Page 44 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

‘I didn’t know you.’

‘Yet you’d already kissed me.’ She stared him straight in the eye, her lips slightly parted, and he felt heat surge through him.

‘So I had,’ he replied slowly. His gaze locked onto hers and for several heartbeats neither of them said anything.

It was Ceri who broke the contact, looking away and biting her bottom lip, and Damon wasn’t sure whether she had expected him to kiss her again, or whether she had been concerned in case he was going to.

‘Thanks for dinner,’ she said. ‘And thanks again for the compost.’

‘I think I had the better end of the bargain,’ he chuckled, to hide his discomposure.

‘I’ll let you know about the tree surgeon,’ she added.

He had expected her to walk into the kitchen and leave by the front door, but instead she trotted off down the path, heading towards the little wooden gate and the allotment beyond.

Resisting the urge to follow her to the gate to watch as she danced across the field, he allowed himself to picture her slim figure fading into the twilight.

With the clearing up done, Damon took the rest of the wine into the parlour, opened the French doors, and picked up his guitar. He played his latest composition from memory, polishing it and fine-tuning it until he was as happy as he could be, thinking of Ceri as he played…

It had been a close call when she’d asked him about his music. It didn’t feel right lying to her, even if it was by omission, but he didn’t see what else he could have done if he wanted to remain anonymous.

His hands stung from all the cutting and clipping, his back and the muscles in his thighs and shoulders ached, and his forearms were covered in scratches, but he had to admit that he’d enjoyed himself today. And the reason was Ceri. If he had done the work on his own, without her by his side, it would have been a satisfying task but not nearly as enjoyable.

Having spent all day in her company, Damon was asking himself why he was holding back. He should have kissed her. Aiden wouldn’t have hesitated. But Damon wasn’t as fancy-free as his friend had been. Despite having kissed a total stranger in a meadow, Damon wasn’t the type of man to make a habit of casual sex. He preferred it to mean something, and Ceri was beginning to mean more to him than was wise, considering he would be returning to London shortly. It wasn’t a good idea to get involved when he wasn’t able to commit to her.

A memory from when he was a teenager flashed across his mind. It had been one of the rare occasions when he had flown out to goodness-knows-where to spend a couple of weeks with his parents. It might have been naïve of him, but he had hoped they would have stopped grubbing about in the dirt for long enough to spend some time with him, but that hadn’t been the case. He had been expected to do his bit on the dig, joining in with the other volunteers. Except, he hadn’t been a volunteer. He had been railroaded into it in order to spend some time with his mum and dad, and also not to be bored out of his mind. He couldn’t even remember where the dig had been – somewhere hot, sandy and dusty. All he could remember was the baking sun, the flies, and a deep sense of disappointment.

Damon abruptly realised he wanted what his parents had. They were utterly devoted to one another. Although they had taken it to the extreme in that he had felt excluded – both by their love for each other and their intense passion for their profession – he nevertheless wanted to experience that kind of love for himself.

Until now, he had not met anyone who he thought might stir such feelings in him. Could Ceri be that woman?

And did he have the courage to find out?

Chapter 12

Ceri clapped her hands together to bring the attention of her students back to her. ‘Listen up,’ she called, waiting for silence. It was a trick Mark had imparted. ‘Don’t shout over them,’ he’d advised. ‘Tell them once, then wait. They’ll soon pay attention.’

It worked, and the class fell silent. She gazed at her students and wondered, not for the first time in the past couple of days, whether the video footage that one of them had taken of the soil-eating incident had been malicious, or whether it had merely been youthful indiscretion.

None of the faces staring back at her were giving anything away, and she tried to put it out of her head – although the incident had preyed on her mind over the weekend, and especially on Sunday when she had been up to her eyes in college work.

Taking a deep breath, she carried on, saying, ‘You’ve got one final assignment before the end of term.’ She ignored the groans. ‘This will make up part of your coursework grade for this academic year. However,’ she waved a hand for silence, ‘it does mean that we get to go on a field trip.’

Once again, she had to wait for the class to settle, but it didn’t take long.

‘Where are we going?’ the boy who had volunteered to eat the mock soil asked.

‘Foxmore. It’s a village about ten miles away. Do any of you know it?’ One or two nodded, and she continued, ‘Foxmore used to have an allotment, but it fell into disuse several years ago. I’ve been tasked with setting up a new one, and I thought it might be nice for you to get in at the grassroots, as it were, and see how to set up an allotment from scratch. Some of you may end up being part of an allotment association when you’re older, but even if you don’t, this exercise will still be invaluable.’

She went on to explain how they would have to consider where to site the individual plots, taking particular note of any areas of shade, the direction of the sun, the prevailing winds, and so on. She added the instruction that they would need to maintain as much diversity as possible in the field, and that they would have to take wildlife into account, especially the bees and other pollinators. It was a substantial brief, which would hopefully stretch them.

She also explained that although the plotters would be responsible for breaking their own ground, plus the ongoing maintenance of their plots and erecting any sheds, greenhouses or small polytunnels, she wanted the students to produce a piece of work that showed where the ideal positioning for these kinds of structures would be for each plot. She also told them that she wanted them to do some soil sampling and devise a programme of soil improvement measures. And, if there was enough time, she suggested that they may even be able to help with staking out the plots.

‘You just want free labour,’ one of the cheekier lads called out.

‘Of course I do! I’ve got to get some reward out of teaching you horrible lot,’ she joked. ‘Seriously, guys, the trip will take place on Thursday. Bring a packed lunch, hats, sunscreen, and plenty of water. Try not to forget your notebooks, pens and pencils, please,’ she added, knowing from even relatively short experience that there were always one or two who were totally unprepared.

She finished with, ‘Before you go, I want you to do some research regarding the rules and regulations around setting up an allotment,’ but she wasn’t sure how much of this last piece of information they’d heard, because they were too busy putting their books away and getting ready to leave.

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