smile.

  ‘Oh, yes, please.’

  Jo fished a couple of wine glasses out of the dishwasher, motioning to Daisy to sit down on the battered, dusty green sofa which took up the back wall of the kitchen.

  ‘Muuuuum,’ came a voice from the hall, ‘can I go round to Jessica’s house to do my science project?’

  Martha appeared in the kitchen, giving Daisy a sweet smile at odds with her frankly terrifying appearance. She was crammed into a too-small black T-shirt printed with closely written song lyrics which – Daisy squinted, making out several choice expletives – were fortunately pretty indecipherable.

  She slid across the kitchen tiles, crashing into her mother’s arms with a giggle.

  ‘If I promise to be back by nine and I empty the dishwasher when I get back?’

  ‘Make me a coffee tomorrow morning and you’ve got a deal, sweetheart,’ said Jo, smiling over the top of her daughter’s head. They hugged for a brief moment before Martha pulled back, giving her mum a kiss on the cheek and skipping off.