The Garden of Memories

Chapter 16

Flora is putting the finishing touches to a countryside scene and wondering if the pebble cows in the foreground look more like poodles, when her mobile phone does the unexploded bomb thing on her glass-topped coffee table. Damn those things. She’s only recently (and reluctantly) purchased one, as she conceded it might be useful, especially now she’s getting on a bit. It’s a comfort to have one on her person when she’s out and about in case she becomes unexpectedly ill. A necessary evil.

It’s Rose, how nice. ‘Good afternoon, Rose. How—’

‘Flora, can you come up? I need an ear.’

If Flora’s not mistaken, her needed ear tells her that Rose either has a cold, or she’s been crying. Oh dear.

‘Yes, I’m not doing anything too pressing. I’ll be up in five.’ Flora disconnects and thinks she sounded quite ‘with it’, using that kind of terminology. Up in five. She heard an actor say it on TV the other day, and thought it cool. Mother had condemned the use of ‘with it’ years ago, because what did it actually mean? ‘With what, exactly?’ she’d questioned, with a turned-up nose, in a voice like Queen Victoria’s, even though she was from Redruth. Flora hadn’t been sure how to respond, but had said something like ‘with modern times’. Nobody ever said ‘with it’ nowadays. Probably.

* * *

Rose’s turquoise eyes have red rims, which indicates she’s been crying, rather than her having a cold. ‘Thanks for coming, Flora. I’ve had a bit of unsettling news and I needed to run it by someone trustworthy. My news has to go no further, though, as it’s personal.’ Rose nods at the kitchen table where a pot of tea and a chocolate cake wait for them. ‘Sit yourself down.’

Flora does as she’s asked, internally glowing from the comment about being trustworthy. Rose has lots of friends, so Flora thinks it’s nice to be picked first, like a treasured bloom in Rose’s garden. Then the internal glow dims a bit. What if the news is bad? What if Rose is ill? Terminally. What will Flora say to that? She’s good at being a lighthouse, but not in a maelstrom. Not in a tsunami. No. She’s better at dealing with a gentle swell. At a push, maybe a few brisk choppy waves.

Flora listens with some trepidation, her fingers grasping the handle of her mug so tight, she worries it might snap off. When she realises the problem concerns Bella and her husband and a return to Cornwall, she loosens the grip and blows a sigh of relief disguised as a cooling breath, across the surface of her tea.

‘I’m sure she’s doing the right thing, Rose. Bullies need standing up to. I should have tried to do that with Mother more than I did, but as you know, things weren’t as easy for women back then. I had nowhere to go and no money. But then, when I got a job in teaching, I should have bought the old bag out, or left.’ Flora takes too big a swig of tea and grimaces as the scalding liquid makes a fire pit of her gullet. ‘I didn’t though, did I? because I was conditioned by then. By her, mostly. But she was my mother and I had to look after her – that was what you did.’

Rose nods. ‘Yes. It must have been hard for you, and I think Bella’s doing the right thing too…’

Flora waits, as Rose stares at the agapanthus blooms in the ‘bee pot’ slowly climbing out of their pods. Nothing’s forthcoming after a moment or two, so she prompts: ‘I feel a “but” coming on.’

‘Yeah. I went back over the conversation I had with Bella, and I do wonder if I encouraged her to leave too quickly … maybe I shouldn’t have. After all, if she comes here, then that little family could be over, effectively.’

‘But would you want her to stay and be bullied into living half a life, a mere existence? Her heart and dreams are here, by the sound of it.’

‘Yes, they are. But I told her to get out now – today. Come down here as soon as possible. Should I have done that?’

‘From what you’ve said, Bella had already decided she was going to come here, either with or without your help. Maybe she would have stayed with friends if you’d dissuaded her. Look. You did what any loving mother would do. You gave her a safe place to escape to. A place where she knows she can take a breath and get herself back on her feet.’

Rose grasps Flora’s hand across the table and squeezes it. ‘Thanks, Flora. I knew I could count on you for sound advice.’

Flora’s glow pings back into life and spreads warmth through her tummy like treacle sponge and custard. Which reminds her, she was so engrossed in her work that she missed lunch, and she’s not in the mood for cake. ‘You’re welcome. And I must meet Bella and the children once they’re settled. Now, if that’s all, I must get back and grab some food, as I missed lunch. My stomach is on the growl.’

Rose looks chastened. ‘Sorry, I hadn’t realised. You can have some soup and cheese on toast?’

That sounds exactly the kind of thing Flora fancies, but she says, ‘No, I couldn’t put you out. It’s my silly fault for not realising the time.’

Rose rests her elbows on the table and leans in. ‘It’s homemade with carrots and potatoes grown by my own fair hand.’ She raises a comic brow. ‘Now, how can a woman resist that?’

Flora can’t, and chats with her friend about her pebble art and her library work as Rose prepares a very late lunch or extremely early dinner. Towards the end of a story about an elderly gentleman who asked if Flora could order The Kama Sutra as he couldn’t find it on the shelf, Louise popped into her head. ‘Oh, yes. I’ve been meaning to ask you about Louise. Remember I told you about her ages ago? Lost her husband, a bit of a loner. Met her at the library.’

Rose nods. ‘Yeah, you said her husband had worked for the National Trust as a gardener.’

‘That’s right. Well, I’ve eventually got her to agree to come and visit you and your wonderful garden. I think she’s slowly letting her guard down a bit.’

‘Okay, when?’

Flora shuffles on the chair. ‘Um, day after tomorrow. It slipped my mind.’ Flora wonders if Bella coming home might mean that Rose will be too preoccupied to have Louise here. Because of her fragility, that might mean Louise could see it as rejection and it could set her back. Flora tells herself she’s a silly old fool. Why has she left it so late to mention it to Rose? She carefully studies her friend’s expression. She’s pensive. Is that a good sign? Flora guesses not. She’s in the middle of constructing a white lie to tell Louise, when Rose says:

‘I think that will be okay. Bella won’t mind. She won’t want special treatment – never been one to hog the limelight. I could invite Sally and Daisy too, and we’ll have an old-fashioned cream tea. It might do Bella good to have lots of people around her – might stop her thinking about her woes.’

Flora hopes her stretchy smile looks natural and not made from a combination of mild panic and relief. It’s mostly mild panic, because she’s afraid Louise will be overwhelmed by so many people all at once, and relief that Rose hasn’t postponed her visit. Then Mother storms in after a long absence and says: For god’s sake, woman. Where’s your gumption? You never used to be such a worrywart. Then adds nastily, Maybe you’re getting past it!

Piss off, Mother.

Flora wishes she could say that out loud, but it would take some explaining to Rose. Thankfully, Mother’s comment has released a shot of gumption. It will all be okay. She can still be Louise’s lighthouse, she just needs to keep her positive head on, that’s all. ‘Thanks, Rose,’ she says. ‘That sounds completely lovely.’

* * *

Flora has been cultivating her gumption reserves over the last few days. Feeding, watering and a bit of deadheading here and there has produced strong, sturdy stems, a mass of verdant leaves and one or two rather grand blooms, if she does say so herself. To complement her newfound energy and vigour, she’s dressed herself in a bright yellow kaftan with ruby-edged sleeves and hem. Not real rubies, of course, though extremely pretty, nonetheless. Hopefully, Louise will enjoy her visit and not be thrown by the number of people at the ‘impromptu cream tea affair’, as Flora’s been thinking of it. Though Daisy apparently can’t make it, due to grandchildren babysitting commitments. She ties a crimson and gold-threaded chiffon scarf around her head and winks at herself in the mirror. Not bad for someone who’s ‘getting past it’, eh, Mother?

On the walk up the hill to Rose’s, the gumption wavers a bit when it strikes Flora that maybe she’s hiding behind her colourful clothing. An unkind person once suggested that very same thing in the early days of Flora’s transformation. The so-called friend had said something like, ‘Flamboyant clothes are no substitute for real confidence. Real confidence comes from within and can’t be manufactured or window-dressed. Anyone with half a brain will be able to see straight through the pretence.’ At the time, Flora had replied that she doubted that the friend had a brain at all and it had all got a bit nasty. Suffice to say, she’d rapidly acquired an ex-friend.

A few years ago, Flora might have looked back and laughed, because none of it was true. But what if it is true now? Sometimes, well, more than sometimes, she does feel more vulnerable than she used to. Perhaps it’s come from the huge upheaval she’s undergone these past few months. Moving home can be traumatic enough for a much younger person, let alone a seventy-seven-year-old woman, on her own, moving towns after a lifetime in the same place – the same house. No matter how she looks at it, the community Flora built in Truro was now gone. Yes, she could go back and visit, but her roots had been severed. She would be a visitor, not the vital part of the group she once was. And yes, she has made some lovely new friends, but does she really belong? Or is she just seen as some ridiculous old hippy that people feel sorry for, a charity case? ‘People’ being Rose, Daisy and the others. Is it true that Flora’s hiding her vulnerability underneath her outfits?

She stops to get her breath and rests a hand on the stone wall surrounding the garden of a bungalow a few doors down from Rose’s. This garden is unremarkable in every way. It’s a bit dowdy, uncared for, drab even. There is, however, a gaily painted gate – bright green with some hand-painted white flowers in an arch across the curved top. It can’t disguise the garden, though. This isn’t lost on her. Is she the gate?

Her low mood allows in more worries. The most prominent one concerns Louise. Louise might not, in fact, turn up. When Flora phoned the other day and offered to pick her up this afternoon, Louise said she wasn’t sure what time she’d be there exactly and would either walk or get a taxi. Flora reminded Louise that when she came to hers for dinner, she’d found it a bit of a shlep, to which Louise responded, ‘I was unprepared. I won’t make that mistake again.’ Flora gave the socially acceptable chuckle she’s perfected of late, and left it at that.

As it turns out, Louise and Flora turn up at exactly the same time, much to the latter’s relief. Louise is climbing out of a taxi, wearing casual blue trousers, a floral shirt and in a departure from the shiny brogue, comfortable deck shoes. The whole ensemble takes years off her, Flora decides, and she hurries forward to give her a hug. Then she thinks better of it as Louise takes a step back and clasps her large red leather handbag to her chest, effectively removing any available hugging space.

‘You look nice,’ Flora says, leading the way up the path to Rose’s front door. When she’s met with silence, she turns to find Louise standing by Daisy’s daisies, open-mouthed, taking in the entire garden. Flora smiles and tries to see it with new eyes. It’s not hard, as there always seems to be something different popping out of the ground every time she comes. Rose says new things appear willy-nilly, even though she’s had nothing to do with them.

‘This garden is so beautiful,’ Louise says, her voice tremulous.

‘It’s pretty special, alright.’ Flora points to her Philadelphus. ‘That mock orange over there is my contribution. A few of us decided to plant memories here – you know, a plant or flower that reminds us of a lovely memory. It could be happy, sad, funny, inspiring, anything. A memory that means something important to us.’

Louise nods and looks at the shrub. ‘You do know its proper name is Philadelphus? Mock orange sounds a little vulgar for such a delicate plant, if you ask me.’

Flora wasn’t asking. And that wasn’t quite the response she imagined she’d receive. Nevertheless, she smooths her ruffled feathers and says, ‘Yes, I do know. Do you like the idea of nature invoking memories?’ Louise is examining the primroses and says nothing. But Flora’s not giving up. ‘Primroses are very special to Rose. They remind her of her daughter when she was little. She told me that planting them will be like making sure her memories never fade, as they’ll pop back up each year, connecting her to happy times. It’s the same with everything here. As long as there’s new life growing, there will always be hope and new memories to make.’

Louise eventually turns to her and Flora can see she has tears in her eyes. Oh dear. ‘That’s so lovely. I wish I’d thought of everything that way, before I sold our old place with all the things my Matthew had planted in the garden. It hurt too much at the time, so I didn’t realise that being amongst them could have helped me eventually.’

Flora kicks herself. Louise wasn’t really being rude before, just moved by the garden and her memories of Matthew. The spiky mock orange comment might have been a shield – protecting her emotions from exposure. Flora’s no stranger to a shield.

Rose bursts out of the door bringing a welcome distraction and a shift in energy. ‘Hello! Great to meet you, Louise.’ Rose grins, sticking her hand out, and Louise shakes it, looking a little shell-shocked. ‘What do you think of the garden? I’ll show you round properly in a bit.’

‘It’s gorgeous. So many different colours, textures, and perfumes. Many plants I wouldn’t have put together just seem to work.’ The surprise in Louise’s voice isn’t lost on Rose.

‘Ha! Yes, I’m no expert. I buy things that I like the look of and think about where they’ll live later. Other things seem to self-seed. I find things that die back in other parts of the country bloom longer in Cornwall. Might be to do with the micro-climate. All sorts of things surprise me. Look, I have some orange poppies “popping” up over there, pardon the pun!’

Flora laughs. ‘Very droll.’

Rose looks at Louise’s bemused expression and says, ‘I know. Dreadful, right? I won’t go on stage anytime soon.’ There’s an awkward moment where nobody speaks, so she adds, ‘Flora tells me you know a bit about plants, as your husband used to be a gardener with the National Trust.’

Louise visibly bristles. ‘Actually, he was a horticulturalist.’

‘Ah right, yes. He would have known lots, then.’ If Rose is put out by Louise’s tone, she doesn’t show it.

Louise looks at her feet. ‘Yes. He knew everything.’

Just then, a plump woman with dark hair, presumably Sally, comes out of the cottage carrying a tray of scones, followed by a blonde who looks just like Rose – obviously Bella, with a tray of tea and the children carrying plates. Well, the eldest is carrying plates, the youngest is carrying a tub of cream while jumping along the path like a kangaroo and laughing his head off. Flora listens, enchanted, and imagines he’s a handful at times, but fun to be around. Rose does the introductions and then they settle down to a cream tea at the picnic table with an extra-small table added at the end for Molly and Wesley.

Louise is quiet, but that’s not unusual, and she seems happy enough. Besides, others more than make up for it as they chat about gardens, the weather and life in general. Flora warms to Bella and Sally immediately, particularly Sally. She reminds her of a friend she had at school years ago. Big and bold on the outside, but Flora knows there’s a vulnerable interior. Rose had mentioned her personal circumstances briefly, and Flora hopes the pond building and being here in this lovely space will do her the power of good.

The conversation turns to gardening again and Wesley jumps up from his seat, jam and cream all over his face, and says, ‘I have a sunflower. It will be big! Molly got one too but mine’s better.’ Then without warning, he grabs Louise’s hand and yanks it. ‘Come and see, Weez. Come and see.’

Flora holds her breath, wondering how Louise will react, and can hardly believe it when Louise pushes her glasses up her nose, smiles at him and calmly allows herself to be led up the garden and around the side of the house. Molly wipes cream from her mouth and hurries after them, shouting, ‘Oi, Wes, don’t you touch my one!’

Rose laughs. ‘They insisted on bringing the sunflowers they were growing up in Birmingham. Luckily, they’re fairly small at the moment, or they’d have got a bit battered in the car.’

‘They seem settled already,’ Sally says to Bella, pouring some tea.

Bella gives a shrug and puts cream on her scone. ‘I think they are, overall. They adore being here with Granny and they love the garden, of course. But Molly has asked when Daddy’s coming, and I’ve just said he’s busy with work. I can’t bring myself to tell them the truth.’ Flora thinks she’s trying not to cry and wishes she could help. ‘Not yet anyway. We’ll see how things go. I have to get her in school here, but it’s July, so I’ll send her in September now. A new school on top of everything else would be too much. It’s all such a mess, but I can’t do everything at once.’

Sally dabs her mouth with a bit of kitchen roll and pats Bella’s hand. ‘Yeah. Take one day at a time, but stick to your plan. I, for one, know how easy it is to just give in for a quiet life. Trouble is, you forfeit your own happiness in the long term when you do that.’

Bella squeezes Sally’s hand. ‘Yeah. Don’t settle for second best, eh?’

Sally smiles. ‘Exactly.’

* * *

Louise and the children come back down the path, linked hand in hand in hand like a daisy chain. Flora finds she can’t contain a huge smile as she watches the three of them draw near. Louise is in the middle, a child on either side, each carrying a small earthenware pot with a fledgling sunflower in it. Louise has an even bigger smile than Flora’s and her cheeks are in bloom. Flora can’t remember seeing her look so happy, or even contented. There’s an internal glow lighting her face. She looks … radiant. No other word for it.

‘Weez said my one is best,’ Wesley pronounces, setting his pot on the little table proudly.

‘No, she didn’t!’ Molly huffs and sets her pot down on the big table. ‘She said we both had strong healthy plants and they would be big and tall if we took care of them properly. And her name is Loo-eeze, not Weez, you dumbo!’

‘Molly,’ Bella warns in a stern voice. ‘We don’t call people unkind names, do we?’

Molly pouts, folds her arms and looks away.

‘Weez said she would help us grow our flowers,’ Wesley says, looking up at Louise with huge blue eyes.

Louise looks uncomfortable and says to Rose, ‘Well, not exactly. I said I’d give them a few tips… I don’t want to impose.’

‘No, please do come and help! You’re not imposing – the more hands we have around here, the better. Especially hands that know gardens.’

Louise looks at Flora and they share a smile. ‘Now that’s an offer you can’t refuse,’ Flora says.

‘Mummy, can we get the paddling pool out?’ Molly asks, fanning her face. ‘I’m boiling.’

Bella laughs. ‘It’s not that hot. Anyway, we don’t have a paddling pool.’

‘Oh yes we do,’ Rose says. ‘I saw it in the loft when I went up there looking for your paints. It’s your old one. Come and help me get it down.’

‘You kept my old paddling pool?’ Bella says, incredulous.

‘Yep. Your dad always said never throw anything away, because you never know when it might come in handy. I used to moan at him, but in this case, he was right.’

* * *

A gentle breeze rustles through the bamboo cane and elephant grass, collecting the scent of honeysuckle and lavender, and as it passes, drops it over the heads of the five women relaxing in deckchairs. Sally adjusts her wide-brimmed straw hat and nods at the children playing nicely together (for once) in the paddling pool. ‘What fun a bit of water and a few toys provide, eh? Simple pleasures.’

‘I might join them,’ Flora says, only half-joking. There is gentle laughter and the splashing of the water as the children fill and tip their buckets over a plastic purple dinosaur and a few farmyard animals. In the dappled sunlight, it looks a most inviting activity.

‘God, I can’t remember the last time I felt so totally relaxed,’ Bella says with a heartfelt sigh.

‘It’s the garden,’ Louise offers. ‘The scent of the flowers combined with the sound of the breeze in the elephant grass in this shady spot is most soothing.’

‘A sensory garden.’ Rose nods. ‘This bit of the garden has turned itself into one all by itself without me realising. And when Sally’s pond is done, we’ll have the sound of water too, trickling down the rocks from a little waterfall. Heaven.’

Louise looks at Rose. ‘You mean you didn’t design it as such? It just happened in a haphazard manner?’

Rose pauses a moment in thought. ‘Yes. Yeah, exactly that.’

Louise nods. ‘How amazing. Flora was telling me when we first arrived how much of the garden is connected to memories.’ She clears her throat and looks at Flora as though unsure. ‘Erm, I was saying I was a bit hasty selling up after my Matthew died. He’d made us a spectacular garden, but it was so painful to be in it without him. The first spring was total agony, as on the one hand I couldn’t wait to see which flowers would pop up – he’d planted new bulbs in a little patch. But on the other, it killed me to know he would never plant anything else.’ Louise sets her shoulders back and hurries on. ‘Turned out to be grape hyacinth. Such cheerful little things.’ A heavy sigh. ‘After that, I put the place up for sale. Moved to somewhere with just a patch of lawn and a place to put a few pots.’

‘And now you wish you hadn’t?’ Rose asks, gently.

‘Yes. Flora told me that you said new life growing means new hope. I couldn’t see it at the time. But now I realise if I’d stayed, each year would be like part of my husband reaching out to me, letting me know how much he loved me. The darling grape hyacinth … daffodils. Life goes on – perennials show us that.’

Flora’s thrilled that Louise has opened up like this. She must be learning to trust again. ‘I was also talking about your primroses, and how they remind you of Bella as a child, Rose.’

Rose laughs. ‘Yes, prim-noses.’

Bella rolls her eyes as her mum tells the story of her mispronunciation.

Louise looks longingly at the children splashing each other in the pool and says, ‘I love primroses. Matthew and I weren’t blessed with children. I often wonder what they’d be like now if we’d had them. I like to think they’d be outgoing, cheerful, confident and bold – not like me. Like Matthew. He was my opposite. If our children were flowers, they’d have been primroses.’

Flora knows by looking at the others’ faces that they have a lump in their throats just like hers. She washes it down with a sip of tea.

Rose does the same and points in the direction of the agapanthus. ‘You can’t see them very well from here, but I feel I’m connected to Glen through those. There are lots of other things in the garden that remind me of him, but for some reason those big blue showy blooms speak to me of him.’

Bella leans forward and says to Louise conspiratorially, ‘Dad wasn’t big and blue by the way.’ She gives a theatrical wink to drive away the puzzled look on Louise’s face. Flora doesn’t think she’s ever met anyone who is almost completely devoid of a sense of humour as much as Louise is. It’s quite endearing in a way.

‘Remembering them when they are no longer here is sometimes very painful, as you said, Louise,’ says Rose. ‘But the thing is, in the end, we have to be thankful that we had them in our lives. They loved us and we them. And that lasted, long after the exchanging of rings and saying “I do.” That love goes on, even now. Not everyone is so lucky.’

Another lump blocks Flora’s throat as Rose’s words hit home, and she looks at her Philadelphus and sees Patrick’s handsome face. We weren’t as lucky, were we? Still, what they had was incredible, despite being short-lived. She had loved and been loved, and for that she is grateful. Then she remembers an appropriate quote and decides to share it.

‘There are always flowers for those who want to see them.’

Her friends’ expressions reveal varying degrees of understanding. Unsurprisingly, Louise has her little frown firmly back in place.

Flora folds her hands in her lap and says, ‘It’s a quote by Henri Matisse. I think he meant that when you’re in the darkest places and feel you’ll never see the light again, really try your hardest to look for the good things, no matter how small. They’re the flowers.’

Louise puts her hand over her mouth and does the slow blinking. ‘Yes. Yes, I see that now,’ she whispers through her fingers.

Rose smiles and gets to her feet. ‘Okay, who’s for a glass of wine to celebrate this garden, friendship and looking for flowers?’

Everyone readily agrees, apart from Louise. Then in a quiet voice she says, ‘Well, it’s a little early for me, but I could make an exception. Thanks, Rose.’

Rose goes off with Bella to get the wine and Louise asks Flora for the memory behind the Philadelphus. Flora tells her and is pleasantly surprised to feel Louise’s hand slip into her own. They sit there together holding hands, sniffing back tears and allowing the garden to soothe their spirits. Then all of a sudden, Wesley comes running over to Louise on his stout little legs. ‘Weez, can I put my sunflower in the paddling pool?’

She laughs. It’s a carefree, unfettered laugh which gladdens Flora’s heart, and then Louise takes his hand and helps him gently dip the plant pot in the water. ‘Okay, that’s enough now, Wesley. Sunflowers like to be handled gently. If you drop them, or their soil gets too wet, they won’t grow big and tall.’

‘You put it back now?’

‘I will. Maybe the sunflower would like a little sleep in the peace and quiet.’ Louise looks at Molly who’s submerging a dinosaur in a bucket of water. ‘Shall I take your sunflower for a sleep too, Molly?’

‘Yes please, Weez.’ Molly laughs at her play on words and amazingly, Louise joins in.

Flora watches Louise carrying the two sunflowers up the path and round the side of the house and thinks what an absolutely perfect afternoon it’s been.