Page 71 of The Allotment on Willow Tree Lane

‘I’ve got some runner beans in the ground,’ an elderly gent said as he sauntered over, his hands on his hips. He had been watching her fight with the dandelion for the past few minutes. ‘You wanna get that root out. You don’t want to leave it there.’

She knew he meant well, but his advice irritated her. Couldn’t he see that was what she was trying to do? She wondered how far the dandelion’s tap root went down, and from the feel of it, she estimated it was halfway to Australia.

‘Bernie Williams,’ the man said.

‘Ceri Morgan,’ she panted, as she put her back into her task.

‘I know. I was at the meeting and the opening whatchamacallit when the Reverend made a tit of himself. Bill and Ben, my arse – excuse my French.’

Ceri bit her lip and tried not to laugh. See, gardening was lifting her mood already.

‘What are you thinking of putting in there?’ he asked. ‘I’m only asking coz I’ve got a couple of packets of peas going spare. They are last year’s, so not all of them will germinate, but you’re welcome to have them.’

Ceri was touched. She stopped digging and straightened up. ‘That’s very kind, thank you.’

It was getting a little late in the year to sow peas, but she might get a small crop, and even if she didn’t, the plants themselves would lock nitrogen into the soil, giving a boost to anything she grew in that spot next year.

‘Are you going to put a shed up?’ he continued. ‘You’re going to need a shed or greenhouse.’

‘Funny you should say that; I’ve got one of each being delivered next week.’

‘If you need any help building them, I’m your man,’ Bernie said. ‘I can’t do any heavy lifting, mind, but I can hold stuff and tell you where it goes. That’s my plot over there.’ He pointed, and Ceri’s gaze followed his finger. She recognised it as one of the first to have had a shed erected.

‘If you want a water butt, speak to the council,’ he continued. ‘That’s where I got mine from. They’re free, and if you’re lucky they’ll throw in a packet of wildflower seeds. They give away compost bins too, but you’ve got to be quick because they go like hotcakes. I prefer a wooden one myself, not them plastic things with lids.’

‘I agree,’ Ceri said. In her opinion, traditionally constructed compost bins did a far better job of breaking down waste vegetable matter, and she glanced at the pile of compost behind her plot.

Bernie noticed. ‘Where did that lot come from, I’ve been wondering?’

‘A friend donated it,’ she said, not wanting to divulge its exact source in case it started a conversation that she wasn’t prepared to get into. Damon hadn’t been hiding away as much lately, but he still continued to guard his privacy jealously.

‘Nice stuff, that,’ Bernie said. ‘Wouldn’t mind a bit of it myself.’

Ceri took the hint. ‘Help yourself to a barrowload,’ she offered, hoping that word didn’t get around, otherwise there would soon be none left. Then she chided herself for being mean. Allotments were all about community spirit, with a healthy dose of competition thrown in. Both of those things were already in evidence, the community spirit especially; while she worked, she had heard questions being asked and advice freely given, along with offers of help.

‘I might take you up on that,’ Bernie said, and she watched him trot sprightly back to his plot and grab his wheelbarrow.

A short while later someone else asked if they could have some compost and offered her rosemary and lavender cuttings in exchange.

Bernie, his barrow now full of compost, sauntered across the allotment, several packets of seeds in his hand. ‘Here’s the peas, and I’ve got some broad beans you might like. Only one packet of those, mind, but it should be enough for a couple of dinners.’

Ceri particularly liked them in a salad, and her mouth began to water at the thought. It would be several weeks before they were ready for picking though, and her thoughts turned to the more immediate subject of dinner this evening. Bless him, Damon had offered to do the cooking again, and she promised herself that she would make it up to him.

Returning to her dandelion problem, she grasped the foliage and yanked hard.

‘Argh!’ she yelled as the plant abruptly released its grip on the earth, and she stumbled backwards cursing under her breath.

Glad that it was finally out, she was about to call it a day and nip home for a shower and a change of clothes, when she saw Mrs Moxley heading in her direction. She had someone else with her – a woman in her fifties – and as they grew closer Ceri spotted the resemblance between the two and she guessed it must be her daughter.

‘I’ve got the plot next to yours,’ Mrs Moxley announced, picking her way around a partially turned over plot. She beamed. ‘I do love an allotment. I never used to, but my husband had one for years – the very spot where you’ve got yours, actually. It would have broken his heart to see the allotment as it was before you took it on. I don’t know how you managed to persuade—’ She stopped abruptly as her attention was caught by Bernie Williams. He was waving at her, and she waved back.

Ceri was amused to see a blush spread across the old lady’s face. Mrs Moxley appeared to have a soft spot for Bernie.

‘I’ve got the kettle on the Primus,’ he called, and she shouted back, ‘I’ll be there in a tick.’

She turned her attention back to Ceri. ‘Where was I? Never mind, I just thought I’d introduce you to our Janice. She and her husband will be doing all the hard work. I’ll be supervising. Our Janice doesn’t know the first thing about plants, despite spending hours here with her father, God rest his soul.’

‘I didn’t spend hours here, Mam. Just now and again. We used totellyou I was here because you’d only have nagged if you knew I was down by the river with my friends.’

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