Coming Up Roses

by Rachael Lucas

  ‘Not at all.’ He attempted a smouldering pout, his long eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks. ‘I have hidden depths, actually. Like Greta Garbo.’

  ‘Right,’ scoffed Daisy.

  ‘Mind you, I don’t vant to be alone . . . In fact, now you mention it . . .’ Ned began, but Thomas interrupted.

  ‘What’s that about Greta Garbo?’ He’d made his way across to them while they’d been chatting and laughing, and placed two drinks carefully down on the table. ‘One of my favourites, she was.’

  ‘Ned’s just been explaining how similar they are,’ said Daisy, giggling. ‘You were going to say something, Ned?’

  ‘It’s –’ Ned shook his head. ‘It was nothing. Just a – just a joke.’

  Thomas looked amused. ‘You two are as bad as each other. I always had you down as a sensible girl, Daisy. I’ll be back in a moment. Just going to check what time the band is playing.’

  She had, too, Daisy thought, in moments between the silly banter with Ned that kept them both amused. There was something about his company that brought her out of herself, made life funny. And she’d needed that this afternoon – she still had no idea how to tell Thomas about the house being up for sale, meaning their time together working on the garden could soon be coming to an end. The thought of leaving Orchard Villa – and Thomas, and the girls, and the village – washed over her with a sudden feeling of desolation.

  ‘Right, then,’ said Thomas, returning. He pulled up another chair, and picked up some of the tickets they were still folding. ‘How many of these is Flora wanting you to do?’

  ‘About eight million, it feels like,’ grumbled Ned. He stood up, stretching unconsciously, T-shirt riding up over a tanned, surprisingly toned stomach. ‘Just nipping to the loo. Back in a sec.’

  ‘You’d better be,’ said Daisy, darkly. ‘I don’t want you missing out on any of the fun here at raffle central.’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ said Ned, flashing her a dazzling smile before disappearing through the fundraising information tent and in towards the pub.

  ‘No Elaine today?’ Thomas scanned the gardens.

  ‘She’s coming along later,’ explained Daisy. Thomas had a soft spot for Elaine, having known her grandparents for many years.

  Thomas put down the pint of bitter he’d been holding, looking at her directly with his pale blue eyes. ‘And your parents have put the house up for sale?’

  ‘How did you know?’ It had been no time since the sign was hammered in, and the estate agent hadn’t even taken any details, let alone put any information in their window on Main Street.

  Thomas shook his head, smiling through his white moustache. ‘Daisy, I’ve lived in this village all my life. There’s not much gets past me.’

  ‘You saw the sign?’ She cringed. She really ought to have sought him out yesterday, but she’d been so wrapped up in getting ready for her date with George – and, she realized, thinking about it, in hoping that if she didn’t say it aloud, it wouldn’t actually be real.

  Thomas explained. ‘I was talking to Elizabeth in the Bluebell Cafe this morning. The chap with the van who puts up the signs popped in yesterday afternoon.’

  There were some things you couldn’t keep quiet in a village like Steeple St John. You simply had to sneeze, and a day later everyone would be convinced you had pneumonia. And yet . . . Daisy frowned, thinking again about Leo’s phone call.

  ‘He was complaining to Elizabeth that he’d met some rude clients in his life, but the red-haired woman from that big villa up on the Lane had taken the biscuit. Apparently,’ said Thomas, looking at her with amusement, ‘she slammed the door in his face.’

  Oops. Daisy cringed. That poor bloke had only been doing his job, and she’d been horrible to him.

  ‘So it didn’t take much for me to put two and two together, my dear. And from the look on your face, I suspect it wasn’t expected?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. That must have come as a bit of a shock. And after all your hard work, a particularly difficult one.’ Thomas reached across, covering her freckled hand with his gnarled, weather-beaten one.

  ‘Our hard work,’ exclaimed Daisy emphatically, the words tumbling out in a rush. She was so relieved not to have had to tell Thomas herself. She hadn’t quite realized just how tense with anticipation she had been at the thought until she was off the hook. ‘I can’t help feeling they just wanted me to come and act as the hired help before they put the place on the market.’ She’d been thinking about this earlier, wondering if she was being cynical. Even as she said it, it sounded a bit unlikely to her ears.

  ‘I don’t think that’s the case, Daisy.’ Thomas shook his head, his words gentle and wise. ‘Our gardens give us more than we could ever offer them.’

  Daisy looked up at him thoughtfully. ‘I suppose they do.’

  ‘We go out there and tend them from the bare earth of spring, through the full flush of the summer, all the fruit and flowers, and then it all dies off again. Gardeners are born optimists. Every year we start afresh.’

  ‘That’s a good way of thinking of it.’

  He gave her a kind smile, squeezing her hand again before he stood up, readying himself to make his way over to the table where Daisy recognized his domino-playing friends from the Legion. Flora looked across at them from the other side of the gardens, giving a smile which Daisy couldn’t help noticing was aimed rather more at Thomas than at her.

  ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, my love, it’s that you never quite know what’s around the corner. Easier to just enjoy life day to day. I can assure you, Daisy, whatever happens with Orchard Villa will be the right thing for the time.’

  ‘That sounds very Zen,’ said Daisy.

  ‘You don’t get to be my age without learning a bit along the way. Life just keeps on happening, though. You might as well appreciate it.’

  With that, Thomas left Daisy sitting absent-mindedly folding the last of the raffle tickets, watching as the village came together for the fundraiser. Flora stood near the big gas barbecue that had been hired for the occasion. Clipboard in hand, directing people to their stations, she was organizing a group of slightly dejected-looking fathers who’d been put on barbecue duty. The wives, a group of laughing mothers who’d clearly worked out that the secret to dealing with Flora was delegation, batted away their squabbling school-aged children, settled themselves on the grass on picnic blankets, unpacking a never-ending supply of juice boxes and chocolate biscuits. The children swarmed off, heading towards the climbing frame, already giddy with sugar.

  She looked up, sensing Ned was on his way back. He raised a hand in greeting, smiling at her through a sea of people who were milling around the gazebo, reading the display of printed information about the church roof renovation fund.

  At least if she was going to be stuck on raffle duty all afternoon, it was with Ned for company. It struck her in a second of guilt that she ought to be daydreaming about last night’s date with George – which had been quite lovely – and not waiting eagerly for Ned to come back so they could spend the afternoon giggling over Flora’s antics, and playing guess-the-mean-girls whilst spying on the gangs of PTA mothers. He’d become a brilliant ally, and he really made her laugh.

  The huge barbecue was getting under way, plumes of smoke curling up into the air, filling the garden with delicious smells. Polly was sitting by the side of the table, nose in the air, appreciating the scent of sausages. Daisy could feel her stomach rumbling, but she was stuck behind the table – at least until Ned got back.

  She peered through the crowds, trying to see where he’d got to, and saw him standing, one arm casually against a wall, leaning down, his wide mouth curved in a smile, chatting to a tanned, blonde – with those expensive honey-caramel streaks that you only got on the slopes, or from regular trips with Mummy and Daddy to their place in the South of France – and incredibly beautiful girl. Daisy felt a stab of
something unfamiliar in her side.

  The girl flicked her hair over her shoulder with a casual movement. It tumbled smoothly down her back. Whatever Ned had said was obviously incredibly amusing, because she roared with laughter, showing perfect white teeth. As she spoke, she lifted a wrist covered in friendship bracelets, twirling a strand of hair.

  She was actually twirling a strand of hair, thought Daisy, who’d previously thought that was something people didn’t actually do when flirting, except in cheesy made-for-TV movies. Unbelievable. She took the final handful of tickets and shoved them into the jar, deliberately keeping her eyes away from the spot where Ned and the girl were standing. She felt weirdly dizzy. Maybe she was just hungry. That was it – her blood sugar was low, and her mind was playing tricks. She gave herself a shake. Last night she’d had a fabulous date with the gorgeous, handsome, charming George. She needed to pull herself together and take a leaf out of Thomas’s book – start being a bit more Zen about stuff. Ned was her mate. It was no business of hers who he flirted with.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Daisy was still frowning to herself when a shadow fell across the table. Momentarily dazzled by the sunlight, she squinted up at the two shapes in front of her.

  ‘There you are!’

  It was Jo, a plate of food in one hand and her daughter beside her. Daisy stood up, kissing her. Ned and the mysterious, super-glamorous girl would have to wait.

  Fourteen-year-old Martha, rarely spotted outside of her bedroom and even more rarely outside in civilization, had clearly been at the hair dye again. The tip of one ear, her parting, and her hair were all a deep, vibrant red. Her eyes were obscured completely by a long fringe. While her mother stood looking cool and pretty in the sunshine, wearing a summery vest, a long twist of bright beads, and a short flower-print skirt, Martha was dressed from head to toe in layers of black. Her hands were buried deep in the pockets of a fluffy mohair cardigan, feet encased in shiny purple Doc Martens.

  ‘Hi, you two,’ said Daisy, her voice slightly too bright. ‘Everything all right?

  Jo cocked her head, looking at Daisy with a curious expression. ‘Martha, sweetheart, do me a favour?’ She pulled her purse out of her bag, withdrawing a ten-pound note. ‘Pop over and get Daisy a burger with everything on it, will you?’

  ‘Can I get a Coke?’ Martha, taking the money, sensed her mother’s focus was elsewhere.

  ‘Go on, then,’ said Jo, rolling her eyes. She knew when she’d been sussed out.

  Daisy sat back down at the table.

  ‘You okay?’ Jo frowned at her again.

  ‘Yes, yes, absolutely lovely,’ said Daisy, trying to sound normal. ‘Anyway,’ she lowered her voice to a whisper, ‘what’s happening about our trip to Southbeach next weekend? Is Martha seriously going to stay with Elaine and Leo?’

  Jo looked across towards the queue for burgers. Martha, who’d now pulled a black woollen beanie hat over her hair despite the increasing heat, raised her eyebrows and pulled a face, indicating the wait was longer than expected. Jo took the opportunity to fill Daisy in.

  ‘Weirdly, she’s completely happy. I think discovering that Elaine’s got a huge television in her den with Netflix on tap, and a guest bedroom with a huge jacuzzi bath, was enough to sway her. She seems to be quite into the idea.’

  Jo’s phone bleeped a message and she looked down, frowning.

  ‘It’s Elaine – says she can’t make it, something’s come up.’

  Elaine had been looking forward to the afternoon. Hopefully it wasn’t anything major.

  ‘And how are you feeling about the weekend?’ Daisy searched Jo’s face.

  Jo scrunched up her nose, shaking her head. ‘Honestly? I have no idea. Sick with nerves, then excited, then terrified – but it’s not like I’m turning up to a book festival with Martha in tow.’ She paused for a second before continuing, with a wry smile.

  ‘Congratulations, Mr Fox, on your literary prize – oh, and here’s your surprise daughter . . .’

  Daisy pulled a face. It was an incredibly brave thing Jo was doing, after all these years. The trip to Southbeach was going to be a difficult one – but selfishly, she couldn’t help thinking that doing something to help Jo out would have the side-effect of getting her own mind off the sudden traffic-jam of things that were going on here in Steeple St John. She reached out, squeezing Jo’s arm. ‘I’ll hold your hand, don’t worry.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Jo’s smile was warm with relief.

  ‘Hello, you two, what’re you whispering about? Am I missing village scandal?’

  She’d forgotten Ned for a moment. Here he was, sandy blond hair hanging in his eyes as usual, perched on the edge of the table, two pints of cider in his hands.

  ‘Hi, Jo.’ He gave her a smile of welcome, handing a drink across the table to Daisy, who busied herself with straightening up the raffle sign, still feeling a bit weird about her reaction to the gorgeous blonde.

  ‘Here, you have this pint, Jo. I’ll nip back in and grab myself another.’

  Jo took the drink gratefully, and they watched as he swung off the table and loped back towards the bar.

  ‘He’s such a sweetie, isn’t he? Martha’s going to be pleased he’s here. She developed a bit of a crush on him when we had to take Ethel to the vet’s. He told Martha she was the most intelligent-looking cat he’d ever met.’

  Ethel, Martha’s black and white cat, had two uneven splashes of black between her eyes, which looked from certain angles like a question mark. Martha (‘don’t ask me why,’ said Jo, shaking her head in laughter and despair) was convinced she was the reincarnation of Sherlock Holmes, and had set up a website dedicated to photographs of the unsuspecting creature.

  Daisy couldn’t help laughing – at Ned, with his effortless ability to put people at their ease, and at lovely, awkward, teenage Martha. She was now shuffling towards them, trying to balance two cans of Coke and a burger whilst pushing up the slipping beanie hat which was tipping forward, blinding her.

  ‘I said ONE Coke,’ said Jo, reprovingly.

  ‘I know, Mummy dearest, but I thought seeing as you love me sooo much . . .’ Martha plonked Daisy’s burger down on the table. The top of the bun had slipped off, the onions slopping sideways onto the polystyrene plate. It looked utterly delicious, nonetheless. Daisy piled it all back together, scooping up the last of the onions with a finger. She took a huge bite, groaning with bliss. There was nothing so delicious as a charred, smokey-tasting burger with all the toppings. She swiped her chin with the back of her hand, not quite fast enough to stop a splodge of oniony juice from landing on her top and leaving an oily stain.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Ned returned, another drink in hand. He slipped into the chair beside Daisy, folding his hands in an official manner. ‘Flora’s on the rampage,’ he explained. ‘Right, you two girls: we’ve got a raffle to get under way. Fancy helping us out by taking a couple of books of tickets out and selling them? Reckon everyone’s had at least one drink by now, so they shouldn’t mind putting their hands in the pockets.’

  Jo picked up a book, and Ned passed her a pen from the box Flora had given them. ‘Don’t go disappearing off with that biro, mind. I’ll have Flora baying for blood. That’s Parish Council property . . . Martha?’ He flipped open another book of tickets. ‘How’s that gorgeous pussycat of yours doing? Fancy seeing if you can sell some of these for me?’

  Blushing furiously, not catching his eye, Martha took the tickets and a pen. She ducked away, nodding mutely.

  ‘That’s impressive work.’ Daisy turned to him, taking a sip of her cider. ‘Getting Martha to do anything at the moment’s a bit of a miraculous feat.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Ned, giving her a wise look, ‘it’s my irresistible charms, y’see.’

  ‘That’ll be it,’ agreed Daisy, her tone completely neutral.

  By the end of the afternoon Ned and Daisy had sold every single raffle ticket, leaving a delighted Flora speechless. The barbecue was grilling th
e last of the sausages, and they’d packed away the last few unclaimed prizes – a dusty bottle of port which looked like it had done the rounds of more than a few charity raffles, some slightly deflated Body Shop bath pearls (‘Didn’t even realize you could still buy them,’ Jo had laughed. ‘I don’t think you can,’ Daisy had replied, bundling them back into the cardboard box Flora had provided) and a box of violet creams.

  ‘Well, you two, I can’t thank you enough for your help today.’ Flora bustled across, taking the box from Daisy. ‘I’ll pop this back in my car just now. You two deserve a drink.’

  Ned beamed with relief. ‘Oh, thanks, Flora.’ He stood there, expectantly, an expression of confusion crossing his face as she sailed off in the direction of her little Fiesta.

  ‘You thought she was going to buy us one, didn’t you?’ Daisy looked at his dismayed expression with amusement.

  ‘Well, I did think, after we’d spent all day on the raffle stall, maybe she’d . . .’

  ‘All for the good of the village, my dear,’ fluted Daisy, in a passable impression of Flora’s well-modulated tones. ‘Come on, I’ll get you a beer.’

  The pub itself was deliciously quiet after the heat and busyness of the fundraiser. In silent agreement, they took their drinks and collapsed on one of the huge, squashy leather sofas, putting their feet up on the low table in front of them. Polly, who’d mooched around the whole afternoon hoovering up stray sausages and was clearly now stuffed to bursting, sagged down at their feet with an undignified and not very canine-sounding groan.

  ‘We deserve a bloody medal.’

  ‘You’re telling me. And I’m on duty tomorrow at six.’ Ned smothered a jaw-splitting yawn. He stretched his arms out high above his head, bringing them down to rest on the back of the sofa, along the line of Daisy’s shoulders. She stiffened slightly and he pulled his arm away in the same instant, muttering an apology.

  Daisy took a long, slow sip of her beer, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. It had been a long day – a long few days, with so much going on that it was no wonder her head was all over the place.