Sowing The Seeds Of Love Part 2

'London. As I '

'Are you married?'

'Used to be. Are you?'

'Used to be. But I expect you know that already.'

Aoife felt herself blush, but Mrs Prendergast didn't appear to notice.

'Are you Church of England?'

'No, Catholic.'

'Oh. Pity. The Mothers' Union are always looking for new blood. Like a pack of vampires.'

'No, sorry.'

Sorry? Why was she apologizing for her religion?

'And I take it you have lots of gardening experience.'

'Oh, yes, lots.' Growing sunflowers in the garden in Upper Norwood when she was nine.

'Anyway, I'm selling it.'

'What?'

'The garden. I'm selling it for development.'

'You can't do that.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'I mean... I didn't mean...'

'I think you'll find I'm ent.i.tled to do whatever I like with my own property.'

'I know, I know. Of course you are. It just seems such a terrible shame. It could be so beautiful. I'm sure it was once.' She looked searchingly into Mrs Prendergast's face but found no response. Not even a flicker.

Aoife sighed. 'Come on, Liam.'

Liam righted himself. 'Please can me and my mummy have your garden?' he asked Mrs Prendergast. 'I want to grow her some flowers.'

The silence was as embarra.s.sing as it was deafening.

'Let's go.' Aoife scooped up her son before he had a chance to say anything else and headed out of the front door. On the step, she turned to speak but the door was already closed. She felt heartbroken and didn't know why.

5.

She tried to put it out of her mind because, really, what was the point?

Then one day, not so very long afterwards, she was in the Good Food Store, rooting around for something that would taste homemade but wasn't, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She jumped. She didn't know enough people to expect a shoulder-tap. 'Oh. h.e.l.lo, Mrs Prendergast.'

'You can have the garden.'

'What?'

'I said you can have the garden. Do what you like with it, I don't care. I'll still own it, of course.'

'Of course.'

'Just let me know when you intend to start.'

'I will. Thank you.'

The older woman nodded curtly and was gone.

Aoife floated home. It was only when she got back to her kitchen that she discovered she'd forgotten her groceries.

She had no idea why the garden meant so much to her, perhaps because it was a perfect reflection of herself, desolate, laid bare by a long, hard winter and years of neglect, pruned by harsh frosts, icy winds and months of darkness where once all was lush and green with growth and optimism. But still.

Still.

Just below the surface new life was waiting to push out of the darkness and into the light. Just as she had always known it to be, in a place deep inside that she'd forgotten. If she could only help it to grow again well, it would be as if all things were possible.

So it was in this frame of mind that she set out one blowy morning in mid-December for the Good Food Store, clasping a stiff white piece of paper folded down the middle in one sharp crease. She was relieved to see a different woman behind the counter. Girl, really. She couldn't have been more than twenty. Slight with shoulder-length dark hair. The kind of girl who absorbed the light rather than reflected it. She seemed miserable for someone who spent her working day surrounded by such glorious produce but Aoife, of all people, shouldn't judge.

'Can I put a notice up?' Aoife gestured towards the board.

The girl took a break from staring into s.p.a.ce. 'Go right ahead.' She went back to staring.

Aoife would have loved to know what she was looking at. She stole a thumb tack from a poster for Pilates and secured her own notice in as advantageous a position as possible. Then she stood back to read it for the fiftieth time that morning: Local garden in urgent need of care and attention.

Community effort required.

All those interested, please bring your green fingers along at 8.30 pm next Monday night, 16 December, to...

She supplied her address. She'd even drawn a few flowers in the top right-hand corner. What a plonker. Was she really going through with this? Yes, she was. She turned away before she changed her mind again. On to more mundane matters: dinner. She checked out the minuscule vegetable department. 'Do you have any green beans?' She almost felt bad for dragging the girl back to a reality in which she clearly did not want to exist.

'We can't get Irish green beans. They all seem to be from Kenya so we don't stock them any more.'

Aoife nodded and left the shop. She tugged her woollen hat further down around her ears, as if to contain all the thoughts that were colliding inside her head. So they couldn't get Irish-grown green beans. How interesting. She pulled on her gloves and stifled a small smile. If she didn't know better she'd think she was happy.

6.

It was 8.31 p.m. on the evening of 16 December. So where were they, the milling throngs? Had all the cus.h.i.+on-plumping, crumb-sweeping, coffee-brewing, biscuit-buying and notice-tacking been to no avail? She'd even bought a few pot plants so that she looked the part.

The doorbell rang and her heart leaped. She rushed out of the kitchen, slowing as she neared the front door. Calm. She opened the door. A man.

'h.e.l.lo.'

'h.e.l.lo.' He doffed his hat, delighting and surprising her at the same time.

'Are you here about the garden?'

'I am.'

'Please come in.'

Someone. It was someone.

She stood aside to let him pa.s.s. He was shorter than her, neat and dapper, closely trimmed beard dark, even though he must be over seventy.

He took off his pristine coat, his movements deft and quick, to reveal an immaculate grey pinstriped suit. She felt messy and ungainly beside him. Too much time concentrating on her house and not enough on her hair, which was in the same ponytail she'd gathered it into that morning. She had kidded herself that the loose strands were softening tendrils. In reality, they were just straggly bits. Taking his coat, she ushered him into the sitting room.

'You're the first to arrive.' She felt stupid and nervous, as always with small-talk. 'Would you like some coffee?'

'That would be lovely.'

She thought she detected the faintest trace of an accent. She busied herself in the kitchen with the kettle, transferring biscuits on to a plate, fumbling with the wrapper, fussing about with milk and a sugar bowl something to rely on when the evening fanned out before her in all its uncertainty.

She carried everything into the sitting room on a large tray. The man stood up when she entered, took it from her and set it on the coffee-table.

'Thank you.'

'Uri.'

'Thank you, Uri. I'm Aoife. Sorry, I should have mentioned that before.'

The doorbell. Someone else! She ran out to open it.

Her eyes widened in surprise. It was the sad girl from the food store.

'h.e.l.lo.'

'h.e.l.lo.'

'Come in. Can I take your coat?' She led her into the sitting room. 'I'm Aoife.'

'Emily.' The girl half smiled.

'Coffee?'

'Yes, please.'

'Mummy.'

Oh, s.h.i.+t. Liam was still awake. Not only that, he was standing at the top of the stairs.

'Get back into bed.'

'Who is it?'

'Just someone to see Mummy.'

'Who?'

'n.o.body you know. Now go back to sleep.'

'But I wasn't asleep.'

'Well, go to sleep now.'

'I'm hungwy.'

In desperation, she closed the sitting-room door on this popular ploy. Inside, Uri was pouring milk into Emily's coffee. They looked up at her expectantly. She smiled tightly and glanced at the clock. Eight forty-five. 'I suppose we'd better make a start.' She settled herself in an armchair. 'I can go over things again if someone else comes.'

No one else did. Apart from Liam, whom Aoife could hear descending the stairs step by step. It was only a matter of seconds before the door swung open and there he stood, resplendent in Spiderman pyjamas. His confidence deserted him as soon as his eyes alighted on the strangers and he ran to his mother and climbed on to her lap, wrapping his legs around her waist and burying his face in the soft, warm place where her neck met her shoulder. The irritation Aoife had antic.i.p.ated didn't materialize. Instead, she felt the tension melt from her body.

'So. We have the opportunity to restore a walled garden,' she began.

'Really?' Uri sat forward, face intent.

'Yes. The owner has very kindly agreed to let us do what we like with it.'

'Where is this garden?'

'Close by. About five minutes' walk from here?'