Chapter 25
Celia is prepared to make her usual doorstep diagnosis when Enzo and Mathilde show up with the sickly cleistocactus strausii. She has already decided she’ll take it in, even if it has a slim chance of survival. She has also decided privately that she won’t charge for her services.
‘Thanks so much for this,’ Enzo says. ‘We really appreciate anything you can do.’
Mathilde smiles hopefully. ‘D’you think you can help?’
‘I’ll try my best,’ Celia says as Enzo hands the cactus to her. ‘I promise you that.’
The late May morning is crisp and bright and an awkward moment hangs as father and daughter stand outside Celia’s flat. They are sort of hovering, she realises, as if there is something else.
‘I have your number,’ she adds. ‘I’ll contact you to let you know how things are going.’
Enzo rakes back his wavy dark hair, looking apologetic. ‘Erm, this is probably a bit cheeky, but Mathilde’s really interested to see what a houseplant hospital is like.’ He glances down at his daughter. ‘You were really into growing things, weren’t you? At Mamie and Papi’s?’
‘Yeah.’ She nods. ‘At their house in France,’ she adds by way of explanation.
‘Oh, how lovely,’ Celia says, picking up on Enzo’s use of the past tense. She remembers that pushy woman mentioning grandparents who’d passed away, that first time they’d showed up here. ‘What did you grow there?’ she asks gently.
‘Herbs, mostly,’ Mathilde replies. ‘Rosemary, thyme, oregano, chervil…’
‘Wow, that is impressive.’ Celia doesn’t quite know why this surprises her. At Mathilde’s age – she’s guessing around nine – Celia had her own garden, and as a child Logan was always keen to help her out in the plant room.
‘So at some point,’ Enzo starts, ‘when you’re not busy, would we be able to pop by and have a quick look around?’
‘Erm, yes, of course.’ Celia glances at Mathilde. Imagine, a child not only knowing, but growing chervil! And what a wonderful outfit she’s wearing (rainbow-striped polo neck top and embroidered jeans, plus red fake fur jacket). ‘You can come in now if you like,’ she adds quickly. ‘I’m not busy.’
In fact, with Amanda being out for the morning and Logan still mainly holed up in his room, Celia has been at something of a loose end. She beckons them in, and before she’s even shown them into the plant room, Terri raps on the door and appears with a thickly iced chocolate sponge.
Introductions follow, and Terri apologises profusely to Enzo for being so abrupt and unhelpful the first time they met. ‘We’d had a bit of a morning, hadn’t we, Celia?’
‘We had,’ Celia agrees. She catches Mathilde’s dark eyes enlarging at the sight of the cake.
‘Freshly baked,’ Terri announces. ‘Would you like some, hon? Love your look, by the way! You off to a party later?’
‘No,’ she replies, as if surprised by the question.
‘This is Mathilde’s normal daywear,’ Enzo explains, and his daughter grins.
‘Good on you.’ Terri nods approvingly. She’s not averse to a zingy colour combination herself. ‘Cake for you, Enzo?’
‘Oh, er, if you’re sure…’ He smiles.
‘That’s what it’s for!’ In the absence of Amanda, Terri slips back into her usual mode of filling the kettle and lifting plates and mugs from the cupboard, making herself at home.
Over tea and cake she then sets to work in extracting Enzo’s life history.
His childhood in Brittany, his love of hillwalking, and life as a French teacher here in Glasgow.
Celia finds herself taking it all in, enjoying his light accent, the gentle rhythm of his speech.
He has an ease about him that’s so refreshing, she decides, as he asks Terri about the hospital where she works (his late mother, too, was a nurse).
Perhaps this comes with teaching, Celia muses. One of the biggest in Glasgow, Enzo’s school has something of a reputation, but is highly regarded, nevertheless. The kind of school where Logan would have been eaten for breakfast.
Logan appears briefly, enticed by the chocolate sponge, and is cordial at least. Then Celia suggests to Mathilde, ‘Shall I show you the plant room?’, and as Terri clears up, Celia takes them through to where – as her friend put it – ‘the magic happens.’
‘ Wow .’ Mathilde gazes around the room in wonder.
From the sturdy rubber plants to delicate trailing ivys, plants of every description fill the workbench and the shelves Celia and Terri built.
An enormous monstera lives on the floor, and now that the pull-out bed is folded away, Celia has set up a small foldable table on which her tools are laid out neatly and cuttings are growing in jars.
‘This is incredible,’ Enzo announces. ‘It’s absolutely crammed but so… organised .’
‘Like a really organised jungle,’ Mathilde suggests.
Celia smiles. ‘That’s a lovely description.’
‘I wish we had a room like this,’ she adds wistfully.
‘Some, um, people do think it’s a bit much,’ Celia remarks.
‘Oh no,’ Enzo says. ‘It’s wonderful. Terri was right – it is kind of magical.’
Celia is a little taken aback by this. Enzo and Mathilde are so alike, she notes, not just in appearance – the dark brown eyes, strong noses and high cheekbones – but in attitude too.
As they chatter together, she finds herself wondering about the woman who’d come round with Enzo that first time.
His wife, she’d assumed – or girlfriend – but is she Mathilde’s mum?
From what Celia remembers she can’t detect much of a resemblance, but sometimes, she believes, a child looks very much like one parent and not like the other at all.
(She likes to tell herself that this is the case with Logan – although in truth his biological father’s face is just a blur to her now).
‘What d’you do in here?’ Mathilde asks.
Celia laughs, unsure of where to start. ‘Everything, really. There’s watering, of course…’ She points to the small enamel watering can hanging from a hook on the wall.
‘It’s got your name on it!’
‘It has, yes.’ She lifts it down. ‘This was mine when I was your age. Our next-door neighbour gave it to me for my birthday – she painted my name on it herself. I had a little garden of my own back then.’
‘Your own garden? You were lucky!’
‘I was, yes. I was a really lucky girl.’ She hands it to Mathilde, who examines it reverentially before handing it back.
‘Would you like me to show you one of the first things I do to help a plant get better?’ Celia asks, and as Mathilde nods eagerly, she sets about repotting a silver philodendron.
Houseplant hospital customers often over-think things.
They assume their plant has developed a terrible condition due to mites or mould or some other mysterious nasty, when the problem tends to be a very simple one: it’s rootbound and needs fresh compost plus a bigger pot.
This upsizing seems as obvious to Celia as buying new shoes for children as they grow.
You wouldn’t expect them to cram their poor feet into last year’s outgrown pair and expect them to be happy and thrive.
(Buying those ridiculous size fives for Amanda’s wedding had been a brief aberration.)
‘This is the part I enjoy most,’ she explains as Mathilde hovers at her side, watching intently.
‘You’re freeing it,’ she observes, and Celia nods, impressed by her perception.
‘That’s right. It needs room to breathe and grow.’ She has eased the roots from the ceramic pot and now, at the workbench, she gently works on them with gloved fingers, detangling them from their spaghetti-like ball.
‘What are you doing now?’ Mathilde asks.
‘I’m sort of massaging the roots,’ Celia replies.
She senses Mathilde’s intense gaze. ‘Is that just normal soil like you’d get in a garden?’
‘No, it’s peat-free compost. I make it myself. I mean, I buy ingredients and blend them to make sure it’s absolutely right for each plant.’
‘They like different kinds?’
‘Yes, they do, just like people feel happiest in different environments. Some like it rich and full of organic matter, and others like it fluffy and light…’ Mathilde looks amazed by this. It occurs to Celia that Geoff has never asked her a single question about what she gets up to in here.
‘And this is your job?’ Enzo says. ‘I mean, is it a full-time thing?’ He seems to catch himself then. ‘I’m sorry, we’re bombarding you with questions?—’
‘Not at all.’ She smiles, enjoying their interest. ‘I do wish I could do this full time. But no – I also work in a boutique selling occasion wear and fascinators.’
He chuckles and the three settle into a comfortable silence as Celia gently presses down the compost in the philodendron’s new pot.
Occasionally, she gets to know her customers a little.
They might pop in to check on their plant’s progress and she’s not averse to a cup of tea and a custard cream.
And then, as they chat in the kitchen, she sometimes finds herself wondering what their lives are like.
Whether in their house there is a Director-in-Chief of the Heating Thermostat and if they are allowed to buy takeaway sandwiches and luxury cookies with chocolate chunks.
However, when she’d spotted Enzo and Mathilde in town yesterday, there was no wondering.
She’d formed an instant impression of the kind of man he is, and the sort of life he leads.
It had appeared fully formed in her mind.
That’s why she’d followed them into the restaurant.
She had to speak to Enzo – to apologise and give him her card with her contact details.
Because she could tell he was a good person, a kind person – not someone who’d invent a golf weekend so he could shag his lover in a rancid caravan.
And she’d remembered when he’d come to her door with the keeled-over cactus that clearly mattered to him.
It mattered a lot – and to the woman too.
That striking, slightly hippyish woman with tons of curly red hair.
And she’d decided then that she wanted to make amends and do whatever she could to help them.
‘So, d’you have a garden too?’ Enzo asks.
‘Sadly not,’ Celia replies. ‘Only this.’
‘I wish we had one,’ Mathilde announces.
Enzo rests a hand on her shoulder. ‘Mamie and Papi’s was beautiful, wasn’t it?’ She nods. ‘I probably shouldn’t tell you this,’ he adds with a smile, turning to Celia, ‘but Mathilde smuggled Spike out of France.’
‘Did you?’ Celia grins. ‘That was very… daring of you.’
Mathilde nods. ‘No one wanted him so I had to bring him home.’
‘Of course you did,’ Celia agrees, deftly brushing up a spillage of compost now.
‘You obviously love your work,’ Enzo adds.
‘I do,’ she tells him. ‘It’s so satisfying, seeing plants flourish. Almost as much as seeing your child grow.’
‘That’s a nice way of putting it,’ he says as Mathilde explores the room. Celia sees her stopping at the door frame where, every few months, Logan would stand and she’d mark his new height in pencil: ‘You’ve grown a whole inch!’ He grew and grew and now he towers over her by a whole foot.
‘Shall we mark your height?’ Celia asks. And so a new pencil mark is added, and then Celia explains that she’ll devise a care plan and keep in touch regarding Spike’s progress.
Terri joins them in the hallway. ‘Thank you both,’ Enzo says, ‘for everything.’
‘No problem at all,’ Celia says as the door opens and Amanda breezes in, clutching carrier bags and a little white box.
Amidst more introductions – she too compliments Mathilde’s outfit – she plonks the box into Celia’s hands and delves into the bags.
Various purchases are pulled out with a flourish: a shimmery skirt, two fluffy sweaters and an array of tops and scarves and – what’s this? A cape? Mathilde watches, eyes wide.
‘ You’ve been treating yourself,’ Terri observes with a wry smile.
‘Oh, these aren’t for me,’ Amanda explains. ‘They’re for you, Celia?—’
‘For me?’
‘I thought you could use a few new pieces.’
Pieces? She catches Terri’s bemused look and wonders what Enzo and Mathilde are making of this. ‘They’re lovely,’ she starts, ‘but I’m not sure they’re quite?—’
‘They’re beautiful,’ Mathilde enthuses.
‘They are,’ Amanda agrees. ‘We’ll see a new Celia soon.’ She beams at her friend. ‘You won’t recognise yourself.’
Celia smiles uncertainly, a little overwhelmed with five people occupying her narrow hallway while Amanda proposes – well, what exactly?
That she reinvent herself? She can no more imagine herself in the alligator costume Terri ran up for Logan than the silky maxi skirt Amanda is currently holding up against her.
Finally, Enzo says they must be going and, relieved for air, Celia sees them out. ‘Well, thank you,’ he says again. ‘We really appreciate this and it’s been lovely seeing how you work.’ He glances at his daughter. ‘Hasn’t it, Mathilde?’
‘It’s been great! Thank you.’
‘Sorry if it was a bit chaotic there,’ Celia says with a grimace.
‘Not at all.’ Enzo smiles warmly and takes Mathilde by the hand. ‘I’m just glad you had time for us. You obviously have a very full and busy life.’