The Garden of Memories

Chapter 12

Being Louise’s lighthouse is proving to be much harder than Flora had initially thought. Maybe her bulb had dimmed with over-use, starting out as a million-watt at the start of her teaching career, and dwindling to a twenty-watt in her seventy-eighth year. That doesn’t sound right when she says it to herself quietly inside her head. Seventy-eight. It sounds even less right when she says it out loud. Not that she does very often, because it’s all a bit scary and sinister. Mother would have said she should be grateful she’s had a long life so far; some don’t have the luxury of getting old. And Flora is grateful, truly. Though it doesn’t stop her from being a bit anxious now and then. Flora’s also grateful that Mother has been largely quiet over the last while, perhaps because she’s feeling more settled here – long may it continue.

Louise has at last deigned to grace Flora’s home with her presence. Oh dear. This isn’t a very charitable way to think of her new friend, she concedes, and ditches the word ‘deigned’ to ‘felt comfortable enough’. Flora is trying to dismiss unkind thoughts, because she doesn’t want to end up like Mother, or encourage her back into conversation. After the first time she and Louise had lunch together, they occasionally chatted on the phone, but every time Flora suggested Louise came over for lunch or dinner, there was an awkward silence and a garbled excuse. The offer of visiting Rose’s garden wasn’t met with much enthusiasm either.

Flora sweeps the kitchen floor and arrives at the conclusion that Louise has become a bit of a recluse since she retired and lost her husband. Maybe the idea of meeting new people and doing new things is an anathema. Too set in her ways to change. Especially for a person who is so intense about people’s feet and shiny shoes. Once again, that thought wasn’t the most charitable, but Flora genuinely believes Louise needs to lighten up a little – try to enjoy herself more. Hopefully, after the visit to Flora’s home today, Louise can be persuaded to let her hair down (metaphorically, as it is very short), and maybe she will agree to make a date to visit Rose’s garden too.

The luxury fish pie Flora’s made for lunch is in the oven. It’s mouth-watering aroma is floating up the stairs, making her stomach rumble as she combs her hair in front of the dressing-table mirror. A multicoloured blouse is hanging on the wardrobe door alongside a pair of light-blue, boot-cut jeans patched at the knees with embroidered red roses. She glances at them through the mirror and smiles. They always make her smile, as they’re so cheerful. As far as she remembers, she bought them in a charity shop at least thirty years ago, and they frayed at the knee after ten. Because Flora liked them so much, she found the rose patches and made the jeans into something spectacular. ‘Never throw good things away’ was one of Mother’s mantras, and on this occasion, she has to agree.

Happy with her appearance, Flora goes downstairs wondering if there is anything in her wardrobe that Louise might like. She’s slightly rounder in the middle than Flora, but maybe the beaded green-and-red kaftan would suit her? Taking the fish pie out of the oven, she reminds herself that lighthouses have to guide and lead, not blind people – Louise would probably run a mile if she introduced the kaftan idea so soon. Flora places a vase of stocks at the end of her kitchen table and puts out the cutlery. As she’s considering whether to wine, or not to wine, a tap at the front door tells her Louise has arrived.

The first thing Flora notices is Louise’s hair. It’s plastered to her face and neck in damp tendrils and sweat sheens her pink face. Louise blinks her eyes and shakes her head as if she’s disagreeing with an unspoken question while thrusting a yellow gift bag at Flora’s chest. ‘Here. Hope you like it. I went slightly wrong on the way to your house from town, and got rather hot on the walk here.’

Flora is used to her abrupt way of speaking but notes the navy polo-neck, tweed jacket and matching skirt and thinks it’s a miracle Louise hasn’t melted away to nothing in the hot May sunshine. And the shoes. Lace-up (very shiny) brown brogues over tan tights. American Tan, Flora thinks, though she’s not seen the like for many years.

‘Welcome! Come in, come in. And thank you so much for the gift – it honestly wasn’t necessary, though.’

‘We always bring something when invited round … I mean, I do. Though I haven’t been out to anyone’s house really, since Matthew.’

That hit Flora with a thump. Poor Louise. Maybe her hunch was right about her reclusive behaviour. ‘Oh, that’s a shame. I’m glad you’re here now, though.’

Louise bobs her head. ‘Yes. It’s not because people didn’t ask me, it’s that I felt I couldn’t go, now there’s only half of me – because that’s how it felt at the beginning. Still does, really.’ She ruffles her hair and seems surprised to find it damp. Wiping her hand on a tissue, she adds, ‘They just stopped asking me in the end.’

Poor love. Flora won’t comment further, though, as it’s her job to cheer Louise up. In the kitchen Flora gestures to the table and chairs. ‘Can I take your jacket?’

‘No, I’m okay, thanks.’

Flora belatedly realises there might be a problem with sweat patches on the polo neck. ‘Okay. Please take a seat, lunch is ready. Would you like a glass of wine, or a soft drink?’

Louise looks like she’s been asked to strip naked and do a cartwheel. ‘Wine at this time of day? No, thank you very much. Water is fine. And aren’t you going to open the gift? Oh…’ She’s now staring horrified at Flora’s bare feet on the flagstones.

Flora looks at her feet and back at Louise quizzically. ‘What’s wrong?’

Louise raises her eyebrows. ‘Well, I do worry that people can damage their feet if they go without shoes. You’ll only have to catch a little toe on a rough edge of one of these flagstones, or the leg of a chair, and you’ll be in agony for days.’

Flora has to bite back laughter as she picks up the gift bag. ‘I never wear shoes if I can help it, inside or out. Never had a problem with my little toes.’ Ignoring the perplexed glance, Flora opens the gift bag. ‘Oh … a shoe horn,’ she says, hoping her tone conveys ‘What a nice surprise’ instead of ‘What the fuck?’

‘Pretty useless, in the light of what you’ve said about bare feet,’ Louise says through a small mouth.

‘Not at all! In autumn and winter it will be especially useful when I’ve got my heavy boots and shoes to pull on.’

‘Good. Though you need to do it gently, or you could damage the shoe … or your heels.’

Before her guest launches into more shoe talk, Flora pulls out a kitchen chair. ‘There you go, take a load off and I’ll grab the pie.’

Louise sits and points at the vase of flowers. ‘Stocks. Matthew loved them, we had hundreds all over the garden.’

‘Oh good. Their perfume is wonderful, isn’t it, and it’s a lovely shade of pink.’

‘Yes.’ Louise’s eyes shine with enthusiasm and she strokes the blooms gently. ‘Their Latin name is Matthiola incana, they come in lots of different varieties and colours. I like purple, though apricot is nice too. You can use the petals as a garnish for salad – totally edible.’

‘Really? I never knew. Maybe we could sprinkle some on the side salad I’ve made.’

‘Possibly. And did you know they were given as tokens of love during the Victorian period?’ Flora didn’t. ‘Sometimes known as Gilly flowers, I believe.’ Louise folds her hands on her lap and nods as if satisfied she’s covered everything.

‘Wow. You know so much about them.’

‘I know so much about hundreds of flowers, shrubs and herbs. How could I not, being the wife of a horticulturalist? I read up on things too, in library books – as you know.’

Flora smiles and thinks Louise would really enjoy meeting Rose, if only she would agree to it. It was amazing how her whole demeanour changed when talking about the stocks – much less intense. And enthusiasm lit up her whole face. Shoes, feet and flowers seem to be her specialist subjects… Flora just needs her to talk about the latter more. ‘Hope you like fish pie,’ she says, placing the dish on the table with a small green salad.

‘Yes, thank you. This looks nice … does it have prawns in it?’ A small frown appears between her thick eyebrows, and she pushes her glasses along the bridge of her nose.

Flora bites her lip. She’d not considered that some people don’t like shellfish, or maybe have an allergy to it. ‘Yes, a few. Is that okay?’

She loses the frown. ‘Oh yes. They’re one of my favourite foods.’

* * *

After lunch, Flora shows Louise into the living room and tells her to make herself comfortable while she makes some coffee. As she carries the tray of coffee and biscuits in, she finds Louise, jacket off (at last), on her hands and knees by the patio doors, moving pebbles from Flora’s pebble tray around on the pine floorboards.

‘Oh. Sorry!’ Louise exclaims and jumps up as if she’s had an electric shock. ‘What am I like? I was admiring your lovely artwork,’ she gestures at the little easel, ‘and I just had the urge to make something myself.’

Flora sets the tray down. ‘Please don’t apologise! I’m thrilled that you like my work and are interested in making something yourself. We’ll have our coffee, and then I’ll get you a canvas and a frame and—’

‘No, I couldn’t possibly. It was rude of me to just launch in like that.’ She’s blushing and hovering by the sofa, as though unsure whether to sit or not.

‘It wasn’t rude at all.’ Flora hands her a mug of coffee. ‘Sit down and we’ll have a chat about it – plan what you’d like to make. Honestly, you’d be doing me a favour, as I get a bit stuck sometimes when I’m adding colour.’ That’s a lie, but needs must. ‘I’d appreciate your advice.’

Louise looks pleased. ‘If you’re sure.’

They set to work. Louise makes a vase of flowers with her pebbles, and for a first attempt, Flora has to say, she’s very impressed. Louise suggests Flora uses more yellow in her sunset background for her pebble cottage by the sea, and once again, Flora’s impressed with Louise’s ‘eye’.

Setting her canvas on the easel, Flora sits opposite Louise on the sofa. ‘You’re really good at this, Louise, you know. Why don’t you come to pebble-art class with me next time? I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.’

A frown. ‘Oh … no. I’m not much of a joiner, thanks.’

‘Well, it’s not as though you have to commit yourself to anything. Try it. If you don’t like it the first time, don’t come to the next one.’

‘Hmm. Can I let you know?’

Flora thinks this means no, but she’ll settle for that for now. ‘Of course. There is one thing I’d like you to agree to, though.’ Louise’s frown deepens. ‘Coming to visit my friend Rose and see her garden. You’d be very welcome. Rose has a gut instinct for gardening, but she’s not as knowledgeable as you are about plants and flowers.’ Flora manages a very acceptable chuckle. ‘In fact, I doubt many people are.’

The frown skedaddles, leaving pink blossoms in Louise’s cheeks. ‘I … I will at some point, yes. Thank you.’

Flora goes in for the kill. ‘The week after next, Rose’s daughter and grandchildren are coming for a few days, but I’ll put you in the diary for Wednesday week.’ Louise is about to say something, and judging by her expression, it’s not, ‘Okay, that will be lovely.’ ‘Rose will be delighted! I’ve told her so much about you. She’s recently widowed – well, two years, I think, so you’ll have things in common.’ Flora forces a stretchy smile to stay on her face, but it’s more like a grimace. Dear God. She can hardly believe what she’s just said. You both have dead husbands, so you’ll be sure to get on like a house on fire. Really?

Unbelievably, Louise finds a relaxed smile. ‘Oh, right. Well, if I can be of any assistance in the garden, then I will. Yes, I’ll come.’

‘Wonderful!’

Louise worries a nail, glances at the patio pots outside and absently mutters Hydrangea paniculata to herself. ‘Truth be told, I don’t go in for new things much … or meeting new people. It’s a miracle I’m here, really.’ Her small hand hovers over her mouth as if she’s regretting her words, and then wiggles her glasses. Flora holds her breath, hoping her silence will allow Louise to say more. ‘Thing is, I don’t want to rely on people or get used to having them around. Since Matthew went, I’ve been pretty much self-sufficient.’

With that, she gets to her feet and picks up her jacket, looking around the room, the mild panic in her eyes suggesting she can’t find a way through the awkward silence. Flora’s got a lump in her throat, so isn’t much use as she follows Louise into the kitchen (she’s being a terrible lighthouse), where she’ll hopefully find something comforting to say. Poor Louise, not wanting to rely on people because she couldn’t cope if they left her, just like Matthew did. Flora’s ‘Louise is a recluse’ conclusion was right, but for different reasons. She’s standing by the front door, jacket half on, handbag on the floor at her feet, fully clothed in vulnerability.

They look at each other as Louise shrugs the other half of her jacket on, and just as the silence is getting overwhelming, Flora says, ‘I totally get it, you know. You not wanting to rely on people. I’ve been emotionally on my own my entire life really – well, apart from a short time in my late teens. And yes, absolutely self-sufficient. Even though I lived with my mother, I might as well have been alone… I have some very good friends, though, thank goodness. And I think as long as I never take them or their friendship for granted, I won’t be open to being hurt.’ Flora drops the lightest touch on Louise’s shoulder. ‘Don’t let the fear of losing people stop you from finding them in the first place.’

Louise does a few slow blinks and bobs her head. ‘Thank you, Flora. That makes sense. I’ll look forward to meeting Rose … and one day you might tell me about what happened in your late teens.’ She opens the door and looks back. ‘But only if you want to, of course.’

‘I will. And thanks so much for the lovely shoe horn.’

Louise glances at Flora’s bare feet, and then with a half-smile on her lips, says, ‘Bet you can’t wait for autumn.’