Page 28 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

The potting shed was no better, but it was tidy and had some interesting things in it, such as biscuits tins which Ceri suspected probably held seeds that were long past their sow-by date. She wanted to root through them, but thought she’d better not, so she fought her way to the tool shed instead.

When she opened the door she was met by an impressive array of implements, many of them decades old but still perfectly serviceable. Everything was very neat, and Ceri had an acute case of shed envy – mainly because she didn’t have one. Her tiny garden didn’t have room for even the smallest of sheds, and most of the tools she had collected over the years were currently safely stored in her parents’ garage. A shed would be one of the first things she would need in the allotment, she thought, because without the appropriate tools at hand, she wouldn’t make much headway.

The compost heaps, all three of them, were tucked away to the side of the shed, and they were brimming with lovely rich material. She dug her hands into it and breathed deeply as she turned some of it over. To her, it smelled just as wonderful as the most expensive perfume.

But not as wonderful as Damon, she mused, before pushing the thought away in irritation. He might have kissed her once, but he had shown no inclination of wanting to kiss her again, so she should stop thinking of him in that way. It wasn’t easy, though – she had never been so attracted to a man in her life. All her previous boyfriends paled into insignificance by comparison.

She had no clue as to why that was. It might be because of the way they had met. A magical evening such as the one they’d shared was bound to leave a lasting impression. But she didn’t think that was the sole reason. Damon was charismatic; there was something about him that made her think if he was in a room full of people, everyone’s eyes would be drawn towards him.

Dear Lord, was she being fanciful or what? Damon was an average bloke, who probably did an average job. If she ever got to know him better, she would ask him what he did for a living – but she had to admit it would be a bit of a let-down if he was a boring desk-jockey. He didn’t live in an average house, though, and his garden was very far from average. It was magnificent! At least she had met him first, before she had seen his garden, because she would seriously have doubted her motives for wanting to get to know him better if it had been the other way around. A garden such as Damon’s was almost worth selling her soul for.

Chapter 8

‘What’s your verdict?’ Damon asked when Ceri reluctantly dragged herself away from compost sniffing.

‘You’ve got some good stuff,’ she enthused. ‘It’s very rich and loamy, so you’ll probably want to mix it with perlite to aerate it, otherwise it might be a bit dense. And if you’re going to use it in any pots around the garden, I suggest adding vermiculite to hold moisture, else you might find yourself having to water your pots twice a day in high summer. Mind you, you might have to do that anyway,’ she advised, ‘depending on what you plant in them.’ She stopped talking when she noticed an amused expression on his face.

‘I meant the garden,’ he said, ‘but thank you for letting me know about the compost heap.’

Ceri felt the slow burn of a blush creeping into her cheeks. ‘Sorry, I do tend to get a little carried away when I’m talking about gardening.’

‘It’s a good job you’re a horticulturist,’ he replied. ‘Have you got any tips for the garden in general?’

‘As I said, it’s going to be a big task and one that would probably benefit from being broken up into bite-sized pieces. My first recommendation would be to make sure that the greenhouse, the potting shed and the tool shed are easily accessible; it’s the wrong time of year to cut back the rhododendron and the hydrangea, but needs must. After that, I suggest you tidy up your paths, again to make it easier to get around the garden. The last thing you want to be doing is trying to ram a wheelbarrow through an overgrown bush.’ She could see that he’d had a go at cutting back some of the shrubs. ‘Butchered’ was the word that came to mind.

‘I’ve already found that out,’ he said ruefully.

She gazed at him earnestly, whilst trying not to lose herself in the depths of those dark eyes. ‘If you can afford it, my advice would be to bring in an experienced gardener.’

Those dark eyes turned flinty. ‘Such as yourself?’

Ceri flinched at the accusation and her own eyes hardened. ‘I’m not touting for business, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve already got a job, thank you.’ In fact, she really should be sorting out her lesson plans for next week, not taking on more work. If she was honest, she was daft to even be considering restoring the allotment, because of the amount of work it would entail. She would be better off pouring her time and energy into settling into her new job. The last thing she wanted was to make a hash of it and for the college to sack her.

The thought of going to work on Monday made her stomach churn. Things hadn’t got any easier in that respect over the course of the week, and she still wasn’t convinced this job was right for her. But she needed the money and it paid a darned sight better than working in a garden centre.

Damon had the grace to look contrite. ‘Sorry, it was wrong of me to assume.’

‘Yes, it was.’

‘Sorry,’ he repeated. ‘Would you like to have a look at the orchard?’

‘Only if you want to show it to me.’ She wasn’t going to let him off that easily, even though she dearly wanted to see it.

As he ushered her back along the path, she noticed that he hadn’t responded to her suggestion of employing a gardener. It would cost a pretty penny to restore this garden to its former glory and would take many weeks, if not months. It wouldn’t be cheap, although it would be time-effective. But maybe he didn’t have the funds, or perhaps he wanted to work on it himself? That would be Ceri’s preferred option, if this garden belonged to her.

They were almost back at the house when Damon cut off to the right, following the little winding path she had noticed earlier, and she smiled as she realised her wish of wondering where it led would be granted.

This side of the garden bordered Willow Tree Field, she guessed, getting her bearings, and when she saw the little wooden gate set into the hedge and her allotment beyond it, she knew she was right. A shiver of desire travelled down her back as she realised Damon must have walked through it the night he had seen her dancing in the field.

Ceri swiftly stamped down on her libido, and tried to focus her attention on the first of the apple trees as it came into view.

It was a lovely old specimen, its thick gnarled trunk leading to spreading branches laden with small unripe fruit, and was in dire need of a good prune to open it up to the air. But even as part of her registered what needed to be done, most of her attention was on Damon.

He was gazing around the orchard as though he hadn’t seen it before, and she wondered how long it was since he was here last. It was badly overgrown, with brambles clawing their way between the trees, and rosebay willowherb – a perennial self-seeding weed – growing abundantly. It seemed to be very happy here. But at least there was no sign of the bindweed she had seen at the front of the house, so that was one less thing for him to worry about.

‘It’s lovely,’ she said.

‘It’s full of brambles. Oh, buggeration.’

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