by Helen Lowrie
‘Sorry?’
‘Do you have kids?’
I felt the muscles in my throat tighten but kept my expression neutral and my voice light. ‘No I don’t. Do you?’
‘No.’
This was a natural opportunity to ask James if he had a partner. He didn’t wear a ring but that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t married and a man with those eyes and that perfect smile could not be short of female attention – so I assumed he had someone: a girlfriend or a lover. But I didn’t ask. As innocent as our acquaintance was, his relationship status shouldn’t matter to me either way but as long as my assumption went unconfirmed I could pretend to myself that those smiles and the disconcerting way he looked at me – as if I was suddenly no longer invisible – were just for me and me alone.
I was aware these thoughts were pure fantasy but what harm could they do, locked safely inside my head?
‘Scrambled egg on toast?’
‘Yes please.’ He watched as I popped brown bread into the toaster and cracked, whisked, and stirred the eggs.
‘How’s work?’ I said, forestalling any personal questions he might be about to ask.
James frowned, sighed and rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. ‘It’s OK. I’m lucky that I have a very understanding boss, and that the company has a flexitime policy in place, so I’m still able to go back and forth to Wildham to keep an eye on things at the garden centre.’
‘What’s a flexitime policy?’ I said, plating up his breakfast.
‘Basically, as long as I keep my clients happy, reach my monthly targets and clock up a minimum of thirty-five hours a week on my timesheet, the company aren’t too fussy about how and when I go about it. I’ve been able to use some holiday leave and take some extra time off here and there by making up the time working from home in the evenings.’
‘Oh, that sounds –’
‘Exhausting?’
‘Yes.’
‘It is.’
I smiled in sympathy, setting his breakfast on the counter before him.
‘This looks delicious, thanks.’ Reaching for a set of cutlery he unwrapped the knife and fork from their paper napkin and immediately tucked in to his eggs.
‘How are things at the garden centre? Have you found a buyer yet?’ I said, as I tidied up the kitchen.
‘No. No buyer.’ He paused chewing and swallowing another mouthful. ‘I’ve got Leah helping me manage things while I’m not there but it’s only a short-term solution. She usually runs the outdoor plant area and she’s got a great head for business but she’s a single mum with other commitments so I can’t rely on her help indefinitely.’
‘Do you have any idea how long it might take to find a suitable buyer?’
‘No,’ he said, fork poised in mid-air. ‘The trouble is, spring, and Easter weekend in particular, is the busiest, most profitable time of year for any gardening business. It’s prime planting season and a popular time for homeowners to get out in their gardens and do some DIY. From a practical point of view it would be crazy not to take advantage of it, so the staff and I have been pulling out all the stops to get the place ready. You should see it, Rina – the shop is a blaze of colour: full of flowering scented bulbs in yellow, pink and blue. The perfume of the hyacinths is sweet enough to make your head swim. And outside the benches are crammed with new plant stock: herbaceous perennials sprouting fresh, feathery, green foliage and shrubs – glossy-leaved and fat with buds – ready to put on a vibrant summer display.’ I stopped tidying and smiled, enthralled by the light in his eyes as much as by his description. ‘And down on the tree line the cherry trees are all in full blossom, like a line of frilly, sugar-pink ballerinas, shimmying with every breath of wind.’
‘You make it sound like paradise.’
James snorted. ‘It’s not all idyllic – last weekend a customer’s dog peed on my leg, Frank threatened to go on strike because Max had adjusted the position of the seat in the forklift, and Lil found an infestation of vine weevil grubs in one of the polytunnels and unceremoniously dropped them on my desk in front of me.’
I laughed out loud and James grinned back at me, one eyebrow raised.
‘Have you ever seen a vine weevil grub?’
I shook my head.
‘Ugly little things – up to a centimetre long and fat, with no legs and a penchant for eating all the roots of a containerised plant.’
‘Ugh.’
‘Indeed. We’ve caught the problem early though and treated every plant on the nursery so hopefully it will be OK.’ James shoved another forkful of scrambled egg into his mouth and I wondered how he could after visualising grubs.
‘You know, dog pee and vine weevil grubs aside, it sounds like you really like the place – like being there.’
He swallowed. ‘I do. The staff are wonderful, the customers are friendly and it’s a great little business, with so much potential.’
‘So, why are you selling again?’
‘Because I already have a job, here, in the city.’
‘In insurance?’
‘Yes – mostly life insurance.’ He picked up his coffee and took several gulps and I considered letting the topic drop – with anyone else I probably would have …
‘What made you want to get into that?’ I said.
He sighed. ‘It’s difficult to explain the appeal to someone outside the industry but I guess originally I was drawn to the security of it. I liked the idea of weighing up potential dangers and helping people prepare for the worst – providing people with some reassurance; some protection; something to fall back on.’
I smiled. ‘I think I can understand that.’ James was staring at his cleared plate and now set his knife and fork down neatly side by side. ‘Do you still feel that way?’
He looked up at me and there was such sadness in his eyes that I had an impulse to reach out and touch him. ‘The trouble is it’s often the people who need the insurance most who can’t afford to pay for it. And anyway, when you lose someone –’ He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and I gave into instinct gently placing my hand over his. ‘When someone dies, money is something – some help – but it’s not really compensation. It doesn’t bring that person back; nothing does that.’
I guessed that he was referring to the recent death of his father but I didn’t ask. I’d never had parents of my own, to love and lose and grieve for, but I had lost someone and James was right: money couldn’t bring them back. ‘Maybe it’s time to change career,’ I said. ‘Try something else?’
He smiled and turned his hand over so that my palm lay warm and tingling in his but I drew my hand back. ‘Sounds terrifying.’
‘Why? Haven’t you been running your dad’s garden centre for several months now – and enjoying it – and you said yourself how much potential there is in the business.’
‘Yes, but it would still be a risk and it’s taken me years of hard work to get where I am as a broker – build a life for myself in the capital. If I give it all up now, and go back to Wildham, it’s going to feel like I’ve failed.’
I bit my lip. I was tempted to scold him and tell him he was being ridiculous but it wasn’t my place. ‘Well, it’s your choice, obviously, but I have to say if I had the chance to leave London for somewhere like that I would jump at it.’
I could feel him watching me as I cleared away his plate and cutlery and greeted two customers coming in the door but James didn’t say anything else. He still looked lost in thought ten minutes later as he paid his bill, waved goodbye and left.
Chapter Fourteen
Ten seconds before my alarm clock went off, I was chased awake by dreams of Rina and a stubborn hard-on. The structure of the dreams was already lost to me as I switched off the insistent beeping, stretched and yawned, but I was left with some tantalising impressions: the magnetic pull of her eyes; the soft translucence of her skin; the warm throb of her pulse against mine … The more I saw of Rina, the more I wanted to see. Her bewitching beauty and pois
e, so understated and convincing, would have been enough but it was more than that. It was immensely satisfying making Rina smile and her laughter, when it came, was worth the wait, erupting like music from deep inside her with a raw pleasure that was entirely natural. She didn’t giggle for effect, to attract men, or to put people at their ease and her amusement was never calculated, cruel or forced. She simply laughed when she found something funny. It was my new favourite sound.
Another huge draw was that I could talk to Rina – about things I hadn’t even realised I needed to talk about. She was a mysterious woman with a carefully concealed fragility and a contrasting strength and passion, just craving release. Yesterday morning she hadn’t just listened – she’d somehow held up a mirror: showing me the truth, pride and fear behind my own words before offering me her own honest, heartfelt opinion. If it wasn’t for her I would never have had the balls to go straight back to my boss and hand in my notice that very afternoon.
He had been disappointed by my abrupt resignation but not surprised. When I discussed my situation with him he was amazingly supportive, almost envious, and I got the impression he was looking forward to his own retirement in just three years’ time. Through careful negotiation – whereby I relinquished some pay and certain benefits and agreed to help train up my successor – we reduced the standard three-month-notice period I would have to work down to just one month. An hour later, with the termination of my contract finalised, I’d returned to my office, with its hard-earned view of brick and concrete, and called Leah. Squealing with excitement at my news she’d agreed to keep managing the garden centre for another four weeks until I could take over full time. With another call to the estate agent instructing them to take Southwood’s off the market I suddenly had a whole new future lined up. It had been an incredible, adrenalin-rush of an afternoon and it would not be easy running the garden centre – I still had a huge amount to learn – but I wanted to do it. I wanted to make Southwood’s a place to be proud of.
As I swung my legs out of bed and planted my bare feet on the carpet I was relieved to discover that I was still confident that I’d made the right decision. I was already starting to feel at home here in Dad’s cottage, more optimistic than I had in months, and a downward glance at my crotch confirmed that my libido was back with a vengeance.
But it wasn’t just a change in vocation that had me excited. In the shower I sought relief while picturing a pair of sage green eyes, lit with a hint of a smile, and long, lean, naked female legs emerging from beneath a crisp, clean, white apron. I came quickly, taken aback by how much I wanted a woman I barely knew – a woman who wasn’t mine – even as the water washed away all evidence of my inappropriate desire. With the immediate urge assuaged, I eyed my reflection critically as I dressed. Today was Good Friday and it would be six whole, long, days until I saw Rina again. The best thing I could do was to keep myself busy and try not to think about her at all. And in the meantime, to stave off any loneliness, I would ring Liam and arrange to meet him for a drink.
As the sun rose, chasing away yesterday’s showers, I made a circuit of the grounds, mug of coffee in hand. Mentally I prioritised a list of the jobs which needed doing first: removing the protective fleeces from the tender shrubs and summer plug plants; moving any remaining saleable stock from the growing tunnels to the retail benches; dead-heading the polyanthus; labelling the new ceramic pots – and decided those jobs which could be suspended until later in the week, when there would be fewer customers to serve.
At eight fifteen I unlocked the main entrance, the side gate, the shop, the staff room and the tills. As the staff filtered in, laughing and teasing one another, I was pleased to see that even the newbies were joining in. For the Easter holidays I’d taken on some extra temporary staff – kids from the local horticultural college – to help out in the shop and provide a carry-to-car service for those in need of assistance. It was peak season – a bank holiday weekend with a near-perfect weather forecast – and I was determined to make the most of it.
By lunchtime the garden centre was heaving. The car park was full to capacity, with drivers forced to park on the grass verges along the road, where the local ice-cream van was cashing in, and we had a near constant flow of people through the checkouts. A variety of customers of all ages loaded up baskets and trolleys with plants, compost and sundries while children played tag, chasing each other up and down the pathways, giggling in the sunshine. For many customers a trip to the garden centre was a family day out and this reaffirmed the plans for expansion I had in mind. Of course in order to implement those plans – replace the old storage sheds with sturdy, metal, fireproof ones; re-surface and expand the car park and loading area; and extend the main building to create a coffee shop – I needed to sell my London flat.
Jasmine would accuse me of completely losing my mind once she discovered I’d jacked in my steady city job with its pension scheme, private health insurance and company car. She was no longer my girlfriend, so in theory I shouldn’t have to worry what she thought of me anymore, but unfortunately she was still stubbornly inhabiting my flat and resolutely refusing to answer my calls, texts and emails. Past experience told me that if I was going to get her to move out, without kicking up an almighty fuss, I needed to tread lightly. Extricating myself from a failed relationship was never easy.
As the kids careered about around me, I mentally added an adventure playground to the growing list of things to build. After all, with the kids happily safely occupied the parents could afford to spend more time shopping. Perhaps I should ask the bank for a short-term loan.
Beside me a young girl with curly brown hair and spectacles stopped and bent down to carefully pluck a dandelion seed head from where it emerged through a crack in the path. As the girl cradled the delicate globe in her hand I was struck by a vivid memory of Kitkat. She used to pick dandelion clocks on our way to school, insisting I make a wish, before letting me blow the fluffy seeds into the air. Every single time I’d made the exact same wish: for the two of us to be jointly adopted, by the same parents, so that we would be brother and sister. But when the Southwoods had turned up and offered me a better life I hadn’t asked them to take Kitkat too – I hadn’t even mentioned her – I was too afraid to, and I’d regretted it ever since. With hindsight I’d realised that Reg and Ellen probably didn’t have the financial means to raise two children anyway but at the time I’d been convinced that, had our roles been reversed and it had been Kitkat who was being adopted, she would have taken me with her. All these years later I still felt guilty about letting down my best friend, for betraying her, for leaving her behind. That profound sense of remorse had only intensified on the death of my mother and now Dad was gone too. Where are you Kitkat?
At the close of business, while Jenny and Priya cashed up the tills, I treated my frazzled staff to ice creams and thanked them for their sterling work.
‘No worries mate; it was kinda fun,’ Max said as he headed out the door with a wave and a slightly sticky grin.
‘See you bright and early tomorrow,’ I called after him.
He laughed. ‘Yeah, yeah.’
‘Yes, it was a great day,’ Barb added. ‘Almost felt like summer!’
‘Too bloody hot by half,’ Frank muttered under his breath as he passed by, compulsively swinging his keys around one finger.
‘No I thought it went really well,’ Lil said throwing her handbag over her shoulder and crossing her arms. ‘Everyone I spoke to was really impressed by how smart everything looks –’
‘And by the quality of the plants,’ Leah chipped in with a smile.
‘Yes indeed.’ Lil replied, turning back to me. ‘I think your parents would be proud, James.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, swallowing down a lump in my throat. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you, any of you. Now go home and get some rest; we’re doing it all again tomorrow.’ The others half-laughed, half-groaned as they said their goodbyes and left.
As I retired to
the office at the back of the shop, it occurred to me that Liam had not returned any of my calls. It wasn’t like him. Liam was nothing if not reliable and I was starting to worry that something might be wrong. Resolving to chase him up as soon as I was home, I settled at the desk and pulled the company spreadsheets up on the computer. Today’s takings had exceeded my expectations; they were nearly double those of Good Friday the previous year. The unseasonably warm weather had played a large part in drawing customers out but, even so, the figures were encouraging – they should help with securing a bank loan – and I couldn’t help feeling a little elated. Lil was right; my parents would have been pleased.
Before shutting down my desktop I noticed an email that had been routed through one of the online adoption forums. The subject heading was an intriguing eleven digit phone number but I mentally prepared myself for disappointment before opening it up:
Alright mate, sorry I dunno anyone called Kat but I lived with Alan and Josie Plumley a few years back when they were still fostering. They retired after that and moved into a smaller place. I don’t have the address but I have this number for them. I dunno if it’s still right because I haven’t kept in touch, but maybe give it a try see?
Best of luck mate.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled with anticipation as I re-read the anonymous message, reached for the office phone and dialled the number.
After three rings a generic recorded message kicked in and I left a stilted voicemail explaining who I was, who I was looking for and asking them to call me back. Having recited both my landlines and a mobile number, I hung up. But it was several minutes before the adrenalin had drained from my legs enough for me to walk back to the cottage.
Chapter Fifteen
Abruptly I was ripped away from my dreams with a jolt, disorientated, the muscles in my back and neck jarring painfully. I must have fallen asleep on the cramped two-seater couch, with the TV still on, and now Vic was home and waking me with a callous kick to the legs.
