Page 15 of Putting Down Roots

CHAPTER 10

Luca

After making a morning coffee,I wander down to the greenhouses. I get all the way there before I remember Jackson won’t be coming today. That saddens me. I’ve been looking forward to seeing him—more than I’m willing to admit.

He’s helping at the May Day fete today. I used to enjoy the fete, having a go at some games, and buying sweets. I remember the year Aunt Frances entered one of my drawings in the competitions and it won a prize.

I briefly consider going to the fete. I might get to see Jackson—but he’ll be busy and might not want to see me.

In truth, I don’t feel up to it. I haven’t seen anyone from the village in over five years and although they were always kind, things are different now. I feel like they’ll look at me as “the failed artist.” I’m not ready for crowds of people—maybe another day. Today I just feel grey, like the sun cannot shine.

Heading back to the house, I wander from room to room. I try to shake myself out of it, but it doesn’t work. I lay down on my bed and drift off to sleep.

I wake with a start, blinking for a few minutes to get my bearings, but all I can think of is my dream of a man with chocolate eyes and brown hair. Before I can talk myself out of it, I reach under the bed and draw out my bag. Picking up my sketch pad and pencil, I try to capture what I see when I close my eyes.

CHAPTER 11

Jackson

I starton the gardens at Larchdown House the day after the May Day fete. Olivia comes back to work, so I don’t need to help out at the pub. I don’t tell Darla where I’m working—she hasn’t asked, but I know she’s curious. And I don’t tell anyone that Luca is at the house—it’s not my business to tell. I assume his aunt was, or even Luca himself is, familiar with the villagers, so I’m sure he’ll come to the village when he wants to. Though, he seems a little reclusive to me. I can understand that, I’m not the most gregarious person. I’m not sure he has transport either—I haven’t seen a car at the house—so I should offer to get him some supplies if he needs them. I haven’t seen him eat, just drink coffee.

No wonder there’s nothing of him.I chuckle to myself wryly, thinking that if I need to give him a hug, I’ll probably crush him. Why my thoughts are turning to hugging him I don’t know, but it does somehow feel appealing.Maybe I should bring him some food?I’ll need some anyway.I’m usually back in the village by lunchtime after seeing to my plants, but now the gardening willtake all day and I’ll need fuel. I stop by the bakery on my way up to the house.

I buy a couple of Danish pastries, sausage rolls, Cornish pasties, and cupcakes. Today they’re frosted in green, with a small tree motif—thankfully not rainbow sprinkles. Keith is serving, but the bakery’s busy so he doesn’t have a chance for the normal teasing and chat, and for once I’m glad of it. He does, however, raise his eyebrows at the amount of food I buy—two of everything.

“It’s going to be a long day. I need some for later,” I explain. I don’t know why I feel the need to—It’s none of his business—but still, I do. He smiles broadly and gives me a wink, but he doesn’t say anything. I’ll need to brace myself for some ribbing when I come back again. If I have the courage to come back of course. I might never have the nerve to set foot in here again.

Instead of parkingBetsy at the small gate in the wall, I head up the driveway and park in front of the house. It’s lovely up close, big enough to be impressive, but not so big it needs an army of people to look after it. I head round the side to the back of the house and the kitchen—Luca’s in the kitchen—and I knock on the door.

He waves me in.

“Please, just come on in whenever you want to. Make yourself at home. There’s a washroom through there.” He waves towards the door to the rest of the house. “And in fact, you can have a key.” He picks one off a hook that’s on the wall and hands it to me. It has a keyring on it which is in the shape of a coffee cup. It’s a cartoon with googly eyes.

“Thanks, and I brought some food.” Luca frowns at the bags I put down on the countertop.

“Do you even eat?” I ask, and he shrugs.

“Sometimes. I mostly forget, though.”

Forget?I feel like I’m in constant need of fuel.How could anyone forget?

“These are great.” I pull out a Danish pastry and place it on top of the bag. “Perfect with a coffee.” I can see he’s tempted. A few minutes later, with fresh coffee, we sit on tall chairs on either side of the kitchen island. He takes a bite from his pastry.

“Mmmm, you’re right. This is good. Are they from the bakery in the village?” he asks.

“You know it?” I’m keen to hear any connection he has with the village which, strangely, I’ve begun to think of asmyvillage.

“I used to cycle down to the village with my pocket money. They made these cute little cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles.”

“They still do.” He eyes the other bags. “No rainbow sprinkles today, but yes, cupcakes.” He flashes one of his rare grins of brilliant sunshine.

“Do Keith and Ben still run it?”

“You know them?”

“Only a bit. I used to pray that Ben was in the shop—Keith scared me too much.” I can imagine how Keith might be scary to a small waif-like boy. Hell, he scares me, and I’m a six-foot-two adult.

“Yeah, he is a bit intimidating,” I agree.

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