‘What about it?’ he asked.
‘She was leaving me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She was seeing somebody, Laurie.’
Laurence frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘She’d packed her bag. I removed it after the accident. I didn’t want anybody to know,’ Marcus continued. ‘She was wearing that dress. That Prussian-blue dress that she loved so much. She’d bought it to wear for him.’
Laurence stared at his father as if he were speaking a different language and then shook his head.
‘No, no. You’ve got it wrong.’
‘She was leaving me.’
Laurence couldn’t take in what he was being told. His mother had been leaving his father? No, that wasn’t possible, was it? They’d been happy, hadn’t they?
His mind was a maelstrom of jumbled memories. Had there been any clues? He tried to remember conversations he’d had with his mother, but there hadn’t been any indication that she was unhappy, had there? Maybe there had. Maybe he just hadn’t seen them because he’d been so wrapped up in his own world.
‘Explain this to me,’ he said at last. ‘How did this happen? When did it happen?’
‘I wish I could tell you,’ Marcus said. ‘I think we’d been slowly growing apart for some time. I sensed it for a while. Your mother wasn’t happy with the hours I was working. It was one of the reasons I retired when I did. I thought that would make things better, but it didn’t. It was way too late by then. She’d made herself a life with somebody else. I don’t know when she met him. I don’t think I want to know.’
‘Did you try to stop her?’
‘What would have been the point of that? She wanted to go, Laurie. There wasn’t anything I could have done or said to make her stay. I could see she’d made her mind up.’
‘But she never said anything to me.’
‘What did you expect her to say on your brief visits? “Come and see the garden whilst the kettle’s boiling. Oh, by the way, I’m leaving your father.” ’
‘There’s no need to be mean,’ Laurence said. ‘I’m trying to work things out here.’ He rested his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands as if needing the support. He’d had no idea what had been going on in his parents’ lives. How could he not have known all this?
The answer was simple. He’d been too busy leading his own life and charging up the career ladder. And had that been wrong? he asked himself now. Surely it was only natural for children to grow up and move away from home and start making a life for themselves. But perhaps he should have spent more time with them both.
‘Don’t blame yourself,’ Marcus said as if reading Laurence’s thoughts. ‘You couldn’t have done anything even if you’d visited every single day. Your mother had made her choice.’
‘But I had no idea things were so bad between you.’
His father shrugged. ‘How could you? You had your life in London.’
Once again, Laurence felt a surge of regret that he hadn’t spent more time with his parents.
‘Why didn’t you say something?’ he asked his father.
‘What could you do if I had?’
‘I don’t know – I could have tried talking to Mum.’
‘You couldn’t have said anything to change her mind, son.’
‘I don’t believe it. She wouldn’t have just left you!’
‘But she did. You don’t understand. She was leaving me the day she died. She had a bag packed in the boot of the car. She’d gone. She’d gone for good.’
‘Who was he?’ Laurence asked with undisguised loathing in his voice.
‘Someone she met through work. What does it matter?’
‘I’m just trying to understand.’
Marcus took a deep breath. ‘I was hoping to spare you all this,’ he began. ‘I really was.’
A strange peace descended between them as the sky continued to darken outside and the first drops of rain fell on the parched garden.
‘Why didn’t you just talk to me about all this?’
Marcus looked at him as if he’d just asked the most preposterous question ever.
‘You never have time to talk.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re a workaholic,’ Marcus said. ‘I thought moving down here would change that but, if anything, it’s made it worse.’
‘But I’ve asked you over and over to talk to me about what happened.’
Marcus shook his head. ‘You ask me what happened when you’ve got a spare ten minutes between making a cup of tea and taking a phone call. I can’t open up to you in a ten-minute slot just because that’s the time you’ve got available.’
Laurence frowned. Was his life really like that? He knew he’d been a workaholic in London, but was he still one now? When they’d first moved to Orley, he thought he’d made a conscious effort to make time for his father, but maybe it still hadn’t been enough. Then, when Tilda had told him she needed space, he’d pretty much put his head down and worked as many hours as he could.
‘But I’ve made an effort to spend time with you, haven’t I?’ Laurence said. ‘I tried to involve you in things with me, like furnishing my rooms when we first moved here and the idea of us starting a garden together. Didn’t I?’
His father gave a tiny nod. ‘I know you did.’
Laurence took a deep breath, suddenly feeling exhausted.
‘I’m sorry,’ Marcus said. ‘This is all my fault. I really didn’t want you to know any of this and I’m sorry it’s come out this way.’
Laurence once more became aware of the mess around them and hopped off his stool.
‘Leave it,’ Marcus said. ‘I’ll do it.’ He stood up and Laurence watched as his dad picked up the couple of canvases nearest to him.
‘I’m sorry,’ Laurence said. ‘I mean, if you ever thought you couldn’t talk to me.’
Marcus turned to face him and there was a rawness in his eyes for a moment before he blinked and shook his head.
‘I didn’t exactly help things, did I?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean by taking off to the other side of the world. It’s just, well, I didn’t have anything to keep me here.’
‘I was here,’ Laurence said.
‘But you had your work. That’s all you’ve ever needed.’
‘Yeah? Well, maybe that was true in London, but it isn’t anymore. I need you, Dad, and I wish – I really wish more than anything else in the world – that we could get this right. That we could start again.’ Laurence could hear the emotion behind his words and was aware that if he spoke another word he’d probably choke up.
‘Can you forgive me?’ Marcus said.
‘Forgive you?’ Laurence was genuinely surprised by the question.
‘For hiding all this from you.’
‘I don’t need to forgive you,’ he said and then he laughed.
Marcus’s forehead creased in confusion. ‘What are you laughing at?’
‘Us!’
‘What about us?’
‘You’re incapable of talking and I’m incapable of listening. No wonder we’re in a mess!’
Marcus gave a tiny smile. ‘We have rather mucked things up, haven’t we?’
The two men exchanged amused glances.
‘But it’s not too late, is it, Dad?’
‘No, Laurie. It’s not too late.’
Marcus crossed the brief space between them and then he did something he hadn’t done since Laurence had left for his first day at school: he hugged him. And Laurence did something he hadn’t done since he’d left for his first day at school: he hugged him right back.
Chapter 22
The clouds hung heavy over the Ridwell Valley on the morning of the fete. Tilda had been right to fear choosing the bank holiday weekend for their event, but Vanessa refused to be dismayed.
‘It doesn’t really matter what the weather’s like, does it? This is England. People expect a few clo
uds!’
‘We’ll all have to wear coats and rain hats,’ Tilda complained.
‘And what about my painting table?’ Jassy asked.
‘Well, just don’t use watercolours.’
Jassy pulled a face at her.
‘Don’t worry,’ Vanessa said, ‘we’ve got some canopies we can put over the stalls if the worst comes to the worst.’
But it didn’t. Miraculously, just after lunchtime and with only half an hour until the fete opened to the public, the clouds cleared and the temperature began to soar. It was turning into one of those perfect days that people dream about when they think of summer. The sky was a peerless blue and the sun looked as if it had taken a solemn vow not to go anywhere for a good long while.
The yards of pretty bunting which had been taken down from the loft and hung around the stalls fluttered jollily in the warm breeze. The village had really pulled together to create the best fete ever. The WI had set up a table where they were selling cakes, biscuits, jams and chutney, and old Mr Taylor’s plants were doing a roaring trade – as were Dolly’s famous coconut cookies, with any crumbs being gobbled up by Reynolds, who was hiding under the tablecloth. Jassy had set up a long table near her grandmother where she and Marcus were giving demonstrations in painting, and Tilda was selling cut flowers fresh from the borders of Orley.
Jonathan’s team had a table of their own where they were selling produce from the walled garden and Vanessa was helping them bag up the sales, which was pretty much a non-stop job. Both Andy’s cabbages and Oz’s beans were going down well with the crowd and there was a bit of friendly competition going on between them.
‘I’m still way ahead of you,’ Oz said.
‘Rubbish!’ Andy said. ‘You can’t count individual bean-pod sales against the sale of a large cabbage! Especially my cabbages. Just feel the weight of that!’ he said, thrusting a cabbage at Oz.
‘Put it down. I don’t want to feel your bloody cabbages!’
‘Language!’ Jonathan said in warning. ‘Remember what I said.’
The week before the fete had meant extra hours in the walled garden so that the team could make sure that everything was as perfect as possible for the big day. Jonathan had even done a dummy run with an old table, making each of the team take it in turns to practise selling to the public.
‘Remember, no bad language and always say thank you when you take someone’s money.’
There’d been a lot of laughter when Andy had pretended to be an awkward customer complaining about everything, but he was really pulling his weight now and seemed to be in his element too.
In a rare, quiet moment between customers, Jonathan leaned in close to Vanessa. ‘I love your hat,’ he whispered.
Vanessa’s hands automatically flew up to the wide-brimmed straw hat with its large pink ribbon.
‘In honour of your grandmother,’ she said.
‘She would have loved it. She’d probably have made you an offer for it.’
Vanessa laughed. ‘And I would have declined because I’d have wanted to give it to her.’
He reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘I wish she was here.’
‘Me too. You know, I thought I might have to wear a rain hat with those clouds this morning.’
Jonathan shook his head. ‘I had no doubt whatsoever that today would be just perfect.’
‘Hey!’ Jenna said, interrupting them. ‘We’ve sold all your tomato sauce, Vanessa!’
‘We’re all out of strawberries too,’ Andy announced.
‘Remember that cold spring day when you were forking manure into the strawberry patch?’ Jonathan said to Andy.
‘How could I forget it? I was frozen and I stunk like a pig!’
‘But all worth it now, eh?’
Andy grinned. ‘I guess.’
Vanessa looked at the pride on Andy’s face which he was doing his best to hide. But how could you not feel proud of having grown, nurtured, picked and sold something that wouldn’t have existed without you?
‘Hang on a minute,’ Jenna said, bending down and retrieving something from under the table. ‘There’s an extra punnet of strawberries here.’
‘How did they get there?’ Jonathan asked.
A shifty look crossed Andy’s face as he shrugged. ‘No idea.’
Jenna took hold of them and was just about to place them on the table to sell when Vanessa whipped them away from her hand.
‘No, no,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we keep them for us? Stallholder privilege.’
Andy beamed her a smile and everyone began stuffing their faces with the ruby fruit.
‘I’m just going to see how Dolly’s getting on,’ Vanessa told Jonathan once all the strawberries had been consumed.
‘Want me to come with you as a buffer?’ he asked, eyebrows raised.
‘No need,’ she told him. ‘We’re good.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, we’re getting there,’ she said and turned to leave, taking a deep breath and heading towards Dolly’s stall. There was a small crowd around it and Vanessa recognised a few of the ladies from the village.
‘I hope you’ve bought something from our team of hardworking gardeners,’ she heard Dolly say to them as she nodded towards Jonathan’s stall.
A couple of the ladies looked across to where Andy was attempting to juggle a couple of onions.
‘Well, I think we’ve spent all our money here,’ one of them said.
‘That’s rubbish and you know it,’ Dolly snapped. ‘You get yourself over there, Edna Greenaway, and show your support for our young ones! And tell all your friends in the WI to spend some of their money too. Go on now!’
Edna and her friend looked mightily affronted as they bustled away.
‘And I’ll be watching to make sure you actually buy something!’ Dolly shouted after them, causing Vanessa to laugh.
‘Good for you, Dolly,’ she said.
Dolly shook her head and tutted. ‘I heard them saying some dreadful things about our kids when they thought I wasn’t listening,’ Dolly said. ‘Misconceived, prejudiced things.’
‘Yes,’ Vanessa said. ‘I’m afraid we’re still fighting that battle, aren’t we?’
‘And when I think of what Edna’s Cyril was like as a young’un. She has no right to judge. No right at all!’
Vanessa looked across to where Edna and her friend were getting the hard sell from Jonathan as Oz bagged up some cabbages and tomatoes.
‘Here,’ Dolly said, passing a little tin to Vanessa.
‘What’s this?’
‘Some of my cookies,’ she said. ‘I made an extra batch this morning for the team. Take them over, will you?’
‘Don’t you want to do that, Dolly?’
‘No, no. I’ll see them later once I’ve sold out here. You take them,’ she said. ‘And make sure Jenna gets a couple now, won’t you?’
‘I will. Thank you.’
Dolly nodded and Vanessa watched for a moment as her mother-in-law continued manning her stall, wrapping a couple of flapjacks for the village postman. How happy she looked, Vanessa thought. She was busy and needed, and she was absolutely thriving on it.
Laurence took in a deep breath of summer air as he walked across the lawn of the south garden towards the stalls. How beautiful it all looked. He still couldn’t believe that this was his home now and that these people were his friends. Well, he hoped that Tilda was still his friend. He wasn’t at all sure at the moment. They’d not swapped more than a handful of pleasantries recently and it was tearing Laurence in two, which was why he’d decided to do what he’d done.
Since the day his father confessed the truth about what had happened with Tara, there’d been a new closeness between the two men. They were learning to talk again, to share moments and thoughts, and his father had particularly encouraged him with Tilda.
‘If you care about her, show her. Don’t waste a single moment, son.’
His father’s words echoed in Laurence’s mind as
he watched Tilda at her stall as she wrapped a big bunch of cut flowers in pretty paper for a customer. How at ease she looked, he thought, amongst her friends and neighbours. As if feeling his gaze, she looked up and smiled. He nodded and turned away, suddenly feeling anxious.
‘Laurie?’ she called a moment later and he turned to see her running towards him.
‘Hi,’ he said casually.
‘Enjoying the fete?’
‘Yes,’ he said, aware of how very close she was to him. ‘It’s great.’
‘Do try and get some of the bakery bits from the WI stall, although avoid Mrs Carlton’s blackcurrant jam. It never sets properly and there are usually cat hairs in it.’
‘Duly noted.’
They walked in silence for a moment, stopping by the edge of the pond.
‘Laurie – I wanted to talk to you. To apologise.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, I – I don’t know why I pushed you away like that. It was really—’
‘You don’t need to explain, Tilda. It’s fine.’
‘No, it isn’t fine because I feel really mean and’ – she paused – ‘unhappy.’
He looked into her rosy face and the joy that had been there when she’d been selling flowers at her stall had disappeared. It was like seeing the sunshine vanishing from the summer sky.
‘Why are you unhappy?’
‘Because I hurt you.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
She looked puzzled. ‘Didn’t I?’
He swallowed hard. ‘Well, I—’
‘Because if I didn’t hurt you then you couldn’t have cared for me very much!’ She looked affronted but there was amusement dancing in her eyes now and Laurence couldn’t help but smile.
‘I’m not going to puff up your ego by telling you that you broke my heart,’ he said.
‘But I don’t want to have broken your heart. That’s what I’m trying to say. I’m sorry if I hurt you. I never meant to. Really. I’ve been a mess and I was just trying to protect you from all that.’
‘That’s fine.’
‘Is it?’
‘I told you, you don’t need to apologise.’
‘So we’re good?’
‘We’re good.’
They stared out over the pond, watching as an enormous green dragonfly settled on a lily pad, its iridescent body catching in the sunlight.
Love in an English Garden Page 29
