‘I still need to talk to Joe. I’m not sure I’m comfortable about it.’ Frowning, I tail it off. ‘But she said she’s already spoken to him.’
‘It’s incredibly generous of her. I can’t believe it. But you deserve it, Edie. You really do.’ Lucy looks completely blindsided. Then her face changes. ‘Shit. You haven’t forgotten, have you? We have a meeting this afternoon – a September bride. I’ve emailed you her details.’
Since I started growing flowers, Lucy deals with our admin; it’s an agreement that works for both of us.
‘I haven’t,’ I reassure her. ‘I’m going out to the garden for a bit. I need to check on a few things.’
Pulling on my jacket, I wander across the grass, and I’m still thinking about Mary’s generosity, about the difference it will make to us, as I go through the door into the walled garden. I would never say it to her, but when the time comes that the house is sold, this is what I’ll miss most in years to come.
Closing the door behind me, I go over to the bench I brought here years ago. Sitting down, I look around, taking in the carefully prepared soil that’s turned over and weed-free, ready for planting. Then my eyes move to the vast herb bed, stems from which have brought scent to many a bride’s bouquet.
A garden is timeless, adapts to the changing seasons. And then, I’m thinking of you, Lexie. About the seasons of our lives. How, when you lose someone you love, the world seems plunged into an eternal winter.
I close my eyes for a moment. Then it’s as if I’m transported back in time, to a summer when you and Ollie were young. Wearing shorts and T-shirts, your hair was tangled, your limbs golden from the sun. Your voices light, your eyes filled with hope; your cares a world away.
‘Edie?’ A distant voice brings me back to the present, just as the door to the garden is flung open.
Lucy stands there. ‘It’s Mary,’ she calls out. ‘She’s had a fall,’ she shouts, before turning and running back towards the stables.
I’m already on my feet, following. When I reach the stables, Lucy’s crouched down next to Mary. A strange feeling comes over me as I take in Mary’s still body, Lucy’s folded-up jacket under her head; the pallor of her skin, a memory coming back of that terrible afternoon I found you.
‘She came in with some cake for us. Then her legs just seemed to go. I’ve tried to wake her, but she hasn’t opened her eyes. An ambulance is on the way.’
Crouching down next to Mary, I take one of her hands. It’s tiny and cold. ‘Help is on the way,’ I say softly. ‘You’re going to be OK.’ Glancing up, I see the plate of cake where she left it, on one of our workbenches. A million thoughts fill my head, that she shouldn’t have come out here; but at the same time, it could as easily have happened in the house. ‘I need to call Joe.’ I get up to find my phone.
The call goes to voicemail and I leave a message, asking him to call me back, just as an ambulance arrives. I watch, relieved, as the paramedics check Mary over, then carefully move her onto a stretcher, before taking her out to the ambulance.
‘You should go with her,’ Lucy says.
But I’m not thinking straight. ‘What about the meeting this afternoon?’
‘I can deal with that,’ she says. ‘It’s more important you stay with her.’
On the way to the hospital, Joe calls me. ‘Sorry I missed you. How is she?’ he asks.
‘Unconscious,’ I say. ‘We’re on our way to the hospital and she’s on oxygen. But her heart is erratic.’
‘I’m leaving now.’ His voice is anxious. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
After being admitted to A&E, Mary is moved to a small room off one of the wards. In spite of the nurses around her, my fear is growing. Her body seems to have shrunk, one of the machines she’s rigged up to beeping erratically.
It’s one of those moments when life hangs in the balance, when our focus is drawn to what matters most. Of course, I think of you. Your life that wasn’t long enough, that you crammed every second out of.
Sitting at Mary’s bedside, I watch the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, and I can’t help but think of the life she’s lived, of the kindness that’s touched everyone who knows her. Then my mind drifts as I find myself questioning what my legacy is. I love creating floral designs that are a part of so many weddings. As you used to say, Lucy and I have a gift.
But is it enough? Shouldn’t I be doing something more?
Sitting beside her, I’m still holding her hand when Joe comes in.
‘How is she?’ he says quietly.
‘They think she had a heart attack,’ I say. ‘They’ve given her some medication. But so far, she hasn’t regained consciousness.’
Joe’s face is white. ‘I’m going to talk to one of the nurses.’
When he comes back, he tells me the prognosis isn’t good, that it’s likely that the damage from the heart attack is combining with her already-struggling heart.
After he brings in another chair, I get up. ‘I should leave you alone together.’
