The test run had four times as many visitors as we’d hoped for. The social media knock-on effect has resulted in a thousand followers and almost as many sign-ups for our mailing list. Evan shows us pie charts and bar charts and projections for future events. Etc, etc, etc.
Let me summarise. We’re going to be successful and attract a lot of attention. We all need to think about hiring extra staffand plan for a much better summer than we ever expected. The official opening of Kendric House and Gardens is now set for the second May bank holiday.
Three of thePerllanshave asked to stay on. Ashe and Schaefer want to work in the gardens. Amani, whose flair for social media was responsible for our great success, will work with Ricky directly under Evan’s supervision as part of the Kendric House PR team.
Everyone is excited. Everyone is happy. Everyone except Osian, who isn’t here. And me. My mood has deflated like a balloon you find behind the sofa three days after the end of a party.
Not even the promised apple crumble excites me.
“You should be made up,” Shirley says in her soft Yorkshire accent. “Everyone says you smashed it over Easter. So why do you have a cob on?”
“Just tired.” I push my chair back from the table.
I glance around me, but I’m like a car going round a roundabout, unsure which exit to take or where it wants to go.
“You looking for something?” Leonie asks.
Yes, my lost mojo. My sense of purpose. My peace of mind.“Just need a little fresh air.”
“What is it with you and Osian?” Gethin leans over and asks loud enough for several heads to turn.
My own heart bounces against my ribs.
Gethin, always ready with a joke, says, “You’re both only happy outside. Preferably elbow deep in mud.”
“Maybe.” I smile but only with my lips.
His joke has given me a good excuse to walk out. In the garden, waiting for my heart to slow down, I go all the way to the middle where the new trellises are. The climbing roses are sending out new shoots – lots of new shoots. With a bit of care, they should grow enough to cover the arches of the trellis and by midsummer we’ll have a tunnel of roses. Unlike Osian, these roses will repay my love and attention with beautiful love of their own.
My eyes sting with tears. Will plants be my only true love affair? My most successful relationship?
Choosing a picnic table under one of the arches, I sit, swing my legs over the seat then fold my arms on the table to cushion my head. In a minute, I’ll raise my head and give myself a harsh pep talk. In a minute.
“Doggers?” The voice startles a little gasp from me.
Leonie and Shirley join me on the bench. They have a platter of mini tarts, a thermos flask and a stack of paper cups.
“You missed coffee and dessert,” Leonie says, placing the platter on the table. “Haneen made apple crumble which was eaten right down to the last crumb. So these are some of my experiments. What did we call them? Deleted scenes.” Her gaze flicks to my folded arms on the table. “Are we intruding?”
Leonie is too nice, so I shift to the side, making room on the bench, and give her a weak smile. “I think we called them offcuts.”
“These are delicious.” Shirley pops one in her mouth.
Dessert is the furthest thing from my mind just now, but I play along. “Are these Jammie Dodgers?”
“Sort of.” Leonie swings a leg over and settles herself beside me; Shirley takes the seat on the other side of the picnic table.
“I’ve experimented with different fillings. So we have the traditional raspberry heart shapes but also”—she pushes various small biscuits around the platter—“Apricot hearts, lemon curd suns, frangipani stars, blueberry stars, and these were supposed to be pistachio leaves.”
I try one. Crumbly biscuit and nutty pistachio cream. “My God, these are delicious.”
“She’s a genius baker.” Shirley pours us coffee from the thermos. “And she only started baking a few months ago.”
“Did someone tell me you used to be an actress?” I can’t imagine Leonie doing anything but running a café.
Shirley eats her apricot dodger and quickly washes it down with coffee before reaching for her cigarettes.
“It’s actually ‘actor’,” Leonie says simply. “Most people say ‘actress’ so I don’t trouble to correct them. But the politically correct term is ‘actor’.”
