Page 69 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

She was busily sorting out the healthiest plants when Portia sidled up to her and asked, ‘Do you live in that big house, the one next to your allotment?’

‘It’s not my allotment,’ she said. ‘It belongs to the village.’

‘Yeah, but do you live in that house?’

‘No, but I do live in Foxmore.’ She wasn’t about to tell them exactly where – she didn’t think it appropriate.

‘Do you know who does?’ Eleanor asked.

‘Why do you want to know?’ Ceri scrutinised a weak-looking cotoneaster and put it to one side, hoping she might be able to nurse it back to health.

‘You can see into their garden from the allotment. It looks lush.’

‘It is,’ Ceri agreed. She was the same – she always noticed the garden before she noticed the house it was attached to. Maybe she’d make gardeners out of these kids, after all. They didn’t exactly live and breathe horticulture, but they were embracing it with much more enthusiasm lately. It made all her hard work and fear that she was out of her depth in this new teaching role of hers easier to bear. She still wasn’t convinced she was any good at it and she still didn’t particularly enjoy it, but maybe she would in time…?

Portia broke into her thoughts. ‘Was that your boyfriend?’ She was smirking, and Ceri cringed.

Oh, God, had the girls seen her and Damon snogging yesterday at the allotment? It hadn’t been much of a snog – just a hug and a swift touch of the lips – but even that was too much. Hardly professional, was it?

She pursed her lips and decided not to answer. There was no way she was going to discuss her private life with her students. ‘Shall we get on? We’ve got a lot to do today.’

But as Portia sloped off, Ceri was struck by the awful fear that the girl might have filmed the incident.

Ceri sincerely hoped not, and it took her until lunchtime to dispel the niggling worry that Mrs Drake might rock up and make a complaint about that, too.

Chatter from beyond the little wooden gate made Damon pause. Wandering over to see what was going on, he discovered two plotters calling to each other from across the allotment. They were discussing the merits of differing varieties of tomatoes, and he stopped to listen. Despite his lingering concern, he was coming around to the idea of having an allotment next door to his house.

Yesterday afternoon had been busy, with lots of noise and people coming and going (which he put down to the excitement of the opening ceremony and having been allocated a plot), but it had already settled down, and today only a couple of plots were being worked on.

The degree of progress some had made was striking though, and one plot was now totally bare of grass. Its owners must have worked like the devil yesterday. Another was a quarter dug, the exposed soil having been turned over, and several bamboo wigwams were visible. Damon wondered what they intended to grow; it wasn’t too late for broad beans, or even runner beans or peas if the seedlings were already well established.

He smiled to himself when he realised he must have absorbed more than he’d thought from his gran. She had adored the allotment and had often roped him in to help. The bit he used to like best was picking whatever crop was harvestable, and he’d lost count of the number of times he had been scolded for slicing open ripe peapods with his thumb and eating the contents there and then, instead of waiting to have them cooked and served on a plate for his tea. They had been so sweet, and his mouth watered at the memory.

As Damon left the plotters to carry on with their tomato discussion and headed inside, he wondered whether Ceri would keep the field as an allotment after he gifted it to her. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine her turfing the plotters out. From what he had seen yesterday, they were so delighted that the allotment had been resurrected that he didn’t think she would have the heart.

His heart missed a beat as he thought of her. He’d not wanted her to go to work this morning, and was counting down the hours until she returned. The weekend had been so wonderful that he felt bereft without her. But on the upside, at least he would be able to phone Frank today and speak to him in private.

It was a task he wasn’t looking forward to.

‘Damon, Damon, don’t make any hasty decisions, eh? Take as long as you need,’ Frank urged.

‘I’ve taken long enough. My mind is made up.’ Damon felt awful breaking this kind of news to the band’s agent and manager over the phone, but the sooner it was done the better. Black Hyacinth was over. It had run its course, no matter what Frank, the record label, or any of the legal bods he might rope in, had to say. Damon had no doubt that Frank felt Aiden’s loss keenly, but Damon suspected it had more to do with the reduction in revenue if Black Hyacinth disbanded.

Not if –when.

Frank said, ‘What about Luke? Surely he deserves a say in this?’

‘He does, and he has. I’ve already spoken to him and he feels the same way. He said he’ll ring you later.’

‘I’m going to have to speak to the record label and the legal team—’ Frank began, and Damon inhaled sharply then let the breath out in a whoosh.

He didn’t want to go down this route, but if they forced his hand… ‘If you want to take me and Luke to court, go ahead. I can see the headlines, “grieving members of rock band Black Hyacinth forced to—”’

‘It won’t come to that, Damon,’ Frank broke in. ‘No one will hold you to it under the circumstances. And for what it’s worth, I completely understand. Between me and you, my heart’s not in it, either. Black Hyacinth won’t be the same without Aiden.’

Damon softened. ‘Thanks, Frank.’ Without Frank, Black Hyacinth wouldn’t have enjoyed the success that it had. The band owed him a lot and Damon didn’t want to part on bad terms.

Frank said, ‘Can you keep this under wraps until I’ve had a chance to speak to the record company? There will be all kinds of legal things to be considered and I don’t want the news leaking out prematurely. Not a word to anyone, OK? Not until we’re given the go-ahead. I’ll make sure Luke knows the score too.’

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