Page 49 of Rough Around the Hedges

I paused. “It was?”

“Gosh, didn’t you know?” She looked over at me. “Hmm, I suppose not. I did hear that you and your grandfather weren’t very close.”

“You heard correctly.”

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t my place to say.”

I waved my hand dismissively. “It’s no secret that we didn’t always get along. Will you tell me about the garden?”

“Oh, yes, of course. We’re very indebted to your grandfather,” she said. “It was about five years ago when one of the local factories closed down—not all the children here receive government funding as they should thanks to bureaucratic nonsense, and a lot of parents expressed that they would have to unenroll due to them losing jobs at the factory. When your grandfather found out, he offered to sponsor all those children for a minimum of six months. It meant there was little disruption to the lives of the children and their parents could seek work without worrying about childcare or schedules.”

“I had no idea. How did the garden come about?”

“We run an after-school club for kids between the ages of five and twelve, and every year, the local primary school sets their year five and six classes a challenge to plant and raise a small fruit or vegetable plant. They naturally ended up bringing them here, and it ended up becoming a project for us all, too, when the little ones got interested. Lawn and Order has done the general maintenance here for ages, but when Rose saw what we were doing, she… well, she went very…Rose.”

I didn’t know what it said about me that I perfectly understood that sentiment.

“Originally, it was just the vegetable beds. The shed was donated by a retiring allotmenteer, and many others donated old and excess pots and tubs. Your grandfather donated thegreenhouse and sponsored the general build of the garden, including booking Rose’s company to get everything set up. Just when we thought it was all over, Rose showed up with her van full of young plants and seeds and announced she’d spoken to the nursery director and would be going through the relevant checks so she could come by once a month to teach the children about gardening.”

“And she’s done it ever since?”

“Every month, come rain or shine. Even in the colder months when there’s not much to be done outside, she has them growing things like onions and garlic that grow through the winter. In really bad weather when she’s unable to reschedule, she’ll do indoor lessons.” Tasha smiled softly as she looked at Rose getting dirt smeared on her face by a toddler. “She’s a bit wild and weird, yes, but her heart is always in the right place. She really does care. Which is why she’s waged war publicly on you and your plot to close the allotments.”

Jesus. I couldn’t escape that, could I?

“Yes, I’m acquainted with the ‘wild and weird’ part of Rose,” I said dryly.

“Oh, you’re really not.” Tasha grinned. “She’s trying to get your attention. I’ll take your mug, if you’re done.”

I looked in Rose’s direction, and she was right, so I handed the empty mug over. “Thanks. I’ll go and see what she wants me to haul about now.”

I left Tasha laughing and crossed the garden to where Rose was sitting cross-legged on the soft bark flooring with four kids.

“Oh, you’re here. Good.” She got up and handed me a seed packet. “Can you sow these seeds with the kids? I need to make sure Roy isn’t massacring the strawberry runners over there.”

I blinked at the seed packet. “Do I look like I sow seeds, Rose?”

“Are you or are you not compensating me right now, oh great Duke of Hanbury?”

“I am.”

“So, sit yourself down and sow some seeds with the kids. Just read the instructions on the back, and you’ll be fine. I’m sure even a city slicker like yourself can manage it just this once.” She patted my arm. “Kids, make sure Mister Oliver doesn’t waste all the seeds, okay?”

A little girl with bright red glasses and pigtail plaits nodded vigorously. “Juss a couple seeds, right, Miss Rose?”

“Exactly right, Daisy.” Rose gently touched the top of her head. “Don’t forget your labels, either, or you’ll mix up your flowers.”

“Wight here,” a little boy with a plaster on his forehead said. “Daisies, mawigolds, sunfwowers, and nastytums.”

Nastytums?

“Nuh-stir-schums,” Rose said gently.“Das what I said. Nastytums,” the little boy repeated.

She gave him a thumb up. “Nailed it, Danny. Nailed it.”

He held his dirt-covered fist out and returned her gesture, accompanying his with a big, cheesy smile.

Rose turned to me and pointed at her vacated spot. “You. Sit.”

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