Sowing The Seeds Of Love Part 4

'Yes, please!'

'In the meantime I can bring in plenty of cuttings.'

'That'd be great, Uri.'

It was great. He was great with his ridiculous yet charming deference to her authority. If she hadn't had him helping her, she'd have been well and truly banjaxed. The reality was that stark. It was as if somebody had sent him ordered him from some magic mail-order catalogue.

Liam came along with the snow, speeding up and down the partly cleared paths on his yellow tractor. Aoife hoped the others didn't mind his presence. They didn't appear to. She had noticed Emily watching him intently, but she didn't seem annoyed. Intrigued, rather. Uri told him stories. Long, convoluted tales, mostly involving dragons, with Liam invariably the hero of the piece. They didn't talk much, the three adults. There didn't seem any need to, apart from 'Pa.s.s the secateurs,' and suchlike. They settled into a silence that Aoife found oddly companionable, seeing as they hardly knew one another. It must have been something to do with their common cause.

On the third day a Sunday they agreed to stay on for the afternoon. Lunch consisted of goat's cheese and green tomato chutney on ciabatta, then organic apples, all washed down with sparkling elderflower cordial. This came courtesy of Emily, whose aunt happened to be the proprietor of the Good Food Store. Aoife brought hot tea in a flask and Uri supplied the cups. Liam had his first gobstopper, under the close supervision of his mother. He stuck his tongue out at intervals. 'What colour is it now?'

'Red,' said Aoife.

'Green,' said Uri.

'Blue,' said Emily.

It was late on Sunday afternoon and the light was failing.

'Shall we call it a day?' said Aoife.

'I think so,' said Uri.

They stood back to admire the progress that had been made. It was getting easier to discern the original shape of the garden.

'Of course,' Uri went on, 'we'll have our work cut out for us in the spring when the new growth starts. Keeping down the weeds.'

Aoife nodded solemnly, but inside she felt something close to jubilation. What did she care for a few weeds? Look at what they'd achieved in three days!

'Over here. Quick!' It was Emily. Shouting! Emily, who scarcely raised her voice above a whisper. The two rushed over, expecting a pruned finger at the very least. But when they got there Emily was crouched on the ground, her face s.h.i.+ning, as if she'd had a vision. 'Look.'

Aoife and Uri peered at the small patch she had been clearing.

There, in the fading light, in all its smallness and whiteness, was a snowdrop.

9.

Emily's future spread out before her like a vast expanse of Montana gra.s.sland. Endless. Limitless in its possibilities. She'd never been to Montana, although she had seen The Horse Whisperer. Nevertheless, this was the image she'd hugged to herself ever since she'd left home and started college.

Maybe it was because her family was so large, so overwhelming, and their home so small in comparison. Always having to share a room. Never being on your own. Which was why, growing up, she had learned how to spend so much time in the s.p.a.cious, beautifully furnished room of her imagination. And why her current one-bedroomed flat, lit by one tiny window, was to her the glittering, multi-mirrored Palace of Versailles. She would lie on her bed in the morning, feeling the weight of the sun pressing on her eyelids, rendering everything blood-coloured. She would stretch out her bare toes and fling her arms back on either side of her head. She would imagine her dark hair fanned out on the white pillow and luxuriate in her aloneness, knowing what it was to be young and free with the s.p.a.ce to grow into herself at last.

Emily knew she'd be lying to herself if she pretended she'd felt like this from her very first day of college. On the contrary, she'd been terrified. These city girls seemed so unbelievably sure of themselves. They made her feel like such a dork. It wasn't so much what they said or what they did, just the way they were. So to deal with this, Emily had adopted a kind of strategy. She'd lain low for a couple of weeks and studied them how they moved, how they gesticulated, but mostly how they wore their clothes. By Monday of the third week she was ready. This was how she looked. Her haircut was gamine dark and sleek. Then from the bottom up: nude Ugg boots, black diamond tights, denim miniskirt and short black leather jacket, cinched at the waist. Around her neck, in the manner of a tie, was a scarf she'd bought secondhand in Temple Bar. Her bag was vintage and so was her jewellery. She especially loved the chandelier earrings. They made her feel like Queen Nefert.i.ti. She was confident she looked nothing like the farmer's daughter she was, and felt ready to insinuate herself into the company of her female cla.s.smates. During lectures, she would sit beside a likely-looking girl and one or other of them would strike up a conversation.

Her strategy worked. Before long she was in a magic circle of girls who, in their quest for individuality, wore identical clothes and held identical views. Part of her knew that this set-up was shallow, but so far n.o.body had noticed that she wasn't cool. Mission accomplished, as far as she was concerned.

The boys were another matter. They were everywhere, in every conceivable incarnation, their voices and laughter over-loud with exaggerated self-confidence. She was in awe. She felt like she had as a child when she'd fantasized about being locked in a sweetshop overnight, even though, so far, she hadn't so much as stolen a kiss. She didn't want to make a mistake and choose the wrong one. It was far too important a selection to make.

One night, some time around the beginning of her second term, she was sitting in the college bar. It was freezing outside and the bar held a welcome glow. She was surrounded by five or six of her gal-pals, chatting and texting and going out for a Marlboro Light. A group of lads sat across the way, drinking pints of lager and pretending not to look at them.

One of the boys, Joe, noticed Emily before she noticed him. It was his friend Niall who brought her to his attention. He nudged Joe's arm. 'What do you think of her?'

'Which one?'

'Twelve o'clock. Dark hair, legs crossed.'

Joe stole a casual glance, then returned to his pint. 'Looks like a librarian.'

'Yeah, but a hot librarian. Like she'd whip off her gla.s.ses and do you across the desk.'

'She's not wearing gla.s.ses.'

'You know what I mean.'

'You've been watching too much p.o.r.n.'

'No such thing as too much p.o.r.n.'

Joe glanced at her again. She was nice. Small and dark and neat. Pretty in a quiet, not too obvious way. And she looked like she'd be a tough nut to crack. Which was always appealing.

'Want to meet her?'

'What? Just like that?'

'I know one of the friends. She was in my sister's cla.s.s in school. They must be first years. Come on.'

And so it happened that the two boys traversed the great divide and introduced themselves. Joe sat as close to Emily as propriety allowed. 'Hi, I'm Joe.'

'Emily.'

'Lovely name.'

'Thanks.'

'Are you a first year, Emily?'

She nodded.

'What are you studying?'

'Pure English.'

Joe thought it fitting that she should be studying something pure. It suited her primness.

'I'm doing engineering. Third year.' He volunteered the information as he had judged, quite rightly, that she was unlikely to ask him for it. As it was, she just nodded. Other young men might have been put off by her reticence, but Joe, who was not in the least self-contained, was impressed by the quality in other people. Especially women.

'So. Do you drink here much?'

'Sometimes.'

'Why don't we meet up here Thursday night?' he suggested. 'Just you and me,' he added, lest there be any confusion.

Emily lowered her eyes and said nothing, which made Joe considerably keener.

'About eight.'

'Okay.'

'You will?'

'Yes.'

Joe beamed, and before long, he and Niall sidled back whence they had come.

Emily's friend Rebecca, the one who knew Niall's sister, slid over into the chair that Joe had just vacated. 'That looked very cosy.'

Emily grinned. She couldn't help herself. 'He asked me out.'

'What?'

'Keep your voice down they're only over there.'

The two girls looked over at Joe and Niall, who had rejoined the rugby scrum of mates, all huddled together around their table.

'They're probably talking about you,' said Rebecca.

'Stop!'

'I'm only teasing. Where's he taking you?'

Emily's crest fell a little as it struck her that he hadn't asked her out for a fancy dinner. 'We're meeting here for a drink.' She could see that Rebecca was having the same thought.

'Oh, well, it's a start,' said her friend.

10.

It was Thursday night and Emily was mid-conniption. Only twenty more minutes to go, she thought, peering into her bathroom mirror, her breath making little clouds on the gla.s.s. What if he stood her up? Her belly lurched. G.o.d, what would she do? To be stood up in the college bar of all places, in full view of people she might actually know. Even if the place was full of strangers, she'd still have to report back to the girls. Rebecca had made short shrift of letting all and sundry know about her 'date'. If, indeed, that was what it was. G.o.d, she didn't think she could handle the humiliation of being stood up.

She had to adopt a strategy. She'd bring a book. Someone had just lent her The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Better still, she'd arrive ten minutes late. If he wasn't there, she'd merely keep walking, as if she was just pa.s.sing through, and n.o.body there would be any the wiser. Of course, this meant an extra ten minutes in which to lose her mind. How on earth was she to occupy herself? She tried to read, but the pages might as well have been blank. She jumped on to her bed and, in an effort to quell her churning stomach, bounced for a full minute. Then she got down and performed a handstand against the wall. Her giggles were m.u.f.fled by the maroon fabric of her gypsy skirt, which covered her face and made her feel twelve again. Upside down. A different perspective on the world. And the last time tonight that her underwear would be exposed, of that she was determined. She stood upright, red-faced and breathless, and looked at the clock. The hands appeared to have ground to a halt.

But time hadn't stood still, despite appearances to the contrary. Because it was now ten past eight and she was walking into the college bar, head erect, shoulders back, heart in mouth. There he was! At least, she thought it was him. The boy had his back to her. He was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely together. The hunched shoulders were wide and his build stocky. His black hair was tightly curled and cut close to his head. As she reached his side, she recognized the dark sideburns and noticed him checking his watch.

'Joe?'

'Emily.' He stood up, like a well-brought-up young man, and his smile only slightly betrayed his relief. He gestured to the seat across from him, whereupon Emily promptly sat down and crossed her legs neatly.

'You came,' said Joe.

'Yes, I did.'

'Can I get you a drink?'

'Bottle of Corona, please.'

Joe purchased the beers, set them down and grappled for something to say. 'So. Pure English. You must like to read.'

'I love books.'

'Any particular kind?'

'Anything and everything.'

She wasn't giving him much to go on but he ploughed on regardless. 'I like books too. Mainly thrillers. Dan Brown, John Grisham that kind of thing.'

There was no response.

'Do you read thrillers?'

'Not really.'

'What, not at all? You must have read The Da Vinci Code, everyone's read that.'

'I've read that one, yes.'

'And what did you think?'

'That it was badly written.'

'Well, I liked it,' Joe finished weakly and tried another tack. 'How are you finding college life?'

'Okay. Yeah. I like it.'

'Do you live on campus?'

'No, I have a bedsit.'

Emily could almost see the thoughts running through Joe's head: country girl, doesn't live at home a point in her favour, perhaps.