Page 38 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

‘I assume it will be going onto the field?’

‘That’s the plan, but I want to put it out of the way until I’m ready to use it.’

‘Why don’t you drop by tomorrow and we can make a start?’ he suggested. ‘It’ll be quicker with two.’

‘In that case, you must let me help you with your driveway.’ Smiling, she echoed, ‘It will be quicker with two. I’ll ask about a tree surgeon at work on Monday, and if you give me your phone number, I’ll send you their details. In the meantime, we can carry on cutting the bushes back and digging up that damned bindweed. It’ll take more than a day, but we can make a good start tomorrow.’

A whole day with her? Damon’s heart skipped a beat. She must like him if she wanted to spend a whole day with him, he mused, before common sense grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a good shake. She was merely being friendly and returning a favour. His gran used to say that gardeners were the best people: if you gave one a cutting from your favourite shrub, they’d give you some of their summer bulbs when they forked them up. He had offered her his compost and told her she could pick all the fruit she wanted, so she was returning the favour by helping him knock his drive back into shape, that was all.

Anyway, he wasn’t in any position to think about romance, he had too many other things going on…

He swirled the wine around in the glass, and asked, ‘Is the allotment the reason you wanted to know who owns the orchard?’

‘It would have been wonderful if it was part of it,’ she replied. ‘The plotters wouldn’t need to plant their own fruit trees.’

‘Are you going to be in charge of the allotment?’

‘It seems so. I honestly don’t mind, because they do tend to run themselves most of the time, although I suppose if it’s to be done properly I should set up an Allotment Association and hold meetings and stuff. But as the land the allotment is on is owned by the church and not the council, Terry will have the final say if there are any disputes.’

Damon finished the rest of his wine and got to his feet. It was time he was on his way; the bottle was empty and he didn’t want to outstay his welcome.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said, his spirits soaring at the thought of seeing her again so soon, and as she showed him out, he had to rein in the sudden urge to kiss her. ‘Bye, then.’

‘Bye,’ she echoed, leaning against the doorjamb.

He thought he could feel her gaze on his back all the way to the end of the road. However, when he turned the corner into Willow Tree Lane and glanced over his shoulder, he was disappointed to see that she had gone back inside.

But neither her apparent lack of interest nor his awareness that he didn’t need a romantic interlude right now, prevented him from thinking about her for the rest of the evening.

Chapter 10

Ceri was up with the lark this morning, or the sparrow to be exact, because there was a bunch of them squabbling in her little lilac bush, observed by a pair of wood pigeons whose cooing calls seemed to be egging them on and adding to the cacophony.

Wishing that she had agreed a time with Damon, she hoped nine o’clock wasn’t too early to show up on his doorstep, but that was two-and-a-half hours away and in the meantime she had better find something to do to stop her obsessing over him. So, she made some breakfast, then checked her lesson plans for the following week, sent an email to Mark asking him if she could take her first-year students on a field trip, and finally she prepared the assignment she would set them if the trip to the allotment was agreed. And all the while she tried not to think of that awful parent. If there were more like her out there, Ceri would definitely throw in the towel and get a job at a supermarket check-out. It might not pay as much, but at least she would be able to do her shift, then go home and not have to work for hours in the evening on things like lesson plans, and neither would she have to worry about setting assignments or parents accosting her.

Despite Mark’s assurances that everything was all right and that no harm had been done, Ceri had been awake half the night fretting. He had assured her that parents often got hold of the wrong end of the stick, and he had taken it upon himself to speak to Mrs Drake and explain that the video she had seen had only been half the story, but Ceri couldn’t help the niggling worry.

Scowling at the laptop and the piles of papers strewn over the dining table, she took herself off for a shower, even going as far as putting on makeup afterwards despite knowing she would be a dirty, sweaty mess within an hour. Then she set about making her and Damon a picnic lunch. If she was going to be at Willow Tree House all day, she would need something to eat and she didn’t expect Damon to feed her.

Lunch prepared, she packed it into a backpack, grabbed her extendable secateurs, a couple of pairs of thick gardening gloves and a lighter, and set off.

It was another glorious day, and as she passed the entrance to the allotment she smiled at the sight of the wildflowers blooming among the grass. It would be a shame to lose them, and she intended to make sure that didn’t happen. Some would have to be removed obviously, to make way for the vegetable beds but enough would remain, and she would also gather seeds later in the year, which she would scatter on the verges of the lanes and down by the river.

Ceri heard the music – an old seventies rock ballad – long before she saw where it was coming from, and she was humming to herself as she turned the corner into Damon’s drive.

To her surprise, he was already hard at work pulling up weeds. And was that swearing she could hear? It was, and she tried not to giggle.

He had his back to her, but he must either have sensed her presence or caught movement out of the corner of his eye, because he straightened up and turned around, his eyes wide with shock until he realised who it was.

‘There’s an easier way to get rid of weeds,’ she told him. ‘Stick the kettle on and I’ll show you.’

‘You’ve only just got here, and you want a cup of tea already?’ he teased, turning the music off, which pleased her. Although she enjoyed music, she preferred listening to the sounds of nature when she was outside.

‘It’s not for me, it’s for the weeds,’ she explained.

‘The weeds want a cup of tea?’

‘No, silly. You can kill them with boiling water. You’ll see them wither and wilt immediately, and it only takes a few days for the plant to go brown and die.’

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