by Gil McNeil
I really want to put in some mature trees, which I imagine will cost a fortune, but they’ll make a real difference to the feel of the whole garden. Mr Channing says he knows a good man who he thinks will be able to let us have the right sort of thing at reasonable prices, and we start talking about fruit trees. Charles says Lola’s already told him she wants a quince, and one of those trendy medlar trees where the fruit looks like it’s gone mouldy before you even pick it, because she’s seen them in Country Life, and even though she’s gone off the idea of the garden now we might as well get a few of the trees she likes, just in case she changes her mind.
I’m actually really happy as Molly drives us home. Even if the garden doesn’t win any prizes, it’s been great to be working on plans that don’t involve fridges.
‘Well done – it’s going to be fantastic.’
‘Thanks. I was so nervous about it.’
‘I thought you were a bit quiet in the car. Can we go to your place for a coffee before you collect Alfie? I’m not sure I’m up to going straight back just yet.’
‘Sounds great, if you don’t think Dan will mind.’
‘Oh he’ll be fine. He loves Alfie – I think he’d really like this one to be a boy.’
We get back to my cottage and I put the kettle on. Molly seems very quiet.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine, I’m just knackered.’
‘How’s work?’
‘Bloody awful. One of the PE teachers was dragging one of my boys along by his ear the other day and when I tried to have a quiet word with him he wouldn’t have it. Kept going on about how any boy in his class who refused to climb up the wall bars knew what to expect.’
‘Charming.’
‘He’s a complete bastard. And then he said the only thing these kids understand is a good hiding, and I lost it, and told him to piss off.’
‘Good for you.’
‘Yes, but not terribly professional. Anyway I don’t care – I’m fed up with trying to talk to old gits like him. He should have retired years ago.’
‘Well, when you’re the deputy head you can sort it out.’
‘If I get it. And even if I do I’m not sure how I’ll manage it all. Lily’s been really annoying me the last few days, refusing to get dressed and all that kind of thing, and it’s reminded me how much work babies are. Sometimes she really drives me crazy.’
‘Oh, I know what you mean. Alfie gets so annoying sometimes I just want to shut myself in a cupboard or something.’
‘Dan’s great with her. He just stands there chatting. He’s so much nicer than I am.’
‘That’s not true. You’re just tired.’
‘No, I think he is. Really. He’ll do the same thing again and again, for hours.’
‘Sounds a bit retarded, if you ask me. Oh sorry.’
Molly laughs.
‘He’s just so much more patient than me.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself – it’s really tough working full-time. I get so tired sometimes, even now I’m part-time. I’d do anything for a couple of extra hours in bed. And I’m not pregnant. You’re great with Lily. And you’ll be a great deputy head.’
‘I just wish it wasn’t so tough. You know, I was thinking the other day I really envy you, the way your family all help out. Mine are so far away, and Dan’s mum hates me.’
‘She does not.’
‘She bloody well does. She’s still furious we’re not married, and we haven’t had Lily christened. She thinks I’m terrible, I know she does.’
‘Why didn’t you, I mean have a christening?’
‘Oh mainly because my mum would have a fit if we didn’t go Catholic, and then we’d have had to be married, and I don’t want to have to get married just to keep my mum happy.’
‘Did Dan ask you then?’
‘No, he did that boy thing: I don’t mind if you want to, whatever you want is fine by me.’
‘Oh, that’s so annoying.’
‘I know. But his mum thinks he really wants to, so it’s all down to me. Did you have a proper christening?’
‘No, Patric thinks they’re bourgeois. We had a tea party though. It was quite sweet really. Alfie got loads of presents and Dad made a speech, and he went bright red. Mum thought he was having a heart attack. And my friend Em was Alfie’s Fairy Godmother and Jim was the Godfather. He spent half the afternoon with a chunk of orange in his mouth pretending to be Marlon Brando. Mum got really cross with him.’
‘Oh it sounds great. I’d have one too if Doreen would spend the afternoon with an orange in her mouth. Or maybe a pineapple, she’s got such a gob on her. I must tell Dan.’
‘I’d leave out the bit about the pineapple, if I were you.’
‘But you see what I mean? Somehow you managed to do what you wanted. And people help you out, because you’re on your own. I mean that’s right, obviously, don’t get me wrong. It must be really hard coping with everything on your own, and I know I should be grateful, and I’d never cope without Dan, I really wouldn’t. But just sometimes I wish we got more help. It’s like because there’s two of us we’re bound to be fine: my mum wouldn’t dream of coming down to give me a hand, but if I was on my own she’d be round like a shot. She’d probably make my dad move somewhere nearer so she could keep an eye on me. I bet your mum wouldn’t help out nearly so much if you had a man lurking about.’
‘No, you’re right, she wouldn’t. She’d worry she was intruding.’
‘Yes. And while I’m having a moan I’d just like to say I’m completely pissed off with being grateful to Dan for being so good with Lily. I mean I am, obviously, but sometimes it really annoys me the way people think he’s some sort of saint just because he’s interested in his daughter. Nobody says oh what a lovely woman when I get up in the middle of the night, but when he does it it’s like he’s being some sort of hero. It really pisses me off.’
‘Well, I think you’re a lovely woman, and it really pisses me off too. And I’ll tell you something else that’s crap. If I was a man bringing up Alfie on my own I’d practically be guaranteed sainthood. I’d probably get a medal, or I’d be on telly, and everyone would go oh how lovely. What a nice man. But a woman bringing up her kids on her own isn’t quite so special. In fact it’s probably all her own fault.’
‘Exactly. Bastards. And Dan’s gone all silent again. I think he’s finding it hard-going too and he’s got this big new job on. And then he said last night he wasn’t sure I should be taking on more responsibility at work, and I lost it and told him not to be so pathetic. And he hates it when I say that. It’s nothing serious, and he was fine this morning, but it just feels like everything’s uphill at the moment.’
Molly actually looks quite close to tears, and really tired, and sort of washed out.
‘Maybe you should try to get a night off, the two of you. Go out somewhere or something. I’ll have Lily, if you like.’
‘Oh would you? That would be great. I’ll ask Dan. He’s working all hours on this bloody conversion at the moment, but maybe next weekend.’
‘Fine. Whenever, just let me know. Oh, and I’ve definitely got something to cheer you up. Just wait till I show you.’
I pass her the loaf of bread I made yesterday, as a displacement activity when I was meant to be working.
‘Look. I’ve tried to cut a slice but I think you’d need some sort of drill.’
Molly starts to laugh. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I followed the bloody book and everything. I don’t understand it.’
‘How much yeast did you use?’
‘Yeast? Sounds a bit technical to me.’
‘Alice, you must have used yeast.’
‘Well, yes, but it said on the packet it was supposed to froth up, and it didn’t, so I chucked it all in anyway. I thought it might froth up when nobody was looking. If I have another go, do you fancy supervising? See if you can spot the vital stage I’m missing out?’
‘OK. And thanks, I feel
much better now.’
* * *
The work on the new garden starts almost immediately, and it turns out Frank used to be a builder, so he marks out the position of the wall with sticks and string, and then starts work with Dan on the foundations. Various old codgers turn up to help and most of them look too old to lift a spade, but turn out to be terrifically hard workers who get loads more done than half the builders I work with. It’s amazing to think of all that talent just going to waste, and they all seem really pleased to be involved.
We have to do lots of digging because Mr Channing says the soil is very compacted or something, and needs stacks of compost working in. Most of the village donates a barrow-load or two of their favourite mixture, and Frank attaches a trailer to the back of his ancient mini, which has a cruising speed of about fifteen miles an hour, and he and Elsie drive up and down the village in it collecting compost. Elsie has a lovely time waving at everyone they pass, like she was in some sort of agricultural royal motorcade. Even Lola turns up briefly, but disappears when she realises how much digging’s involved.
Molly says Dan is spending ages working on the foundations, and she’s hoping he might get a bit more interested in their garden now, so she’s trying to think of projects that involve bricks to capture his interest.
Graham Poltney turns up to advise on the position of the fruit trees, and Frank brings old George Dawes, who was some sort of master builder before he retired. He’s rather keen on what he refers to as ‘the ladies’, and greets anyone under fifty with a rather alarming grin and a Leslie Phillips-type ‘Hello’, but he promises to send his sons round to help build the wall if we get the bricks.
He insists on talking to Dan about the kind of bricks we want, so I go all technical on him, which gives him a bit of a shock, but he recovers quite well, and we end up having a really great conversation about what we might be able to get where, and at what price. He knows all the local suppliers, and promises to get us a big discount.
* * *
The day the bricks arrive quite a little procession turns up. Alfie has a lovely afternoon getting in everybody’s way and eating too much of Mrs Bishop’s special walnut cake. The bulk of the wall goes up remarkably quickly, with most of us acting as navvies, and everyone gets the chance to lay a brick or two, even if they then have to be surreptitiously repositioned.
Even Alfie has a go, but soon gets bored and spends most of his time running round with one of Ezra’s swords, much to Ezra’s irritation. There’s a great deal of tapping bricks with trowels, and Charles has to take the children indoors to watch cartoons.
The new nanny has arrived. She’s called Kimberley and seems very nice, if a bit downtrodden and silent. But she seems happy enough and Charles says Mabel adores her, although Ezra still hasn’t made up his mind.
The wall really is starting to look great, and Mr Dawes and his boys clearly know their stuff. It’s nearly dark by the time we decide to call it a day. Mrs Pomeroy has taken loads of photographs, which she’s going to put into a special album to show to the judges. Our entry has been accepted and they’re due to visit at some point in the summer. It’s just a sea of mud at the moment, but if you imagine it with plants climbing up the walls and filling all the beds you can see how it might actually work.
Charles has arranged a shopping trip with Mr Channing as expert back-up, to try to make a start on buying all the plants we need, and at the last minute Lola announces she’s coming too. I think she’s been feeling a bit left out. Charles and Mr Channing set off in the Range Rover, and Lola brings Mabel with us in her car, because it’s Kimberley’s morning off.
She drives extremely fast down the lanes between the nurseries on the list and I’m slightly rattled at finding myself hurtled through the countryside at such speed. It ends up as a sort of horticultural Grand Prix, with us getting to each nursery ages before Charles and Mr Channing, and Lola asking Charles where on earth he’s been when they arrive.
Mabel seems quite happy, and is busy chewing away at a baguette in her car seat, but every time Lola lifts her out she puts the half-chewed bread on the roof of the car, and then gives it back to Mabel half an hour later when she puts her back in the seat, which strikes me as highly unhygienic and just the kind of thing that would make Mum reach for the emergency Dettox wipes.
It’s always nice to feel smug about your mothering skills, and I did fob Alfie off with a slightly fluffy Chewitt from the bottom of my handbag last week, but at least I don’t pick food off the top of cars to give to him.
We buy trays of lavender plants and all sorts of herbs at one place, and fruit bushes at another, and our final stop is the specialist nursery Mr Poltney has recommended for apple trees. While Mr Channing talks to the owner and dithers between Epicure and Egremont Russet, Lola and I wander off and get carried away with damsons and cherries, even though they’re not actually on our list, and then Lola spots a medlar tree.
They all look like sticks in pots at the moment, but the pictures on the labels are lovely. We end up with far too many, and then Lola starts bargaining for free delivery and a discount, which embarrasses Charles so much he has to go and sit in the car.
By the time we’ve got back to Charles and Lola’s and unloaded all the plants, we’re exhausted, and we end up in the living room by the fire drinking gin and tonics. Lola seems to go in for large doubles with very little tonic, so I have to make a superwoman effort to sit up straight and not fall asleep.
‘I must get home – Mum will want to be off. But thanks for a lovely afternoon. I never thought shopping for plants would be so great.’
‘Oh, before you go – Charles, go and get that thing.’
‘What thing?’
‘The thing for Alice. You know.’
Charles looks blank.
‘Oh for god’s sake, sometimes I wonder if you ever listen to me at all. The bag, in the hall, the one I told you is for Alice. To say thank you. Ring any bells?’
‘Oh that thing. Yes, of course.’
‘Honestly. I sometimes think flash cards might be a good idea.’
Charles brings in a Liberty bag, and makes a face behind Lola’s back as he hands me the bag.
‘I heard that crack about flash cards, Lola. Alice, this is a little present from us both, just to say thank you, for doing the garden.’
The bag contains a fabulous grey embroidered shawl, like a pashmina, only much nicer, in some sort of velvet material, but soft so it drapes beautifully.
‘Oh god, it’s beautiful. Thank you so much.’
Lola gets up and adjusts the shawl over my shoulders.
‘There, like that, it really suits you. I thought the colour would be perfect for you. I bought one for myself too, I couldn’t resist. Mine’s blue.’
‘Well, thank you, it’s lovely.’
I wander off up the lane swinging my carrier bag, feeling very pleased with myself. Mum and Alfie have been making cakes, so most of the kitchen is covered in flour. I show them both my new shawl.
‘Lovely, dear. It’s almost big enough for a blanket, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but that’s the way they’re meant to be. I can’t wait to wear it somewhere.’
Alfie wants a go on my blanket, but he’s covered in flour so I take it upstairs while Mum distracts him with the prospect of making icing. By the time I get back downstairs they’re mixing up a bowl of chocolate, with Alfie perched on a kitchen chair bashing his wooden spoon on the table and singing a medley of songs from Jungle Book. ‘Up Two Three Four, Keep It Up, Bare Necessities’, with a bit of ‘King of the Swingers’ mixed in.
The icing goes everywhere and we all eat far too many cakes, and then Alfie very solemnly gets up and finds a bowl and puts a cake in it for Mum to take home to Grandad. Sometimes he does the sweetest things. Sadly he then proceeds to eat it, but it’s the thought that counts, and anyway Dad’s not really that keen on cakes.
Finally we all start to feel sick and stop eating, and I promise Mum I’ll clea
n the kitchen later. We both know she’ll do it properly tomorrow morning, but at least it means she can go home now.
Alfie and I sit by the fire and watch telly, and he falls asleep mid-cuddle, but the combination of gin and cake, one which I’d never tried before but now realise is a very good combination indeed, means I don’t really care.
The weather finally clears up and we have a mass planting afternoon in the new garden. We’re putting cordons of apples along the inside of the new wall, along with pears, espaliered peach trees and a fig tree. If everything grows properly we’ll be able to open a greengrocer’s. Mr Channing reckons that with a bit of protection in the winter the trees will be fine, although it’s hard to believe that these spindly little sticks will ever grow leaves, let alone fruit.
Around the outside of the wall Mr Poltney and Mrs Pomeroy are planting apples, damsons, plums and cherries. Inside all the beds are a mixture of herbs and vegetables. They’ve decided on a fruit area in one corner, with a fruit cage where we can drape green netting over the plants to thwart the birds. We plant blackcurrants, redcurrants, gooseberries and raspberries, which makes me feel hungry, and Mrs Pomeroy says she’s growing some strawberry plants in her greenhouse, which we can put in later once the weather warms up.
Frank has brought some herbs he’s been growing, and Mrs Pomeroy has brought her husband who’s making a video so we can include it in our submission to the judges. Elsie arrives, and is very pleased when Charles insists she help plant the walnut tree in the centre of the garden. She puts a small shovel of earth into the hole and then Mrs Pomeroy persuades Mabel to tip a handful of earth in too, so the oldest and the youngest villagers have both taken part. Mrs Pomeroy says she thinks the judges will like that. Then she realises her husband had recorded her saying this, so she tells him off and makes Elsie and Mabel do it again.
Graham Poltney has brought some of his special planting mixture along, which he says never fails to give things a head start. It smells disgusting, whatever it is. Then we move on to vegetables, and plant cabbages and leeks, onions, runner beans, and garlic. The courgettes and peas have to wait until the ground warms up a bit.
