Coming Up Roses

by Rachael Lucas

  ‘Ned, you wait there,’ Flora went on. ‘Someone will be along to take you to the animal tent in a second.’

  Daisy caught Ned’s eye for a brief moment. His face indicated mock-terror.

  ‘Come on, then, Daisy. Let’s get you over to the produce tent!’

  Thomas, looking smart in a pale checked shirt, a tie and a tweed coat, stood up from the folding chair he was sitting on as Flora and Daisy approached.

  ‘I’m afraid our usual head judge, Major Gressingham-Smith from the Manor House, has been indisposed recently, and Thomas has very kindly agreed to step into the breach,’ said Flora.

  Thomas’s face remained almost completely impassive, but a tiny twinkle in his eye and the smallest hint of a raised eyebrow made Daisy smother a giggle.

  ‘I just want to run over the details of the judging before we—’

  ‘No need.’ Thomas laid a reassuring hand on Flora’s arm, steering her gently towards the front of the gazebo as he did so. Daisy was impressed.

  ‘Well, I do need to make sure that the stalls are organized for the W.I. cake sale, I suppose . . .’

  ‘We have everything under control, Daisy, don’t we?’

  Daisy nodded, trying not to laugh.

  A little girl of about ten ran into the tent just as Flora was leaving. ‘Grandma, Susan says to tell you that she doesn’t think she’s got enough lottery tickets.’

  Daisy and Thomas sat down to have a quick cup of tea from his ever-present flask.

  ‘They take this very seriously, y’know,’ Thomas explained, sipping tea from his plastic mug. ‘There are folks up at the allotments who work all year for this.’

  Daisy thought of the allotments, and the hours she’d spent there chatting to the gardeners. She’d been viewed with suspicion at first, but as she grew to know the cast of regulars who spent their spare time working up there, they’d begun to welcome her with sweet tea from their flasks or hand her armfuls of produce. She felt the knot of sadness in her stomach again. Standing up, she brushed down her pale blue cropped trousers and straightened her shirt. No point dwelling on it.

  They laughed for the whole hour they spent choosing their favourites. Daisy was amused by Thomas’s tales of night-time subterfuge at the allotments: gigantic leeks grown in seaside sand and fertilized with secret concoctions, and vigilant veg-growers on night watch, convinced their carrots would be nobbled before the competition.

  ‘But the prize is a rosette and a five-pound gift voucher for the garden centre!’

  Thomas nodded. ‘I know. It’s a mysterious world, isn’t it?’

  Looking down at the plates of almost identical, completely perfect carrots they’d had to judge, Daisy had to agree.

  ‘Anyway, my dear, that’s your part over – we’ve marked the winners, and the prizes will be given out at the end of the day. All you have to do now is enjoy some of those lovely cakes on the W.I. stall.’ Thomas pointed out the delicious-looking display that was now being finished off with pretty jam jars full of sweet peas and strings of crocheted bunting draped around the edges of the tables.

  ‘I wonder how Ned’s getting on?’ Daisy looked across the field. In the distance she could just make out his tall shape beside a clipboard-wielding Flora, heading for the tent where an assortment of pet rabbits and guinea pigs were waiting to be judged in the Best Pet competition.

  ‘That lad’s done well this year.’

  ‘I know,’ agreed Daisy. ‘Mind you, he’s got the bosses from hell, if you ask me – he’s never off duty.’

  Thomas looked at her, laughing, his blue eyes bright. ‘He’s only got himself to answer to, my dear.’

  The realization dawned slowly. ‘So he’s not . . .’

  Thomas shook his head. ‘No, Daisy.’ He gave a chortle of laughter. ‘Ned took over the practice a few months before you arrived in the village. He doesn’t shout about it, he told me, because people tend to think he’s too young to be in charge.’

  Daisy frowned, thinking back – she’d never asked directly, and he’d never offered the information. No wonder he always looked so exhausted, and never took a day off. She looked across, watching as he ducked his head and disappeared through the entrance of the tent, Flora bustling behind him.

  ‘I had no idea. I just assumed –’

  Thomas nodded, sagely. ‘You, and most of the others here in the village, I think. Probably better that way.’

  It was hard to imagine scatterbrained, chaotic Ned in charge of the whole surgery. And the other vets she’d seen him chatting to in the pub, or heading off on call – he was the ogre boss she’d imagined. She stood silently for a moment, taking it in.

  ‘Right, my love, I’m going to pop up and see if Flora needs a hand with anything.’

  Daisy looked at her old friend, thoughtfully. She’d caught him looking across the park towards the graveyard where his beloved wife lay, and felt a sudden wave of sadness for him. She felt her chin wobble for a second. She’d been so good the last couple of weeks about just getting on with stuff, and not letting herself wallow any more – but she was going to miss Thomas horribly, not to mention life in Steeple St John. Looking across the park, she could see Ned striding towards them. His rosette had come adrift and was hanging, lopsided, on his shirt.

  ‘Thomas . . . I’m sorry we couldn’t save the garden,’ she began, her voice thick with emotion.

  ‘Not now.’ He looked at her kindly. ‘No sadness today, my dear. Violet loved the village fête. I promised myself after she died that I’d enjoy it twice each year – once for myself, and once for her. You can help me out with that. Stiff upper lip, old girl.’

  Daisy gave him a brave smile and nodded. ‘Stiff upper lip.’

  ‘I’m going to leave you young ones to it.’ Thomas patted her on the shoulder, and set off across the field.

  ‘Let’s get a drink.’

  Daisy and Ned headed down towards the stall where huge kegs of cider stood, the bitter-sweet scent of apples filling the air. Ned bought two plastic glasses full, and they strolled across to sit under the tree by the stream in companionable silence.

  ‘Nobody else from the practice here today?’ said Daisy, trying to sound nonchalant.

  Ned sat back against the tree trunk, crossing one long leg over the other.

  He reached up and took her cider cup so she could sit down. ‘No, just me again . . . we’re taking on a new graduate in October. Reckon I could hand over village dogsbody duties to him – won’t be much fun going to Parish Council meetings without you there.’ He looked at her fleetingly, before taking a long drink.

  ‘No Fenella today?’ She tried the name out, carefully, being sure to sound casual.

  ‘Fenella? God, no.’ Ned shook his head, laughing. ‘She was only a locum vet. She’s off to Venezuela for three months on some aid project.’

  Daisy looked at him sideways. Ned had his eyes closed now, head back against the huge tree, three-day stubble marking his jawline. He looked exhausted – as usual.

  A couple of early leaves floated down from the branches, landing by their feet.

  ‘I thought she’d just – you –’ She faltered for a second, trying to choose her words. Ned’s eyes snapped open and he turned to face her, looking at her steadily.

  ‘Fenella and me?’ He raised his eyebrows for a brief second. ‘Yeah.’ He pulled a face, awkwardly. ‘She – well, she did indicate that she might . . .’

  Daisy’s heart was thumping unevenly.

  He shook his head. ‘I told her no.’

  Another leaf spun through the air. Ned caught it in one hand, looking at her with triumph. ‘You get a lucky day for every falling leaf you catch, y’know.’

  There was a long moment of silence, broken by the unmistakable cry of Flora in full voice.

  ‘Daisy! Ned!’ She was beetling towards them at speed, one arm flapping in the air. ‘Ned – there you are. You’re needed to judge Best in Show.’

  ‘Perfect timing,’ groaned Ned, climbing up
from the grass. He reached down, pulling Daisy up, his hand warm and strong in hers. It stayed there for the shortest moment before Daisy stepped backwards, breaking the spell.

  ‘Come along too, Daisy, if you like,’ called Flora, cheerfully.

  ‘I’ll be there in a second,’ said Daisy to Ned. ‘I just want to grab the girls and say hello, quickly.’

  ‘Official judge!’ Elaine fingered the rosette on Daisy’s lapel. ‘Very posh. Should we curtsy, or just bow?’

  Thomas beamed with delight as Elaine kissed him hello. ‘You’re looking very nice, my dear.’

  ‘You old flirt.’ She laughed in delight. She did look well: tanned and happy, hair tied back from her face in a soft knot, loose waves framing her face in complete contrast to her perfect blow-dries.

  ‘Are you two judges off duty now?’

  Thomas looked at Daisy with a smile. ‘Yes, she’s free to go. I’m going to stay here and keep an eye on the judging certificates, give Flora a hand – it wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried to switch the first and second prizes around.’

  ‘Is there a lot of competition for – ’ Jo reached forward, picking up the certificate closest to hand – ‘best trio of cucumbers?’

  Raising his eyebrows with a smile, Thomas said, ‘I’m sure Daisy will tell you all about it. Meanwhile, I’m going to have a seat down here.’ He held up a hip flask. ‘You young ones get off and have some fun.’

  ‘There’s a Waltzer over there – come on, Daisy, let’s give it a go.’ Elaine pointed beyond the tents, to where a few travelling funfair rides had set up.

  ‘I haven’t even had anything to eat yet.’

  ‘Best time to go then!’

  Daisy, grabbed by the elbow, found herself being dragged across the field by Elaine. It was getting busy now that Flora had officially declared the fête open with a megaphone. (‘Not convinced she needs that,’ Ned had muttered to Daisy in an undertone, making her laugh and causing Flora to fix them with a disapproving glare.)

  Daisy spotted Flora now, standing by the W.I. cake stalls, still clutching the megaphone in one hand. She looked quite happy. The fields were flooding with people, the cars parking in rows along the narrow lane beyond the church. Children were hurtling down the huge inflatable slide. Daisy spotted Martha and a group of her girlfriends laughing as they headed away from the face-painting stall, twice the size of the rest of the artist’s customers, their cheeks emblazoned with flowers. Martha gave her a tiny, cool-teenager wave of acknowledgement. Daisy grinned back.

  They sat inside the Waltzer car, waiting for the ride to fill up, swinging gently from side to side.

  ‘How’s your week been?’ Elaine turned to Daisy, clearly bursting with a secret of some sort. What she meant was ‘ask me what I’ve been up to’. Daisy gave her a knowing look.

  ‘Mine? Oh, you know, packing, and – come on, spill! What have you done?’

  Elaine gave her a surprisingly impish grin, her clear voice low and confiding. ‘You won’t believe me if I tell you . . .’

  The car whirled round suddenly as the ride creaked into life.

  ‘Last car – come on, give it a go!’ The operator called to a group of teenagers who were standing by, trying to make up their minds. Laughing, they jumped up the steps and clambered into the remaining car. The youth collecting the change spun Daisy and Elaine round with a grin and a wink before hopping nimbly across to collect their money.

  ‘Oof.’ Daisy wondered belatedly whether a pint of home-made cider was the best warm-up to being whirled round like a maniac on the Waltzer.

  ‘Go on, spill the beans.’

  ‘Y’know Mark, the lovely chap from the market stall?’

  Daisy looked at Elaine, her eyebrows shooting upwards. The ‘lovely chap’ in whom Elaine had protested, slightly too vigorously, that she had no interest whatsoever?

  ‘Well – he asked me out for a drink.’

  The machine clanked slightly as the motor whirred into life. Daisy had a second to look at her friend with amazement before they were off, the world a kaleidoscope of colour and blaring house music, louder than Flora’s megaphone could ever dream of being. Daisy felt herself laughing and laughing as they whirled round and round, clinging onto the metal bar, thrown from side to side against each other.

  They slowed for a second, the car swinging drunkenly back and forth. Elaine brushed a handful of hair from her face, her eyes bright.

  ‘And did you say yes?’

  They whirled round and around again, the reply whipped from Elaine’s mouth by the wind. As the fairground ride slowed again, Daisy wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.

  Elaine, blonde hair tangled by the wind, turned to her again. ‘Say yes?’ She snorted with laughter. ‘I only kicked him out of bed an hour ago.’

  Daisy’s eyes widened with amazement. Before she could speak, they were whirled round yet again, faster and faster this time, the young lad in charge of the ride straddling the wooden platform behind them, spinning their car round and round until Daisy’s head was spinning and they were shrieking with laughter, hardly able to catch their breath.

  It was late in the afternoon by the time Daisy and Thomas – along with Ned, the judges in the floral section, and the W.I. expert who’d chosen the best jam and cake – had handed out the last rosette, shaken the last hand, and made polite chit-chat with the winners. There’d been a minimum of disruption this year (‘unlike that summer a few years back’, Flora had said under her breath to Thomas with an unreadable expression), with most winners and runners-up appearing quite content. As soon as Flora was out of earshot and the last contestants had made their way out of the tent, Daisy turned to Thomas, intrigued. Ned had been pinned down by one of the other judges and was being quizzed on her cat’s eating habits. Nodding attentively, he caught Daisy’s eye over the judge’s head for a split second. She’d try and rescue him if he was still stuck in five minutes.

  ‘So what’s the great mystery?’

  ‘Well, we like our routine here in Steeple St John, as you know.’

  Daisy nodded.

  ‘As long as old Rod gets best in show for his plum tomatoes, and Bert from the allotments knows he’ll get a ribbon for his cucumbers, everyone’s happy. Don’t matter if they beat each other, as long as they’ve each got a certificate to take home for the sitting-room wall. The only year we’d fireworks was when a new judge came along, same year as a load of new entrants. That put the cat among the pigeons. I reckon the fuss was enough to put them off, ’cause they didn’t enter the next year. Thing is, my dear,’ concluded Thomas, ‘times change. We have to change with them.’

  ‘Even if that means –’ Daisy paused, not ready to say it aloud.

  ‘Even if it means that gardens like Orchard Villa’s get dug over and turned into new homes, yes.’ Thomas finished the sentence for her. ‘I’ve said it to you before, Daisy – I’ve seen a lot of change in this village over the last eighty-odd years, and there’ll be a lot more change to come.’

  ‘But you’ve worked on it for years.’

  ‘I have. And I’ve worked on plenty more, and seen them paved over, or turned into play areas for kids. It’s taken me a while to come to terms with it, but when you’re my age, all that doesn’t matter quite as much as it did.’

  He waved his arm in the direction of the W.I. tent. A couple of the women Daisy recognized as mothers from Leo’s school were running the stall, floral aprons tied around their waists. ‘Without you young ones, the heart of this place’ll be gone. I’ve thought about it, and I’ve sat down by Violet’s grave and had a chat.’

  Daisy smiled at him.

  ‘I’ve loved spending time with you young ones, this last few months. You two –’ he gestured towards Ned, who was now nodding with increasing desperation, his eyes wild – ‘you’re such a lovely pair.’

  Daisy looked at him, feeling her brows knitting together in confusion. ‘We’re not actually –’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Thomas, enigmatic
ally. ‘He’s a very nice young man.’

  Daisy, feeling edgy, turned to Thomas before he said anything more.

  ‘I’d better get going. The girls are already back at Elaine’s house, waiting.’

  ‘That sounds nice.’ The deep lines around Thomas’s eyes crinkled as he smiled.

  ‘You should come.’

  ‘Don’t go worrying about me, my dear.’ He’d seen the concern on her face, and reassured her. ‘I’ve got a bit of clearing up to do here – no doubt Flora will keep me on my toes – and then I’m going to nip back to the Grey Mare for a pint. I think I deserve it.’

  Impulsively, Daisy leaned across and kissed him on the cheek. He might be eighty-four, but his friendship was one of her favourite things about living in Steeple St John. She realized she was going to miss him horribly.

  ‘Thank you, Thomas.’

  ‘Oh, shush.’ He looked pleased, batting her away with a chuckle. ‘Go and have fun with youngsters your own age, and leave us old folks to tidy up.’

  She popped back to the house to check on Polly, before heading up to Elaine’s. The answerphone was flashing. Whoever it was could wait until later. Daisy’s feet were killing her, and she couldn’t wait to collapse with one of Elaine’s mojitos in the last of the sunshine. The village was still festooned with bunting, but the crowds from the fête were heading home now, groups of sunburnt families with tired children snoozing in pushchairs, younger couples laughing and joking and heading towards the pub to carry on the drinking they’d started at the cider stall. A red balloon drifted up into the sky.

  She pulled out her phone to text Ned. Maybe if he wasn’t busy, he might come round later and join them for a drink. There was a message from her mother.

  Darling can you please, PLEASE call estate agent. Urgent.

  Daisy checked the time – quarter past five. She wasn’t going to get him off her back until she did – at least if she rang now, he wouldn’t turn up on the doorstep with a measuring tape at half-eight tomorrow morning . . .

  ‘Redforth and Lewis – Mike Redforth?’

  ‘Mr Redforth, it’s Daisy Price.’