Chapter 2 #2
Something was very wrong.
Waist-high brown weeds had replaced the beautiful green lawns he’d mowed, the lake in the middle was dry and the garden beds were dead and choked with weeds.
He accelerated, his heart beating rapidly. Hedges hadn’t been trimmed, and no annuals had been planted. The pagoda close to the road was covered in leaf litter and the paint was peeling.
Everything was out of control.
Aunt Maggie never would have let it fall into this level of disrepair.
He pulled into the drive and leapt out of the car, his breath coming fast. As he pounded up the steps of the front porch, he noted more peeling paint and sagging gutters.
His knock was like three sharp cracks of a pistol.
No noise from inside.
“Aunt Maggie!” He peered through a grimy window. Inside the furniture was just as it had always been – her roll-top desk in the corner, two slightly hard sofas in a floral print cover, and the wooden coffee table that had always contained a tray of biscuits. A thick layer of dust covered it all.
He wanted to be sick.
How long had it been since he’d heard from her?
She always sent a Christmas card, but last Christmas he’d been in hospital after the incident. There hadn’t been a card in his pile of mail when he’d got out, but he hadn’t realised, too caught up in pain and rehab.
He’d written to her around Easter last year and sent her a bilby Easter egg because she’d always had a soft spot for chocolate and native animals.
Easter reminded him of the egg hunt she’d organised for him each year, knowing his foster parents wouldn’t have bought him any chocolate.
He’d appreciated the thought and although he’d been almost an adult, he enjoyed feeling like a kid searching for the eggs around her garden.
She’d replied to his letter, thanking him and telling him about life in Honeybrook. She hadn’t sent him any photos of the garden though. Normally she would.
Was that because she’d been struggling to maintain it?
Had she become ill and gone into a home? Was she sick? Anything else was too much to consider. He should have contacted her before now.
Who would know what had happened?
His heart raced and his chest squeezed as if trying to stop the racing. He gasped for breath and closed his eyes, going through the breathing exercises his psychologist had taught him.
When he could breathe normally again, he glanced across the road. The simple brick and tile house belonged to the Education Department and teachers came and went, but Aunt Maggie had always welcomed the new ones with a cake.
He exhaled and crossed the road to knock on the door.
A short, plump woman answered it and she took a step back, her eyes wide when she saw him.
Ethan shifted back and tried to relax his tense muscles, knowing his broad almost six-foot frame could be intimidating.
He smiled. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I was driving through town and decided to visit Aunt Maggie.
” He gestured over the road. “I haven’t heard from her in a while and it looks as if the place is abandoned. ”
The woman put her hands to her lips, her expression sad. “I’m so sorry to tell you this. Aunt Maggie died last year.”
He stepped back as grief hit him, his throat tight, eyes stinging. “How?”
“She fell off a ladder,” the woman said. “My husband found her, but by then it was too late.”
He wanted to shake his head to deny it, but there was no point. He gritted his teeth as the grief threatened to overwhelm him. She’d been his family, and he hadn’t known she was dead. What kind of person was he?
“How did you know her?” the woman asked.
“I did garden work for her when I was a teenager,” he answered. “She was always kind to me.”
“Are you Ethan?”
He blinked and nodded.
“She spoke about you. She was ever so chuffed by the bilby chocolate you sent her last year. I’m surprised none of the family told you about her death.”
Chelsea. She would have been devastated. Maggie had been her surrogate grandmother. “Is Chelsea in town?”
The woman shook her head. “No. I met her and her mother, Sabine at the funeral, of course. Maggie left the house to Sabine, and Sabine said she would hire someone to upkeep the gardens while she decided what to do with it, but I guess she didn’t get around to it.”
Ethan had never been impressed by Chelsea’s mother.
She’d left Chelsea with Maggie for an entire summer while she toured Europe with her new husband.
Chelsea had been struggling with the fact her stepfather didn’t want her to join them, and hadn’t enjoyed moving to Sydney.
She’d been vulnerable, and Ethan had done everything he could to make her feel wanted.
The woman cleared her throat. She stood patiently in the doorway while he processed the news. What the hell did he do now? “Would it be all right if I looked around the garden?” He didn’t want her calling the police and getting him arrested.
The woman smiled. “I’m sure no one would mind. There’s been a property developer scoping out the place as well.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Wants to build a retirement village from what I hear,” the woman said. “It would be such a travesty to see the property turned into units, but I guess all of Maggie’s hard work is disappearing as it is.”
A possessive feeling swept through him. The garden had been Maggie’s life. He couldn’t bear to see it reduced to nothing. “Do you have Sabine’s phone number?”
The woman shook her head. “I should have got it at the funeral, but I didn’t think of it. I believe she and Chelsea live in Sydney.”
He nodded. “Thank you for your help.”
He returned to Lilydale Cottage and circled the house. The little pergola in the private garden still stood, its white paint starting to age and peel. Underneath it sat a round wooden table with four bench seats where he’d spent many break times drinking tea and eating biscuits with Aunt Maggie.
This amount of deterioration couldn’t have happened in under a year. When was the last time he’d actually visited Lilydale?
It must have been three years ago when he’d been coming back from training down south and stopped for a couple of nights on the way back to the city.
Not good enough. Aunt Maggie had needed help with the upkeep when he was younger. He should have made sure she was still getting help.
Though she was stubborn.
He would have expected Sabine to help her aunt. She’d married a wealthy man and, from what Chelsea had told him, Aunt Maggie had helped them both when Sabine was a struggling single mother.
Ethan ran his fingers over the wooden table, the rough grain grounding him.
He pushed through the small gap in the overgrown hedges and underneath the large peppermint trees which formed a cool canopy between the public garden and the three cottages which Aunt Maggie rented out as holiday accommodation.
He inhaled deeply, enjoying the protection from the hot autumn sun.
The hammock still hung between two trees, its olive-green canvas dirty, but the thick ropes still seemed to be in good condition. Sturdy enough to hold two people. Though he’d been lighter then, and Chelsea was only small.
Sometimes they’d snuggle in tight together. Other times they’d lay head to toe, both content to read their respective books through the heat of the day.
He smiled at the memories and continued.
Ground cover and grass covered the path that wound its way through the section of the garden Aunt Maggie had opened to the public.
Here there were myriad memories of the work he’d done; water fountains he’d cleaned were now dry and filled with leaf litter, a Balinese pagoda where he and Chelsea would take a break and talk about life now contained only a mouldy mattress, and a few ponds were now unrecognisable but he knew where they should be.
And of course, the replica of the Sydney Harbour Bridge spanning the dry harbour lake.
His heart ached at how quickly the weeds had taken over and turned this once beautiful, tranquil space into an eyesore. Aunt Maggie would be devastated.
He was tempted to track down Sabine and give her a piece of his mind.
Ethan stopped in front of the sculpture of Cupid. The red and pink rose bushes surrounding it hadn’t been pruned in some time and the flowers desperately needed dead-heading. He plucked off a couple, rubbing the soft petals between his fingers and inhaling the sweet scent.
He’d given Chelsea a single red rose from this garden on the day he’d told her he loved her.
His throat closed over. This wasn’t right.
He spun around and strode to the garden shed behind the house.
There were no locks on the door and the metal protested as he forced it open, pushing the rust on the hinges to give way.
Inside was dusty and dim, but the secateurs hung above the bench right where they always had.
He grabbed them and the nearby weeding bucket and headed back to the roses.
It had been over a decade since Maggie had taught him the correct way to prune roses, but it wasn’t something he’d ever forgotten.
He got to work.
An hour later, the sun was sinking to the horizon, and he finished pruning the last bush. He stepped back and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The bushes were stalks now, but they looked much better. He glanced at the weeds choking the roots and gingerly knelt on the ground, his pelvis twinging.
The weeds came out easily and each section of clear dirt made him feel lighter, as if he was achieving something.
A willy wagtail hovered nearby, watching his progress, and darted forward to eat an insect he’d disturbed by weeding. It chittered its thanks and flew away.
Ethan smiled. The bird life in the garden had always been a source of entertainment and joy.
The magpie warble or the kookaburra’s laugh early in the morning, the crows coming throughout the day to see what was happening, the blue wrens flashing their colour during mating season and the cheeky willy wagtail always looking for the easy meal.
Lilydale had been a place of peace.
The sun touched the horizon as he pulled out the last weed. He rocked back on his heels, ignoring the ache. Done.
It wasn’t much, considering the sixteen acres of gardens, but it was a start, and it felt damned good.
He sighed. What was he doing?
This wasn’t his place, but he still couldn’t bring himself to leave. It was the first place he’d found a home, a sense of belonging, love.
He couldn’t just let it go.
Ethan dumped the weeds in the bin and returned the equipment to the garden shed. He had to find somewhere to sleep, and then he could track down Sabine and ask about her plans for the place.
His gaze caught on the old barn. It used to be filled with hay when Aunt Maggie had a horse and a few rescue animals. He smiled. He and Chelsea had had some epic make out sessions in the barn.
Ethan rubbed the ache in his chest.
This place was bringing back too many memories, painful with their bittersweetness.
Wandering over, Ethan peered inside the barn, using his phone torch to illuminate the dark space.
It still smelled of hay, though he couldn’t see any in the large area.
To one side, Maggie’s ancient yellow Landcruiser was parked gathering dust. That thing had been old when he’d been a teenager, but she’d always sworn she didn’t need anything new.
Next to it was room to park his car and he could camp in here easily enough. He’d brought camping equipment in case Maggie wasn’t home.
He closed his eyes as the grief swept over him again.
He couldn’t explain this urge not to leave the property. It was almost as if by leaving, he was abandoning Aunt Maggie.
He’d done it once for his own good. He couldn’t do it again.
Ethan opened both barn doors and walked back towards the front of the house. A side gate led into the property and he opened it, wincing again at the squeak. He glanced across the road but didn’t see the neighbour. He didn’t think she’d call the police or care if he stayed.
He drove onto the property and into the barn, shutting the gate and doors as he did.
Tonight he’d camp here, make a plan, and tomorrow he’d put it into action.
Somehow he would make this right for Aunt Maggie.