Everything in the Garden

by Jo Verity

  ‘I feel terrible,’ said Anna. ‘Sometimes I can see Celia wants to talk but she takes so long getting to the point that I give up.’

  ‘Mark could be the one who has the problem. Wives can make themselves ill worrying about their husbands, you know.’ Tom stared at her and she felt as if she’d been chastised.

  ‘Whatever it is, she knows we’re here if she needs us.’ Jenny shook her head then smiled, signalling the end of the Celia discussion.

  Tom leaned forward to stir the fire with the iron poker. A storm of sparks raced up the chimney. Some caught on the sooty sides and glowed for a few seconds before fading. ‘When I was a child, my grandmother used to look after us occasionally. My Dad’s mother. We were living in Swansea then. She was the most wonderful grandmother any kid could have. Game for anything. On this particular day, she told us some tale about a wizard who lived up the chimney. It must have been in the winter because I remember the curtains were shut and we were sitting in the dark. Anyway, she had us writing messages to this wizard, on sheets of toilet paper – that scratchy Izal stuff, you know? – and floating them up the chimney. They rose with the heat and, of course, some of them caught alight. Set the chimney on fire. Mum and Dad got back to find a fire engine outside the house. It was one of the best days of my life.’ He threw another log onto the glowing embers, sending a shower of sparks skittering upwards.

  While Bill reminisced about his grandparents, Anna’s mind remained fixed on Tom’s story. If that had been the best day of his life, why had he never mentioned it to her? It was hurtful that Bill and Jenny should hear it at the same time as she did. Bill’s voice, trained to reach the back of a restless physics class, irritated her as he droned on. Jenny, too, was getting louder, her BBC English slipping into its natural West Country cadence. She wanted them both to go home. She wanted Tom to herself.

  The phone rang in the office next door. It was almost eleven o’clock, the time of night when phone calls were made for a reason and she hurried to answer it. It was cold in here after the cosy sitting room and the bright light hurt her eyes.

  ‘Mum?’ It was Madeleine.

  ‘Maddy? Are you OK? Hello. Hello.’ For a second she thought her daughter had hung up.

  ‘We’re at Ludlow station. Could you bear to come and pick us up?’

  We? Who was she talking about? ‘Yes, of course. No, hang on. We can’t. We’ve both drunk too much.’ It sounded dreadful. ‘We’ve had everyone round for supper. Can you get a taxi? We’ll pay.’ She gave Maddy the number of the local firm.

  ‘Mum? Dad’s going to be OK about it, isn’t he? He’ll want to see me?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. You make him sound like an ogre.’ She wanted to convince herself, too, that Tom could handle it. ‘See you in an hour or so.’

  She paused on the landing, listening to the voices in the sitting room. They were arguing about something but stopped and looked up when she entered the room. ‘That was Maddy. They’re at Ludlow. I told them to get a taxi.’ She hoped that her use of the plural would prepare Tom for … what?

  ‘Right,’ he said getting up from the chair and collecting the coffee cups on a tray. He was renowned for signalling when guests should leave. On one occasion, he’d put the milk bottles out and gone to bed, leaving Anna and the visitors to get on with it. She had been mortified but no one else seemed at all bothered. It was just Tom’s way.

  ‘Come on, Bill.’ Jenny poked the large body, slumped next to her. ‘These people have things to do.’

  Bill, disappointed that the evening was coming to such an abrupt close, hoisted himself off the sofa and followed the others downstairs. The kitchen was a chaotic muddle of dirty pots and dishes.

  ‘Lovely meal, Anna. Much nicer than a stuffy dinner party. Shall we help with the washing up? I don’t often get the chance to put my hands in soapy water.’ Jenny took the opportunity to criticise the Wrens’ decision not to install a dishwasher.

  ‘We’ll manage, thanks,’ Tom replied.

  At the last moment, Bill caught Anna in a goodnight hug, pulling her face against his scratchy sweater. How different he smelt from Tom. Not unpleasant – just different.

  Before they were out of the door, Tom was running hot water into the sink. ‘We could leave that until tomorrow,’ she said. He didn’t answer. ‘I’d better sort out the room.’

  ‘Are you going to put them in together?’

  ‘It’s a bit late to separate them now.’

  He leant over the sink, scrubbing violently at a pan. She went up behind him and put her arms around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder blades. ‘Lets not make up our minds until we’ve met him.’

  ‘You obviously think he’s OK.’

  Madeleine and Taliesin were within half an hour’s drive and she didn’t want to start a conversation which would end in sulky stalemate. Tired, her foot throbbing, she hobbled upstairs. The smell of cooked food had filtered up to the top of the house and lingered in the bedrooms. She opened the windows for a few minutes, shivering as the frosty air caught her damp skin. The twinkling stars looked unreal.

  There were two spare rooms. One had twin beds and the other, a double. Despite what she’d said to Tom, she was undecided which room to prepare. First she opted for the double bed, thinking to prove to Madeleine that they were prepared to accept her physical relationship with this man, this Taliesin. Then, to be on the safe side, she put sheets on the twin beds, too, piling towels in both rooms. At least the bathroom had been cleaned for their supper guests. Finally she took another two tablets as a precaution against the headache which surely lay ahead.

  Tom was still sloshing water about in the sink. He disliked cleaning saucepans and casseroles. Remnants of rice pudding, such a delight a few hours ago, clung to the sides of the Pyrex dish. It would be easier to shift if it were left to soak overnight but she knew he wouldn’t appreciate her advice. Her aim was to keep busy so she went into the utility room to track down the hot water bottles, stowed away in the pre-supper tidy up.

  Now the working day was done, the tractors and chainsaws put away and the dogs locked in their kennels, the valley fell silent. Standing in the yard, she strained her ears. The road to Cwm Bont lay below and the sound of an occasional vehicle rumbled on the breeze. The light was still on in the Webbers’ bedroom but the other houses were in darkness. She looked at her watch. Almost midnight. A car changed gear as it turned into the gate and laboured up the lane, breaking the silence. Not wanting to be caught waiting, she hurried back into the kitchen. Tom had finished at the sink and was collecting empty wine bottles in a cardboard box.

  ‘I think they’re here,’ she said. ‘You won’t start anything will you, Tom? Not tonight.’

  ‘I’ll say whatever I think needs to be said.’ He gave her a defiant stare.

  8

  Anna hugged her daughter, breathing in her familiar smell. Vanilla and baby lotion.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ Tom needed to do something.

  ‘Hi, Dad.’ Maddy caught his cheek with a kiss as he turned away.

  Anna looked at this girl who, beneath the trappings of New Age-dom, looked so much like her. The loose jacket, covering several layers of clothes, made the bump invisible but she’d felt it when they hugged. Maddy had last visited them at Christmas, flaunting a tangle of dreadlocks and multiple body-piercings. Whatever had happened since had caused her to tone it down. Flora complained that, having been fortunate enough to inherit Anna’s wild curls, Maddy had done her best to ruin them but today her hair was brushed out and drawn back in a topknot. She had lost the metal that had protruded from her lower lip, nose and eyebrow and her ears had only three earrings apiece.

  ‘I thought you were bringing…what’s-his-name,’ Tom turned the tap too far and cold water splashed out of the kettle.

  ‘His name’s Taliesin, Dad. Tal-ie-es-in. It’s not difficult to say. He’s outside, waiting with the taxi.’

  ‘I’ll get my purse,’ said Anna.


  As they walked across the yard, Maddy touched her mother’s arm. ‘Mum. There’s something I didn’t mention on the phone. It’s not just me and Tal.’

  For a second Anna imagined that Maddy had invited the whole troupe of travellers to come with her. It wouldn’t have been out of character.

  ‘Arthur’s with us. But it won’t be a problem.’

  ‘Arthur?’

  ‘Tal’s son. He’s five. He’s very sweet.’

  She was sure he was. Most five-year-olds are. She took some money from her purse and pushed it into Maddy’s hand. ‘You pay the taxi, I’ll go and pave the way.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. You’re a star.’ Maddy kissed her.

  Within minutes of her arrival Madeleine was counting on her to mediate. First, she had to break the news to Tom that Arthur, whoever he might be, was in the taxi, too. Next, she would need to make sure that he would at least be civil to this stranger and his son. And she had two minutes to do it.

  Tom listened without comment, then he took a fifth mug from the shelf and slammed it down on the table, alongside the others.

  Maddy came in first, her finger to her lips. ‘Art’s asleep. Can we try and put him straight to bed? Which room, Mum?’

  A tall, thin man, older than Anna had anticipated, ducked through the door. He carried a sleeping child over his shoulder, one hand behind the boy’s head to prevent it from lolling backwards. ‘This way,’ she whispered and guided him upstairs. ‘Second floor, I’m afraid.’

  She followed him up the stairs and noticed that he was in his socks. He must have taken his shoes off in the utility room. The socks weren’t a matching pair and were worn thin on the heels. It was difficult to demonise a man who had been thoughtful enough to remove his muddy shoes.

  When they reached the top floor, Anna showed him the bedrooms and let him choose. ‘If it’s OK with you, I’ll pop him in the double bed. I’ll sleep in with him, then if he wakes in the night he won’t be frightened.’

  She flipped the duvet back and they manoeuvred the boy onto the bed. The man removed his son’s shoes and gently peeled off his anorak. Arthur barely stirred. ‘He’s exhausted,’ said Taliesin. ‘It’s been a bit of a day.’ He paused. ‘I suppose I should wake him for a pee.’

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ said Anna. ‘That was my only rule of parenting. “Never wake a sleeping child.”’ She drew the duvet up to the boy’s chin and watched as he snuggled further into his dreams, only just stopping herself from bending down and kissing the pale cheek. They left the door ajar and the landing light on. It felt so familiar to put a child to bed and creep downstairs.

  Tom and Maddy appeared to be on speaking terms. They had brought the bags in from the utility room. From the size of the pile, she tried to calculate how long they might be staying, determined not to raise the question this early in the visit. Maddy made the introductions and they concealed the discomfort of those first minutes with talk about trains and taxis. Anna offered them food, which they declined, and compensated for Tom’s silence by chattering about the supper party. Taliesin seemed content to sit and listen, his eyes fixed on Maddy’s face.

  When he had drained his mug, Tom started switching plugs off and checking window catches. ‘It’s late and I’m tired, even if no one else is.’

  They sent their visitors up to the bathroom, whilst they made do in the downstairs cloakroom. Standing side by side, they cleaned their teeth. ‘What’s it all about then?’ Tom asked, through a froth of toothpaste. ‘Did he say anything? About the baby? Or about Maddy?’

  ‘We just settled Arthur in the double bed and came down. I wasn’t going to start interrogating the poor man the second he arrived. Did you notice that he’d taken his shoes off?’

  ‘That’s fine then. He took his shoes off, so he must be OK.’

  ‘Tom, you’re not being fair. All I know is that he really loves that little boy. Anyone could tell that, from the way he put him to bed.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with us? You should be asking whether he loves Madeleine. And what happened to the boy’s mother?’

  ‘I just need to go to bed now,’ said Anna. ‘We’ll start again tomorrow. Or is it today?’

  By the time they made their way upstairs, there was no sound from either room. In their own bedroom, relief that Maddy was well and safe under their roof brought on a feeling of euphoria and Anna started to laugh. Exhaustion compounded her loss of control and within seconds she was helpless. She buried her face in the pillow to stifle the sound. Tom watched her, waiting until she had calmed down and had wiped away the tears of laughter. He often admitted that she was a complete mystery to him. She liked this idea. It made her feel exotic. On the other hand, Tom had always been an open book to her. Until recently.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s me. I know it’s not funny. I’m just feeling all pent up.’

  Tom stared miserably at her, as if she were in a freak show. It wasn’t kind of him to stand watching her like that. She started to strip off her clothes, tossing them on the floor and twisting this way and that. He made no move to undress.

  Naked now, she climbed on to the bed and walked across to Tom’s side. The mattress sank beneath her weight, bringing her breasts level with his face. Still he didn’t move. The bedside lamps cast shadows of her onto the ceiling, tilting them at crazy angles across the sloping eaves. She clasped his head and pulled it into her breasts, expecting him to nuzzle into her and laugh. But he stood, rigid and motionless.

  ‘Stop it. It won’t work, Anna,’ he said, pulling his head away. She bent to kiss him but he twisted his face to the side. ‘No.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘You can’t divert me with a quick fuck. You’re skimming over life, avoiding anything that’s remotely serious. Aren’t you concerned that Madeleine’s having an illegitimate child? D’you think it’s acceptable that she turns up with some ageing hippy, who’s already sown wild oats God knows where? You can handle this how you like but please don’t expect me to take it so lightly.’

  Still standing on the bed, she struggled to hold back the tears of frustration and anger. Snatching up the t-shirt that she used as a nightdress, she dragged it over her head.

  He turned away from her and began undressing. She flung herself down and pulled the duvet over her head. He climbed into bed and she lay facing away from him, hanging on to the edge of the mattress, keeping as far away from him as she could. Hating him. Jibes and justifications jangled around in her head, formless and unstructured.

  She shivered. Her feet were almost numb with cold. Tom was always warm when he came to bed and most nights she fell asleep in his arms, the heat from his body spreading through her. Tonight there was a draughty chasm separating them.

  She listened to his breathing, recognising the moment when he slipped into sleep. Within minutes he was snoring and she edged herself back a few inches, feeling the air warmer as she neared his body. How dare he accuse her of taking things lightly? How come he could fall asleep, if he were so anxious? She composed responses to his criticisms, time and again losing the thread of her argument in its convolutions. If there had been a spare bed she would have gone to it.

  Across the valley a dog barked, persistent and urgent. Perhaps a fox was after the poultry. She moved a little nearer to Tom’s warm hulk, trying not to look at the clock on the bedside table but it caught her eye. It was gone half-past two.

  The landing light went on and she heard the mumble of a man’s voice. Taliesin was taking Arthur to the lavatory. Poor little soul. What sort of a childhood was he having? What was it like to be five years old, waking up in a strange bed in a strange house? Maybe he was used to being dragged from pillar to post.

  The flush sounded and the light went out. Tom rolled over and put his arm around her. She pressed her back into his chest, feeling warm from top to toe, as they fitted together like spoons in the drawer.

  ‘I love you,’ he whispered, kissing the nape of her neck.


  9

  She half heard Tom get up but sank back into her dream. Those first seconds of wakefulness were blessedly untroubled; then, whatever was currently topping her worry list would come crashing in, like a wave demolishing a sandcastle. This morning it was Tom who had displaced Madeleine and her father at the top of her list. And she wasn’t sure whether Arthur’s name should be added to it somewhere.

  It was after nine by the time she went downstairs. The doors of the other bedrooms were shut. She paused at the window on the first floor landing. It gave a view across the garden and up the hill to the wood. The trees were about to burst their buds and the faintest cast of green skimmed the tips of their branches. The blossom was still on the blackthorn, a splatter of white along the hedgerows and through the woodland. She opened the window, the breeze stirring the curtains, bringing the spring morning into the house.

  Remnants of breakfast covered the table and worktops – two cereal bowls, several plates, sticky with marmalade or honey, and a clutch of mugs – but it was impossible to calculate how many people had eaten. She made herself toast and a cup of tea, then condensed the crockery into tidier piles next to the sink.

  Light-headed, as though she had been to an all-night party, she closed her eyes and rotated her head, hearing the bones click at the base of her skull. There was the suggestion of a headache behind her eyes but at least her foot was no longer painful. She drank a glass of orange juice to flush down two painkillers. One glance in the cloakroom mirror confirmed her suspicions. Puffy eyes. Pasty face. She pinched her cheeks and then went to track down Tom.

  Mrs Prosser was pegging out the Redwoods’ laundry on one of the rotary clothes-lines, singing as she went. Anna preferred high lines of washing, flapping like bunting in the breeze, but they had taken a vote and rotaries had won – five votes to two. (Celia had abstained).

  Beryl Prosser was younger than Anna. A short, bouncy woman who looked as though she enjoyed her food, she came to Pen Craig dressed for action, in clothes both sporty and protective. Today she was wearing leggings, a polo shirt and white Nike trainers, topped off with a paisley wrap-around pinafore. Her dark hair was scraped back from her wide face and caught in a yellow plastic bulldog clip.