Best Summer Ever

Chapter 17

I suppose I could have put off heading back to Wynbrook for another night, but there was always the danger that I would be tempted to find a different excuse to put the inevitable off after that and the longer I transgressed, the worse my familial relationships would be.

Also, I knew I wasn’t going to be full of sparkling conversation that evening and I didn’t want to potentially ruin Josh’s night. Or Penny and Nick’s. Not that they seemed capable of looking beyond their loved-up bubble. I absolutely adored that though. It had certainly been a long time coming.

Nonetheless, and in spite of my happiness for my dearest friends, it was with a heavy heart that I drove up to the cottage and the sight of Mum and Dad still looking sour when I walked into the kitchen did nothing to help lighten its weight in my chest.

‘Hello,’ I said, as I put my overnight bag down and in the process avoided looking at either of them.

‘You’re back then,’ commented Dad.

‘Yes,’ I responded, ‘I’m back.’

‘Are you staying tonight?’ Mum asked, as she busied herself at the sink, also not looking at me.

‘I am,’ I answered.

I wondered if this stilted sort of exchange was as good as it was now going to get until I made up my mind about moving on again.

‘I suppose you’ll be having a lie-in tomorrow,’ Dad said gruffly. ‘What with no job to have to rush off to.’

My heart felt even more leaden when he said that.

‘Why didn’t you tell us Penny had taken on the Smith twins?’ Mum frowned, as she dried her hands and gave Dad a look. I wondered if she had planned a more subtle run-up to this awkward conversation. ‘When we spoke on Sunday, you made out that you were going to be working for her for the whole of the summer.’

‘Because when I finished working in the pub,’ I told them both, ‘I thought I was going to be. I had no idea then that Penny had already made other arrangements to see her through her time running the café for Sophie.’

‘But you did know when you came home to pick up your shoes and things, didn’t you?’ Dad surmised and I nodded. ‘So, why did you lie?’

I could feel my frustration starting to bubble again and the excess of it spilt over into my next words.

‘If you take just a minute to think about how you and Mum talked to me during that brief visit, Dad,’ I said bluntly, ‘then you’ll be able to guess why. You made me feel two inches tall and talked to me exactly like you used to. Only this time, you were putting in your two pennies worth as well, Mum.’

In the past, Mum had mostly kept out of the rows I’d had with Dad. She had taken on the role of peacekeeper, but she hadn’t been particularly proficient at it and last Sunday, she had abandoned it altogether.

‘We’re just—’ she started to say.

‘Worried,’ I snapped. ‘I know. Don’t you think I’m worried too? I’ve very little to show for my life thus far and having the pair of you constantly reminding me of the fact isn’t making me feel any better about it.’

‘We just want you to—’ Mum tried again.

‘Get my act together,’ I reeled off. ‘Toe the line. Settle down. Succeed… You know, I think I’ll drive back to Wynmouth, after all.’

I scooped my bag back up again.

‘No, don’t,’ said Dad, in a tone that didn’t exactly match his words. ‘Don’t do that.’

‘Please stay,’ Mum added more kindly.

She looked keener to have me than he did and I stared at her for a long moment. I wondered if she was aware how betrayed I’d felt that she’d joined nagging forces with Dad.

‘All right,’ I sighed, crossing the room in three strides. ‘I’ll have an early night then.’

‘Don’t you want any dinner?’ Mum called after me.

‘No, thanks.’

I resisted the urge to stomp up the stairs and blinked back the tears I was determined not to shed. However, when I opened my bedroom door, it was impossible to stop a few of them from falling. My breath caught in my throat as I became seduced by the sight in front of me and enveloped in the scent.

Every inch of space on the chest of drawers, shelves and windowsills was filled with jam jars, vases and jugs packed full of the sort of blooms that could only have come from Algy’s cut-flower garden. There was a William Morris notecard on my pillow and written on the back of it in Algy’s flamboyant handwriting were the words:

If you won’t come to the garden, Daisy, then I’ll bring the garden to you!

With love, A x

‘Oh, Algy,’ I sniffed, tenderly stroking the petals of a sweet pea on my bedside table, before bending to further draw in its beautiful scent. ‘Will you ever stop trying?’

I didn’t expect to nod off, but that night I had one of the best sleeps I’d had in a long time. I started the day not wanting to put it down to the fact that my bedroom was filled with flowers, but the pleasure that the sight and smell of them gave me within just a few seconds of opening my eyes, soon made me change my mind.

‘Where’s Dad?’ I asked Mum, when I couldn’t put off going down for a cup of tea any longer. ‘Watering already?’

‘No,’ said Mum, as she added another cup and saucer to the table. ‘He’s away for the day.’

‘Away?’

Dad rarely left the estate in the summer months and never on a weekday.

‘He’s visiting a couple of machinery showrooms to try and strike a deal for a new ride-on,’ Mum explained. ‘The old one is totally on its last legs and he’s told Algy he can’t put off buying another one until the autumn.’

I was relieved Dad wasn’t at home. I didn’t much want to start the day listening to loaded comments about him being surprised to see me up so early when I had nowhere to go and nothing to do.

‘Has Algy gone with him?’ I asked Mum as I poured us both tea.

‘No,’ she said, as she splashed milk into her cup. ‘He has a follow-up appointment at the hospital later this morning, as a result of his tumble. I’m taking him to that and then we’re going on to pick up some new shirts from that outfitter he favours in Holt.’

‘That’s a bit of a trek for a few shirts, isn’t it? Can’t he order them online?’

‘You know, Algy.’ Mum smiled. ‘He prefers a more personal service.’

I looked at her as she sat down. She still looked tired and I hoped the strain of having me back for the summer wasn’t exacerbating her exhaustion, but I had a strong suspicion that it might be.

‘And did he,’ I asked, because I found I couldn’t not mention them, ‘personally deliver all of the flowers currently filling my bedroom?’

I knew that had Dad been at home, I wouldn’t have broached the topic, but as talking to Mum on her own hadn’t so far felt strained, I was willing to briefly discuss it.

‘Algy cut them,’ Mum said, finally producing a smile, ‘but I arranged them all and carried them up to your room for him.’

I looked at her in surprise. I wondered if Dad knew the room currently looked like a florist shop and if Mum had agreed to arranging them because she had felt bad about siding with him.

‘You know,’ Mum said quietly, while fiddling with her teaspoon and staring into her cup, ‘with your dad at the machinery place and Algy and I at the hospital and then in Holt, you’re going to be practically the only person on the entire estate today.’

‘Nick will be about on the fruit farm,’ I pointed out.

‘You know what I’m getting at, Daisy,’ she countered, her eyes darting a quick look up at me. ‘You know exactly what I’m saying.’

I could have feigned ignorance, but the truth was, I did know what Mum was saying, and Algy’s car, which she was driving – he’d favoured them taking out the ancient blue Bentley that day – had barely turned out of the top of the drive, before I acted on it.

I felt a heady mix of emotions as I plucked up the courage to look inside the potting shed, which was located on the edge of the garden next to the machinery sheds and smaller glasshouses and cold frames. The smell of it felt as familiar as the flowers in my bedroom. Compost, warm wood and an undertone of linseed oil, which Dad applied to the tools every winter, took me back to a time when I had been so happy and so sure in my mind as to where my future lay.

The depth of feeling increased tenfold as, at long last, I made my way right into the garden. Whereas before, I had skirted around the periphery to the summerhouse, that morning I went all over. I traced my hands lightly along the top of the low box hedges in the knot garden. I admired the roses in the predictably named rose garden and watched the sun reflecting off the scales of the goldfish as they darted under the lily pads in the clear water of the various ponds that were dotted about the place and surrounded by pots filled with different varieties of hosta and showy blue and white agapanthus.

Everything looked to be in perfect order. That is, everything looked to be in perfect order until I reached the vast walled garden. The fruit and vegetables were all clearly looked after, but the rows and rows of flowers on the half that had been given over to Algy’s passion project were choked with weeds in places, required staking and were all in need of tidying up and deadheading.

This was the part of the garden I had been most reluctant to see and that was because it had been the setting for the final, mammoth showdown I’d had with Dad ahead of relenting and going off to university.

In my head, I could still hear our raised voices rebounding off the old walls, our tempers flaring as we flung cruel words and harsh accusations at one another.

It had been our last interaction for quite some time and even though the memory of it was still all too easy to recall, my desire to make good what was now growing here shockingly and surprisingly stamped out any tendency to dwell on the past. The present and the future was what truly mattered, not the injustice of what had gone before.

With the sun not yet overhead, I clipped the secateurs, my secateurs, which I was delighted to find in their familiar place in the potting shed, to the belt of my shorts, put my water bottle in the shade, readjusted my sunhat and set to work.

‘Right,’ I murmured to myself as I made a start, ‘let’s see what we can do here, shall we?’

I had planned to be back in the cottage by early afternoon, so my presence in the garden would definitely not have been noticed, but I soon lost all track of time. As I worked methodically along the rows, cutting back, tying in, weeding, staking and watering where necessary, time seemed to stand still. I was utterly immersed and I felt completely at peace. I was both relaxed by and enchanted with the project Algy had instigated and which Dad had tried his best to maintain until the demands of the summer mowing regime took over.

As I worked my way along the rows of plants, I imagined how the blooms could be cut, tied and sold. The area was huge and would potentially draw a decent income. It might not be established enough for members of the public to come in and cut what they wanted willy nilly, but I could have easily managed the cropping and, for this season, cut the flowers on their behalf. Then, if the idea really took off, the rows could be extended elsewhere in the garden and the season lengthened, by growing different varieties of flowers to sell the following year.

I noticed Algy hadn’t included dahlias or chrysanthemums, but in my mind’s eye, I could easily imagine incorporating both for later cutting. And planting spring bulbs such as tulips and daffodils could mean that the garden came into its own even earlier, catching the Easter market. I could see myself doing it all, right down to the apron I would wear and the brown paper and raffia I would wrap the bouquets in…

‘Daisy?’

My name had been spoken softly, but I jerked upright, almost jarring my back in the process.

‘Algy,’ I stammered, my formerly relaxed heart thumping hard, ‘what time is it?’

‘Never mind the time, my darling,’ he said with a choked smile, ‘look what you’ve done!’

I took a moment to carefully stretch, then joined him on the path. When I turned to look at the flower garden it appeared vastly different to the state I had earlier found it in and given the ache in my arms and back, and the rumble in my belly, I guessed I had been working on it for far longer than I had originally intended.

‘It’s transformed,’ Algy breathed, his tone full of wonder. ‘It looks exactly how I had hoped it would when I got your father to set it up in the spring. You’re a miracle worker, Daisy.’

‘Well,’ I said, wishing he hadn’t caught me in the act and berating myself for letting my imagination run away with me when it came to seeing myself running the enterprise, ‘I don’t know about that, but I hope that you’ll consider my efforts today as a thank you for filling my bedroom with flowers yesterday. They cheered me up no end.’

‘You needed cheering up?’ Algy asked, turning his attention from the now-tidy flowers to my face.

‘A little,’ I conceded.

‘But you’re dating the hottest tourist in town from what I’ve heard,’ he nudged. ‘What have you got to be unhappy about?’

‘Oh,’ I shrugged, as I brushed my earth-encrusted legs down and refused to feel further nettled about village gossip as it was an integral part of life in a small community, ‘all of the usual. Not knowing what my place in the world is. Not having a job. Being a disappointment to my parents, not knowing what I’m supposed to be doing with my life…’ my grumbling trailed off. ‘You’re so blessed you know, Algy,’ I then said in a brighter voice. ‘You love Wynbrook and Wynbrook clearly loves you.’

‘It loves you too, you know,’ he said softly. ‘It always has and there was a time when I envisaged you picking up where your father would one day leave off. You do know that, don’t you?’

I did know that because, like Algy, I had once envisaged it too, but it was a long-quashed dream now. Finally quashed on the very spot we now stood.

‘Yes, well,’ I said bluntly as I hastily tamped the memory down. ‘Dad had other ideas, didn’t he? He wanted me to make more of myself than he had and vetoed my plans to go to horticultural college when I got better than expected exam results.’

I still didn’t know how I’d managed to achieve that, but one thing I did now realise, thanks to a sudden and dazzling lightbulb moment, was that I hadn’t been happy since I’d reeled off my GCSE results and Dad had become hell-bent on convincing me to take the academic path rather than the flowery one I’d had my heart set on.

‘He told me that gardening was something I could come back to as a hobby if I still had a hankering for it in later life,’ I added bitterly, as Algy listened. ‘As far as Dad was concerned, it was uni or bust.’

It had been bust ever since I’d dropped out and with Dad’s disappointment weighing its heaviest then, I hadn’t dared suggest picking up my secateurs when I came home for a while with my tail between my legs. Eventually I’d left again, let the dream go entirely and hadn’t given it another thought until this trip back to the estate.

I had always known that Dad had pushed me along a different path because his father, who had been the gardener at Wynbrook before him, had forced him to take the role on and he had, when he was younger, resented it, but it didn’t follow that the green-fingered path would be the wrong one for me, did it? Just because Dad hadn’t once wanted to walk it, it didn’t mean that I shouldn’t have been allowed to.

‘You know, your dad never spoke up about not wanting to work on the estate,’ Algy said rather defensively, his thoughts mirroring mine. ‘I would have supported him if he had and so would my father.’

‘I know that, Algy,’ I said, feeling bad for making him feel guilty. ‘I think he was too scared to defy his father, but he’s happy with his lot now.’

‘But you’re not, my dear, are you?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m not, and especially now I find myself squeezed into the cottage with him and Mum and feeling exactly like I did when I was a powerless teenager. I can’t bear it, Algy.’

I forced down the desire to cry. I had found so much peace when I had been working among the flowers in the garden, but mention of the reality of my current situation had sent my blood pressure soaring and my mood plummeting again. I should never have come back to Wynbrook this summer. My return, aside from fun with Josh, and Penny and Nick’s blooming relationship, hadn’t gone well, even though I had tried to make out my romance and friends were enough. Too much that had been lost in my past had been stirred up again.

‘Well,’ said Algy, flummoxing me by sounding absolutely delighted that I was so upset, ‘I happen to think that’s a wonderful thing.’

‘What?’ I spluttered.

‘I think it’s good that you feel like that,’ he reiterated. ‘I’m pleased you feel like you did at eighteen.’

‘Why?’ I demanded.

‘Because you knew what you wanted back then, didn’t you?’ he said with a wink, ‘and I’m offering you the chance to turn back time and take it.’

I looked at him and blinked.

‘I’m offering you a job, my darling,’ he beamed. ‘I want you to maintain and manage this cut-flower venture for me. You can open it the same hours as Nick does the fruit farm and ask him for advice about how to run it if you need to. It’s not all that different to the fruit farm, is it? Just a slightly different commodity to crop.’

He made the offer sound so simple and straightforward, but it was anything but.

‘And can you imagine what Dad would have to say about that?’ I pointed out sardonically. ‘Because I can.’

‘I’m not worried about what your father would say,’ Algy countered. ‘I’m only interested in what you have to say, Daisy. What do you think? Do you want the job?’

In that moment, there was nothing in the entire world that I wanted more. I had spent so much of my time that day while working among the blooms, bees and butterflies, fantasising about how it would feel to be the person in charge, what plans I could make, how I could expand the project and extend the cutting season, but that’s all it was – a fantasy.

‘I would love the job,’ I said eagerly, and Algy looked delighted. ‘But—’

‘No, buts,’ he said immediately.

‘But,’ I carried on, ‘the thought of working here all day and then having to go back to the cottage every evening to sit with Dad’s disappointment…’ I shuddered at the thought. The scene was all too easy to imagine. ‘I couldn’t do it, Algy. I couldn’t bear it.’

‘I don’t think he’d feel that way for long, if at all,’ Algy said, ‘when he sees what a wonderful job you’ve done. What a natural talent you still have—’

‘I can’t,’ I cut in. ‘I can’t manage this project and live in the cottage.’

Algy looked at me for a long moment.

‘Well, in that case,’ he said, striding off as quickly as moving with his stick would allow, ‘we’d better find somewhere else for you to rest your head, hadn’t we?’

‘You can’t be serious?’ I gasped, when Algy finally came to a stop. ‘You’re suggesting I can stay here?’

‘I know it needs a bit of work,’ he said, sounding less certain as he beat back the patch of nettles encroaching on the path with his stick, ‘but it’s not that bad.’

‘I don’t mean that it’s in a state, Algy,’ I laughed. ‘I just can’t believe you’re offering it to me to live in.’

‘Had I known how much you were struggling in the cottage,’ he said, as he pulled out of his pocket the bunch of estate keys he always had about him, ‘I would have suggested it days ago.’

‘But the summerhouse, Algy,’ I sighed, looking at it in awe. ‘Might you not need it for guests?’

‘I’m not expecting anyone,’ he said and shrugged, tossing me the bunch of keys. ‘The place hasn’t been lived in for a while, so sprucing it up a bit will doubtless be required. See if you can find the right key on that lot, would you?’

I soon located the key and the wooden double doors, having warped a little, creaked in protest as I opened them.

‘In you go then,’ said Algy, ushering me inside ahead of him.

I edged my way around the veranda rocking chairs and took the interior and mezzanine in. It did look to be in a bit of a sorry state, but nothing that a deep clean and good airing wouldn’t remedy.

‘It’s not too bad, is it?’ Algy said as he looked around. ‘Bit of a whiff, though.’

There was a rather pungent smell coming from somewhere, but some fresh air would soon see that off.

‘Electrics still connected,’ Algy said, flicking a light on and off again. ‘You’ll probably need to run the water for a bit to make sure it’s clear.’

I couldn’t really believe this was happening. First, Algy had offered me a job. The kind of job I had once hankered for but hadn’t reconsidered in all the time I had been trying to squeeze myself into an indoor office-based shape, and now he was offering me a place to stay too.

‘How much would you want for rent, Algy?’ I asked, as I dared to delve into the dream a little deeper.

‘I wouldn’t want you to pay rent,’ he laughed. ‘You’d be doing me a favour, getting the place back up to speed and passing for habitable again. It will need to look half decent, when I do get around to…’

‘When you get around to what?’ I frowned.

‘And obviously, I’d pay you a wage for working in the garden,’ he carried on, ignoring my question and because I was so excited, I quickly forgot I’d asked it. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to volunteer.’

‘Oh, Algy,’ I squeaked.

Was this really happening?

‘The cut-flower garden probably wouldn’t amount to a full-time position just yet,’ he said, ‘but you could help your dad with other things in the garden, couldn’t you? That would make up your pay packet easily enough.’

And there was the Dad-shaped spanner popping up again…

‘Stop fretting about your father,’ Algy said firmly, when he spotted my doubtful expression. ‘He’ll come round.’

I so hoped he was right because what Algy was offering me was exactly what I still wanted. It had just taken me years to realise it…