Page 26 of The Vow
Amy
Chapter Fourteen
Two days pass when I see no-one, days during which my mind frets about what the police are finding out, from Matt’s phone and more disturbingly, from Lara. After cancelling another appointment with Sonia, I’m on edge, watching from the sitting room window as the For Sale board goes up outside Mrs Guthrie’s gate. It’s the wrong time of year to sell a house that’s dark and cold, that still holds the echo of her presence. Even from here, the house reeks of emptiness, its windows unlit in the fading light, the curtains left open. Shivering, I think of the ambulance that came, when her cold body was found a day too late.
Soon, the house will be sold. New people will move in. More people I won’t be able to trust, because until they prove themselves, no-one is trustworthy. It’s why I go over there one evening, letting myself into the back garden that had been hers for fifty years – to say goodbye and close a door in my mind.
Looking around, I’m reminded that we are only ever custodians of a garden; our influence fleeting. Already hers is diminishing, the edges of the path losing definition as the grassencroaches. Weeds are starting to take over, while there are gaps in the borders where someone’s been in and dug up some of her plants. As I stand there, I wonder if her soul is here. But I feel nothing, not even a whisper. Every last part of her seems to have gone.
When I glance into her greenhouse, pots are planted with early sweet peas, that without her daily watering, have withered and died. Alongside are the broad beans she’s always grown from seed, to carefully pick months later, just as she always harvested the apples from her tree. It’s clear she hadn’t expected to die. I wonder if the police have taken note, that she must have imagined at least another year here.
As I stand there, the memory of her voice comes to me.My Japanese anemones are still in flower …Gazing at the last remaining petals, I whisper back.I’m sorry …Trying to imagine how it felt when smoke overwhelmed her, when there wasn’t enough oxygen in her lungs; hoping she’d drifted into unconsciousness, so that when it came, death was painless.I’m sorry I hadn’t known. I wish there was something I could have done to save you.
‘Why are you sorry?’
The voice startles me. Spinning around, I notice Sonia standing in the lane, the other side of the hedge, a curious look on her face. Realising she must have heard me and wondered what I meant, my face colours. ‘I was thinking out loud. Mrs Guthrie, the old woman who lived her, died recently – at home.’
‘Can I join you for a minute?’
I nod in the direction of the hedge. ‘The gate’s just there.’ I wait as Sonia opens it and walks towards me, then glance towards the house. ‘I suppose I came over to say goodbye. She lived alone and I was wishing I’d kept more of an eye on her. Shewas kind to me and Jess when we first moved here.’ I pause for a moment, remembering. ‘She used to let Jess pick her strawberries and raspberries. Jess used to love her homemade cakes. But that was years ago. More recently, we used to wave at each other in passing and I’d bring her any spare plants I had. But as my business grew, there was never enough time. I’m just sorry I didn’t do more to help her.’ Then I realise I’m trespassing. ‘I shouldn’t really be here. The house is for sale, but I wanted to come here, one last time, before it’s sold.’
‘It is sad.’ Sonia pauses, glancing around the garden. ‘Sad that an old lady should die alone like that. She certainly kept the garden in order, which must have taken a lot of work. She’s pruned everything perfectly.’
I glance in the direction Sonia’s looking, taking in the clump of shoots poking up through the earth, the neatly cut-back rose bushes, which by summer will be covered with blowsy pink blooms. ‘She did. There are cuttings and seeds in the greenhouse, too. She reminded me of my grandmother. She lived alone, too – and looked after herself – and her garden.’ I remember vases filled with cut flowers, the trays of seedlings and cuttings on her kitchen windowsill. ‘She knew so much about plants: which ones needed shade, those that thrived in full sun. I suppose that’s where my interest came from. She died years ago,’ I add hastily. ‘Life had become too much of a struggle. In the end, I suppose it was a blessing.’ I look at Sonia more closely. ‘I didn’t know you were coming to see me.’
‘I’ve just called in on a friend in Steyning.’ She sounds matter of fact. ‘When you cancelled, I thought I’d stop by and make sure you were OK. You didn’t answer when I knocked, but then I saw you over here.’ Glancing towards the house, she frowns. ‘Do you know how your neighbour died?’
‘The police said it was carbon monoxide poisoning.’ Thenfollow Sonia’s eyes as she glances downwards to a cluster of dark leaves and tiny white flowers.
‘I used to know, but I’ve forgotten what they symbolise. Cyclamen, that is.’
‘Goodbye. Resignation,’ I tell her, struck by how oddly in keeping with our conversation it is, frowning slightly, surprised that she’s interested in flower meanings.
Sonia glances around the garden. ‘It interests me how so many flowers and herbs have a significance we’ve lost over the years. You must be so aware of it in your line of work. I’ve often wondered if you can read a life story from a garden – take your neighbour, for example. Given how long she’s lived here, many of these plants could have been significant to her in some way, maybe as gifts or as memories. Those roses, for example. They’re old, aren’t they? Maybe a celebration of her children – or anniversaries, perhaps. Her herbs, too. There’s rosemary for remembrance – and in a garden like this, there must be snowdrops. They mean hope, don’t they?’
I look at her in surprise, because she’s right. ‘Actually there are snowdrops. Over there, under the shade of that tree.’ I point in the direction of an oak in the far corner, before turning back to her. ‘You know a lot about flowers.’
‘I used to enjoy helping my sister. She’s a florist. But like you, what really interested me were herbs.’
I had no idea she shared the same interest. ‘I started learning which herbs to use to treat Jess. You can use herbs individually, but it’s a whole different thing when you combine them.’
As the breeze picks up around us, her single word is almost lost. ‘Alchemy.’
I’m startled, because it’s the same word I’ve always used. ‘Most people don’t realise, but that’s exactly it.’
Both of us are silent for a moment. Then she turns to look at me. ‘And how about you? How are you?’
‘OK.’ I shrug. ‘Getting used to my new normal. Accepting I’ve been betrayed and cheated on. But life goes on.’ Bleak words belying how hard I’m finding this. ‘The police have picked up Matt’s phone. I’m hoping that will mean more answers.’ I turn to stare at her. ‘Whatever else has happened, that’s the worst of it, Sonia. All I have is what other people have said, when I need Matt’s version of what he did, and why he treated me so badly.’ I pause, because that’s what lies at the heart of my turmoil. ‘Until he’s found, I can’t move on.’
1996
Even when you followed them, he didn’t know how you felt. Laughing, he nudged Kimberley, who turned around and told you both to go home. But it was like the wood nymphs had got to you, or the elder witches. There was a gleam in your eyes as they carried on walking. Then when they next looked around, you’d gone.
It wasn’t enough for you to harvest lemon balm, mint, rose petals; make forget-me-not memories. Back at Gran’s, with the place to yourself, you had a new agenda; freedom to open the curious locked door, behind which Gran distilled nature’s magic.
On a dusty shelf, you found the rows of tiny bottles with faded labels, filled with the elixir of life. Next, you sought the small black book, the wisdom on its pages headed love, luck, providence, prosperity. The love spell that was on the first page, of pink, red and white rose petals, the essence of rosemary and hazel; about sage and lotus flowers for wisdom and purity. The essence of digitalis and belladonna that was darkness, the words scrawled in Gran’s spidery handwriting; the bottle, waiting for you to find it, out of sight.
Kimberley told him about Gran’s fury as she snatched the book from you. Her face white with rage, her hands shaking. How dareyou … Don’t you know you can’t steal a gift that doesn’t belong to you?
