Schaefer works in slow methodical silence. It’s hard to know what to do with them, so I talk about the fertiliser we need to mix in after the soil has been prepared.
“Plants draw nutrients from the soil, but it’s hard work, so if we really want lush, healthy strong plants it’s important to give them additional food that’s easier to absorb.”
Neither man answers or interrupts, which makes me uncertain and a bit insecure. And there’s only one thing to make me feel comfortable. So I go on explaining. “This is especially true of flowering plants. Flowers use up a lot of energy. You’ll often notice a plant starts shedding leaves. One reason might be because all the nutrients are going to feed the flowers so the leaves die.”
“That’s like being pregnant,” one of the women suddenly pipes up.
It seems I’ve attracted an audience, and Jo, a tall, blonde Aussie woman who’s already finished her segment, has moved nearer and started digging up one of the segments near me.
“When you’re pregnant,” she explains, “the baby takes up all the nutrition it needs from your body, so if you’re not eating enough, it strips nutrition from you. So many women lose hair while pregnant. Or worse, lose calcium from their bones. I know someone who ended up with kidney failure. Because the baby’s needs come first.”
I’m glad someone has engaged in the discussion. “Yes, exactly. Flowers are like our precious baby. But let’s not forgetthe mother. Without a healthy plant we can’t have a healthy flower. And to have a healthy plant, we need to make sure it has space to grow and the soil is soft so it doesn’t…” My words fade when I notice the anguished look on another face. Ashe, according to her name tag, looks like someone has slapped her.
“Hi, I’m Evie.” I try to welcome her.
“Do you think…” she begins, then her voice breaks and she wipes her eyes on her sleeve.
“Are you okay?” I ask lamely. What a very stupid question when she clearly isn’t. But it dawns on me why people ask it. Because just in the moment, I don’t know what else to say.
“I’m fine.” She turns away to continue digging up soil, but I can tell she’s still crying.
I send Osian a helpless look. But he’s busy and doesn’t notice me. This is what I was afraid of – making matters worse and not knowing how to fix them.
Better stop before anything else goes wrong. I stand up and dust my hands. “Shall we break for lunch?”
Osian told me he’d paid Leonie to cater for his group. She’s set up a long trestle table on the terrace where she serves cream of courgette soup and platters of sandwiches.
When Osian comes inside the café, I beckon him over to my small table.
“I’m not a therapist,” I hiss, because I don’t want Johnny Cash to hear and repeat. All thePerllansare safely on the terrace, but you never know with this bird.
“You’re not supposed to be a therapist,” Osian says equally quietly, before helping himself to coffee from my mug.
“But look what happened with Ashe. I made her cry.”
His eyebrows climb up almost to his hairline. “How did you do that?”
Now that he’s fixing me with his intense gaze, it’s hard to answer. “I was talking about fertiliser… and…” This sounds like a joke. But Ashe’s pain was very real, and as Osian himself said earlier, not funny. “I know you can’t tell me confidential information about her, but she seems to be grieving, and something I said must have triggered her.”
Osian watches me while he considers my words. All around us, the café is in the middle of the lunchtime rush. Leonie and her assistant Meredith dash back and forth amidst the click of plates and cutlery and lively chatter.
“Evie.” Osian brings my attention back to him. “Have you ever”—he drops his voice—“lost someone? Or had your heart broken?”
Instantly the lunchtime noise around me fades. Yes, I have had my heart broken. By him when we were sixteen. “Maybe,” is all I say.
“Then you know that the grief can hit you without warning. And that you can’t stop it.” He gulps more coffee, his throat working as if he’s trying to swallow a pint of liquid all at once. “Sometimes, it hits like a freight train and flattens you. When that happens, there’s nothing anyone can say or do to make it better. You just have to wait for it to pass.”
He's talking in general terms, but I’m very aware of how personal this is for him. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’s drinking my coffee.
“Grief isn’t a problem to fix.” He finishes the last of the coffee and puts the mug down. “It’s a process we have to go through. If she cries, then let her. She needs to work her way in and out of it by herself.”
“Will she?” I ask.
He waves to Meredith as she passes near our table, and she nods to show she’s clocked him.
“Ashe wanted to come here, which means she wants to get better. We just have to give her room to do that.” He pauses, looking through the tall windows at the group on the terrace. “For most of them, this is a Hail Mary. They don’t know if it’ll work but they’ve tried everything else.”
He says this as if talking to himself, but it tells me a lot about why this course matters to him so much. He might pretend it’s about his funding – and I’m sure he’s sunk a lot of money into this first test group – but what keeps him up at night is the worry that he might disappoint desperate people who’ve come to him for help. Osian, I’m beginning to see, has a compulsion to help.
