Page 85 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

Ceri stroked one of them absently.

Now that she was here, she didn’t know what to say and she felt self-conscious. Leaning against the cool marble, she wished she could speak to Hyacinth in person – although she didn’t have the faintest idea what good that would do. But there was no one else who knew him the way his grandmother had, and she was desperate for some comfort.

Ever since she had discovered the truth about him, Ceri had known this day would come. Hadn’t she already said goodbye to him? Last night she had placed a dark red rose on the pillow next to his head and had walked out of his life.

But she had stupidly allowed herself to hope. She had let the belief that he loved her and that he had meant it when he’d told her he was coming back, seep into her heart.

Hehadcome back – but only to tell her they were over. Through no fault of her own, she had killed his love for her. He thought she had betrayed him, and nothing she could say would make him change his mind.

But even if she could make him believe her, it would be fruitless. He would never belong to her. His life was music, bright lights, and screaming fans. Hers was the sound of wind in the branches, seedlings poking through the soil, and the gentle turn of the seasons.

No matter how hard she prayed and how much she wished, her world wasn’t his.

Tears fell again, trickling down her face, soft like summer rain.

She had cried so much, that it was a wonder she had any left, but they kept coming, and she suspected they always would. Although she might one day find laughter again, Damon would remain forever in her heart. And in the depths of the night, when the world slumbered, she would lie awake with her memories and cry silent tears.

Tracing Hyacinth’s name with her finger, Ceri wept, ‘Oh, God, I’ve lost him, Hyacinth.’

‘Ceri…’

Damon’s voice, coming out of the darkness at the side of the church, made her jump and she scrambled to her feet, her heart threatening to leap out of her chest in shock.

‘Damon?’ She couldn’t believe he was here. She began to tremble, and put her hand on Hyacinth’s headstone to steady herself as she peered into the shadows.

A figure emerged, walking slowly towards her, and when the streetlights illuminated his face, she thought how weary he looked. He halted a few paces away.

She wanted to run to him, to fling her arms around him and hold him close; but she was too scared. She couldn’t face rejection a second time.

Drinking in the sight of him, knowing this would definitely be the last time she would be alone with him, she had to force herself to move. She’d better leave. Hyacinth washisgrandmother, not hers, and she had no right to be there.

‘Don’t go.’ His voice was little more than a whisper.

Ceri hesitated. She wanted to stay, but she didn’t think she could take it. Misery coiled inside her, tightening its grip on her heart, squeezing it mercilessly, the pain unbearable.

‘I love you, Ceri, please don’t go.’

Swallowing hard, she drew in a shaky breath. She was frozen, her limbs a dead weight, her mind numb. Had she really heard him say he loved her? Or had she imagined it, desperation making her mind play tricks on her. But even if she had heard him say that, it didn’t change anything.

‘Ceri, please…’ His voice caught. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t love me.’ He sounded anguished, broken. It made her heart bleed.

He stepped towards her. He was so close that if she put out her hand she would be able to touch him, and it took all her willpower not to.

Blinking away fresh tears, she said, ‘I do love you. I’ll never stop loving you, but…’

‘I’m so, so sorry, you must believe me. I was stupid – I wasn’t thinking clearly and I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I know you didn’t betray me.’

‘It’s not that.’

‘Then what is it?’

‘I don’t fit into your life.’

He frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

Was he being deliberately obtuse? Did she have to spell it out for him? She shook her head. ‘You are the lead singer of Black Hyacinth, I’m—’ She held up a hand as he opened his mouth to interrupt. ‘Please… let me finish.’ When he subsided, she said, ‘I’m a horticulturist. Your home is on a stage; mine is in a garden. You perform in front of hundreds of fans; I plant things and dig up weeds. Is that enough to be going on with?’ Her last words ended on a sob.

Damon was silent for several seconds, then he said quietly, ‘I should have told you sooner… and I wanted to, but Frank asked me not to say anything for a while.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I’m no longer in Black Hyacinth.’

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