Page 20 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

At the halfway point, Ceri stopped and scanned the field again, examining it from a different perspective, trying to visualise where she would site a greenhouse, where would be the best place for a tool shed and a potting shed, and how many beds the land could be divided into if she didn’t want to replicate the ones that had been there before.

She would like a polytunnel at some point in the future (she would probably have to get planning permission for that), which she needed to factor in, but right now her immediate concern was a standpipe, because without access to water, some things, such as watering plants in a greenhouse, for instance, would get difficult. Eventually water butts would hopefully supply her irrigation needs, but until she was able to collect enough rainwater from downpipes attached to sheds and greenhouses, she would have to rely on mains water.

Maybe she would come across a standpipe further along the hedge, she thought, so she carried on walking, trying to take everything in.

With all those plans and ideas whirling around in her head like so many bees around a hive, Ceri almost missed the little wooden gate set into the hedge. The wood had the kind of smoothness and sheen that was only achieved by the touch of many hands over many years, and was warm and solid. It had been here a while, she guessed, and she admired its craftsmanship. This was what a gate should look like. Once again she was tempted to slip through it, but thought she’d better not. Betsan had given her permission to go into the field, but Ceri wasn’t sure whether the land beyond this little gate was also owned by the church, and she didn’t want to trespass.

From what she could see, there was an orchard, and an abundant one at that. Apple trees appeared to be the most plentiful, but she could also see a pear tree and a plum, and were those cherries…?

It would be fabulous if the orchard was attached to the former allotment, because growing one from scratch was a commitment of many years. To be able to harvest fruit immediately made her heart sing and—

She was pulled out of her thoughts by an unexpected sound.

Was that music she could hear?

Ceri tilted her head to listen.

A tiled roof and part of the upper storey of a house were visible beyond the orchard, and the sound appeared to be coming from there.

The melody was haunting, the notes swelling and dipping, but she couldn’t make out the words.

Ceri breathed deeply, memories of listening to music in this very field in almost the exact same spot, cascading through her, and she closed her eyes and imagined that the man who had kissed her so passionately was by her side.

An abrupt change of tempo and rhythm jerked her out of her reverie as the ethereal melody was replaced by something wilder and harsher.

She recognised it as being the same rock ballad that had been playing the night of the wedding. “Dark Dimension”, that was the title, and she sang along under her breath, the lyrics bringing Damon’s face to the forefront of her mind.

When the song faded, Ceri blinked hard and gave herself a mental shake.

If she intended to work this field, she needed to forget that man and his kiss, otherwise she would drive herself mad if he popped into her head every time she planted a row of peas or lifted some potatoes out of the ground.

She needed to stop thinking about him and instead concentrate on making her dream come true.

‘What did you think of the field?’ Betsan asked when Ceri knocked on the front door of the vicarage.

‘It’s perfect,’ Ceri said. ‘Thank you for letting me take a look. Do you think Terry will let me rent it?’

‘Let’s ask him, shall we? He’s out the back, supposedly preparing the sermon for Sunday, but in reality he’s having a nap in his deckchair.’

Sure enough, the vicar’s eyes were closed and his head was resting on the back of the chair when Betsan led Ceri through the house and into the garden. A notepad and a pen were on the grass beside him, and as Ceri grew nearer he snored so loudly that he woke himself up.

Frantically he patted at his lap, until he realised the notepad must have fallen to the ground, then grinned sheepishly when he saw his wife.

‘It’s tiring doing God’s work,’ he said.

‘You ought to try doing a woman’s work,’ Betsan muttered, but Ceri could tell she was teasing. ‘Ceri is here about the field on Willow Tree Lane,’ she told him. ‘She wants to do something with it. Take a seat, Ceri. Would you like a glass of wine? I was just about to open a bottle of white that’s been chilling in the fridge.’

‘Yes, please, that would be lovely.’

Ceri waited until Betsan returned with three glasses and the wine, before telling Terry why she was interrupting his Friday evening. ‘You know I’m a horticulturist?’ she began.

He nodded. ‘I do, indeed. I’m looking forward to picking your brains about my lawn.’

‘Pick away,’ she said. ‘If I can help, I will. But in the meantime, I was wondering if the field behind the vicarage is going to be used for anything, and if not, could I rent it from you? Byyou, I mean the Church, of course.’

‘It’s been unused for years,’ he said, ‘and as far as I know, there aren’t any plans for it. What do you want to do with it?’

‘I had been hoping to put my name down for a plot on an allotment, but it seems that Foxmore doesn’t have one, but when Betsan mentioned that your field used to be an allotment, I thought it could be the ideal solution – if we could come to some arrangement.’ By ‘arrangement’ Ceri meant not costing her more than she could afford.

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