Chapter 3
On top of her houseplant hospital, Celia has a second job.
She works part-time at Elegance, a local boutique catering mainly to mature wedding guests, particularly the mothers of brides and grooms .
There’s nothing she can’t tell you about fascinators and obscure designer labels never encountered beyond this kind of shop (‘Exclusive high-class fashions from Italy’).
On this crisp and sunny May morning, Celia is up with the lark, as is her habit on a shop day when she has to appear, well, elegant .
Or as close a proximation as she can possibly manage to fudge together.
This means her shoulder-length light brown hair, with its habit of frizzing, must be washed and blow-dried and given a good old frying with straighteners so ancient that the manufacturer no longer exists.
‘Your medieval waffle irons,’ as Terri, her close friend from the flat upstairs, laughingly refers to them.
Celia must also wear light ‘classic’ make-up, plus smart trousers and heels and what her mother would term ‘a nice blouse’, and her nails must be neatly filed and polished, and on no account clogged with soil.
This involves checking on the numerous houseplants currently under her expert care.
Geoff has already left for work and Celia is glad about this.
She treasures having the flat to herself and being able to potter without interference or criticism.
And so, clad in baggy-kneed tracksuit bottoms and an ancient sweatshirt, she tackles the business of watering, misting and gently wiping down leaves with her own home-blended leaf care oil.
The Baxters’ Kentia palm, she is pleased to note, has perked up dramatically since she gently freed it from its original pot.
A droopy poinsettia with a severe case of root mould is still looking rather sorry for itself, but it’s early days and Celia explained to its owner that its treatment plan might span a couple of weeks.
On the nursery shelves she checks over spider plant babies which are already thriving, and repots one of her own begonias.
All the while she chats soothingly, believing absolutely that this is a crucial part of a plant’s care.
She regards herself as part doctor, part nurse, and her bedside manner is impeccable.
Geoff, who encounters nature only on golf courses, has a strong aversion to Celia’s ‘jungle’ taking over the flat.
And so most of this activity happens in the plant room, a smallish spare bedroom which she and Terri fitted out with floor-to-ceiling shelving, working smoothly together with drills and screwdrivers (although admittedly, since Celia’s son Logan moved out, several ‘overspill’ plants have begun to colonise his bedroom).
As a business, her hospital has been thriving for several years – although her love of plants grew from seeds planted decades ago.
Celia’s parents were no gardeners and as a child, it pained her to look out and see the overgrown borders and weed-infested flagstones scattered with rain-mushed cigarette butts. The old cooker that had been shoved out there, which was now mottled with rust, caused an ache in her gut.
Celia took over a small corner of a border, digging it over and discovering what looked like actual plants – rather than weeds – in different parts of the garden. Using library books to identify them, she would rehome them in her patch where they had room to flourish and grow.
Soon she was acquiring seeds, cuttings and even small plants, with roots attached, from the park.
A fervent abider of rules, she wasn’t entirely sure whether this would be classed as stealing and preferred not to dwell on it too much.
While her parents barely registered what their only child was up to, kindly neighbours festooned her with tips and more plants, encouraging her to cultivate yet more of the otherwise unloved back garden of 67 Bute Road.
‘You’re doing a great job there, Celia,’ Mrs Blakely announced, peering over the fence. ‘Good on you, girl. Your mum and dad are very lucky to have a kid like you.’ She looked a bit pained when she said that. Emotional, even. Celia couldn’t understand why.
Gradually, it wasn’t just Celia’s lupins and lavender that blossomed, but her belief in herself. Achieving decent test results at school didn’t come easily to her and she had to work extremely hard. But out here in her garden she could make things happen, and it wasn’t even that difficult.
She grew several ivy varieties in pots on the ancient cooker. Soon they began to trail over, shrouding the rusting appliance with verdant leaves. Celia had taught herself to use the lawnmower – all that digging had made her physically strong – and created an actual lawn.
From the outside at least, it almost looked like a house where a normal family might live.
* * *
With her shop persona in place, Celia has arrived at Elegance, although it’s not quite time to open up.
As she rearranges the jewellery in the window, she remembers the horror of stepping into Amanda’s wedding reception all by herself, back in January.
The vast room was filled with sparkling chandeliers.
Beautiful people were all chatting and laughing over the tinkle of light jazz being played on a grand piano.
Celia wasn’t checking into her hotel until later that night, and was horribly conscious of her scuffed suitcase.
To make matters worse, at some point during her journey, one of its wheels had broken.
Celia looked around in panic, hoping to spot Amanda.
Unable to locate her, she hauled the malfunctioning wheelie case through the crowds as if leading a misbehaving toddler to the toilets.
Aware of stickiness in her armpits, she pulled off her blazer and bundled it on top of her case.
What should she do now? Drink copiously?
Hide here in this corner – or in the loos – until it was all over?
At the very least she should remove the wretched acrylic cardigan that was making her sweat like a horse.
However, to Celia, the prospect of exposing her arms was akin to baring her bottom, and as she made the decision to remain covered up, Amanda fluttered towards her in a full-length cream silk slip.
‘Darling! You made it!’ She hugged her tightly.
‘’Course I did!’ Celia grinned. ‘Wouldn’t have missed this for the world.’
‘Oh, that’s so great. I did wonder, when you didn’t RSVP?—’
‘I’m so sorry. I thought I had,’ she fibbed. She had put off replying, willing the pipes to crack or the kitchen ceiling to fall in. Any domestic emergency would have served as an excuse – and her husband’s generous gesture had come very late in the day.
‘Where’s Geoff?’ Amanda’s nostrils quivered as if she were trying to locate the source of a bad smell.
‘He couldn’t come. Something came up and he’s really sorry. He sends his love.’
‘Ah, that’s a shame,’ Amanda said quickly. ‘Anyway, you look fabulous.’
‘Oh, no. But you do.’ For a moment Celia absorbed the vision of her oldest friend. Her fine blonde hair was piled up beautifully with tiny white flowers threaded through it, and a sparkly choker glinted around her long slender neck.
She sensed then that Amanda was keen to get away from her. ‘You must meet Jasper,’ she announced. ‘You’ll love him!’
‘I’m sure I will. And congratulations!’ Celia babbled a little belatedly.
‘Thanks. Never thought it would happen, but here I am!’ And then Amanda merged back into the crowds, leaving Celia quite alone.
It was almost impossible to believe how close they’d been, back in the day.
How they’d spread a faded satin bedspread on Celia’s lawn, and had ‘banquets’ of whatever they’d been able to plunder from their respective homes.
How they’d shared secrets and chattered late into the night.
At one point the girls had acquired a two-person tent, dragged from a skip and without any poles or pegs.
They had erected it somehow, using branches carted home from the park, and took to camping out all night.
Celia loved her garden. Not just because it was hers to care for, but also for what it gave her in return.
She had a place of her own now. A place where she belonged, and which soothed her. It made sense then for Celia to plan a future involving being outdoors and helping things to grow.
The thing with gardening, she read in a library book once, is that plants actually want to flourish.
All we have to do is give them their best chance.
Celia pictured her future self then, not as a weed struggling through a pavement crack, merely surviving, but rather thriving as she stretched up towards the sun.
She mapped out a plan to go to college to study horticulture and garden design.
She felt sure that, if she focussed hard enough, she could get there.
But then, with the end of school in sight, Celia’s world took a very different course.
One sunny spring afternoon she crouched down in the park in the shady area where crocuses grew. There are hundreds, she told herself. No one will miss one or two.
Should she take a yellow, a purple or a white? Celia’s dad had left some years before, and there’d been a fight the previous night, between her mum and a boyfriend who’d only just come on to the scene. A slammed front door; his car revving loudly and him driving away.
Celia was trying not to think about all of this as, poised with the trowel she always carried in her coat pocket, she started to dig.
‘Hey, what’re you up to?’
‘Oh!’ She sprang up, her heart banging as if she were about to be dragged off to jail.
‘I wasn’t, I mean I—’ Her cheeks were flaming.
The man smirked. ‘Yeah, well, if everyone went around digging up plants, there’d be none left in the park, would there? And then how would it look?’