The Garden of Memories

Chapter 10

Now that Daisy and Rose are looking at her expectantly, as if they’ve come to watch a play at the theatre, what had seemed a good idea a moment ago, seems to Flora like the silliest notion ever. Rose’s talk of boxes and rejecting other people’s narrow views of oneself, coupled with the view that anything is possible, the magical garden, the warm atmosphere and the wine (let’s not forget that), had encouraged Flora to allow them to look through the hole into her past. Allow the plaster to crumble at last and to share what she’s never divulged to anyone else. Surely it’s time? So here they are waiting, and here she is, saying nothing. The quiet garden feels like it’s waiting too, but all she can do is sit there with stage fright, thinking of how to begin. Or if, indeed, she should. Why share now after all this time? Isn’t it better to keep the past behind her?

A seagull swoops low overhead, screeching as it wheels towards the ocean, startling them all. They laugh, seemingly relieved that the bird has broken what was becoming an awkward atmosphere. Then before Mother can think of a way to stop her, Flora says:

‘I had an extremely domineering mother, my dad died when I was ten, and once he’d gone, she had free rein. Before, Dad would often temper her controlling behaviour where I was concerned, but I’d lost my protector. I felt like a snail ripped from its shell. My soft, plump body waiting to be run through by her sharp beak. I was never allowed to have fun, spread my wings or even speak without being spoken to in public. It felt more like the 1850s, not the 1950s. Then, when I was a young woman, I met a boy at the library, which was the only place I was ever allowed to go to on my own, really. I certainly wasn’t permitted to go to the village dance like the other girls.’

Flora pauses and looks at the sky, happy that she’s made a start and glad that she wants to continue, but for now, she needs a breather and some inspiration. Daisy sighs and crunches into more crisps, which sounds like an avalanche in the quiet of the garden. Flora notices Rose shoot her a Be quiet, for God’s sake look. Daisy’s eyes flash back a What’s your problem? and Rose gives a disparaging shake of the head and says:

‘Sounds like a tough start, Flora. What happened with the boy?’

The boy. The glorious boy. Suddenly, Flora is holding hands with him again in the scented garden on a summer evening, for a few moments, lost in the past. Then she looks at them both, feeling as if they’ve woken her from a deep sleep. ‘Hmm? Oh, everything. Patrick was my moon, my stars, my sun – the air that I breathed. He was my one true love … my only true love. But it all came to nothing in the end. Mother made sure of that.’

Daisy and Rose share a look of anguish. Poor Flora. ‘That’s awful. Why?’ Daisy prompts gently. She’s stopped crunching her crisps and has her hands clasped around the bowl of her wine glass.

‘Because she was an evil old bitch. She wanted me kept at home, fetching, carrying, running errands for her.’ Anger at her mother’s remembered cruelty builds inside. ‘If I had got married to Patrick, she’d have lost all that. Most importantly, she’d have lost her power – her identity as top dog. She was only happy if she was bossing someone around. She had bossed Dad the best she could, and he’d had the audacity to die on her. She couldn’t lose me too.’

Once again there’s a pause while Flora calms herself and watches past scenes drift before her eyes on the ragged dark clouds stretching across the sky. ‘Patrick was so handsome. He worked part time in the library, like me now.’ A smile quirks her lips and she nods at Daisy. ‘He was a year older than me and he was off to university in Exeter at the end of the summer. The library work was to put a bit of money by before he left. We got talking about books, the classics, all sorts, really. I was captivated by his calm grey-green eyes, like the depths of the ocean on a cloudy day. He had wavy dark hair and an infectious laugh. The librarian in charge used to look over the top of her glasses at him and tut when he laughed too loudly.’ Flora takes a drink to stop the choking sensation in her throat. She releases a breath and continues.

‘After a few conversations there, he asked me to go to the local café with him, and I so wanted to, but I knew it would be impossible. If we were seen, it would get back to Mother and she’d lock me away forever. Boys were to be avoided at all costs, didn’t I know? They only wanted one thing, and then they’d leave me in the family way. She told me that if I ever got pregnant, she’d throw me on the streets and disown me. I was to wait until I was at least twenty-one before she’d countenance a gentleman caller.’

‘Blimey! I was married when I was twenty-one.’ Daisy gulps some wine and starts on the crisps again.

‘Quite. Mother had unrealistic expectations. But as I said, she couldn’t afford to lose me, that’s where it all stemmed from.’ Flora checks her watch and feels sheepish. Are her friends really interested? Maybe they’re just being polite and want her to cut to the chase. ‘Sorry, I’m rambling on. Are you sure you want to hear my tale of woe? I decided to do the “sharing” thing without asking. How very like my mother.’

‘Pah!’ Daisy says. ‘You’re as much like your mother as my arse … in fact, my arse is probably a good description of her!’

This has them all laughing and breaks the tense atmosphere a little. ‘Of course, we want to hear your story, Flora. I want to know what happened between you and Patrick,’ Rose tells her, squeezing her hand.

Flora can tell she’s genuine. Rose cares, they both do. They want to know it all, and she’s ready to tell them. Nothing could make her stop now, anyway. It’s as though there’s a weight inside her that’s melting away, little by little. A weight that she’s carried for most of her life. She smiles at them and releases another breath. ‘Right-ho. Despite the risk of being found out, we met at the café the following week, on Patrick’s day off. From then on, I told Mother I was going to the library, and it worked so well for a few months. I fell head over heels in love with him, even though we’d only held hands and he’d sometimes kiss me chastely on the cheek when we walked the woodland path on the way to my house after the café. He didn’t come anywhere near my house, of course. I’d confided in him about Mother by then, and he understood, but he felt sad and sorry for me.

‘The time was fast approaching when he had to start getting ready to leave for university. We’d agreed to meet on the path in the early morning to avoid being seen, as he said he had something he wanted to ask, and it wouldn’t be a good place to ask me in the café.’ Flora blinks away tears and downs her second glass. ‘I’ll never forget the sight of Patrick bouncing along towards me, the sun in his hair, smartly dressed in a suit and tie with this … this…’ She takes a moment, and Flora can’t look at Daisy, because she can hear her sniffing. ‘This beautiful bouquet of hand-picked flowers.’ She nods at the Philadelphus. ‘It had lots of that in it and the scent was heavenly. To my utter astonishment, he stopped in front of me, dropped to one knee and asked me to marry him.’ Flora flings her hands up. ‘Just like that! I was so shocked, I could only stare open-mouthed for what seemed like hours. Then he pulled a ring box out of his pocket and presented me with a diamond solitaire.’

‘Wow. How romantic,’ Daisy says and sniffs again. Rose hands her a tissue and finds one for herself.

Flora smiles even as tears trickle down her cheeks. She can see Patrick as clearly as if he is standing there in the garden before her right now. ‘It was. Very. I said yes, of course, and we had our first proper kiss. I had no idea if I was doing it right, but it felt right and that was the main thing. We sat in the grass, held hands, kissed and talked of the future. I would wait for him, then once he’d finished his three-year English course, he planned to teach and we’d get married. But as you might have guessed, Mother had other ideas.’

The pain of the memory stops Flora in her tracks and she can’t decide whether the cold creeping through her is from the past or the present. It’s probably both. She looks at the sky. Night is drawing a curtain across the last few vestiges of light and pulling a chill wind behind it.

Rose scowls and rubs her arms briskly. ‘I bet she did. I’m so sorry you had such an awful experience, Flora.’ Then she blinks away tears, stands and picks up the empty dishes. ‘Okay. I think we’d be warmer listening to the rest inside, don’t you, girls?’

* * *

Soon they’re sitting in the living room, each with a blanket over their knees and a full glass of wine in their hands. Flora suspects her head will suffer tomorrow, but this sad story calls for wine. After a few moments, when she’s collected herself, she picks up her thread.

‘So, silly old me runs back home, stupidly thinking Mother might be pleased for me, because I was getting married, wasn’t I? I’d be a respected married woman, not just going out with any old boy. I was so excited and bursting with joy as I thrust my beautiful engagement ring under her nose, babbling like a brook all about Patrick, how I met him and our plans for the future. My excitement came to an abrupt halt as I watched her face grow stony and her eyes burn in anger. Then … then she pulled her hand back and brought it down hard across my cheek.’ Flora’s fingers fly trembling momentarily to her left cheek as she relives the scene, and she swallows hard.

Daisy half-stands to give her a hug, but Flora flaps her away. ‘I need to get through this, and if you comfort me, I’ll be in bits.’ She acknowledges Daisy’s gesture with a nod and a smile. ‘Thanks all the same, you’re very kind.’

‘Give yourself a minute. Take a deep breath, and release it slowly,’ Rose says.

Flora does as she suggests and sets her jaw, determined to get through it. She must. ‘I’d never heard language like it. Well, I have now. But in those days people didn’t swear much, certainly not women. The names she called me. Told me I was a common trollop, a whore who had the morals of the gutter. Mother went completely out of control. I could do nothing but cry as she pulled two of my new dresses out of my wardrobe and tore them to shreds. Then she told me if I ever saw Patrick again, she’d set fire to my savings that she kept under lock and key. She also said she’d throw me out and tell everyone the reason was that I’d been whoring around.’ There’s a second’s pause as her words sink in.

‘Oh my God,’ Daisy says. ‘That’s appalling!’

‘Vile,’ Rose agrees. ‘I can hardly believe my ears. How could a mother be so cruel to her own flesh and blood?’

Flora exhales and slumps in her chair. The effort of parting with these memories is exhausting her. ‘Vile is right. Mother made me give her my ring and when Patrick came round the next day to meet Mother, as we’d arranged, she made me stay upstairs. She gave him the ring back and told him never to come there again, or she’d tell everyone that he’d forced himself on me. Patrick was furious and demanded to see me, so she rushed upstairs and told me to tell him I’d made a mistake and I didn’t want to marry him – or I would suffer the consequences. She more or less pushed me downstairs and stood there beside me while I obediently parroted her instructions.’ Flora shakes her head. ‘I hated her so much.’

‘Oh no! Couldn’t you have found help from someone? An aunt, a friend?’ Daisy asks.

‘No relatives … and I had no friends, really. Mother’s doing, once again. It felt hopeless. It was hopeless back then. I would have had nowhere to go, no money, and a sullied reputation. Patrick had no money to speak of either. Maybe we could have eloped, but it would have been impossible to make ends meet. Yes, he could have got a job, so could I, but he was about to start university, had great prospects. I couldn’t rob him of that.’

‘What about his parents?’ Rose asked. ‘Could you have stayed with them for a while?’

‘It wasn’t the done thing. I hadn’t even met them because I was worried Mother would somehow find out. No. I doubt very much that they would have taken me in. And if we’d eloped, they might have resented me putting a stop to Patrick’s education.’ Flora shakes her head as she realises she’s making excuses for herself, even after all this time. Time to tell it as it was, Flora. All of it.

‘But maybe they wouldn’t have. Maybe they would have understood, might have come to our rescue if I’d tried. But I didn’t – I was too weak. Too completely cowed by Mother’s controlling behaviour. All I felt was the fear of what she’d do to me if I went against her. I let the love of my life walk away, even though he begged me to come with him. He told me he knew I was under duress when I said I didn’t want him, and that he’d be back. I insisted I never wanted to see him again. Became quite hysterical. He eventually left. That night, when Mother was asleep, I ran to the back of the shed where I’d hidden the bouquet, hugged it to my chest and sobbed my heart out.’

Flora covers her face with her hands and hangs her head. She can’t cry, can’t do anything. She just sits still and rigid, like a statue of despair. A moment later she looks up in time to see Daisy and Rose pass a glance of sadness back and forth. Getting to her feet, Rose places a gentle hand on Flora’s shoulder. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, love?’

Flora lets her hands fall and feels a wobbly smile on her lips. ‘The British cure for all ills, eh?’

‘It is.’

‘Yes, please. I think I’ve had enough alcohol for one evening.’

‘I think we all have.’ Daisy drains her glass and gives Flora a sympathetic smile. ‘What an awful time for you, Flora. Did you ever see him again, or find out what had happened to him?’

‘Yes. Patrick came back every week for three weeks. I refused to see him and Mother said if he came back a fourth time, she would make good on her threat. He must have got the message. The last time I saw him, he was walking away from our house, shoulders slumped, a totally dejected air clinging to him like a second skin. As I said, Mother had reduced me as a person. Controlled me so much that I felt I had no other option than to let him go. To obey her. Since those times I’ve met women who have been in controlling relationships, who have been given a lifeline, but haven’t taken it. They were too conditioned, too scared to. And so was I. I let my lifeline, my Patrick, walk away.’

Flora looks away from the pity in her friends’ eyes. She has to finish this. ‘When I was allowed back out into the world, weeks later, I asked after him in the library. As I expected, he’d gone to university. Years later, when I was a teacher, I was in conversation with a friend of a friend, also a teacher. His name came up, as she’d taught with him at some point. He was married and had three children. I’m so glad he found happiness.’

There’s a welcome quiet time when they’re alone with their thoughts, while Rose makes the tea and brings in a mug for each of them. She asks, ‘Did you ever find happiness with anyone else, Flora?’

‘No one else. A few dalliances, as Mother would call them, but nobody made me feel the way Patrick did. But yes, I found happiness in my work and after Mother died, I broke out of my box. Retired. Went a bit mad. And so far, I’ve had seventeen years of total freedom!’

‘That’s wonderful. What did you do?’ Daisy wonders.

‘I grew my hair, put dye in it, wore outrageous colours that didn’t match, pierced my ears, got a tattoo of a magpie on my arse, because Mother hated them. Said they were harbingers of doom!’ Flora laughs and enjoys the new lightness in her chest that now has room to expand. ‘I actively tried to be everything that was the opposite of my mother. I travelled, did new things, met new people. Went out of my way to help people and be kind. But mostly, I laughed a lot and had real fun for the first time since Patrick.’ She cocks her head at her two friends as a thought comes to her. ‘It’s so good to laugh, don’t you think? To really live in the moment, allow joy to surge through your whole being at the sight of a flower, a rainbow, or the ocean on a stormy day. Not being afraid to openly delight in the fact that you’re well, vital and alive.’

Rose makes a choking sound which is a cross between a giggle and a sob. ‘Yes! My heart’s thumping in my chest and I’m coming over all emotional! Dear Flora. You’re such an inspiring woman. To overcome such a plague of adversity after so many long years, and to manage to start afresh with such gusto is incredible.’

Flora’s face feels hot, and the weight of the past having been shed, allows the lightness in her chest to spread through her whole body. ‘Thank you for saying so, Rose. You wouldn’t believe how much better I feel for telling you both about Patrick. It was a big thing to share for me.’

‘It certainly was. And I totally agree, Flora. Laughing is so important, as is enjoying the little things. The little things that are actually the big things, though we don’t always realise it at the time. I do realise it just at the minute, for instance. I’m thinking, “Rose, be quiet, before you go over the top.” But Glen’s twinkly eyes seem to be urging me on from his photo on the shelf over there, so I’ll carry on. Flora, you’re a real inspiration, and I’m so pleased you’re my friend.’ Rose laughs and turns pink. ‘Goodness. How unlike me to be so open with people I haven’t known for a hundred years. It feels great, though, and I’m glad.’

‘Me too,’ Daisy says, patting Flora’s knee.

‘Thank you both so much.’ Flora is thrilled by Rose’s words, and right now feels like she’s making a positive impact in her new friends’ lives. Maybe she has the makings of a lighthouse. Thinking of which, she holds up a finger. ‘Now. I almost forgot. I met a woman called Louise at the library the other day. She’s a widow, very lonely, though wouldn’t admit it – she’s the sort to keep everything bottled up. She confided in me. But she mainly soldiers on and so forth. A bit like us all, I suppose. I’m not a great sharer. Or I wasn’t, until I met you both and became a happy little bloom in your magical garden, Rose. Would you mind very much if I brought her up here one time? Her husband used to be a gardener for the National Trust and she reads books on horticulture.’

‘Not at all,’ Rose says. ‘We need all the help we can get, making this garden the best it can be.’ She picks up the photo of her husband, Glen, and smiles at him. ‘I’ve a feeling that if we do, it will make us the best we can be, too.’

Flora claps her hands. ‘Marvellous! Now, dear Rose. Can you do one more thing for us before I drag my carcass down the hill to bed?’

‘What’s that?’

‘Sing.’

Daisy winks at Flora. ‘What a great idea. I request “Bridge Over Troubled Water”.’

Rose looks as though she’s going to say that she can’t possibly, but instead says, ‘Okay. Your wish is my command.’