Page 27 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

‘I can see why; it’s a big job,’ she commiserated. ‘How long is it since the garden was tended to properly?’

He pulled a face. ‘Probably not since my grandmother died, eight years ago.’

Ceri scrutinised it again. Eight years was a long time, and if that were true she would have expected it to be far more overgrown than it was.

He must have sensed her doubt, because he said, ‘A maintenance company comes in to cut it back once a year.’

‘It’s going to take a fair bit of work to knock this into shape,’ she warned.

‘I know.’ The tone of his voice implied that he wanted her to tell him something hedidn’tknow.

‘Will you be doing the work yourself?’ She caught him looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

‘Yes.’ His reply was wary.

‘What is your vision for it?’

‘I want it to look like it did when my grandmother was alive.’

‘Would her name be Hyacinth by any chance?’

His sudden tension and the way his jaw hardened, suggested he wasn’t happy with this line of questioning. ‘Who told you that?’

‘You did, kind of. It was you who put those hyacinths on her grave, wasn’t it?’

He hesitated, then reluctantly said, ‘Yes.’

OK, she thought, filing the information away. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have any old photos of the garden, would you?’

He seemed to relax slightly. ‘I do actually. I found loads in the potting shed.’

‘Excellent! They will give you a vision to work towards. But I would suggest you do a bit at a time. If you try to tackle it all at once, you’ll become demoralised. How big is this garden anyway?’

‘Too big,’ he sighed. ‘Do you want to take a look at the rest of it?’

Did she ever! ‘If you think it would help,’ she replied mildly, resisting the urge to clap her hands in glee. What she wouldn’t give to get her mitts on a garden like this!

Once again, she followed him, this time on a meandering path that passed underneath the rose-adorned archway and deeper into the garden. All the while her senses were overwhelmed by the colours of the flowers, the dappled light through the leaves, the scents of the blooms as she brushed past them, the low-level hum of bees and other pollinating insects, and the sounds of birds – many, many birds. This garden was no sterile uninspiring stretch of lawn with a couple of shrubs to frame it. This was a living, breathing entity, and she felt honoured to be there.

‘The trick is not to lose this,’ she murmured, as her mind whirled with what needed to be done, what could be done, and what should never be done. The three lists were roughly equal in length.

‘Pardon?’

‘You should preserve as much of this as possible,’ she advised. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘There’s more,’ he warned, pushing aside a large hydrangea to reveal what should be the beating heart of the garden but was sorely neglected: the greenhouse. ‘And there’s a potting shed behind that,’ he added, pointing to a magnificent rhododendron. ‘And a shed for tools.’

She could just make out the roof of a shed above the glossy dark green leaves. ‘That’s a great start.’

‘There’s also a compost heap – three in fact, although they’re just piles of soil at the moment.’

‘Brilliant! That’ll save you from having to buy any. Can I see?’

‘Be my guest.’

Ceri inched past, trying not to brush against him on the narrow path, and as she did so his cologne wafted up her nose. It was the same one he had worn the night they’d kissed, and she swallowed hard as the fragrance brought the memory into sharp focus.

Better not think of that right now, she warned, hurrying towards the greenhouse and conscious of his eyes on her as she peered through the glass. It was sad to see pots that had probably once held seedlings, with nothing in them now but dried-up compacted dirt. At this time of year, a greenhouse such as this should be full of plants, but the only things in this one were dust motes and cobwebs. It was lucky she didn’t mind spiders.

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