Chapter Thirty
The secret to fast garden regeneration is planning an overall look.
I stand at the edge of the terrace and scan the ten acres of North Park, my Hope Gardens.
The fans, all five of them, the pond and even the rose arcade are about halfway up, in the middle of the land.
So there’s a lot of ‘empty’ land in between.
Only a few lone trees dot the flat field.
Leaving it empty is not only an eyesore but an invitation for more weeds to fill it up again. It needs to be planted.
I might have ten helpers, but not even with fifty more Perllans can I plant all that.
So there’s only one solution. Turf. Not any old boring green grass. This is, after all, my dream garden. Then my eyes focus on the trees and do that thing of unfocusing, letting my imagination do the looking.
Even before my thought is finished, my phone is in my hand and I’m scrolling fast, tapping and putting in several urgent enquiries.
Next job is the planting. I might have bulbs, but not enough, and none of them would be ready in time.
Normally most bulbs need to winter in the ground before they can bloom.
You can, if you’re willing to spend money, buy pre-wintered bulbs.
You need the right connections, and I have the right connections.
The benefits of ten years in the profession.
Having at least some colour by Easter is worth spending the money on pre-wintered or pre-sprouted daffodils, tulips, hyacinths, anemones and crocuses.
By 8am when the Perllans join me, I’ve already spent ￡9,500.
“Good morning.” I grin at them. “We have an exciting plan.”
Something in my excitement must communicate itself, because a few faces grin back at me.
“We’re going to receive a delivery of bulbs and plugs this afternoon, but until then I have a couple of new jobs.”
Osian has just arrived and his eyes register surprise to find us still on the terrace.
“Hi, Osian. I need you to take a few people and make a start on the rose arcade.”
I don’t give him time to talk. “Ashe, Jo and Moira, can you find Evan or Alex and ask for balls of twine? We need lots and lots of string. The rest of you, come with me – we’re going shopping.”
Osian looks nonplussed, his face full of questions. Sorry, but I am avoiding him; the last thing I can afford to do is talk to him. From now on, we’re never going to be alone. So with five Perllans standing between us, I explain that I want them to make a start on pruning the climbing roses.
Then, I drive with the last three Perllans to Brecon to buy pegs to mark the sections of land where the turf will be laid.
A small city like Brecon doesn’t have much in the way of landscaping suppliers, but we do chance to walk past a children’s party shop.
Amani, my youngest Perllan, points to a small Welsh flag.
The kind on a short stick so you can wave it around. Or stick it into the soil.
“Amani, you’re a genius,” I tell her as we pile in and buy every last flag they have. Welsh, British and even a few European Union flags leftover from God knows when.
By the time we get back to Kendric House, the first of my deliveries is already there.
Osian stands over the crates, frowning. He doesn’t understand why I’m spending so much money on pre-sprouted crocuses.
The crates show the expected colours: white, blue, purple and yellow.
He might look baffled but the Perllans are very excited and can’t wait to start planting.
And so it goes for the rest of the day and the next.
We section the land to be turfed and mark strips of it with the small flags, connected by lengths of string.
When the official working day is finished, I do the things only I can do.
Ordering trellises for the roses to climb and making plans for what should go where.
Most of this work can be done from my apartment on my laptop, but then Osian can find me and talk to me.
And I can’t… I just… can’t. Why else am I keeping myself so busy, not giving myself a moment to think, to remember?
The way his hands felt on my face, the melting groan in his voice when he called my name.
No.
No.
I need to apply for a second mortgage because all this expenditure is going to clean me out. And I am going to work in the Hub where Llewellyn will be, so I’m never alone for Osian to find me.
That’s how, late on that second evening, I am there when the drama happens.
Even though officially the Hub closes at 7pm, Llewellyn lets me stay late because he himself works late. “The only time I get any peace and quiet,” is how he puts it.
So we’re both there, he at his desk near the door, me in a far corner behind a bank of large monitors, when there’s a loud and over-cheerful, “Baby!”
Llewellyn’s head snaps up.
Nora breezes into the Hub, rolling a suitcase behind her.
She has a new haircut, a curly bob fluffy around her face which makes her look young and carefree.
I hate to admit it but she looks sexy in a very short, flared skirt barely three inches longer than the hem of her knitted jumper over black polka-dot tights and knee-high boots.
“Nora,” is all Llewellyn says, standing up, his face a picture of surprise.
“Did you miss me?” She stops in front of his desk, pops a hip and waits for him to admire her.
Even from this distance, I can make out the shape of her breasts because the loose knit jumper is so fine it’s semi see-through.
Not a classy look when you have large boobs and no bra. (Sorry. I know – meow.)
“Why are you here?”
“Where else should I be, baby?”
“Nora, we broke up.” His voice shakes like a man forcing himself to stay calm.
“I know. It’s not the first time. We always do that: we fight, we break up, then you miss me too much and beg me to come back.”
“I didn’t beg you—”
“I know,” she twinkles. “I’m here to give you a chance to do it now. Upstairs.”
“Nora. No. Not this time. It’s over.”
I don’t know if Llewellyn’s forgotten I’m here, but I shouldn’t be.
This is a very private conversation. Unfortunately, it’s already progressed too far for me to just get up and walk out right in front of them.
If only there was a window nearby, but there isn’t.
As quietly as possible, I roll my chair back, gather my laptop and hug it to my chest – high enough so it covers half my face like a shield – then I sidle from behind the row of desks.
It doesn’t work. Nora whirls around, her expression instantly furious. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“She is working,” Llewellyn answers for me. “It’s a work Hub, remember?”
“So let’s finish this talk upstairs. Away from eavesdroppers.”
“No.”
It’s the last thing I hear as I slip out into the corridor and hurry as fast as I can, without really looking. Slam into a solid body.
Out of the frying pan and into the last man I wanted to see. “Hey, hey, what’s the emergency?” Osian steadies me.
Now, with his hands on both my arms, the stupid hopeful part of me that never read the message about this being a no-go area, that part lifts up its head and starts looking.
It sees that we’re alone near the stairs, with nothing but the smell of paint and solvent in the air and the half-finished mural nearby.
Osian’s beautiful face, the dark blue eyes full of concern and kindness, the wide lips…
It occurs to me with a sense of unreality that we almost kissed two nights ago, that he had those same hands tangled in my hair, on my back, crushing me to him.
I screw my eyes shut, trying to remember my resolution.
“What’s wrong?”
The concern in his voice is even worse. It makes my heart pretend things are easy and nice, to forget. What was it? That he doesn’t want me. That he got close, so close, then thought better of it and changed his mind.
“Evie?”
I open my eyes. “Sorry. It’s just in the Hub, sorry. Nora and Llewellyn, sort of arguing.”
“Oh.” A world of understanding in this tiny word. “Then we’d better get out of the way.” He turns towards the back stairs, the way up to his apartment. And mine. “Coming?” He waits, one foot on the bottom step.
There’s nothing I want more than to go up with him, nothing. “Just a minute. Sorry. Need… er… something from the kitchen. Sorry.” Even my verbal autopilot has turned its back on me. Saying the word ‘sorry’ so many times is a clear clue to my mental chaos.
“Okay, I’ll wait here. The fewer people milling around within earshot of the Hub, the better.” He sits on the steps with the air of someone prepared to wait.
It’s easy to see what he’s doing. He’d have to be blind not to see how flustered I am.
Now he wants to make it better, to be friendly, to normalise the relationship between us.
But just this once I wish he wouldn’t be caring healer-man.
It’s easier to resist him, to get over him, if he acts like a selfish, heartless git.
I go to the kitchen, hoping to find my strength there. But no such luck. What I do actually find as I burst in through the door is Llewellyn and Nora.
“Oh, flipping hell.” Nora spins around.
“Sorry, I’m just making a coffee.” It’s the first thing that comes to my mind.
“Why can’t you leave us alone?” she fumes.
“Nora, stop!” Llewellyn snaps at her.
“Why doesn’t she get a life instead of always following us everywhere?”
Always? Following her? Everywhere? Now she’s put my back up. Squaring my shoulders, I move over to the counter and start filling the kettle. In truth, I’m stuck between a rock and a very difficult awkward place. If I go outside, I’ll have to see Osian.
Llewellyn opens the fridge, finds a carton of milk and brings it to me.
“Whose side are you on?” Nora glares at him.
“Evie lives here. She has every right to be in the kitchen.”
“So do we. We live here too.” She moves towards him.
He moves, putting the table between them, and opens the cutlery drawer to give me a spoon as he answers her: “We can’t keep going over this.”
He too seems to be banging around the kitchen looking through the cupboards, pretending to be busy, while Nora follows him around.
“Can you give me the keys? I’m tired. I want to go upstairs.”
“You don’t live here. Remember when you flung your keys at me on your way out?”
“It was a fight. We always fight. You were busy tossing my clothes into my suitcase.”
“You shouldn’t have come back.”
“Because you’re my boyfr—”
“I’ll tell you why you’re back.” Llewellyn stops circling the table and actually faces her, expression furious.
“Don’t pretend you’re here for me. Whoever it was you were after didn’t work out so I’m your safety net.
A stepping stone to the next man. Maybe Osian.
He’s single. You’re single, so what’s stopping you? Go find him.”
By now, even I can’t stay and I quickly take the coffee I never needed and walk out of the kitchen.
“Finally!” Nora flings the words after me.
I don’t care; there are worse things on my mind.
Like how to avoid Osian, who’s sitting on the stairs waiting for me.
There’s another way into the centre of the house, of course: up the main curved staircase from the ballroom and finally doubling back into the west wing.
I manage to slip into my apartment without seeing him.
Sorry, Osian, please forgive me. But this is too soon. You must allow me time to get my feelings in order. I’m not asking for years, like the last time after our non-date at school. But give me a little more than three days.