‘You must let me pay for those.’ Mary looks at the shopping bags. ‘I almost forgot to tell you – Joe has suggested we pay something monthly into your account, to cover food.’
‘OK.’ It’s going to take time for me to get used to this. ‘I need you to tell me how I can help you,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to be under your feet all the time. But while I’m here, I’ll cook for us in the evenings. And you must leave the cleaning to me, too.’ I pause. ‘Are we agreed?’
‘Thank you, dear.’ Her eyes are bright with tears. ‘I mean it. You moving in is already making such a difference. I would never have been able to stay without you.’
‘I’m really happy to be here,’ I say gently. ‘Actually, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about. If you’re OK with it, when there’s time, I’d like to start work on the rest of the garden.’
‘Music to my ears, my dear.’ A beatific smile spreads across her face.
As spring unfolds, as well as cultivating my cutting garden, as I cut back areas that have been left unattended for years, I discover the hidden treasures the rest of Mary’s garden holds. The clematis that tumbles unchecked over what looks like an old stable, a towering lilac; the carpet of bluebells in the woods, a large patch of lily-of-the-valley.
‘You’re sitting on a bit of a goldmine, you know,’ I tell Mary. ‘Lily-of-the-valley sells for a crazy price in the flower markets.’
‘Please use it,’ she says. ‘If you have any brides who would appreciate it.’ Her eyes are suddenly distant. ‘I had some in my wedding bouquet.’
‘How long were you married?’ I ask.
‘Sixty-one years,’ she says. ‘We were so happy.’ It’s as though for a moment, she’s lost in her memories. Then she turns to me. ‘What happened to your marriage?’ she asks.
I’m silent, wondering where to start and if I want to share the sadness of it all. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry,’ she says. ‘These days, I tend to say what I’m thinking.’
‘More of us should,’ I say. ‘And you’re not prying.’ I sigh. ‘It’s just that it isn’t the happiest of stories. And it reminds me of everything I didn’t get right.’
‘We all make mistakes,’ she says, her face suddenly clouding over.
And we all have a story. So I tell her the story of me and Ryan. A story like many other stories, of what happens when addiction takes a hold, when love isn’t enough. Of the most heartbreaking loss. By the time I finish, there are tears in her eyes.
‘You really have been through so much,’ she says gently. ‘I hope being here will help you find peace.’
Peace… Is that possible? But if anywhere can work a magic on me, this place can. ‘Thank you.’ I hesitate. ‘But you’ve experienced loss, haven’t you? Joe told me about losing his parents.’
Her eyes fill with sadness. ‘It was terrible,’ she says. ‘My son and his wife were so in love. They had everything to live for. Then a car hit theirs head on. As quickly as that, it was over for them.’
A chill comes over me. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say quietly.
‘It was a long time ago,’ she says. ‘But I remember it like it happened yesterday. People say all these ludicrous things to you. Time heals, they’re in a better place… All such nonsense.’ She shakes her head. ‘I don’t think you get over losing a child. It’s the worst thing. All time does is help you find a way to carry their memory with you.’
A tear rolls down my cheek. ‘That’s exactly how it is.’
‘Of course. You know,’ she says. ‘Forgive me – that was rather self-indulgent of me. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘It wasn’t self-indulgent.’ I smile through my tears. ‘I want to talk about it. Lexie’s still my daughter. Just because she isn’t here, it doesn’t change that.’
And so, Mary and I settle into an odd routine, one that’s born out of an understanding of how it feels to experience the worst kind of loss; that seems to work for both of us. Meanwhile, when Lucy and I are not busy with weddings, I continue clearing the rest of Mary’s garden, as another idea starts to form.
‘Is that an old stable?’ I ask Mary one lunchtime. ‘The other side of the driveway, near the lane?’
‘Goodness.’ She frowns. ‘I’d forgotten about that. Yes, as it happens. David, my son, used to keep a pony in there. To tell you the truth, I was keener than he was. It was a little grey pony. He was very sweet.’
‘It’s quite a good-sized building.’ Suddenly my mind is racing as I imagine it filled with wedding flowers.
‘Well, yes. It is. We had a barn built next to it, for all the hay and straw. Oh.’ She stops suddenly. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
‘I might be,’ I say cautiously.
‘Why don’t you call Lucy and invite her over? I think the three of us should have a talk.’ Mary’s face lights up.
