‘Everyone’s really excited to see you.’ He threw her a branch.
‘That’s lovely. I’m a bit nervous, truth be told.’
‘I knew you would be, but there’s no need, Mum. They’re really nice people. Not far now.’
He turned and smiled at her with the same expression he’d been wearing since he was a small child, a wide grin, bright sparkly eyes, with an openness to his joy that was infectious.
She wanted to ask him how Iris had taken the news of Holly’s pregnancy, but with his previous comments at the forefront of her mind decided not to steer them back down a negative path, unwilling to wipe that smile from his face.
The car slowed. Engine running, they came to a halt in front of two wide wrought-iron gates set inside slate pillars, on one of which the name The Mount was written in a bold, clear script.Aiden reached into the central console and produced a little black fob that she hadn’t seen before.
‘They’ve given me my very own dibber!’
Again, that grin like a child on Christmas morning who had in his hands the very thing he’d always wanted.
‘How marvellous!’ It irked her how chuffed he was with this little bit of plastic, and how seemingly impressed with the family who had entrusted him with it.
He pressed the button and the gates moved smoothly, making a satisfying clunk as they rested open, allowing access to the wide slope of driveway, which was edged in what looked like shiny chrome balls. Closer inspection would reveal them to be water features, each with a gentle cascade coating it entirely, the delicate trickle the sweetest music that cut through the floral-scented air. The grass on either side of the driveway was neat with sharp edging and considered and controlled planting. She couldn’t wait to give Jenny all the details, before instantly striking this from her thoughts and swallowing the wave of hurt that swamped her even now.
It was hard not to compare it to her own garden, where wisteria climbed over red brick and hung in soft droplets of lilac when in bloom. The wild garden in front of the shed; an abundance of grasses, shot through with delicate-headed wildflowers, an all-you-could-eat buffet if you were of the bee kind. One entire bed given over to the roses that seemed more abundant year on year. Hers was a garden that was wild, directed to a degree, but untamed, and she loved it. This was a different thing entirely. She could only wonder at the amount of work it would take to keep nature so bound in straight lines and in such order. A battle, no less.
‘Here we are,’ he announced with pride, and she understood that already he felt at home. It was another paper cut of loss that she would no doubt analyse in the early hours, at 3 a.m. to be precise, when those thoughts insisted on floating to the top.
Slowly, they approached a row of garages to the right of the house, all with shiny black doors and what looked to be offices or at the very least storage above.
‘That’s where Dominic works.’ He pointed to the windows.
‘What does he do?’ She knew he had his own business but hadn’t got round to asking.
‘He’s an architect, a commercial architect.’
‘Right.’
It made sense, his informed commentary on her home and taste. She looked away, not wanting another place to picture him during the day, uncomfortable at how easily she was slotting in the next piece of jigsaw that helped complete the picture of his life and how he lived it.
‘So if he’s as free as you say he is, what’s stopping you...’She heard Angela’s words and shook these too from her head.
As if to counter this thought, she pictured Jonathan, wondering if he might come back to her, praying he might.
It was almost comical, the way Aiden parked the little car between two whopping four by fours. There was no sign of the silver Mercedes that had been instrumental in her introduction to this man and his family.The Mumbley Boys...She ran her fingers over her mouth, as if to physically remove any hint of a smile.
‘Hey!’
She heard the call as she climbed from the car and there was Trish, with Iris not far behind.
‘Here you are!’ The woman crunched over the immaculate gravel, her arms wide, clearly intent on coming in for a hug. ‘You made it!’ she trilled, as if Enya had had to trek across mountains or conquer shark-infested waters and had not merely hopped on the 2.15 from Bristol with the mild inconvenience of not having a seat.
‘Yes, here I am! Your garden is lovely. It must be so much work.’
‘Oh, it’s endless.’ Trish held her briefly and kissed her cheek in a way that was familiar and showy. Enya knew deep down that were the woman not attached to Dominic, she would have found her actions to be nothing but endearing, kind. ‘Thankfully, it’s not work I have to do. Goodness, I wouldn’t know where to start! That’s where Young Walter comes in, and this is absolutely darling,’ she laughed, ‘he’s called Young Walter because, obviously, his father is Walter Senior and Young Walter is probably knocking eighty. But he never misses a shift, here at the crack of dawn three days a week. He works so hard, weeding the beds, cutting the grass, keeping everything ship-shape. He used to have a garden himself, but the word is that after his wife died, well, I think he lost his way a bit, unravelled, and moved in with his dad. His life seems very small, and so coming here, the routine, the regimen, the chance to get his hands in soil, we both benefit.’
Enya could only nod, feeling kinship with Young Walter, wondering, not for the first time, what her life might be like when in a few months there would be no need to order files, answer the phone, send out mail, open packages and generally loiter in that dust-filled office at the beck and call of Messrs Greengate and Greengate. Jenny’s florist’s had sat like a bright hope on the horizon, but now she’d have to come up with plan B. It was that or sink entirely. What on earth was she going to do?
‘Enya! Hi!’ Iris called confidently as she jogged towards her, and she too greeted Enya with a soft kiss that failed to reach her cheek, but instead hovered in the air. A kiss that was cool and contained.
Enya remembered when she and Jonathan were engaged, and his mother, Mrs Dorothy Brown, an aloof woman of the era when things were a little more formal, never said,Call me Dorothy!Or God forbid,Mother!There were a couple of years when Enya panicked every time she had to speak to her, what should she callher? To sayMrs Brownfelt uncomfortably officious, and relegated Enya, placing her very much outside of the inner circle. She smiled to think of it now, her younger self excruciatingly pouring tea from a nervous hand, ‘Would you like milk and sugar... Mrs, Dor... Mu...’ The woman did nothing to help put an end to the fiasco. Thankfully, when Aiden was born it simplified everything. Enya had by then grown in confidence, and would say with something close to assertion, ‘More tea,Granny Brown?’ Mrs Brown had given no indication she liked or disliked the moniker but was rather taken with her new grandson and that was all that mattered really. Different times.
‘Hello, Iris.’ She smiled at the girl whose face she had yet to learn. The girl her son had, without doubt or hesitation, chosen. The question whether it was a choice made in lust or love was still a concern.
