Ivy Lane: Summer: Part 2

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘Ooh, you two look cosy,’ she called, waving a hand as she dumped her bag on the grass between our half-plots.

  We leapt apart and I busied myself collecting up the left-over bamboo canes while Aidan took out his phone.

  ‘Now’s your chance, Mia,’ said Gemma, nudging her daughter. ‘Aidan, would you mind having a chat with Mia about Media Studies, she’s got a careers day coming up?’

  ‘Oh God. Bit embarrassing. I did Zoology,’ murmured Aidan, pulling a face at me. ‘Of course,’ he replied good-naturedly and strode off to talk to a glum-faced Mia.

  I sat on my bench in the sunshine and sipped at a bottle of water. I wasn’t on my own for long.

  ‘Have I aged since the last time you saw me?’ demanded Gemma as she dropped down beside me. ‘That girl will be the death of me,’ she continued without waiting for an answer.

  ‘Not noticeably,’ I said. ‘Why, what has she done?’

  I glanced over at Mia and Aidan. He was sitting on the grass beside her, his long legs stretched out in front of him. They were both laughing. He certainly had a gift for drawing even the most reluctant people out of their shell.

  ‘Bunked off school. Only caught a bus to the flippin’ airport with her friends because there was a rumour about One Direction landing by helicopter. I got a call from school. Did I know where she was? Can you imagine? Talk about panic dot com.’ Gemma huffed and rolled her eyes. ‘She’s grounded for life now, I think.’

  ‘That was brave.’ I’d never have had the guts to do that at Mia’s age. ‘And did she get to see One Direction?’

  Gemma tutted at me. ‘Whose side are you on?’

  I shrugged apologetically.

  ‘Here’s Mum; wait till she hears about this.’

  Christine had arrived and was chatting to Aidan and Mia. After a few seconds, Aidan left with a cheery wave and the other two walked slowly towards us. Mia’s arms waved indignantly and then folded abruptly.

  ‘She’s told you, then,’ said Gemma to her mum, shaking her head. ‘I was worried sick, anything could have happened.’

  ‘But it didn’t,’ said Christine diplomatically, ‘thank the good Lord.’ She wrapped her arm round Mia’s waist and reached up to kiss her cheek.

  Gemma frowned and obviously didn’t want to let it go. ‘No, but—’

  ‘I bunked off once, myself,’ said Christine with a cheeky smile.

  ‘Mother!’

  ‘Grandma, you bunked off?’ The delight on Mia’s face said it all.

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded proudly. ‘The Beatles were putting on a matinee performance at the Hippodrome. So me, Maureen, Pauline and Eileen . . .’

  I loved this story already. Obviously your name had to end in ‘een’ to be in Christine’s gang.

  ‘We worked out that if we could scrape together fifty-two shillings, we could have a box to ourselves and be nearer the stage.’

  ‘And were you?’ said Gemma, interested despite herself. ‘Did you get close?’

  ‘Right. Above. The stage.’ Christine said dreamily, squeezing on to the bench beside Gemma. She stared into space. ‘I could see the sweat on John Lennon’s shirt. The actual sweat of him. And then the best thing happened.’

  ‘Go on,’ I said. I was right there with her at the Hippodrome.

  ‘Well, I wrote “I love you” on a scrap of paper, tucked it into my powder compact and threw it on stage. And then . . .’ Christine’s eyes filled with tears, she pressed a hand to her chest and gulped at the air.

  I was filling up myself and I didn’t even particularly like The Beatles.

  ‘Paul McCartney picked it up,’ Christine whispered. Mia gasped and dropped to her knees, although I was pretty sure she didn’t have had a clue who he was.

  ‘He read the note and looked up at the four of us and waved. Mostly at me, I think,’ she said earnestly. ‘Well, we screamed our heads off. And then he started singing “Love Me Do” and looking at us girls and we cried all the way through it. I could have done with that bloody compact back by the end of it, I can tell you.’

  Christine wiped the tears from her rosy cheeks and smiled.

  ‘Unfortunately, the matinee was on a Friday and Mother Superior phoned up all our mothers saying that we had not been in school. I got three hours at the mangle for punishment. Worth every minute.’ She sighed and Gemma and I exchanged incredulous glances.

  ‘Well, I must say, Mum, you’re not exactly backing me up here. I’m trying to set Mia a good example.’

  ‘Oh, lighten up, Gemma, didn’t you do the very same thing yourself?’ muttered Christine out of the side of her mouth.

  Gemma stretched her eyes wide. ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Elton John . . .?’ Christine raised an eyebrow at her daughter.

  Colour flooded Gemma’s face and her mouth was doing a fantastic goldfish impression. I pressed my lips together and tried to hide my mirth. Elton John? No wonder she was reluctant to come clean.

  ‘Obsessed with that Lion King song, she was,’ said Christine, addressing Mia. ‘Knew all the words. So she bunked off school to queue up for tickets to Elton’s concert.’

  ‘Mum!’ gasped Mia. ‘You hypocrite. You bunked off school too.’

  Gemma was shaking her head incredulously. ‘How do you—’

  ‘Saw you,’ said Christine, cutting her off. ‘I’d come to treat you to a ticket, knowing how much you loved him. You were walking away from the box office arm in arm with your friends. So I went home.’

  ‘You never said a word,’ said Gemma.

  Mia’s smirk was a work of art: lips pushed out like a duck, eyebrows practically at her hairline and her chin tilted at a confident jut.

  ‘So there you go, we’ve all done it.’ Christine pulled both her girls in close and whereas up until then I had felt part of the conversation, I suddenly felt like a voyeur, empty-armed and excluded.

  ‘Part of me was proud of you.’ She kissed Gemma’s cheek. ‘You’ve always had an independent streak and I wanted to encourage that.’

  Gemma laughed softly.

  ‘And Mia’s got that same determination,’ said Christine.

  Mia and Gemma eyed each other and finally linked fingers.

  ‘Besides, you saved me forty quid.’ Christine exhaled a breath. ‘Outrageous price for a ticket.’

  ‘All right,’ said Gemma sheepishly, ‘I’m busted. But please, Mia, next time you go tearing off to meet your idols, tell me first, OK? Shall we call it quits?’

  Mia made a show of considering the offer and Gemma laughed. ‘Come on, I’ll treat you to McDonald’s for lunch. Just this once.’

  ‘Encouraging me to eat junk food, Mother! Tut tut.’

  They walked away, arms around each other’s waists and I smiled, thinking that it was amazing what the simple art of communication could achieve.

  Christine caught my eye and squashed up to me on the bench. ‘I’m a lucky woman.’

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. A hole seemed to have opened up in my life all of a sudden.

  ‘I love having my girls so near.’

  The peaceful smile on Christine’s face made tears rise to my eyes. I swallowed and managed a smile. Gemma had said something similar recently.

  Love.

  That was what was missing from my life. The realization hit me in the face as bluntly as a blow from a shovel.

  I had taken on the allotment to fill a space in my heart, but now I wasn’t sure it was enough. My little plot was well-cared for, blooming, healthy, but my relationships with other people were still sadly lacking.

  Compared to Gemma my life was hollow. I only had a small family – just me and Mum – and I knew I was loved. But did I give love back? Did I make room for other people in my heart? Or did it have more padlocks than Dougie’s shed?

  James had been close to his parents. And they had happily absorbed me into their little family too, adopting me as the daughter they had never had. I had such happy memories of us all: family get-togethers,
help with DIY when we bought our first home, Christmases spent at theirs and even a week in Cornwall together once. I’d lost contact now, of course. It had seemed less painful simply to close the door on that part of my life than suffer the risk of rejection.

  But now, after seeing the family bonds that tied these three together in love, I wondered if perhaps I had made a mistake.

  ‘If you love someone, do you think a part of you will always love them, regardless of what happens?’ I asked.

  Christine patted my knee and didn’t answer straight away.

  ‘You know the answer to that,’ she said softly.

  I laid my head on her shoulder and let the tears fall. We sat in silence. Goodness only knows what Christine must have thought, but she didn’t say a word. I would ring my mum when I got in. And then I would write to James’s parents.

  It was time I let people back in to my heart.

  Chapter 5

  The July air was hot, humid and still and in true British style, we did nothing but moan about it. There was also a tense atmosphere today and whilst I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, it felt like we were all waiting for something.

  I hoped it would be a nice something.

  Gemma, dressed in a strappy sundress, was sitting on my bench watching me pick broad beans whilst filing her nails.

  ‘My runner beans will take some beating this year,’ she said. ‘I’ve worked really hard on them.’

  She must have seen my mouth twitch. ‘Well, OK, Colin and I have.’

  Her runner beans were impressive, I had to admit. They were over six feet tall and smothered with scarlet flowers. I’d just shoved a couple of dwarf beans in with my sweet peas. They were growing nicely, but I wouldn’t do pots again; the watering was never-ending. And this flipping hosepipe ban wasn’t helping.

  ‘We dug a trench, lined it with newspapers and—’

  ‘I know,’ I said, ‘I was here when Colin did it.’

  ‘Are you going to have Cally’s nuts off?’

  ‘What?’ I was used to Gemma dipping from one topic to another like a cucumber stick at a buffet, but that was a leap too far. ‘Gosh, I hadn’t thought about it.’

  ‘It stops them fighting and spraying everywhere,’ she said, holding up her left hand for inspection.

  ‘Seems a bit harsh, though, chopping off their testicles . . .’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She mimed a slicing action with her nail file. ‘Most men I know could do with a bit less testosterone. Talking of which,’ she nodded towards the path, ‘testosterone dot com.’

  I turned to see that Aidan, wearing a soft cotton shirt and an easy smile, had materialized right behind me.

  I felt the heat rise to my cheeks and prayed he hadn’t heard my last comment. Or Gemma’s.

  ‘We should be out of your way after today until your annual show.’

  He was leaving. I felt an instant pang. And then I felt startled. I hadn’t felt a pang for a long time.

  ‘Ahh,’ said Gemma, her face falling. ‘We’ll miss you round the place. Won’t we, Tills?’

  I nodded, too overwhelmed to pick her up on her unauthorized use of ‘Tills’.

  I must have been the colour of Gemma’s runner bean flowers – absolutely scarlet. He would be back, though, in a few weeks, which would give me time to ponder the pang. Good. I took a deep breath.

  ‘Tilly, if it’s OK with you, we want to film you walking down the road with a basket of produce.’

  I had been filmed about half a dozen times in total and was now quite relaxed about matters. The Green Fingers van simply turned up without warning, filmed for a while and then disappeared. You’d have thought I’d have been prepared for an impromptu filming session by now.

  So what on earth had possessed me to wear a pink push-up bra under a white vest top to the allotment? A vest top that was currently sticking to my clammy body. It had looked quirky and cute in the mirror this morning, now it was verging on the tarty side. At least I was wearing long trousers. I glanced at Gemma, whose shoulders had fallen the way of her face. Dejected dot com. She had far more flesh on display than me.

  I hatched a hasty plan.

  ‘Only if Gemma’s in the shot with me,’ I said.

  Without waiting for Aidan’s response, she squealed with delight, plucked a handful of my sweet peas and threaded her arm through mine. ‘You’re the best,’ she said, plonking a smacker of a kiss on my cheek.

  Jeff, camera poised, was waiting for us on the road at the end of our plot. I’d never seen him without his hat on before, I hoped he’d rubbed suncream onto his head; there was no hair there to protect his scalp at all.

  ‘Just chat casually,’ said Aidan, ‘as you were before I arrived.’

  We shot complicit glances at each other. Not cat’s testicles.

  With baskets and arms looped Wizard of Oz-style, we began to walk as directed but it got off to a bad start when Gemma made a casual remark about the size of Peter’s plums. We both collapsed in a fit of giggles and it went downhill from there. Suddenly everything we said sounded rude and even Jeff was struggling to hold the camera straight. Poor Aidan was doing his best to remain professional but the final straw came when Brenda tapped him on the shoulder and asked him if he’d like a close-up of her unearthing her Fiannas.

  Gemma and I lost the plot and fell all over each other, laughing until our cheeks ached and our sides hurt, while Aidan dispatched a bewildered Brenda with a promise to put her potatoes on his list for later.

  ‘Right,’ said Aidan, pulling his phone out of his pocket. ‘This is your last chance. I mean it, ladies. I’m really pushed for time today.’

  Gemma and I nodded, desperately trying to get our faces under control.

  We trudged back up the road, followed by Jeff. Aidan rubbed a tired hand across his face and took a long swig from a water bottle. ‘OK, let’s go again.’

  ‘Mmm, I’m not sure what to talk about,’ I said.

  ‘Just say something about community spirit,’ said Jeff. I wondered if he knew how pink his head had gone and whether I should tell him. I decided against it, he might be touchy about his baldness.

  ‘Such a nice bunch,’ I said. ‘Lovely people. There’s a real sense of community at Ivy Lane.’

  ‘Yeah..,’ Gemma nodded. ‘And there’s always someone to help you out if you need it.’

  ‘Excuse me.’

  Aidan growled and shouted, ‘Cut.’

  Rosemary, arms folded militantly, stood at the end of her plot, dressed in a Mother of the Bride outfit. She had not been shy with the face powder and her lips were lined with pencil at least five shades darker than her lipstick. Colin was just visible, the elastic of his underpants on show above their strawberry patch.

  ‘There’s more to Ivy Lane than just these two, you know.’

  ‘Whoops,’ muttered Jeff, ‘natives are getting restless.’

  Aidan pulled an apologetic face. ‘That was great, thanks. We just need one more piece on your plot, Tilly. Five minutes?’

  ‘OK.’ I nodded as he walked away to pacify Rosemary.

  ‘Thanks, Tilly, that was so exciting. I need a wee now,’ said Gemma, kissing my cheek before dashing to the loo.

  Aidan was very good with people, I thought as I walked back to my plot, very diplomatic. And although I hated to admit being wrong, being part of the documentary had been great fun and the highlight of my summer so far. I wiped a hand across my forehead, feeling a sheen of perspiration. I really ought to get out of the sun for a while.

  I waved at Charlie as I passed the end of his plot. He was kneeling between a row of cabbages. He was red-faced and looked all grouchy in the heat.

  He waved back. ‘I’ll be glad when this hot weather breaks,’ he said. ‘It’s too much to be gardening in this heat.’

  ‘We British are useless in the warm weather, aren’t we!’ I laughed and continued along the road.

  I’d only had time to grab a quick drink when Aidan appeared with Jeff.
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  ‘We’re going to have to make this brief,’ he said apologetically. ‘But I wanted you to do a piece that’ll lead nicely into the annual show – you know, what’s special about Ivy Lane, what categories you’re going to enter, that sort of thing. Is that OK?’

  ‘No problem,’ I said confidently. Help! I racked my brains while Jeff got into position and Aidan gestured for me to stand under my apple tree. I hadn’t really given the annual show categories much thought apart from my miniature carrots. I wasn’t a particularly competitive person and, hand on heart, didn’t really think I had grown anything worthy of a prize.

  ‘So,’ said Aidan, giving me his usual pointers, ‘it’s your first year, perhaps you could start by telling us what being part of the Ivy Lane community means to you.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Everything. Being here means the world to me. I feel part of a family again. I swallowed and felt tears prick at my eyes. ‘Um . . .’

  ‘Tilly?’ Aidan rushed to my side in an instant and Jeff lowered his camera.

  ‘Gosh, silly me,’ I twittered, feeling completely idiotic. ‘Must be the heat. Ignore me, I’m fine. Let’s go again. Jeff, are you OK?’

  Despite the sun, he had gone very pale all of a sudden. ‘Bit of a headache, to be honest,’ he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  ‘OK, let’s start again, if you’re sure, Tilly?’ Aidan’s brown eyes were full of concern and for one moment I thought he was going to put his arms round me. I wished he would; I was in desperate need of a hug.

  I nodded and cleared my throat. ‘Being here, away from the stresses and strains of the day, gives me space to breathe and,’ my chest heaved as I gulped at the air, ‘quite simply, I’ve fallen in love with life again.’

  I could see Aidan nodding out of the corner of my eye. I turned to meet his gaze and his smile lit me up from the inside.

  An electronic beep interrupted the moment.

  ‘Oh damn,’ said Aidan, looking at his phone. ‘I was supposed to call the office an hour ago. Excuse me, Tilly, I need to get back to the van first to collect my notes.’

  He dashed off and Jeff, looking a bit wobbly, set off for a sit-down in the pavilion. I began collecting my tools and stowing them in the shed and was suddenly aware of a dramatic change above me; a thick wall of grey cloud dissected the sky and the temperature had dropped by several degrees.