Chapter Forty-six
“Oh, my word,” Leonie gasps on the other end of the phone. “Do you always land on your feet?”
“The better to hit the ground running.” I settle more comfortably in bed and push one of the pillows up against the wall so I can lean on it. “It’s summer. Garden centres do their best business in summer.”
My social media campaign to attract people to the potting and propagation centre has resulted in a steady stream of enquiries and bookings. Even Mother she is like a balm on a wound.
“Everyone keeps asking about you. I just say that you’re okay and that I don’t know where you went.”
“Thank you.”
“Evan wanted me to tell you that he’s letting you have a break to work through whatever the hell it is that drove you away. His words not mine. And that your business and your home are still here waiting for you.”
I press my lips together. “Sooner or later, he will have to accept I’m gone. He can’t leave the gardens to die.”
“Oh, they won’t. Osian’s been looking after them for you—” Leonie suddenly stops. “I’m sorry. Is it okay to mention him? I never know if you want to hear his news. It’s only that I wanted you to know the garden is still beautiful.”
She sounds so worried about hurting my feelings; I rush to reassure her while swallowing down the pain of hearing his name.
“It’s okay. I’m glad Hope Gardens hasn’t been neglected.”
“Far from it. You know Shaefer and Ashe and Amani – the ex-Perllans; Osian calls them the alumni – they work every day.”
“Amani?” I sit up, causing the pillow to slide to the floor. “I thought she was on the PR team, not gardening.”
“Oh, she is, but she says she put far too much effort into the roses to leave them. They have come out and… oh, Evie, it’s beautiful. The fans are like magic. People keep going upstairs to take pictures.”
“Did the purple irises come out right?” I can’t help asking. The fans are like my babies and guilt gnaws at me for abandoning them.
“The purple fan is the best – it’s a lush wave of colour from dark to light. We have an ongoing argument because everyone has a different favourite. And your herb planters are thriving. Ashe harvests them every few days and keeps me supplied. Yesterday I made oregano omelette.”
She talks on uninterrupted because I can’t speak; my throat has locked around the tears I’m desperate to hold down.
“And your arcade, the climbing roses. Didn’t you say you weren’t sure what colours they were?
Well, now I can tell you. They’re yellow and white.
Except for a few orange and peach that I think you put in there yourself.
But they’re already like a magical tunnel.
Visitors love sitting there and we’ve had a couple of weddings booked. ”
“That’s good. That will make the house extra income.” Changing the topic to business helps. Perhaps she guesses because she says, “Wanna hear something funny?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
“You know everyone likes coming in for an early breakfast?”
“Yes.” I remember.
“Well, last week, for the first time since you left, Osian came in. He’s been avoiding most of us, especially me.
But he finally came in and ordered his usual two bacon rolls.
And Johnny Cash suddenly screeches, ‘Osian is an idiot. Osian is an idiot.’ Loud enough for the whole café and terrace to hear. ”
“Oh my God, no.” I am laughing and crying at the same time. “That’s terrible.”
“More than you know,” she says. “Because it’s clear someone has been saying this in the café.
And considering how slow Johnny Cash is to learn, he must have heard it lots of times.
Osian sat there frozen for an instant, then he pushed his chair back and walked out.
I haven’t seen him since. I mean, I’ve seen him around but he’s not come into the café. ”
Too many thoughts crowd my head, and I can’t speak at all. So I bend down off the side of the bed, scoop the fallen pillow off the grey-and-blue patterned carpet and plonk it behind my back.
Osian. Oh, my darling man. He doesn’t deserve this. He hasn’t done anything wrong; he’s been honest and clear from the start. You can’t punish him for not falling in love with me.
I must have been silent for too long because when Leonie speaks again, her voice is very gentle, and very sad.
“Evie, he’s not in a good place. Ever since you left, he’s looked sick.
He never smiles, and I mean never. He rarely talks.
I mean, he talks to people about work and things that must be discussed but the rest of the time he’s just… stiff and frozen.”
“Leonie,” I gasp, unable to breathe. “Please don’t tell me more. Please.”
“Sorry.” Her own voice is thick with tears.
“Please be nice to him.” I breathe out. “He needs friends.”
“And you? Don’t you deserve support?”
“Sure, but you don’t have to take sides. No one has to.”
Leonie means well, and she’s very loving. But this phone call destroys what little peace of mind I had managed to find here in Suffolk. It takes me two weeks to restore my calm again. To stop obsessing about what might be going on at Kendric Park.
And just when I manage to find a little peace, I get an email from Osian.