Chapter Eleven
Throughout November, the days became noticeably shorter and Rosie’s visits to her garden were restricted to weekends.
Invariably her first job was to gather up the fallen leaves that lay everywhere.
There was also a nip in the air, and the flowery scents of late summer were replaced by the peaty smell of damp earth, and the occasional whiff of wood smoke from a bonfire.
Most Saturdays she worked until the sun dipped behind the buildings – her cue to start tidying away.
The tool store now stood where there had previously been swathes of ivy and brambles, and Bob had found a couple of unwanted paving slabs for her to lay as a base.
Given the fact that his garden was immaculate, she wondered where he happened to find a few stone slabs, but he’d seemed happy to help out.
Dorothy would often pop out to exchange a few words if she saw Rosie working, and to keep her up to date with any local snippets of news, even though Rosie rarely knew the people involved.
Connor also looked out for her, and invariably there would be an invite for refreshments.
Fancy a cuppa? had been abbreviated to fac?
, to which she invariably replied with an emoji.
That was something that James had disliked: when he’d written texts, he was obsessive about getting the punctuation right, and it had annoyed him if Rosie had dared use slang or shorthand.
“Youth laziness” he’d called it. However, since Rosie’s discovery, she no longer felt guilty about doing things that James had disapproved of or disliked.
Shortly after her shocking discovery, she’d purchased a beautiful cardinal red cashmere jumper that James would have labelled as frivolous and unnecessarily expensive.
It made her feel special. She couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone about James’ affair, as if it would somehow emphasise that she hadn’t been good enough.
These treats to herself were, she supposed, a form of self-help.
It gave her a liberating feeling as if she could say to him: Look at me.
You cheated on me and I am moving on without you.
She suspected he would have disapproved of Connor too, which made her enjoy his company even more.
It was towards the end of November when Rosie finally got to meet the residents of the fourth flat at number 15, Mickleborough Gardens.
She had been hard at work all morning creating an alpine garden.
The idea had germinated after a trip to the local tip where she spotted someone getting rid of an old ceramic butler sink.
It was very scratched at the bottom and had a couple of chips around the edge, but for her purposes that didn’t matter.
After spending a while working out where to put it, she then dug a hole so the sink was partially set into the ground, and filled it with soil.
According to Dorothy, alpine plants could tolerate dry conditions and didn’t need expensive compost. Around the outside of her new planter, she glued her special shell collection.
The box of shells had sat in a cupboard for over twenty-five years and despite pressures on space in their flat, she had always resisted getting rid of it even though, as James had pointed out, she’d done nothing with it.
The collection had started after a family holiday to North Wales.
Her mother had encouraged her to go and play with the other children on the caravan site, but Rosie was happy pottering along the beach, poking around in rock pools and picking up shells.
They were mostly cockles or periwinkles, but in subsequent years, whenever they went anywhere near a beach, Rosie always brought home a few interesting additions for the collection.
Now, as she examined her pile of shells, it was like revisiting a place from her past; the memories were untainted by disappointment or regrets, and as she knelt on the cold damp grass, she realised this was why she loved her garden.
It looked quite bare really compared to Bob’s or Dorothy’s, but it was her special place.
The flat held too many memories of James, which harboured feelings of sorrow and now also angry feelings of betrayal.
Pennewicks, with its pleasant Edwardian facade and polished wood counters, reminded her of the life she had settled for after her father had died, which was never meant to become permanent.
This garden, this scruffy patch of land, was hers – at least for the duration of Connor’s tenancy – and she felt a fierce pride in it.
Despite the distant sound of traffic and the occasional rumble of a train, it was generally very peaceful, although today there was also the sound of children playing outdoors.
It was a happy sound, and she paused for a few moments to stretch her legs and surreptitiously peered over the fence into Bob’s garden.
It was empty so she guessed it must be from the garden in front of Bob’s.
She recognised a hesitant version of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”.
‘Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky,’ she sang, as she joined in.
Immediately the singing stopped.
‘It’s okay,’ Rosie called out softly. ‘I was enjoying your singing.’ She didn’t want to frighten the child, but she wondered who it was.
She grabbed the bucket her tools were in and placed it upside down near the corner of the garden.
Carefully, placing one foot on the bucket, she raised herself up in order to see over the fence into the garden.
She smiled at the sight of two children.
‘Hello there. My name’s Rosie.’ The girl looked around four or five years of age, and was wearing a stripey knitted jumper.
In her hand she held what looked like a bamboo cane with a silver star stuck on the end of it.
The boy was maybe a year or two older and was looking at her very warily from under the brim of a red woolly hat.
‘What are your names?’
The boy mumbled something but she didn’t catch it. ‘I’m Sophia!’ shouted the little girl, as she jumped up and down and waved her star around.
‘That’s a lovely name. And I love your wand. I always wanted one like that when I was younger.’
‘I want to be a fairy, but Mum says I can’t wear my fairy dress outside.’ Sophia pointed at the boy. ‘This is Jacob.’
‘Being nosey again, Florence?’ said a mock stern voice.
The children both screamed and ran off and Rosie spun round so swiftly that her arms wavered for a split second like a cartoon animal before she fell straight into Connor’s arms.
‘Whoops! My turn to carry you, is it?’
Rosie righted herself quickly and let go of what looked like a very expensive jacket. ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded. ‘Sneaking up behind me like that!’
‘You didn’t reply to my text so I figured something had grabbed your attention. Looks like I arrived just in the nick of time. You could have hurt yourself falling backwards like that.’
‘For your information, Mr Forbes,’ said Rosie in a tone of teasing admonishment, ‘I wouldn’t have fallen off at all if you hadn’t crept up like that. And you frightened the wits out of those sweet little children. You’ve probably traumatised them.’
‘And for your information, I do not have a scary face,’ Connor replied indignantly.
Rosie pretended to study his features for a few seconds. ‘Mmm, well there is a bit of a grumpy side to you.’ She grinned.
‘Me? Grumpy? How very rude of you, Florence! Get indoors before your tea gets stewed.’
Rosie followed him back inside.
Over tea and biscuits, Rosie quizzed him about the neighbours, but Connor had very little information.
‘You’ve been here since the beginning of September.’ Rosie counted on her fingers. ‘That’s nearly three months now and you don’t know any of the neighbours?’
‘I know Dorothy,’ Connor protested.
‘I think you’ll find everybody knows Dorothy. I don’t think it’s optional.’
Laughing eased the loneliness inside her and more than ever she valued her friendship with Connor. Recently he’d taken to walking with her to the front door as though he was seeing her home after a date.
Rosie pulled on her wellies at the doorstep. ‘See y’around, Cooking Boy.’
Connor grinned. ‘Mind how you go, Florence. Don’t go falling off any more buckets while I’m not there to save you.’
Instead of heading back down the side passage to her garden, Rosie went around the front of the flats. There were very few distinguishing features at the front, other than a low, brick wall bordering a small patch of grass. If this were her flat, she would plant flowers out here.
The left-hand side of the block was a mirror-image of Dorothy’s and Connor’s front doors.
She rang the doorbell and waited. She knew someone was in but there was a lengthy pause before anyone answered.
Eventually the door opened on a safety chain and a pale face bearing a suspicious expression peered at her through the gap.
‘Hello, I’m Rosie. I came round to apologise as I think we accidentally startled your children, and I wanted to explain what happened.’ She gave the woman what she hoped was an engaging smile. It was not returned.
‘I was talking to Sophia, you see, and then Connor popped up and gave them – and me actually – a bit of a shock.’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘He didn’t mean to scare them though.’
‘You tell that man to keep away from my kids – they’re entitled to play in their own garden without being harassed. Otherwise I’ll call the police.’ The woman’s voice had a sharp edge to it and Rosie wondered whether she’d had a previous altercation with Connor.
‘Hello, Rosie,’ said a child’s voice.
‘Hello again, Fairy Princess,’ Rosie replied, even though she couldn’t see her.
‘Don’t you go bothering people, Sofe, we don’t want any trouble here.’
Rosie sensed there was some underlying misunderstanding somewhere. ‘Please, no one wants to make any trouble, I just thought I’d be neighbourly and pop round to say hello. It was very nice to meet you, and your children, and if I can help with anything, just let me know.’
‘Maybe Rosie can mend my fairy dress?’
The woman turned and jabbed her finger as she replied. ‘We’ve already talked about this, Sofe, I don’t have any money for extras. You’ll just have to make do.’
Rosie heard a sniffle and then a storm of tears.
‘Look, you can say this is none of my business—’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘But I can sew and I might be able to help. It won’t cost anything but it’s worth a try, isn’t it?’
‘Why would you want to help? I don’t even know who you are.’
‘I’m Rosie. I rent the garden next door; the one that used to be a jungle. I’d like to help Sophia, if you’ll allow me?’
The woman hesitated for a few seconds, and then removed the safety chain and opened the door. ‘I’m Martina. I suppose you’d better come in then. Excuse things, we don’t normally have people calling in.’
Rosie removed her wellies and stepped over the threshold.
The layout of the interior was similar to Connor’s flat although it was a mirror-image and having no need for stairs meant the hallway was a little larger.
Martina pushed open the door to what looked like a multi-purpose room.
The carpet was a light grey colour, but had been stained in a number of places.
A small table with a fold-down flap stood in one corner, and there were two brightly coloured bean bags in front of the television.
There was a two-seater sofa with a definite sag in the middle, which someone had unsuccessfully attempted to hide with a dark red throw.
Rosie sat down carefully on the sofa and beamed at the little girl who was hovering in front of her. The tears may have stopped, but she now eyed Rosie warily. ‘So, you have a fairy dress, do you?’ Rosie asked.
Sophia nodded.
‘Can I see it?’
Sophia ran out of the room, returning seconds later clutching a light pink dress which she hugged to her body.
Martina gestured at it. ‘It’s nothing posh.
We found it in the local charity shop and she begged me to buy it.
Kids nowadays seem to have these expensive parties and they have to have all these outfits and costumes that cost the earth.
They don’t think about what happens when people can’t afford all this fancy stuff. ’ She stroked Sophia’s hair.
‘They’re good kids and they don’t ask for much, but you feel guilty, don’t you, when you can’t give yours the same things.’
Rosie remembered all too well how her parents had had to scrimp and save for everything. Luckily in those days there was no social media, no influencers to tell your children what they were missing out on, and designer shoes meant they had Clarks stamped on the insoles.
She gently took the dress from Sophia and examined it carefully.
It was a ballet-style dress with a pale pink cotton top, edged with a lace ruff around the neck, although it was mostly torn.
The skirt was made from yards of tulle but it had come undone on one side and was hanging down like a limp fishing net.
‘That happened when we put it in the wash,’ Martina said. ‘I tried to pin it back but there’s too much of it. I wanted to cut some of it off but she won’t let me, so now it just looks like a dish rag.’
‘No!’ cried Sophia, tugging back the dress. ‘You can’t cut it up. It’s my special fairy dress.’
Rosie thought about all the boxes of materials and off-cuts sitting at home. If nothing else, she could re-stitch the skirt and pretty it up a bit. Children could be cruel and she couldn’t bear the idea of Sophia being teased for having a second-rate party dress when she had the means to help.
Rosie beckoned to her. ‘Did you know I used to make fairy dresses?’
Sophia’s eyes widened as she shook her head.
‘Would you let me borrow the dress so I can mend it for you? I promise I’ll be very careful with it.’
Very slowly, Sophia placed the dress on Rosie’s lap. ‘But you have to promise to bring it back,’ she said solemnly.
Rosie put her hand on her heart. ‘Absolutely. I give you my fairy promise.’
As soon as she got home, Rosie changed out of her gardening clothes and then set to work on the dress.
She was touched that Sophia trusted her enough with her special dress and was determined not to let her down.
She still had Emma’s dress to finish, but this wouldn’t take too long once she’d had some time to do a bit of creative thinking.
In the meantime, the lace around the neck would definitely have to be replaced, and feeling slightly guilty, she set to work unpicking the stitches as an idea began to form in her head.