by Helen Lowrie
‘Ah I see; it’s for the birds; my mistake.’ Dutifully I went over and placed the worm on the feeder, exchanging a smile with her mum as I returned to the welcome shade of the awning. Within seconds a blue tit had hopped down from a nearby tree, collected the worm and flown off out of sight. I glanced down at the little girl in mock amazement and she giggled in delight.
‘Come on then, sweetie,’ her mum said, directing her attention back to the task in hand. ‘You’ve still got half this pot left to fill; which plant are you going to put in next?’
I left them to it. It briefly crossed my mind that Jasmine might be having a little girl – that I might have a daughter – but I pushed the thought away. She had stopped returning my calls again. Jasmine only wanted to hear from me if I was prepared to give up my new life in Wildham and move back in with her and, as much as I didn’t want her to give up our baby, I wasn’t convinced that our getting back together was the right solution. So nothing had been decided. We’d reached a stalemate and I was unsure what, if anything, to do next.
Continuing my way around the long trestle table, I chatted to the other customers, making sure everyone was enjoying themselves, and salvaging the occasional wayward plant or trowel from the floor. At least the planting workshop was a success. Lil was directing proceedings with a physical demonstration at one end of the table and additional staff were on hand offering encouragement and advice. This enabled the participating customers, who varied widely in age and horticultural ability, to arrange plants in pots of compost at their own pace. The Saturday afternoon event was even drawing a crowd, as other customers stopped to gain inspiration to take back and apply to their own gardens.
‘Do we need more plants, Lil? I can pop down to the nursery and get some?’ I said.
‘No you’re all right; Frank’s already bringing some up for me.’
‘Oh, OK; great.’ I tried to hide my disappointment at an opportunity missed. Even as busy as I was, I still found myself thinking about Kat a hundred times a day.
On Wednesday I’d taken her to the local hospital and, despite a two-hour wait to get her arm x-rayed, the results had been good – it seemed Kat’s wrist was healing nicely and she was on course to have the cast removed in a month’s time. While she was getting a fresh sling put on though I’d caught sight of a nasty-looking bruise on her upper arm. She’d dismissed it as nothing and waved me away but I sometimes worried that she might be in pain and keeping it from me. In many ways Kat was still a closed book and I used all kinds of dubious excuses to go down to the nursery and see her every chance I got.
‘You could always just go down to say hello,’ Lil said gently.
‘What do you mean?’ Feeling foolish, I glanced guiltily at those customers within earshot but they were seemingly engrossed in their floral creations.
Lil pursed her lips and threw me a knowing look over her reading glasses as she eased a root ball into a tight corner with her gloved hands. She still managed to make me feel like a school boy rather than the person in charge.
‘No, I’d better stay here for now; we’ll be finishing up soon,’ I said, moving away to rescue a bellis plug-plant that a small boy had dropped into a watering can full of water. ‘Hey there, are you giving that plant a good drink?’
‘No, I’m seeing if it floats or sinks,’ he said solemnly.
‘Ah, fair enough.’
In companionable silence we watched and waited as the compact root ball gradually darkened, slowly absorbing water like a sponge. The patient look of concentration on the boy’s face reminded me of Kat the evening before. I’d spent half an hour or so after dinner teaching her how to use my laptop computer. She’d been taught the basics of computer literacy at school – how to compose a Word document, create an Excel spreadsheet and send an email – but she’d had virtually no access to a computer since then and the Internet had changed dramatically in the intervening years. Nevertheless Kat picked things up quickly, apparently learning and committing new information to memory without even the need to make notes. At first she asked me to explain things like social media, blogging, apps, and terms such as ‘cookies’ but before long Kat was simply googling the answers to her own questions as if she’d been doing it all her life. While I half-watched a movie and half-watched Kat from across the room, she browsed the Internet for hours. Finally just before midnight I’d shut the computer down and insisted she go to bed, saving her from herself.
The bellis plug sank below the water line, dragged down by the weight of the soil at its roots, and the little boy looked up at me. ‘Will it die in there?’
‘It will if we leave it in there, yes – most plants need air and sunlight to survive.’
‘Like people?’
‘Yes, people need those things too.’
He turned back to the watering can and peered thoughtfully into the murky depths.
‘We should be able to save this plant if we get it out now, give it a good home and let it grow – shall we try that?’
The boy nodded and together we eased the bedraggled bellis back out and planted it safely into his pot with the others. He was pleased with what he’d accomplished, proudly pointing out the dripping daisies to his older sister, while she rolled her eyes.
As I rinsed out the watering can and refilled it with clean water I wondered when Kat would start to feel confident enough to venture further than Wildham. Two weeks had passed since she’d left her husband but we’d seen no sign of him and she couldn’t live in fear of Vic for ever. There were so many places I wanted to show her; so many things we could see and do. The garden centre had been unusually busy recently but in just over a fortnight the schools would be breaking up for the summer and I fully expected trade to slow down while local families jetted off on their holidays. I could afford to take Mondays and Tuesdays off then, leave the business in the capable hands of my staff and take Kat out exploring. The question was where to start? Perhaps something simple like a walk in the woods, followed by a pub lunch? Or perhaps she would prefer something more interesting – some place further afield; a drive out to the sculpture park in the neighbouring county maybe?
Checking my watch, I moved back to the head of the table and clapped my hands to claim everyone’s attention. I thanked the customers for their attendance, Lil for passing on her skills and experience, and the other members of staff for helping make the afternoon such a success. Finally I closed the workshop with a parting offer of free ice cream for all the kids, which was greeted by a cheer of enthusiasm.
By the time we had cleared up and packed everything away the car park was deserted, the last customers having left, and it was six o’clock – closing time. It had been a perfect summer day but now the staff looked as worn out and sweaty as I felt. Priya and Jenny stayed to help me cash up and then I sent them home with my thanks, locking the gates behind them.
On my return to the cottage I found a post-it note, with my name on it, stuck to the kitchen table beside a small pile of money. Sighing to myself I traced the sweep of Kat’s handwriting with my fingertips. I’d started paying Kat a weekly wage as soon as it became apparent that she enjoyed spending all her time working on the nursery. She didn’t have a bank account or any current means of acquiring one, and she was reluctant to do anything that might reveal her whereabouts to her estranged husband, so I was simply paying her in cash for the time being. But she kept trying to give it back to me, to cover the clothes and other minor bits and pieces I’d bought for her.
It was frustrating. I wanted to give her everything but I understood the impulse and I wanted Kat to know that it was her money to dispose of in any way she wished (even if that meant it came straight back to me). Scooping the cash off the table I deposited it in a tin in the drawer which held cling film and tea towels – effectively accepting her repayment but leaving it where she would still have easy access to it.
I was showered and changed by the time Kat came in through the back door, smiling. ‘How did it go?’ She kicked
off her boots and then bent to line them up neatly by the door.
‘Great. The workshop was a big success. We’ll definitely do something like it again.’ Kat’s clothes clung provocatively to her body in places, damp with perspiration, and a small leaf was caught in her hair. Stepping closer to her I carefully removed it with my fingertips. She went very still, as if holding her breath, until she saw the wayward foliage in my hand. ‘I’ve started the bath running for you upstairs; I thought I could make dinner tonight?’
Raising her brows she smiled. ‘Oh yeah?’
‘I was only going to reheat yesterday’s leftovers. Maybe make a salad to go with it?’
‘Sounds great, thanks.’ As I gazed at her she smoothed her hand down over her trousers self-consciously and I wanted nothing more than to kiss her, as if we were a couple, as if she was mine. ‘I’ll go get cleaned up,’ she said, disappearing through the doorway.
By the time Kat re-emerged and stepped out into the garden I had our dinner, her home-made vegetable lasagne, all ready and waiting on the patio table.
‘We’re eating outside?’
‘Yeah, I thought we might as well – it’s still so warm, even here in the shade.’
‘It’s lovely,’ she said, taking a seat and glancing around while I poured a little wine. She was wearing the long skirt that I’d bought for her when she was in the hospital but this time she’d teamed it with a short-sleeved T-shirt and, aside from the cast and sling on her arm, she radiated good health.
As we ate I asked Kat to tell me about her day down on the nursery and she enthused about the feral cat which had taken up residence under a bench in the shady depths of the potting shed. She’d named it ‘Socks’ and had started feeding it specially bought cat food, twice a day from a tin. I suspected Socks was only a fair-weather friend and riddled with fleas but I didn’t have the heart to say so when Kat was so obviously smitten. Instead I filled her in on the planting workshop and she smiled as I described Lil’s ill-disguised disapproval of the clashing colour combinations some of the customers had produced.
‘Maybe you could help out with the next workshop?’
Kat stilled, her eyes locked on mine. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Why not?’
‘You know why not.’
‘Because of Vic?’ Kat blinked and I took her silence as confirmation. ‘But you’ve already been into town, to the supermarket, the rugby club, the pub.’
‘Yeah, but only ’cause I didn’t think he’d look for me there. I’ve been lucky so far – I don’t want to make it too easy for him to find me.’
‘You don’t even know that he’s searching for you; he’s probably too busy looking over his own shoulder – if his enemies haven’t got to him already.’
A flash of infuriation flared in her eyes, temporarily eclipsing the fear. The conversation was not going as I’d hoped; rather than being encouraging and supportive the words out of my mouth sounded dismissive and judgemental. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not trying to push you – I know it’s not been three weeks yet. I just don’t want you to feel trapped that’s all.’
Calmly collecting my empty plate, Kat placed it on her own, neatly lined up the cutlery on top and set the pile carefully to one side. But she didn’t speak. The delicate hollow above her right collarbone was visible above the line of her T-shirt and I had an aching urge to trace it with my lips, to dip my tongue inside and taste her there. Beneath the table my cock twitched and I subtly adjusted my trousers and cleared my throat.
‘The thing is I was thinking of taking some time off work once the summer holidays start, just a few days here and there, but I thought maybe we could go out somewhere, do something – it’s just something to think about.’ Sparrows chirped at each other in the hedgerow as the sun sank lower in the sky and the shadows lengthened.
‘OK,’ she said at last, taking a sip of wine. ‘I’ll think about it, thank you.’
I shook my head. ‘You don’t have to thank me, Kat.’ She looked down at her lap and I wondered what was going through her mind but I knew better than to ask.
‘Now,’ I said, wondering if I could safely get to my feet without Kat seeing how much I wanted her. ‘Can I interest you in some strawberries for dessert?’
Chapter Thirty-nine
Stepping into the polytunnels I liked to pretend I was entering a foreign country: not that I’d ever been abroad, but the cloying fragrance of heliotrope, nemesia and scented geraniums hung in the humid heat above an underlying musty, earthy smell and I liked to imagine I was inside a tropical jungle. Humming to myself I knelt down to deadhead another tray of osteospermums. It was gratifying being right down in among the plants and knee-pads enabled me to work in comfort. I’d even started to catch a bit of sun – plaster cast aside, my arms looked healthier than I’d ever known them, like they belonged to someone else.
It was early July, the sun was shining and with each passing day I felt myself grow a little braver, a little stronger, and a little more normal. But then how could I not when the work I was doing was so satisfying, the place around me so beautiful, and the people so kind? And there was Jamie of course: generous, patient, trusting Jamie.
But as optimistic as I tried to be a dark sense of dread lingered like a malignant shadow at the back of my mind; fear of my past, coiled tightly in the pit of my stomach like a viper, poised to strike. Sweat trickled down between by breasts and I shivered despite the heat. Resolutely pushing thoughts of my husband away, I pulled my mismatched gloves back on. I’d ditched the sling for good because it was too restrictive but a man’s-sized glove fitted over my bulky cast. Gathering a tray of purple osteos in one arm and a tray of pink nemesia in the other I retreated to the cool shade of the potting shed. Once there I slid the trays onto the workbench with the others, crept into the back corner and crouched down to check on Socks and her two new kittens: ‘Right’ and ‘Left’.
I was aware I spent far too much time fussing over them but Socks didn’t seem to mind and the little one-week-old, blue-eyed, bundles of fluff were too cute to resist. I marvelled as they fed from their mother; snuggled up to each other; or staggered about on their tiny paws, squeaking meows with their ears flattened and their heads bobbing. The night before, in the White Bear, Lester and his wife Maire had announced that they were expecting a baby in six months. Jamie, who was sitting across the table from me at the time, had made a convincing job of looking happy for his friends, congratulating them along with everyone else, and buying another round of drinks in celebration, but I sensed his anguish as if it was mine. Would he have to make a similar announcement of his own at some point in the next few months?
Tearing myself away from the kittens and returning to my workbench I scooped some fresh compost into a decorative terracotta pot and set about planting it. The peace and quiet of the afternoon was perfect; the silence only broken by birdsong, the occasional rustle of a breeze in the trees and the distant sound of customers wandering around the garden centre. As much as I appreciated Lil’s company, and the background chatter of her small windup radio, having the place to myself on her day off was even better.
Standing back to assess the finished planter, I turned it to view it from different angles, as Lil had taught me. The tall white geranium in the middle was complemented by the mix of plants around it and the sides of the pot softened by those which trailed over. It was oddly satisfying picturing Gary on his stall at the market unknowingly flogging the planters I had created to the well-to-do residents of London, possibly right under Vic’s nose. Jamie was still delivering to the market like he’d said he would and Vic’s Cafe remained closed so maybe Jamie’s plan was working. I decided the planted pot was good enough for sale so I gave it a long drink with the watering can before moving on to the next one.
As I worked a robin alighted on the edge of the wheelbarrow just inside the door, his head twitching as he considered me and then belted out a pretty tune. Digging around beneath a few pots I found som
ething he might like and flicked it in his direction. Startled by the action he nearly fled but he was plucky enough to stay – the juicy slug his reward.
I was on my way back to the polytunnels to gather more plants when I heard the gate to the nursery clanging open and shut and voices drawing near. Raising my gloved plaster cast to shield my eyes from the sun, I saw Jamie walking towards me followed by two other men. The sight of him made my heart beat faster as usual. He wore his customary garden centre uniform – a dark green, close-fitting polo shirt with the logo printed in one corner and khaki combat trousers that hugged his thighs and bum. His gaze swept up over me in return and I felt conscious of my muddy knee pads and scruffy boots. But even as I registered the warm look in his eyes, I saw it was replaced with one of concern and unease. Instantly on my guard I assessed the two men with him.
The older of the two was tall, slim and crumpled with greying hair, while the younger was shorter and rounder with smooth dark skin and tightly cropped hair. Both wore suits, which, although not unheard of, was unusual in a garden centre. There was a chance they were company reps promoting the latest lines in gardening tools, pest-control products or bird food but if that was the case they wouldn’t need to come down to the nursery and see me. No, something about these two men set alarm bells ringing in my head – in my gut I knew they were police.
Standing my ground, I told myself to relax and stay calm as the men reached me. Jamie took my hand, immediately reassuring, his eyes steady and fixed on mine.
‘Mrs Katerina Leech?’ the older man said, ‘I’m Detective Inspector Lambert and this is Detective Sergeant Benton. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?’
‘What about?’ I said.
‘Your husband – Victor Leech.’
‘What about him?’
‘When did you last see him?’
‘Four weeks ago, just before I went into hospital.’
DS Benton started taking notes in a small book. ‘Why were you in hospital?’
