Page 52 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

To her relief, there were lots of nodding heads in the room, so she felt able to continue. ‘I’ll mark out the plots,’ she said, ‘and when that’s done and they’ve been allocated, Terry will be performing a little opening ceremony, which you are all welcome to attend. But you’ll have to bring your own drinks and biscuits, I’m afraid…’ Laugher followed, and after several questions, the meeting broke up as people headed for Betsan, who was presiding over the tea urn and the plates of biscuits.

‘Do you need any help marking out the plots?’ Terry asked, after he had fetched them both a cup of tea.

‘I’m going to ask my head of department if he can spare a couple of hours and the minibus, as I thought my students might like to do it. They handed in an assignment today with their plans for the allotment and I must say, I’m rather impressed. I haven’t had a chance to grade them yet, but I’ve had a quick look and a couple of them have got it spot on, the way it was when Hyacinth Rogers ran it. Whoever laid it out originally knew what they were doing.’

‘That would have been Hyacinth herself.’ Mrs Moxley had sneaked up on them unawares and inserted herself between them. ‘She used to love that allotment. Took great pride in it, she did. And her garden. It’s such a shame it’s been allowed to go to rack and ruin. It was lovely, it was. A proper cottage garden with proper flowers. You could have taken a photo of it and put it on a chocolate box.’ She slurped her tea. ‘What about the orchard? Those apples could have given the ones in the Garden of Eden a run for their money.’

‘I’m afraid the orchard isn’t part of the deal.’ Ceri was disappointed about that, too, but if she owned an orchard as lovely as Damon’s, she probably wouldn’t want loads of people trampling through it either.

Mrs Moxley’s eyes lit up at the possibility of some gossip. ‘I’ve heard rumours that someone is living in Willow Tree House.’

Terry said, ‘I believe Hyacinth’s grandson has moved back in.’

‘Oh, I do hope so!’ the old lady exclaimed. ‘She left the house to him, you know. And all her money. Her son didn’t get a look in. Mind you, I don’t blame her – that son of hers was always off gallivanting. All over the world he’s been, digging here and digging there. Neither him nor that wife of his could lift their noses out of the dirt long enough to pay that boy any attention. Packed him off to boarding school as soon as he was old enough, the poor little sod. If it wasn’t for Hyacinth, young Damon wouldn’t have had a home life. He used to spend every summer with her and most of the other school holidays, too. He was a lovely boy. Very polite.’ She sighed dramatically. ‘Hyacinth missed him dreadfully when he stopped coming so often, but I suppose he got too old for Foxmore. I bet our Rachel’s kids won’t want to hang about once they hit their teenage years. They’ll be off like rats up a drainpipe.’

Ceri wasn’t sure she approved of Mrs Moxley talking so freely about Damon’s past, and she suspected he would be mortified if he knew. But then, from what Mrs Moxley had said, he had lived in Foxmore long enough to know what the village was like. Everyone knew everyone else’s business, and no one could keep anything secret for long. He had been away for quite a few years, though, so maybe he had forgotten how gossipy it could get.

She thought back to the comment Eleanor had made about Foxmore being a dump. It was ironic that so many teenagers couldn’t wait to leave a village like this, yet when they had families of their own, they often couldn’t wait to come back. She was certainly glad she’d made the move. Cardiff had been a great place to live and she’d had such a lot of fun, but now she was ready to settle down. And what better place to settle down in than Foxmore? And what better man to settle down with than Damon?

Silently she chided herself for such thoughts. Their relationship was far too new to be doodling Mrs Ceri Rogers on the back page of an exercise book, the way she used to write Ceri Sharples when she was in Year 9 and had a major crush on Wayne Sharples. She and Damon had to get to know one another properly first. Even though they had slept together and had explored each other’s bodies, she had yet to explore his mind and there was so much she didn’t know about him.

One of the things – one that had been niggling at her for a while – was what he did for a living. He’d told her that he was living off his investments, which was all well and good, but she still hadn’t established what he did to have amassed those investments in the first place. Or had he inherited them from Hyacinth, as Mrs Moxley had suggested? Despite knowing him intimately, she didn’t feel she could ask. Not just yet. Give it a couple of weeks, and maybe she would.

She had learned a little about his childhood this evening though, and her heart went out to him as she thought about what Mrs Moxley had said. How awful that he’d been shunted off to his grandma’s house in the country because his parents were too busy. It was also a shame that he hadn’t been back in a while… But he was here now, and that was what mattered.

They had spent all weekend together, mostly in bed. She couldn’t get enough of him, and she hugged herself as she remembered how perfect it had been.

Almostperfect…

Damon was an attentive and generous lover, passionate yet considerate, giving freely of himself. Physically, at least. Emotionally, though… she sensed he was holding back and she wondered whether it had anything to do with the strange episode he’d had on the day she had helped him clear his drive.

As for her, Ceri hadn’t held back – she hadn’t been able to, because she had never felt this way about anyone before.

Damon felt very conspicuous sitting in The Jolly Fox by himself. He felt as though people were staring at him. But Foxmore was a busy little place, thronging with walkers, climbers and campers throughout the summer months, and he hoped that if anyone did notice him, they would assume he was a tourist, here to enjoy the great outdoors and a pint in the pub after a day in the mountains.

He was aware he was taking a risk being here, but when Ceri had suggested having a meal in the pub after the meeting, she’d caught him unawares and he hadn’t been quick enough to think of an excuse. Besides, he had ventured into the heart of the village on several occasions, and nobody had recognised him so far, so he was hopeful that would also be the case this evening.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the door, Damon’s heart leapt when he caught sight of Ceri. Her face was glowing and her eyes shone, and he waved to gain her attention. Her beaming smile when she saw him and hurried over, made it leap again.

‘I take it the meeting went well,’ he said, after fetching her a drink from the bar. So far so good, he thought: the barman hadn’t looked at him twice, and neither had anyone else. Damon had a couple of menus tucked under his arm, and he handed one to her.

She said, ‘I’m famished. I haven’t eaten a thing since one o’clock. Yes, it went really well. Terry threw me in at the deep end and got me to do all the talking, but I didn’t make a fool of myself, thank goodness. It’s going to be hard work breaking the ground, and the rest of this year will be spent preparing the plots ready for spring planting,’ she added. ‘I doubt if much will be grown from now until then, although if people get a move on they could sow spinach, spring cabbage, turnips, and some autumn salad leaves. If they are sensible, they’ll do a bit at a time, and not try to do it all in one go. Twenty-five square metres doesn’t sound very much, and it doesn’t look particularly large until you have to work it. Managed well, it should feed a family of four all year round. But as I said, it won’t be producing much for a while.’

She stopped to take a drink, and he studied her. The glow was still there, and he realised she was in her element. She lived and breathed plants, and they were as vital to her as oxygen.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Ceri said. There was a hopeful look on her face with a hint of pleading behind it, and he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what she was about to say.

‘The orchard… Mrs Moxley asked me about it. I told her it wasn’t part of the allotment, but it got me thinking.’ She put a hand on his. ‘With the allotment not producing anything significant for a while, I thought it might be nice for the plotters to pick some of your fruit. It would save it from going to waste, and they could help tidy the orchard up and cut the brambles back in exchange.’

Damon didn’t hesitate. ‘Definitely not.’

Ceri’s eyes widened and he realised he had been rather abrupt.

‘Sorry, Ceri, but I don’t think I can face seeing people in Gran’s orchard.’ He couldn’t face seeing anyone on any part of his property. The risk of being recognised was too great. Maybe after he left…? But even then, he wasn’t keen.

‘Not even me?’ Her voice was small.

‘You aren’tpeople.’

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