Page 64 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

‘Where are you thinking of going?’

‘To visit a garden, where else?’

Damon shook his head. ‘Trust you! Come on, dinner’s almost ready.’

‘What are we having?’

‘Chilli con carne.’ He placed the slim notebook back in the tin and popped the lid back on, stroking it reverentially. ‘I can almost feel her. She’s here, in this shed, and in this garden.’

Ceri placed a hand on his arm. ‘I can feel her, too. I suppose she put so much of herself into her garden that you can’t help it. And this—’ she indicated the potting shed ‘—was her domain, her sanctuary.’

‘It’s swiftly becoming my sanctuary, too.’

It might be true, but Ceri knew in her heart that sanctuary or not, it wouldn’t be enough to keep him here.

Damon had no idea what had roused him but once he was awake he couldn’t get back to sleep. Excitement about the future vied with concern whether he was doing the right thing, making him twitchy and restless. If Luke had been upset on hearing that Damon wanted to leave the band, Damon wasn’t entirely sure he could have gone through with it; however, knowing that his bandmate felt the same way had reassured him. It was natural to have some reservations, he guessed, and he knew it would take time to get used to the idea that after the new album was released, Black Hyacinth would be no more.

He would hang fire saying anything to Ceri just yet, though, because it was only fair that he informed Frank and the record label first.

Damon turned onto his side and tried spooning her, in an attempt to go back to sleep, but after lying there for over twenty minutes listening to her soft, even breathing, he decided to get up for a while, worried that he might wake her.

Unwilling to pick up his guitar, because playing it would most certainly disturb her, he wandered into the kitchen. The faint aroma of chilli lingered in the air, and he opened a window to dispel it. As he did so he thought back to seeing Ceri in the potting shed with one of his grandmother’s journals in her hand, and he felt a sudden urge to read them.

The night was quiet and still, with not a hint of a breeze to rustle the leaves as he crept down the path towards the potting shed. No owl broke the silence, no bats flew overhead. Even the fox was absent. It was as though the world held its breath, waiting for the sun to return.

The shed was warm, holding onto the heat of the day. He left the door open and lit a candle, wondering how often his gran used to work in the potting shed in the dark. The flame was feeble, but when he picked up a journal and opened it there was just enough light to read by, and it didn’t take him long to get lost in the pages. He was soon immersed in his grandmother’s life and that of the garden, but when he came to one particular section, what he read both shocked and delighted him. The church didn’t own the field next to the house:he did. The allotment on Willow Tree Lane had belonged to Hyacinth all along.

Laughing softly at the discovery, his first instinct was to dash back to the house and wake Ceri with kisses to tell her the good news.

His second was to say nothing for the time being. He needed to sort the band out first and get those tracks finished. And when that was done and Black Hyacinth was officially disbanded, he intended to gift the field to Ceri so she could make her dream of owning a nursery come true.

‘Tell me about Plas yn Rhiw.’ Damon was sitting in the passenger seat of Ceri’s car, looking forward to his day out.

‘It’s a manor house near Abersoch, with the most gorgeous gardens,’ she replied.

Abersoch was a small town at the furthest end of the Llyn Peninsular, and from what he could remember the area was wild and beautiful. He hadn’t been to that particular part of north Wales for years. ‘Talk about a busman’s day out,’ he joked.

She stuck her nose in the air. ‘This is more for your benefit than mine – although I’m perfectly happy to have another look around the gardens. You’re going to love them.’

‘Formybenefit?’

‘It’ll give you some inspiration for your own garden, and believe me, you’re going to need it when you start to flag.’

Inspiration wasn’t his major concern today. What was at the forefront of his mind was spending the whole day with Ceri. This felt like their first proper date and he was more than happy to sit back and watch the glorious countryside flow past the window as the car turned towards the coast and followed the road as it skirted past seaside towns such as Criccieth and Pwllheli.

The views were fantastic, impossibly blue sea on one side with the sun glittering on the water, and on the other rolling green fields interspersed by patches of woodland, small villages and hamlets. The further west they went the more rural the landscape became, with nothing but farms and the occasional house to be seen.

Plas yn Rhiw’s manor house was situated in an elevated position surrounded by a broadleaf woodland with stunning views across Cardigan Bay, and when Damon unfurled himself from the car he inhaled deeply. The air was fresh and fragrant, perfumed with growing things and a hint of the sea. He was loving it already, and he hadn’t even seen the house or the gardens yet.

They walked along the lane to the entrance to the property and when Damon spied a chalkboard propped up beside the tree-lined driveway, he slung his arm around Ceri’s shoulders. ‘There’s a tearoom. Fancy a coffee and a cake before we start?’ he suggested.

‘Good idea!’

Ceri’s eyes were everywhere, drinking in the sight of each and every plant, whilst he drank in the sight ofher. He couldn’t get enough of looking at her, of touching her, and kissing her. And it wasn’t just physical – he loved talking to her too, loved her humour and her sass.

He loved her.

Faltering, he almost stumbled as he abruptly realised that he was in love, and the knowledge shocked him to his core. He knew he had been falling for her, but to discover that he had alreadyfallen… It made his heart sing, and he didn’t think he had ever been as happy.

---