Chapter 35
Under Vernita’s instruction, Casey and Ajay measured out four large rectangles using pieces of kindling pushed into the ground at the corners and tying string between them, and all three of them lifted the turf.
Then Jared—with an expression that suggested he couldn’t believe his luck at being allowed to use heavy machinery—used the rotavator to turn the ground over while Clara and Mildred looked on.
It was heavy work, but Nigel kept them all lubricated with tea and made sure there was a slice of cake or a biscuit at the ready every hour on the hour to keep their energy and their spirits up.
“I’m glad I cleaned the house this morning,” Ajay remarked as they began to dig the new flower borders.
“I didn’t expect to have my landlord playing café in my kitchen. ”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Casey chuckled. “Good job you’re not a slob.”
“I’m not, but I came down this morning to find the remnants of Jared’s late-night attempt at making nachos spread across every work surface.”
“At least he can cook?” she said, resting her boot onto the spade and pushing down hard before leaning her weight back against the handle to dislodge a stubborn clod of earth.
“But why does he need to use every single pan, bowl, and utensil in the place to do it?”
“Teenage logic,” she puffed, feeling the soreness in the tops of her arms. “Gravediggers must have huge arm muscles.”
“You planning to throw me over for a gravedigger?”
She quirked an eyebrow and smirked. “It pays to keep one’s options open.”
“Oh, really?” Ajay let his spade drop to the ground and pulled her into his arms. “I’ll have to make sure I keep you satisfied, so you don’t run off to the local cemetery.”
The shrill screech of a whistle caused them to break apart, and they turned to see Ms. Marcasite, hands on her hips like a bejeweled gym teacher. The whistle, attached to a ribbon around her neck, was pushed to the side of her mouth as she shouted, “I said no funny business, people!”
At half past three, Nate and the children came to join them, bundled up like they were ready for a trek through Lapland, Nate bearing thermoses of hot chocolate, which went down a storm.
The troughs—tall enough to be safe from greedy pygmy goats—had been filled with compost and put in position.
Conner and Nigel planted in the herbs; warming scents of thyme and sage crushed between fingers caught on the breeze, making Casey’s stomach growl.
As the light began to fade, they downed tools and surveyed their work. “There’s still a lot to be done,” said Ms. Marcasite. “But then there always is with gardening. The main thing is the bones are there and the rest will come together in time.”
Casey noticed that Ajay was looking a bit overcome.
“I can’t thank you enough,” he said. “It’s more than I ever imagined. I’m so grateful to you all.”
“It was all Casey’s idea,” said Nigel, clapping Ajay on the back. “And Vern and I had an ulterior motive.”
“You did?” Ajay asked.
Nigel gave him a fatherly smile. “You’re great tenants, and Jared’s taken to farmwork like he was born to it. We’ll do everything we can to make sure you want to stay.”
“So, if London comes calling you back, you’ll tell it to bugger off!” added Ms. Marcasite.
“Bugger off!” Ellory repeated.
“Thanks, Vernita,” Nate deadpanned.
“What do you reckon?” asked Nigel. “You think you might stick around?”
Ajay looked over at Casey and smiled. “I have plenty of incentive to stay.”
Sounds of a car crunching up the gravel drive were followed by the unmistakable sounds of Sylvie calling, “The supper club has arrived, come and get it while it’s hot!”
Muddy boots and coats were discarded and jovial introductions made between the newcomers and Ajay and Jared.
A huge pan of Sylvie’s famous chili con carne had been put on the hob to keep warm, filling the kitchen with a rich tomatoey smell.
Ken removed the foil from a wide mixing bowl filled with steaming jacket potatoes.
Nigel built the fire in the small sitting room hearth and soon everyone had piled in to thaw out, sitting on cushions on the floor, and hungrily scooping into bowls of chili and hot spuds.
Ajay and Casey sat on cushions beside each other, noisy chatter all around them as friends and family caught up with each other’s news, and Conner and Ellory laughed out loud as Buddy the Elf belched on the TV.
“It feels like a home,” said Ajay.
Casey smiled. “It does.”
“I couldn’t have imagined any of this when I first arrived. If I’m honest, I thought my life was in the toilet. I felt like my superiors had shoved me into the back of beyond to forget about me.”
“I’m sorry that you were made to feel like that,” said Casey. “That must have been isolating.”
Ajay looked over to where Jared was belly-laughing at an exchange between Sylvie and Vern, who had de-wigged and changed into a pair of dark green cords and a Christmas jumper. “Luckily having a teenager in tow didn’t give me time to dwell on it.”
“How did you find this place?”
“I was put in touch with Berty before I left London, he was assigned to be my advocate to help me settle in at the new station. He spoke to Nigel about the cottage on my behalf.”
“Good old Berty.”
“Thank you, for today,” Ajay said, kissing her cheek.
“You’re welcome. I know it wasn’t exactly a date.”
“It was perfect,” he said, smiling at her in a way that flooded her body with warm contentment.
“Now, Ajay…” Sylvie’s commanding voice cut through the animated chatter in the room.
Ajay snapped to attention. “I have two large trifles out in the car. You will come and help me get them so that I can grill you about your intentions toward our Casey,” she announced in a way that brooked no argument.
Ajay enacted a comedy gulp. Casey groaned dramatically and covered her face in embarrassment. “Oh lord, sorry, Ajay.” She apologized for her mother-in-law once removed. But Ajay only laughed; he seemed to be enjoying being bossed by Sylvie.
“Spit spot!” Sylvie demanded, and Ajay jumped up off his cushion.
“Yes, ma’am!” he said, saluting.
Sylvie nodded appreciatively and turned to Casey. “He’s already off to a good start,” she said, and picked her way around the people on the floor to the door, Ajay following obediently behind.
—
That night, Casey sat at her desk in the window of her log cabin, a cup of chamomile tea beside her reading lamp, her notebook open to a new page.
She looked out over the garden lit by fairy lights.
She had always written on the dark side: She read gothic novels and horror for pleasure; she was drawn to the unexplained, to dusty turrets, dark cellars, and unrested spirits; she thrilled at the eerie and took comfort in the macabre. And she’d been good at it. For a time.
But to write, one must be moved, and what used to move her pen across the page had changed.
Tonight, instead of fighting to hold on to what had served her before, she listened to the voice that had been trying to break through her walls for months.
She wrote about gardens and sunlight, about sparkling frost and mistletoe.
She created a character profile for a hopeful woman and a man who wanted to mend her heart rather than rip it out with his bare hands.
After a year attempting to dislodge words like tweezing out a particularly stubborn ingrown hair, this easy pouring forth of ideas felt almost like cheating.
When she finally switched off the light and headed for her bed, exhausted from the day’s physical labor and still warm from Ajay’s goodbye kiss, she felt the looseness of mind that only comes after a good stretch.
On her desk rested the start of something new.