I glanced down at the baby and caught his eye, and we laughed. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘Yeah, well, I can help you out if you need me to. And I can get some mates together as well. Fergus said the grounds of that big old house need a bit of tidying?’
I hesitated. Was he really up to the job? Last thing I needed was a pile of teenagers turning up and being incapable and Alice wondering why I’d hired them. But somehow, I trusted Fergus’s judgement.
*
True to their word, on the dot of nine on Monday morning, four young men tumbled from Rory’s dad’s truck with an assortment of tools and two lawnmowers and a great deal of banter.
‘So, what first?’ Rory asked.
I looked around the garden in panic. Where to start? ‘What d’you think would be best for you guys?’ I asked.
‘We could divide up and give all the borders a really good weed?’
‘Yes! Great. Perfect.’
Then, later: ‘Kate, what about the roses?’ Rory indicated the border adjoining the house.Please don’t ask me about rose care!
‘Can I get back to you?’ I asked. ‘There’s something I need to take care of...’ I scuttled inside, because the thing I needed to ‘take care of’ was finding out what the heck you do with a badly overgrown rose garden. I could have called my mum, who has a tiny but much-loved garden. But she doesn’t know I’ve left Vince. I haven’t told her yet – simply because I can’t face her wrath.
‘You’re so lucky, Kate!’ she often tells me. ‘What I’d have given to have what you have. And Vince worships you!’ Does she really think so? Because if he does he has a weird way of showing it with his snippy comments about my ‘maiden aunt nighties’ and ‘old lady knickers’. Mum doesn’t know, of course, that he’d decided it’d be more convenient all round for me to pick up some oat milk on a wet, cold night rather than Gail strolling the arduous twenty metres or so to her own fridge. Or that he’d taken to flinching whenever I had the audacity to touch him in bed, as if I’ve poked him with a stick daubed with poo—
I shoved all that stuff from my brain as I read about dormant buds and pruning hard with extremely sharp secateurs. Back outside, I gathered that Rory’s gang didn’t have any secateurs, let alone sharp ones. So that necessitated a quick drive to a garden centre, and by the time I came back, Alice was chatting amiably with the lads.
‘The box hedges? Oh, that’s well beyond my knowledge,’ she announced. ‘You’ll have to ask Kate about that.’
Now four days have flashed by, the borders weeded, edges trimmed, lawns mown. The grounds have started to take shape, no longer fuzzed over by weeds, and my ‘managing’ of the project has so far amounted to keeping the team fuelled with mugs of tea and bacon rolls and bluffing my way through their questions. At least the boys are hard-working and cheerful, and by the end of the week Alice is delighted. Next they’ll tackle the kitchen garden, and trim all the hedges and re-lay the paths. ‘What d’you think we should do about the pond?’ Rory asks me, within earshot of Alice.
I have absolutely no idea what they should do about the pond! Then I remember taking Edie to the city farm, where we’d learnt that ponds are a vital habitat for an enormous variety of species.
‘I think the best thing is to make it look a bit tidier,’ I say, quickly. ‘All kinds of creatures will be living in there and we don’t want to disturb them...’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ Alice agrees.
‘Great.’ Rory nods. ‘Easier for us!’
My thoughts turn to Edie. We’ve been messaging as we always do, as if nothing untoward has happened. Her young life is focused on the here and now, on whale conservation and the new friends she’s made out in Maine. I haven’t told her I’ve left and, presumably, Vince hasn’t got around to it either.
Is it up to me to take responsibility for letting Edie know, in the way that I took on all of the homework supervision and making packed lunches and ensuring that school trips were paid for on time – not that I ever minded any of that – on top of our household admin and maintenance to the point of building every item of flatpack that ever came into our home? Maybe, if there’s a difficult conversation to be had, Vince could take responsibility. He’s Edie’s father after all. And I’m all done with responsibilities for now.
That’s why I ignore a bizarre message he pings me, just as the guys are packing up their gardening tools at the end of a blustery Friday afternoon.
Hey sorry to bother you. Do we have any ras-el-hanout?
Is this code for something? Or a joke? If it is, then I’m not getting it. I hadn’t even realised he’d know what it was. Perhaps he’s expecting me to focus my laser vision across four hundred miles and see right into the kitchen cupboard where our spices are kept?
I shoot back:What’s this about Vince?I’m wondering now about his state of mind. There was that other weird message – the one about covering me in paraffin. Charming!
Nothing important,he replies.Deborah’s having a festival planning committee dinner tonight. What shall I say about you not being there?
I start to typeI’m sure you’ll think of something. But before I send it my attention is caught by Fergus’s van as he turns into the driveway.
‘Just thought I’d see how the boys have been doing,’ he says as he climbs out. Just like when he came to buy Bea’s book collection, I’m surprised by how happy I am to see him here.
‘They’ve done an amazing job,’ I tell him. ‘I can’t thank you enough.’
‘Oh, it was nothing. I’m glad it’s working out.’ His grey-blue eyes catch the late afternoon sunlight as he pauses. Then Alice appears in the garden and Fergus says, ‘I wondered if you two fancy coming into town tomorrow? Just for a bit, for a break? I was thinking we could have a quick lunch at mine, then there’s a bit of a mini-festival happening by the river. A few bands and stuff...’
