Page 51 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

‘Hi, you,’ she said, softly.

‘Hi. What are you doing?’

‘Nothing much. You?’

‘Nothing much, playing music,’ he said, knowing she would assume he was listening to it, not composing it. He took a deep breath. ‘And missing you.’

‘That’s good, because I’m missing you, too.’

‘Can I see you again?’

‘When?’

‘Now?’

‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

Damon put the phone down. Ten minutes. Even that was too long to wait, but at least it gave him time to stash his guitar and his sheet music. He would tell her, but not just yet. At the moment he was luxuriating in his anonymity and he didn’t want anything to alter her opinion of him. Deep down he knew she wasn’t like that, but it was too soon, their relationship too new… And he was all too aware of its fragility. He would be returning to London shortly, and he had no idea how to deal with that.

Chapter 14

The church hall was bustling with noise as people took their seats. Ceri was surprised and somewhat alarmed by how well attended the meeting was. Terry had invited all the villagers who were interested in renting a plot on the allotment, and the turnout was considerably larger than Ceri had anticipated for a Tuesday evening.

‘There aren’t enough plots to go round,’ she hissed to Terry out of the corner of her mouth. She and the vicar were perched on the raised dais at the front of the hall, and she felt hideously conspicuous. This was worse than the first time she had stood in front of a class.

‘It’ll be fine,’ he said, airily. ‘Although there may well be one or two disappointed people.’

‘One or two? There’ll be loads.’

‘See Mrs Moxley?’

Ceri scanned the room, then nodded when she spotted the old lady. Mrs Moxley beamed at her and gave her a thumbs up. Ceri smiled weakly back.

Terry said, ‘She wants a plot – I told her to speak to you, by the way – but she’s brought her daughter, her granddaughter and great-grandkids with her for moral support. And for the tea and biscuits afterwards, and because it’s something to do on a Tuesday evening – although you would have thought that those kiddies should be in bed. What was I saying? Oh, yes… you can rule her lot out. Only Mrs Moxley wants a plot. I suspect the rest of the family will be roped in to help though, as I can’t see her doing all that digging on her own.’ He scanned the room. ‘And there are plenty of others who’ll want to have a plot as a family. Take Ianto Phelps, for instance.’ Terry pointed to an elderly chap wearing a flat cap. ‘He’s here with his wife, and I dare say they’ll be working their plot together, as will a good many others. So, it’s not as bad as it looks,’ he finished.

Thank goodness for that – Ceri had feared she was about to be lynched.

At seven o’clock on the dot, Terry yelled, ‘Order! Order!’ and the noise subsided. ‘Thank you for coming. I’ll now hand you over to the woman behind the allotment’s resurrection, Ceri Morgan.’

Ceri gulped. She hadn’t expected to be thrown to the wolves – she had assumed Terry was going to lead the meeting.

Getting shakily to her feet, she said, ‘Er, hello, everyone. I understand you’re here because you want a plot in the allotment? Ha, ha, of course you are.’ She swallowed nervously. ‘Terry has passed on a list of names, and as you know, the plot allocation will be on a first come, first served basis.’ A couple of boos were offset by a few cheers.

‘Fix!’ someone yelled.

Someone else called, ‘Shut up, Aled. Why are you here anyway? You don’t need an allotment, you’ve got a ruddy great farm.’

Terry leant nearer to Ceri and whispered in her ear, ‘He’s one of those who is only here for the refreshments.’

Ceri took a drink of water, her mouth dry, then carried on. ‘There are sixteen plots available, roughly twenty-five square metres each, and mostly rectangular.’

‘Who gets first dibs?’ Mrs Moxley called. ‘I don’t want just any old plot.’

Ceri had been thinking about this. ‘We’re going to number the plots, then draw names out of a hat,’ she said, firmly.

‘All except Ceri herself,’ Terry interrupted. ‘If it wasn’t for her, there wouldn’tbean allotment, so I reckon she should have her pick.’

Ceri blushed furiously. She had been planning on choosing her plot first anyway, and it simply hadn’t occurred to her that she wasn’t being democratic.

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