Coming Up Roses

by Rachael Lucas

  ‘Of course,’ she said through gritted teeth, slipping on her muddy wellington boots. ‘I’ll be there in one second.’

  ‘There’s no need for you to come out in this rain.’

  By the time she’d made it out, he’d already made his way towards the orchard at the back of the garden. He turned, clicking the laser measuring device in his hand.

  ‘All done. Just needed to confirm the measurements – my laser was on the blink the other day.’ He slipped it back into his pocket, hunching his shoulders against the rain, which was hurtling down now. The delphiniums were being beaten sideways, Daisy noticed. They’d need to be staked up if this weather was going to carry on.

  ‘I’ll be in touch. I’m not a gardener myself. Can’t see the appeal of spending all day messing around with plants. If it was up to me –’ he paused mid-sentence, treading carefully on the flagstone steps, which were rain-slicked and not designed for his shiny brown leather shoes – ‘I’d have my garden completely paved over. The wife likes doing her hanging baskets.’

  With a sigh of relief, Daisy closed the kitchen door, leading him back through to the hall. She gave a noncommittal noise of agreement.

  ‘Takes all sorts, don’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, definitely. Thanks so much for coming.’ She opened the front door, and decanted him back onto the rainy street.

  Chapter Twenty

  Daisy pushed her way through the door into the Grey Mare, her jeans sodden. The rain had come at her sideways, meaning that whilst her hair had stayed dry under the umbrella, the rest of her was dripping wet.

  ‘Look at the state of you.’ George was sitting by an unseasonal fire. He stood up with a gentle laugh, taking her umbrella. He leaned in, kissing her on the cheek.

  ‘Sit down here.’ He pulled the chair closer to the fire. ‘James behind the bar said tonight felt like an autumn evening, not mid-July. He was right to light a fire, was he not?’

  Daisy sank gratefully into the tall, button-backed leather armchair. She could feel the warmth of the fire counteracting the dampness, which was soaking through to her knees.

  ‘You stay there. I’ll get you a hot toddy to warm you up, and then we’ll talk.’ George dropped a hand on the crown of her head and strode off to the bar.

  The pub was almost empty tonight – a couple of Thomas’s domino-playing friends sat in a corner, cardigans buttoned over their shirts, sipping their pints in companionable silence. Through the glass divider, Daisy could make out a couple sharing dinner in the little restaurant area. The pub had a couple of rooms, which were regularly booked up by visitors to the village – often Americans, who loved the whole quaint English village thing, and who’d be seen, maps in hand, setting off to climb the hills that stretched out into the countryside beyond. True to form, as Daisy watched, the woman unfolded a huge Ordnance Survey map, shaking it flat. Her husband laughed at her, taking a side to help her out, and they put their heads together, laughing and chatting as they planned their expedition.

  Outside was dark with rain. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the fire warming her bones.

  ‘Drink this.’

  George returned with two tall glasses full of steaming amber liquid. Inside each was a slice of lemon, studded with cloves.

  ‘My ma swears by these. If we had colds as kids, she’d give us a little hot toddy to get rid of the germs.’

  ‘My mother would be horrified.’ Daisy, wrapping her fingers around the glass, smiled at the thought. ‘She’s your typical knit your own yoghurt type – we weren’t even allowed sweets when we were growing up. If we got a carob bar, it was a treat.’

  ‘What on earth is carob?’ George’s eyebrows shot up.

  ‘Basically, chocolate with all the fun taken out. I wouldn’t recommend trying it.’

  ‘I love a good piece of chocolate. Back home we make a chocolate torte in the restaurant which is so rich, and smooth, and . . . Actually, Daisy, it’s Dublin I wanted to talk to you about. I’m going to have to head back for a few more weeks – my cousin’s needing a break. She’s been running the show single-handed for months now.’

  He fiddled with the beermat on the table, not catching her eye, before looking up at her again, his eyes dark.

  ‘It’s a big responsibility I’ve got back there. There are a lot of people back there relying on me to dig these restaurants out of the hole they’re in.’ He rubbed a hand over his eyes, closing them. ‘Sometimes . . . I have to make decisions that’re hard.’

  She leaned forward, putting a hand on his knee.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll do the right thing.’

  If he was going home to sack all his staff, reflected Daisy, that mightn’t be the most helpful response.

  ‘I hope so.’ George’s face was bleak, and he buried it in his glass for a moment. When he raised his head again, he took a deep breath. Daisy watched him visibly shake himself back into the present moment.

  ‘Anyway, how about I get the menu and we get something to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’

  Nodding, Daisy took a larger gulp of her toddy than she intended to. She felt the fumes whirling up her nose, and her eyes filling with water. Well – it wasn’t like he was disappearing back to Ireland for good, just for a couple of weeks. But everything was unravelling at once. Orchard Villa was up for sale, the house contents would have to be put into storage, and . . .

  When she’d been living in Winchester, she’d felt the beginnings of roots forming there. If Jamie and Sylvia hadn’t done the dirty on her, it’s possible they’d have gravitated back there after working in France for a couple of years. But the reality was, she didn’t have anywhere to call home.

  ‘Daisy?’

  George’s words shook her from her thoughts. He handed her a menu.

  ‘Sorry.’ She took a final draught of the toddy. She was warm inside and out now. ‘Just thinking about today. It’s been a long one.’

  ‘Let’s get something to eat. You can tell me all about it.’

  ‘I’d like that.’ She smiled up at him. She remembered Thomas saying calmly in the garden that she mustn’t worry about the future, but concentrate on the time being. She took a deep breath. There wasn’t much point in getting stressed when so much of it was out of her hands. She was in a nice pub, with a good-looking man with a lovely Dublin accent, and while the rain beat down outside she had a log fire to sit by. And that, Daisy decided, was enough for now.

  She had a very nice night. They sat chatting over drinks and enjoyed a delicious dinner which George insisted on paying for, despite her protestations. He seemed a bit distracted, but with stuff going on back in Dublin, Daisy decided, that wasn’t surprising. And with her new approach of not worrying about the future (which, Daisy found herself thinking at one point as she stood in the loos soaping her hands absentmindedly, could veer quite easily into a state of denial about everything), she didn’t have to think about anything at all except whether it would have stopped raining by the time they left the pub.

  And it had. They wandered down Main Street together, the pavements black and slick, the moon hanging overhead in a clearing sky.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’ Daisy stood under the rose arch at the gateway of Orchard Villa.

  George shook his head, apologetically. ‘I – no, Daisy, I’d better not. I’ve a flight first thing.’ He pronounced it ‘ting’. ‘I’m sorry.’ He looked, for a moment, as if he wanted to tell her something, a fleeting expression crossing his face, but a moment later it was gone.

  Kissing her goodnight, he turned, heading up the lane towards his Aunt Charlotte’s cottage. Daisy turned her key in the latch, letting herself in to find Polly waiting with an expression which clearly stated that she’d prefer to be asleep, thank you very much. Daisy leaned over, giving her a pat, gazing out for a moment at the moonlit garden, then headed upstairs alone.

  Daisy had spent the morning tidying up Elaine’s garden after yesterday’s stormy weather. Wanting to get o
n, she’d turned down the offer of coffee and cake mid-morning, saying she’d rather wait until lunch, when Jo had promised to drop by between clients.

  As usual, Elaine had spread the table in the orangery with her usual beautiful lunchtime selection, throwing the huge doors wide open. There was a rainbow salad scattered with tiny flowers, two huge home-made quiches, fresh from the oven – one dotted with tomatoes and scattered with chives, the other full of roasted vegetables. And there were tiny flatbreads, too, brushed with herb-scented melted butter.

  ‘Jo says just to start without her. She’s on her way.’

  Elaine passed her a polka-dotted Emma Bridgewater plate. ‘So, how was your date last night with the gorgeous George?’

  Daisy, who was more concerned with how Elaine was doing, noticed that while her perfect manicure remained in place, the cuticles around the nails were raw and frayed. Elaine was giving the impression of coping, because that’s what she did best.

  ‘It was lovely.’ She helped herself to a slice of quiche, not taking her eyes off Elaine, who was pushing a few pieces of lettuce and a tiny piece of bread around her plate.

  Daisy decided it was best to just come out with it, even if it did go against every one of Elaine’s perfectly British stiff-upper-lip sensibilities.

  ‘What’s happening about Leo?’

  Elaine’s shoulders stiffened. ‘I don’t really—’

  Daisy cut in before she had a chance to finish. ‘I know you don’t want to talk about it. But we’re here. You’ve got friends, Elaine. You’re not alone.’

  Something in the words hit hard. Elaine pushed her plate away, turning to Daisy. Her hands were shaking. She held her eyes wide in an attempt to stay in control, nostrils flaring.

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong.’

  Daisy took Elaine’s trembling hand, cupping it between hers. She looked down at the bitten cuticles and back up into Elaine’s beautiful face, rigid with tension. She watched as one uncontrollable tear spilled out, making its way silently down her cheek. It landed on her shirt, soaking into the expensively cut fabric. It was joined by another. And one more. And then the flood came. With that, Daisy reached forward, putting her arms around Elaine’s tiny frame, holding her gently, murmuring into her hair.

  ‘You’re not alone, you’ve got us. I promise. Promise.’

  Elaine’s shoulders heaved as she sobbed, collapsing into Daisy as if she’d had her strings cut.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said eventually, pulling herself upright. Daisy passed her one of the napkins and she blew her nose.

  ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for. What he did – you lived with it for all that time, knowing what he’d done.’

  ‘Knowing he was doing it again,’ interrupted Elaine, putting the napkin down on her lap, rubbing at her eyes.

  ‘You knew?’ Daisy thought back to the moment she’d overheard him talking on the phone in the garden.

  ‘I had my suspicions. I’ve become an old hand at watching for the signs.’ Elaine’s face darkened again. ‘An extra meeting here and there. He’d be early to work, late home. There’d be a conference in London and I’d get a message saying he’d decided to stay over so he could woo potential new parents for the school. The phone was always on, never far from his side . . .’ She shook her head, remembering.

  ‘But you stayed?’ Jo, who’d let herself in, the door open on the latch, was standing in the arched doorway of the orangery. She gave Elaine a gentle smile before crossing the room and sitting down by her side.

  ‘I didn’t have any choice.’ Elaine’s mouth was set in a sad, straight line. ‘Well, I thought I didn’t. I lost both my parents when I was young. When my grandparents died, I lost the only family I had left. Gained all this,’ she waved vaguely in the air, indicating the Old Rectory. ‘But that was all I had. And I’ve never found it exactly easy to make friends.’

  Daisy felt her heart aching for Elaine – brittle, lonely, clinging on desperately to the only thing she felt she had. And the more desperate she became, the harder she’d found it to make friends.

  ‘There’s always a choice.’ Jo squeezed her knee gently. ‘Just sometimes we’re so close we can’t see it.’

  ‘And I’m not alone.’ Elaine tried the words out, quietly.

  ‘No,’ said Daisy and Jo simultaneously. They shared a smile. ‘You’re not alone.’

  ‘I’m lucky to have you girls.’ Elaine turned to each of them, giving both a kiss on the cheek. ‘Y’know, I’m beginning to think I might just make it after all.’ There was a faint quaver to her voice, but it was accompanied by a brave, genuine smile.

  Daisy picked up her cup, taking a sideways look at her two friends, both already changed so much since they’d met in spring. Thomas was right. Life just kept on carrying you along, whether you liked it or not.

  They finished lunch, and Daisy made a pot of coffee, noticing as she did so that there were still signs of Martha’s visit. A pile of CDs stood on the dresser alongside a tiny mountain of hairbands and grips, her perpetual calling cards. Other than that, though, the place was its usual neat self. As she waited for the kettle to boil, her eyes were drawn to the calendar hanging by the kitchen window.

  The words ‘Divorce Lawyer: 12.30’ were written in Elaine’s small, precise lettering beside Thursday’s date. Daisy moved away, sensing she’d invaded her friend’s privacy. A tiny part of her cheered, though. Elaine wasn’t going back this time.

  ‘So.’ Elaine curled her fingers around her coffee mug, sitting back against the huge cushions of the sofa. ‘I don’t mean to be intrusive, but . . .’

  Daisy leaned towards her, a conspiratorial smile on her face, knowing what was coming next.

  ‘Jo. We’ve been utterly discreet. Neither of us have chased you with text messages.’

  Daisy shook her head, virtuously, before taking up the thread. ‘But we can’t help noticing you’re looking . . . happier than we might have hoped, considering.’

  In the moment before Jo spoke, a pink flush rose on her pale cheeks, lighting up her face. Her eyes were dancing brightly.

  ‘Well, I . . .’ She paused, as if checking Elaine was up to hearing something good on a day when she’d been through the wringer. Elaine nodded, eyebrows raised expectantly, and Jo continued, ‘I needed a bit of time to process it all. It was – big. Bigger than I expected.’

  Daisy, wide-eyed, choked on her coffee, laughing at the accidental innuendo like a fourteen-year-old. Elaine, catching on, started to laugh too, which set Jo off. It was a few minutes before anyone could speak.

  ‘We’re supposed to be functioning adults.’ Elaine shook her head, still giggling.

  ‘And we’ve had a hell of a lot to deal with this last while. Seriously – if you didn’t laugh about this stuff, you’d go insane. Take it from me. I’m a professional, remember?’ Jo pulled a distinctly un-professional face.

  She explained then how they’d met in a cosy little bar in London, where they’d had an awkward five-minute conversation about work, life, and the weather, before Tom had made her laugh, and they’d fallen back in time to fifteen years ago where they’d talked and talked about their lives, where they’d been, the people they’d met . . .

  ‘And . . .’ Elaine cocked her head sideways in thought as Jo paused. ‘You didn’t mention you had a daughter?’

  Jo shook her head, then nodded, confusingly.

  ‘I did. Just in passing, to begin with, because – how do you bring that up in conversation?’

  ‘But then he asked to see a photograph. And then he asked how old she was.’

  Daisy looked at Jo, her eyes widening in horror. It wouldn’t exactly take a mathematical genius to work out the timings . . .

  ‘Yes. He took about five minutes before he started trying to work out if I’d been with anyone else during finals.’

  Elaine recoiled slightly, her still-sensitive radar activated. ‘That sounds a bit – controlling?’

  Jo shook her head again. ‘We were at
a tiny little campus university. Everyone knew everyone else’s business. Believe me, if I’d slept with anyone, the jungle drums would have been activated by the time he’d rolled out of bed.’

  ‘Bit like village life, then?’ said Daisy, thinking of the gossip she’d heard that morning in the Post Office queue. Everyone was talking about Leo’s indiscretions, and it seemed pretty clear that Steeple St John was firmly on Team Elaine.

  ‘Then he started asking if I was on good terms with Martha’s dad,’ said Jo. The flush had gone from her cheeks again, and she spoke slowly and carefully, plucking absently at the trim on the cushion she’d picked up and hugged, without thinking. ‘And I – well, we were friends for a long time. We spent every day together. And I’m a shit liar. He picked up the photograph from the table and stared at it for a minute, and then he just came out with the big question, before I had a chance to find the words.’

  Daisy’s ‘wow’ in response was an exhalation of long-held breath. Elaine put an arm around Jo’s shoulder, returning the hug she’d so gratefully received earlier.

  Jo leaned in, thankfully, for a moment. ‘He wants to get to know her.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Daisy had thought about this for long hours whilst gardening. She loved her dad dearly – and while Jo was a brilliant mum, Martha had spent fourteen years not knowing her father. She blurted out the words, realizing as she did that they weren’t exactly tactful. ‘Wasn’t he furious?’

  Jo, surprisingly, was unruffled by this, agreeing with Daisy. ‘I expected that. But – no. He was upset – shocked. Really quiet for a whole pint of Guinness.’ Jo bit her lip, remembering. ‘But then he was sad for me having to go through the last fifteen years alone. He did admit he’d have been hopeless if I’d turned up when we were still in our twenties, mind you –’ she smiled as she spoke. ‘But he seemed quite accepting. He’s been studying Buddhism – always was a bit of a hippy, even back then.’