Page 55 of Short Stack 3

“Talks to them, he does.” Michael shrugs. “Each to their own, I suppose. And he’s always entertaining.”

“He certainly is. Oh well, thank you. I’ll keep looking.”

He smiles at me and whisks through the door to the kitchens. I look around the hall. It’s September, and the house is quieter now that the schools have begun again. In the distance, I can hear James’s voice extolling the virtues of the family portraits. It’s a companionable noise. Sunlight dances on dust motes, and above me, the cupids dance and whirl on the painted ceiling, fighting their eternal battle.

The canvas bag in my hand bumps against my knee, reminding me of my task, and I hasten out of the side door and onto the back lawn. Above me rises the path to the cascade, and in the distance, the forest is a dark, verdant green.

Where could he be?I consider several alternatives, but then I smile.Of course, that’s where he is.

Taking the winding path to the right, I huff a little because the going is steep in places. I come in and out of the shade of the huge old trees, feeling the sweat on my brow. The only sound is birdsong, the crunch of the gravel, and my panting breaths. My feet kick up tiny dust clouds that coat my shoes in seconds.

Eventually, I come out on a rise. Below me, the house glints gold in the sun’s rays, and above me are the three tiers of the kitchen gardens — my destination. They were an arid wasteland a few years ago, but the ministrations of our new team of gardeners have wrought significant changes, and now they resemble the way they were in my father’s time.

Raised beds are set into the gradient of the hill, and as I walk along them, I spy pumpkins glistening gold amongst the leaves like hidden treasure. They make me smile because I think of Cosmo this morning. He had lain in our bed, his hands going a mile a minute as he described the Halloween party we would throw for the village children. I must admit that a lot of thedetails were lost to me, so focused was I on his beautiful face and the lines of his long, muscular body.

I pass the old greenhouses. At one point, they were more broken glass than anything useful, but now they’re filled with flowers for the house. A memory strikes me of my mother and how I would trail after her as a child while she picked the flowers she wanted to arrange around the house. I linger for a second, smiling before moving on.

I pass rows of beetroots, cabbages, and courgettes laid out in lines like a very neat vegetable army. Butterflies dance amongst the leaves, and the air is full of the scent of earth, and when I brush against a plant, the sweet, pungent smell of mint rises around me.

It’s sunny and warm here, and I feel my spirits calm and recharge after a busy morning. Doubtless, that was Cosmo’s plan, and as I come out onto the top path and see him, I know he’s been waiting for me.

He’s sitting in front of the old gardener’s hut, which is a small wooden building covered with peeling purple paint. A little veranda surrounds it with a view down over the house and the woods beyond. I used to play in it as a child, and now the love of my adult life sits there, his bare feet resting on the veranda’s railing. His brown sun-streaked hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and he’s wearing a pair of denim cut-offs worn white with age and an old Blur concert T-shirt that I last saw in my wardrobe.

His whole face lights up as he sees me. It’s a reaction that I will never fail to treasure.

“Barnaby,” he exclaims.

I grin at him, climbing the steps and coming up next to him. “Found you.”

“Was I hiding? Would you like me to?”

“I don’t think so. I think I’ll hang on to you so you don’t disappear.”

He holds out his arms, and I slide onto his lap, feeling him hug me tight. He smells of earth and a sharp green scent, and he’s sun-warm and precious to me in a way that words cannot describe.

For a while, we rest there, staring out at the garden. The chair’s wood is warm against my arm, and the small area is full of the scent of the honeysuckle that climbs over the balustrade and riots over the small building as though trying to hide it from humans. Knowing this garden and its magic ways, it could very well be true.

I feel Cosmo kiss my hair, inhaling my scent the way he always does, and eventually, I stir.

“What a gorgeous afternoon.”

“We are together. That is always a happy day.”

In anyone else, I would look for the sarcasm, but not my Cosmo. His words are always honest and full of happiness.

“I think you knew I’d find you here.”

“Did you look in many places, my Barnaby?” He sounds titillated by the idea, and I nudge him.

“I thought of a few places where I might find you, but this was the winner. You’re here a lot.” I look around. We’re completely alone, as the gardeners go home at lunchtime. “Why do you like it here so much?”

He considers my question, and his bright eyes roam the garden. “It is so alive here,” he finally says.

“In what way?”

“Can’t you feel it?”

I think about that. “The plants?”

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