Page 20 of Weekends with the Sunshine Gardening Society
Cynthia frowns but nods.
‘You’re with Barb. Lizzie, you’re with me.’
Elizabeth wasn’t given a say about her own nickname and she doesn’t think it would help anyway. Shirley does what she wants – Elizabeth knows this already – and what she wants right now is to work on Jon’s garden.
‘Master Charles,’ Shirley says, and Charlie looks up, grinning. ‘You’re on rubbish duty.’
‘This is my son,’ Elizabeth explains to Cynthia.
‘Hello, Charles,’ Cynthia says.
‘Charlie,’ Elizabeth says. ‘Usually he’s Charlie.’
Cynthia simply nods in response then puts on her gloves. ‘Well,’ she says to no one in particular, ‘I know nothing about gardening so I’ll need some direction.’
‘I don’t either,’ Elizabeth says, relieved that she’s no longer the only novice.
‘That’s fine,’ Shirley says, ‘because Barb and I are good at giving orders.’ She winks at them. ‘And here’s the first one.’ She hands each of them a pair of secateurs. ‘Cut where we tell you, all right?’
Elizabeth takes the secateurs and considers the fact that she’s about to cut into plants Jon put in the earth himself. That feeling of explosive worry rises again – how will she know if she’s doing the right thing?
‘I can hear your brain whirring,’ Shirley says under her breath as Cynthia wanders towards Barbara. Her eyes are bright as they meet Elizabeth’s. ‘Just stick with me, you’ll be fine. I won’t be doing anything Jon wouldn’t have done if he was half the gardener you say.’
With a grateful smile Elizabeth stands back as Shirley explains their task for the next little while. Then she cuts where she’s told and hands the litter to Charlie, who races off to deposit it in the big bag they’re using for all the garden refuse, before skipping back to Barb and taking the next lot from her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Yetagain –yet again!– Terry hasn’t taken the rubbish out to the big bin. It’s his one job. Well, his one inside job. He has outside jobs. Mowing and whatnot. Mike’s so busy with other people’s lawns that he forgets their own most of the time. But garbage and lawns are not hard jobs for a teenager, and Lorraine is trying to teach Terry to be responsible. How do the youth learn to be grown-ups if they don’t takeresponsibilityfor something every now and again?
She didn’t like doing jobs either when she was young, but her parents insisted and eventually she saw the value in them. Especially once it came time to run her own house and she already knew how to do everything. She doesn’t want Terry growing up to be some woman’s burden because she and Mike cosseted him. He has to learn how to run a house. Maybe she needs to tell him that it will actually make himmoreattractive, because who doesn’t love competence? It’s what attracted her to Mike. He could fix things. Build things. And because of all that activity he had – still has – a really good body. Muscular. Straight of back. He’s a good-lookin’ rooster too. Maybe she needs to remember that the next time he gets on her nerves asking where his keys are when he’s the only one who uses them.
Back to the rubbish. She has a mind to tell Terry off. But now the phone is ringing and she knows the thought will evaporate, because she just has too many thoughts to keep track of.
‘Hello?’ she says distractedly.
‘Hi, Loz.’
Loz.That means it’s Cynthia. That’s what she used to call her. Obviously they’re back on old terms. That suits Lorraine. They had such a good time the other day – after she decided to forgive Cynthia, if not forgive and forget, although the forget part will probably take care of itself. She walked away hoping Cynthia would decide they could be best friends again, and god knows Lorraine’s missed having that in her life. Sure, she’s friends with some of the school mums but it isn’t the same as knowing someone so well you don’t really need to explain anything. Plus each time she socialises with the school mums they’re all so worn out they’re yawning after two glasses of house white.
‘Cyn,’ she says. ‘Nice to hear your voice. Thought you may have decided to go back to your LA mansion after you realised that Little Cove house isn’t getting any bigger.’
Lorraine can’t resist teasing her; she never could. Cynthia was always a cut above everyone else at school – more graceful, more gracious, more cultured – and Lorraine saw it as her role to keep the playing field level. Well, as level as she could. No amount of teasing Cynthia made her become like the rest of them. Until she got pregnant, and then she was worse than everyone else in the eyes of a few.
‘You’re as hilarious as ever, obviously,’ Cynthia says, and there’s a smile in her voice. ‘How’s your day going?’
Lorraine is about to launch into her usual list of irritations and errands then stops herself. Does she really want Cynthia to know how unglamorous her own life is? Because she was only half-joking about the LA mansion: if she could live in a fancy house and have someone else do the housework for her, she’d jump at it.
Ah, stuff it. Cyn’s going to find out eventually, because Lorraine isn’t much of a liar and even worse at playing poker.
‘My day has been spent washing the clothes of one grown man, one grown woman, a teenager and a child,’ she announces. ‘Plus making a stew, taking bookings for Mike, mopping the floors and figuring out if I know how to paint the walls.’
There’s a pause on the line. ‘So do you?’
Now Lorraine pauses too, because that was the task she was in the middle of when she got distracted by Terry not taking out the rubbish, then Cynthia rang.
‘Not sure,’ she admits. ‘But if you know anything about it, feel free to help me.’
‘I don’t.’
