Usually I’d find this repetitive work soothing. It’s mind-numbing, but never boring, allowing room in my head for thoughts to wander. Sun, wind or rain could be hitting my skin and I’d still be at peace spending my hours in the open air.
But today my thoughts are not calm. Fury has sproutedup overnight, consuming the barren wasteland of shock and devastation.
I keep flashing back to Madrid, to searching those squares in the searing sun, heartsick and desperate, day after day after day. I’m remembering the anxiety I endured with my parents just to get there, and underneath it the sweet, budding optimism for the future.
Ash obliterated that hope when he didn’t show up. He reduced me to a shivering wreck who ran home with my tail between my legs, and I willneverforgive him for that.
I will never forgive him for lying about who he was, for speaking to me with an entirely different fucking accent. Was there any part of him that believed what he was saying to me? Or did he know all along that he was out of my league, that I was just a bit of fun, a plaything to entertain him?
A little voice inside my head whispers that this doesn’t ring true, but I shut it down. He’s a sick bastard and now he’s ruiningthisfor me too.
Cold dread engulfs me as I realise just how much he reallycouldruin for me – not only my enjoyment of this ordinary gardening task, but my whole employment here. His parents are my bosses. I can’t go around laying into their son, however much I want to.
I hope he stays away from me.
I end up working right through my tea break, and my wheelbarrow, which was previously full of bamboo canes, is empty when I return to the cottage for lunch.
So far today, I’ve managed to avoid exchanging many words with my colleagues. I feel bad about it, but I’ve beentoo messed up to be sociable. I’ll make more of an effort this afternoon.
When I open the cottage door, I see that a white envelope has been pushed through the letter box.
At the sight of my name scrawled across the front in sloping cursive, I feel physically sick.
Breaking the seal, I pull out a note.
Ellie,
Can we talk? Please. I’ll come by tonight at seven.
Ash
No, you won’t, I think to myself darkly as I shakily stuff the note back into the envelope.No, you fucking won’t.What excuse could he possibly give me that will make all this okay?
The three days we spent together felt like the start of something. And when he didn’t call or turn up, when he left me stranded and alone, itdestroyedme. I had the biggest high followed by the lowest low and Istillhaven’t recovered.
I can’t believe I’ve wasted almost six years of my life pining over a man who didn’t even exist. I have never felt more hurt or betrayed.
‘I was just coming to find you,’ Bethan says brightly as I exit the cottage, having forced some tea and toast down my throat. ‘I’ll help you stake the perennials in the Maple Garden.’
‘I’ve done them,’ I reply.
She jolts. ‘You’ve done them?’
‘Yes, I did them this morning.’
She gawps at me. ‘But there are loads!’
I shrug. ‘I work fast.’
‘Well, you’d better slow down,’ she says with alarm. ‘You’ll make the rest of us look bad.’
I purse my lips at her, contrite, and she laughs.
‘I don’t usually work that quickly,’ I admit as we wander through the walled garden, nodding at the visitors we pass. ‘I guess I was just super keen to get started.’
‘The novelty will wear off,’ she assures me.
I feel a bit better as we work side by side in the White Garden beyond the lower terrace, chatting as we lift and clear the spring bedding: a combination of wallflowers, hyacinths and daffodils, plus the tulips that the squirrels haven’t eaten. Soon I can feel myself beginning to relax again.
