Chapter 6
Six
W hen I'd gotten back to the office, I’d told Rosie that the meeting had gone great. It wasn't entirely a lie—the meeting itself had gone great. I’d just left out everything else that happened.
By the time I got home, I was beat. I dragged my weary feet up the garden path to my blue front door. The smell of home cooking wafted over me and I followed my nose to the kitchen where my sister was standing at the stove.
My kitchen had barely changed since my gran died five years ago, the only differences between then and now were the subtle signs of life. My gran's shoes by the back door had been replaced by Ryan’s trainers, her doilies on the table were swapped out for Natalie’s wipe-down placemats.
Wooden beams and hardwood floors were a staple throughout the little cottage.
The kitchen itself was dwarfed by an old range stove and a double butler sink.
I'd watched my gran cook in here a thousand times and even though the pipes groaned when the water ran and the cupboard doors all squeaked, I didn't have the heart to modernise it. Or the money, for that matter.
An array of ingredients scattered along the counter tops warned me Natalie was doing one of her spring cleaning dinners. This was where she threw any leftovers in a slow cooker and we all crossed our fingers that we didn't get food poisoning.
The back door was open and I spied Ryan busily digging in the garden, probably burying more of my possessions.
"Hey, so how was it?" Natalie turned, an expectant look on her face as she continued to stir the dubious contents of the slow cooker.
I dumped my bag on the faded oak dining table and slumped into a chair.
"It was awful, then it was great, then it took a giant nosedive off a cliff." I sailed my hand through the air and mimed an explosion, complete with whistling sound effects.
"What happened?" My sister sighed and flicked the kettle on, as if tea would solve all of life's problems.
"You know how Harrington House was bought by that big company?" I said as she pulled two mugs out of the cupboard.
"Yeah, Tell Hotels or something?"
"Yeah, so you know how I'd said that the CEO probably wouldn't be there today and it would just be me and the landscape designer?"
"Yeah…"
"Well, I was wrong."
The kettle began to whistle as Natalie studied my face. The kettle finished boiling and she eyed me shrewdly.
"What did you do?"
"Why do you assume I did anything?"
Her only response was to arch a knowing eyebrow at me.
"Fine. I crashed into his very expensive car, then I walked straight into him because I wasn't looking where I was going, then I called him out for being rude to an employee and I ended the meeting by causing a scene in front of his staff and running away.
Also, I left my phone there, so I can kiss that goodbye.
" I left out the part about him cornering me in the stairwell. I didn’t want to talk about that.
My sister just stared at me. "That's impressive, Lo. Even for you."
"Thanks."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"I know."
She was silent for a moment as she placed teabags into mugs and added water, letting it brew.
"So, are you fired?" She was pouring milk into the tea so I couldn't see her face, but I could hear the tension in her voice. If we lost my income paying the bills would be impossible. I was lucky the mortgage had already been paid off when my gran was alive.
"Rosie doesn't know about any of it yet. I expect that will come tomorrow when we lose the contract, or her business gets foreclosed on, or the police come to arrest me or whatever else it is that a man that powerful can get done in twenty four hours."
"Jesus, Lo."
Guilt weighed on my chest. I'd screwed up. If she'd been in my place, she would have handled Mr Tell with a calm, steady hand. But not me. I had to have a temper, I had to squeak my stupid chair at him.
"What about his car? What's the damage?" She wore the face of a woman sending a silent prayer up to the skies not to screw her over too badly. Usually, the skies didn't give a damn, but today at least I wouldn't have to crush her.
"The van’s a bit dented but it’s okay. His car was pretty busted but he flatly refused to let me pay for it."
The tension left her shoulders as she brought the mugs over and took a seat in front of me.
The slow cooker bubbled gently behind her and Ryan's cries of victory sounded out as he charged around the garden, waving a plastic sword in the air.
It was oddly comforting to hear him battling the world like that. The fearlessness of eight year olds.
"That was decent of him," she said, sipping her tea. I let out a derisive snort. Decent was not a word I would ever use to describe Mr Tell. "You don't agree?"
"No, I think he was an arrogant ass-hat. He made fun of your shoes and said they didn't fit me properly."
"They don't." It was a good point, but it was also besides the point.
"Well, he also hit on me at the end of the meeting, and it definitely wasn't subtle." My cheeks flushed at the memory of his thumb drawing over my lips.
‘Do you have any idea what I could do with this smart mouth?’
I shivered and forced the memory away.
"Did he threaten to withdraw the contract if you didn't sleep with him?"
"No, but that's not the point." I huffed, frustrated that I couldn't get my thoughts straight. "He just made me really uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable like Adam?" Her brows creased in concern. I shook my head. No one made me uncomfortable like Adam.
"No, just…" I shrugged, unable to find the right word. I had no idea how to describe how Mr Tell had made me feel. She placed her hand over mine, comforting me.
"Well, it's done now. It sounds like you made it clear you weren't interested, and you probably wounded his pride. I doubt he'll try again." She meant it kindly, but it didn't stop his words ringing in my ear.
‘You’re a rare beast, Lola O’Connell, and I love a challenge.’
I wasn’t so sure I agreed with her that he wouldn’t try to see me again.
“What's Mr Tell’s first name, by the way?"
"Alfie. Alfie Tell." I liked the feel of his name on my tongue. It felt daring somehow, to call the aloof mogul by his first name.
"That's a good name."
I was about to ask her what she meant when Ryan burst through the back door. He was bright green. Literally. Apparently, he'd gotten into the craft corner at school again and had painted himself up like the Hulk.
“Auntie Lo, Mrs Reed said to ask do you have everything ready for the school garden?” Mrs Reed was Ryan’s teacher, it was she who had first asked me to help create a garden for the school where the children could play, grow things and learn about wildlife.
“Yep, it’s all at Rosies, ready to go. I’ll send her an email.”
“K.”
"Ryan," I said in my best grown-up voice before he could run off, "we need to have a talk about you stealing my shoes."
"I'm an alien, Auntie Lo, I don't wear shoes," he answered, his face as serious as it could be, before he ran back out to the garden. I looked at Natalie.
"You need to do something about that boy."
"I kind of like him as he is," she smiled fondly. “Are you sure you don’t mind fixing up the garden for our school? It’s a lot of work.”
“I can hardly back out now,” I laughed. “I don’t mind at all. I love it. Besides, they already approved my plans.”
“Well, we’ll never turn down free labour.”
The slow cooker began to bubble and she got up to stir it, leaving me to sit in my own thoughts and of course, my thoughts turned back to a certain man.
I couldn't escape the feeling that I'd stepped into something I couldn't step out of.
I felt on edge, and I drummed my fingers on my mug as my body hummed with nervous energy.
Usually, talking to Natalie made me feel better about anything. We didn’t grow up together and despite only knowing each other for five years, I felt as if I’d known her my whole life. Today, however, I needed a different kind of counsel.
"I'm going to head out back for a bit." I got up, the old chair creaking as I stood. Everything in my gran's old cottage creaked.
I stepped out the back door and onto the small patio.
At one end was a bug house; a ramshackle pile of brick and wood making a haven for every insect an eight year old boy could fall in love with.
At the other end was a neat row of strawberry pots that I'd planted with Ryan just as my mum had done with me when I was a child.
Beyond the patio lay a stretch of plain lawn for Ryan.
Before Natalie and Ryan had moved in, the garden had been the stunning result of decades of work by my gran, my mum and then me.
Three generations of women had created a cottage-style garden that to anyone else wouldn't seem anything more than pretty, but to me, the last one left, had meant everything.
But Ryan came and a change had to be made.
The exquisite garden had been dismantled and replaced with a simple lawn for him to play in.
It had hurt to take it apart but it was better than leaving it to be ruined by a flying football or a karate chop.
Besides, I hadn't destroyed the garden, the place where I'd discovered how much I loved the feel of my hands in the soil. I'd just moved it.
Hedges five feet tall cut off the space for Ryan and there was a low, dark oak gate in the middle which the mischievous creature was forbidden to pass.
I kicked off my heels as I stepped off the patio onto the grass, relishing the feel of it on my bare feet.
I crossed the lawn and stepped through the gate and into my Memory Garden. Immediately, the tension in my shoulders released, and the tightness in my chest eased.
In the centre of the small garden stood a cornus contraversa tree—a white winged beauty that tiered upwards to a point like a wedding cake, its buds light and delicate.
The elegant tree was ringed with lawn, and pretty floral beds sat snugly along the lawn edge, curving around until they met at the other side, where a low swing seat sat nestled in a bed of bleeding hearts.
I followed the lawn around the tree and lowered myself into the swing seat. I began to rock gently, allowing myself to be soothed by the scent of my mum’s favourite plant.
On my left were pink blooms and on my right, white ones. When I needed to think, when I needed counsel or comfort, I sat here, drifting my fingers through the velvet softness of the petals, meditating on the richness of the wedding cake tree and breathing in the fragrances surrounding me.
In one corner, I'd planted a herb bed for my gran, who was a much more practical woman than my mum.
The rich aromas of rosemary and basil permeated my senses.
If I closed my eyes and only touched and inhaled, I could imagine it was the same garden I'd grown up in.
I could imagine that I'd never lost them at all.
When I thought of them, I tried to remember them living.
It had taken years to train myself to do that.
To remember my gran cooking or crocheting while watching TV with me, instead of only remembering the yellowness of her skin as she got sicker, how frail her body had become as the cancer ate away at her.
I'd lost her, but it was a loss I had come to terms with, despite the pain.
Her death was a natural thing. But my mum…
I squeezed my eyes shut, the sound of rushing water filling my ears, rushing water that wasn't really there.
I took several calming breaths as I allowed memories to swarm me.
I had to let them in to let them pass. Years of trying to fight them had taught me that.
My mum's death hadn't been a natural thing.
Eventually, the sounds of imaginary water began to recede a little and I opened my eyes, meditating on the wedding cake tree. I'd buried their ashes beneath it, immortalising the two women that had raised me. This garden was my lifeline.
My chest ached. When you knew how brutal it could be to lose something, it was painful to ever want anything again. And as much as I wanted to deny it, I'd wanted Mr Tell.
Despite my attempts to scrub him out of my mind, I sat there, my fingertips toying with the petals, playing over and over in my head the moment his lips had hovered over mine and those grey eyes had penetrated me—eyes that I knew deep down, I could look at forever.