“It’s a miracle that anything has survived at all.” He pulls a tablet from the pouch at the front of his overalls. “One of the dead trees was a lilac. Right there on fan three.”
We’d labelled the fans one to five so we know what we’re talking about. Noel points to the third, where two dead trees stand five feet apart.
“And the other?” I ask.
“Hard to tell. It’s been dead a long time. If I had to guess, either a Callery pear or a purple leaf plum.”
Osian has come to the edge of the pond and looks up at us. Clearly he too wants to know about the trees. He looks questioningly at me, expecting me to work out the answer.
This one is easy because the sister tree is a lilac. A beautiful colour which I’m starting to suspect was a clue to the colours of the fan behind it. “Purple leaf, I think.”
Osian places two hands on the border of the pond, pushes himself up over the edge and comes to stand beside me.
“The others…” Noel holds the tablet so I can see the diagram. “At the edge of your pond is a golden rain. There’s also a corkscrew hazel.” He points to different locations as he lists his discoveries. “Copper beech, a sweetgum and that one over there might be a Catalina blue. It’s been long dead but the way it’s spread I think it must be.”
When Noel’s walked away, Osian turns to me. “So?” he asks. “You have your colours?”
Indeed I have. Purple, blue, yellow, red or orange, and obviously pink. I’m about to tell him when a sudden gust of wind blows something into my eye.
Have you ever tried to get something out of your eye with dirty fingers?
No? Neither have I.
It’s very hard work with the back of my hand. All I seem to be doing is pushing whatever it is around under my lid where it stings.
“Let me.” Osian grabs my wrist and gently moves my hand away from my face. Then, taking a clean tissue from his pocket, he holds my head in place with one hand and uses the other to dab the corner of the tissue on the rim of my lower eyelid. This is the second time he’s had to touch my face. To treat an injury, but today it feels very different.
Not only because he broke down his do-not-touch boundary and moved close into my personal space; both times he’s shed his reserved air and become tender and caring. What’s different this time is me.
What I mean is, I’m reacting to him as a man. Everything from the way his strong hands hold my face. The warmth that wafts from him, the smell of his skin. He’s so close, I can see the fine hairs at his temple.
“That’s the rain they were predicting on the news.” He suddenly steps away. “Try blinking, now.”
I blink a few times. Yes, my eye is fine. I hadn’t even realised that he’d already removed whatever it was in my eye.
Raindrops hit my face. A couple, then more, and the wind gusts with a shower. No more work today.
The teenagers drop their trowels and rakes and hurry away, pulling hoodies and jumpers over their heads.
Wonderful, the tools will be lost in the mud. Do these kids even know how expensive everything is?
“Stop. Everyone.” Osian’s voice rings, loud and commanding. The teenagers halt as if hit with a magic wand.
“Don’t leave the tools out. Collect everything and take them back to the terrace. Or no dinner for anyone.”
I could hug him. Except he’s now retreated back into his usual no-touch zone. So my only ‘hug’ is verbal. “You’re much better than me at controlling the crowds. I thought I was going to have to run around in the rain and collect everything.”
“I’ve spent my life being shouted at by coaches,” he says, climbing out of the trench. “You learn what makes people obey.”
“I can’t believe how generous you’ve been. With your time and energy. How can I ever repay you?”
He doesn’t answer, and instead looks around to make sure the young people have done what he asked. Then at the ground, then at the house in the distance.
“I mean it. Thank you.”
“Come on. We’re getting wet.”
As we hurry across the damp ground towards the terrace, I can’t help feeling a secret satisfaction because I’ve discovered something about him. Osian James might be a caring tender man, also a capable man who can shout at teenagers, but he has a weakness. He doesn’t like being thanked.
