Chapter Nine – Rose
ROSE
When The Gardeners Go Marching In
I stepped up on top of the chair at the front of the village hall and put my notes on the stack of pallets that had been set up as some kind of podium.
I’d been in many precarious positions, but this one felt like it was taking the cake.
Was this really all we had the budget for? Or were the committee trying to kill me off?
I cleared my throat and tapped the mic with my pointer finger.
It crackled, as expected, and I flinched at the loud noise.
“Sorry about—” My voice boomed out through the room, and I jumped, almost falling off my chair.
“Jesus, Alan! Turn it down!” I said, holding the mic as far away from my mouth as I possibly could.
“Bloody ’ell, Rose, are you trying to break my ’earing aid?”
“Blame Alan!” I shouted to old Bernie at the back. “He’s in charge of volume!”
Alan gave me a thumbs up, and I hesitantly pulled the mic back to test it.
“Testing,” I whispered into the mic. “Oh, good. Sorry about your eardrums, everyone. Alan will wait by the door for your complaints when we’re done.”
Everyone laughed.
“Get on wi’ it, Rose!” Bernie shouted. “I’m missing my show for this!”
“Bloody hell, Bernie, nobody is making you be here,” I replied. “Go back in time for Emmerdale if you must!”
“Paula told me I had to be here, or she’d steal my raspberries.”
“Then take it up with Paula.” Good God—this was why we didn’t have these big meetings often.
I hadn’t even started yet, and Bernie was already sending us off the rails.
“Right, I’d like to get straight to the point.
I’m sure many of you have heard the rumours that the new Duke of Hanbury is selling some packets of the estate’s land.
Unfortunately, the allotment site is one of those. ”
Grumbles of discontent sounded throughout the room, and a few questions were shouted towards me.
“Guys, please,” I said, holding up my free hand. “I know you have questions, but please let me tell you what I know, and I’ll answer what I can after.”
I gave everyone a quick rundown of what had happened so far, including the delivery of the new closure notice, and what we were expected to do now.
“Have you contacted the association?” Someone shouted.
I nodded. “I’m waiting to hear back from them. I wouldn’t hold out too much hope for much assistance, from what I’ve heard.”
“Then what do we do?” Marjorie Willis asked, raising a shaky hand. “I’ve been tending my plot longer than the new duke has been alive, and I don’t have a garden anymore. How can he do this to us?”
“Because he doesn’t care about any of our feelings,” I replied. “And before anyone tells me not to be extreme, he said those exact words to me several days ago.”
“Rupert is rollin’ in ’is grave,” Bernie shouted from the back with an enthusiastic wave of his fist.
“Good, then he can go haunt his bloody grandson,” I said.
“What are we going to do about it? Like Mrs Willis, a lot of us don’t have the space to grow at home,” Abby, one of my mum’s friends, asked. “Will he really relocate us?”
“I’m going to be honest: no. I don’t foresee that happening at all.” I pushed my hair from my face. “But we aren’t going to go down without a fight. We’re going to the media to see if we can get an article put out, and we plan to harness the power of social media.”
“Can we fundraise to buy the land ourselves?” another person suggested.
“We’ve already looked into it. The planning permission granted for the developments over the years has substantially raised the value, so unless we can stump up funds into the six-figure range, there’s no chance.
But that’s not to say we can’t fundraise for legal means,” I said.
“We have a lawyer, but our insurance won’t cover a drawn-out battle. ”
“What do you suggest we do?” Yet another voice joined the fray.
I looked in its direction and smiled. “What I do best. Cause complete chaos and make the new duke’s life a living nightmare.”
“Someone call Shaun and Isadora. Maybe we should raise her bail money instead!”
“Very funny, Uncle Dean,” I said, glaring at my mum’s brother.
“What we need to do is exercise our legal right to protest. If that inconveniences the lord in the big fancy house, then so be it. We still have a chance to change his mind. The duke and the developer haven’t exchanged contracts yet due to business reasons on the developer’s side, and it doesn’t seem as though it’s going to happen within our notice period.
If we can make enough noise and get enough eyes on our cause, then we might be able to do something.
Our goal is to save the allotments, whether it be at the same site or a new one. ”
Colin stepped up beside me and motioned for the mic. “Just to be clear, that when Rose says we will be exercising our legal right to protest, she means peaceful protests.”
I shook my head.
He might. I didn’t. Peaceful was not a word I understood.
“Rose,” he warned, glaring up at me. “We must toe the line of the law. We must show the new duke why the allotments are so important to the community and our village. As important as making noise is, we must show him why we care so much. With that said, Leah has a table set up to our right.” He pointed towards her.
“If you would be willing to be interviewed by a journalist, please fill out the forms with your contact details. Paula is next to her taking interest for a pop-up market at the allotments during the summer in a few weeks to sell our fresh produce. We must work together in order to keep Rose under control.”
“Hey!” I protested. “You think peaceful protests get people’s attention? No. Nobody cares about people holding placards wandering down the high street. You know what people want in their protests? Chaos! Passion! Football hooligan chants!”
“Yes, and I will leave the chaos to you. Don’t drag these poor, innocent gardeners into it.”
“Oh, Colin, you’re no fun.” I swiped back the mic.
“If you have any other ideas for fundraising or to help us raise awareness, you can grab any one of the committee members when you see us. I know it’s counter-productive to ask that any ideas are run through us first, but anything you do will reflect on us as the authority. ”
“What about what you do, Rose?” Uncle Dean shouted.
“I’m already the resident weirdo. What I do reflects on me and me alone.
” I laughed. “Like Colin said, please see Paula and Leah to sign up for the pop-up market and to consent to interviews. I won’t keep you any longer but thank you all for coming tonight.
I know what the allotment means to you all, so please know that we will do everything we can to preserve this space for our community. ”
With that, I ended the meeting and jumped off the chair with Colin’s help.
My night didn’t end so quickly, though. As I’d expected, we committee members were harangued by the numerous plot holders who all had their individual questions.
Some were things I’d already covered, and by the time we’d cleared the hall out, I’d repeated myself so many times that my throat was scratchy.
All in all, the meeting took far longer than we’d intended, thanks to those who stayed behind to discuss the whole situation with us.
We finally managed to escape at a little past ten, and I got into my mum’s car to drive home. A full day of work, checking my plot, and then all of this had me absolutely shattered and completely starving, so I rushed home, almost crawling through the door when I arrived.
“I made soup,” Mum said the second I stepped inside. “It’s warm in the slow cooker.”
“I love you so much,” I replied, yanking off my shoes. “You’re the best mum ever.”
“Mm. Hang up my keys. Last time you used my car, I found them in the bathroom sink.”
I hung them up before I forgot and yawned. “Done.”
“Did you eat dinner?”
“When did I have time for that?” I looked through the door at her. “I only just managed to escape the clutches of some very furious gardeners.”
Mum sighed. “I knew it. What have I told you about making sure you eat properly? You do a physical job, you have a physical hobby, and you’re going to overexert yourself if you don’t get proper nutrition.
I didn’t hand the business over to you just for you to collapse midway through trimming a hedge, you know. ”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Now sit down, and I’ll bring you some soup.”
“Yes, Mother.” I dutifully trotted into the living room and sank down onto the sofa. It was no good arguing with the woman. It was impossible at the best of times, and she’d most definitely stayed up late to welcome me home.
The least I could do was do as I was told.
“Here.” She handed me a tray with a steaming bowl of her vegetable soup and several slices of crusty bread on the side. “Eat this. I used your early potatoes.”
Yum.
“How did it go?” Mum asked when I’d shovelled down half of the food.
“Everyone is rightfully angry,” I said. “But they seem enthusiastic to help us. Over half the plot holders signed up to be interviewed by the media, and almost everyone said they would contribute to the pop-up market. Someone even suggested we sell more than just our produce.”
Mum nodded. “It’s a good idea. There are a lot of creatives who have plots. How often do you see Susan sitting with her crocheting, for example?”
She had a point. “Wouldn’t that make it more of a craft fair than anything?”
“What better way to show the value of Hanbury’s community than a craft fair full of local businesses?
Make it clear that the idea is to raise funds to save the allotments, and I’m sure you’ll have a lot of donations.
You’ll also publicise your predicament to other local businesses who may be willing to help. ”
“Yeah, but the space we can use outside the allotments isn’t that big.”
“So, use the market space in the middle of town.”
“Do you really think that calendar isn’t fully booked?”
“It’s not.” Mum smiled. “There’s not a market there every day, is there? Let me see what I can do.”
“I feel as though you’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“Nonsense. Let me help you.”
“You know, all ideas should be run by the committee first. I should—”
Mum raised her eyebrows. “You’re the head of the committee. Why don’t you just give me permission and be done with it?”
“But I—”
“ Rose .”
I rubbed my left eye. She really was the only person who could shut me up with one word. “Fine. Go ahead. I’ll let everyone know.”
“Good girl.” She got up and kissed the top of my head. “I’m off to bed, then. Don’t stay up too late, sweetie.”
“Night, Mum.” I watched her go and shook my head.
And everyone wondered how I’d ended up with such a strong personality.
It was her.
All. Her.
UNKNOWN: Rose, I would like for us to talk.
I blinked at my phone. Wasn’t this how horror movies started? This was a death flag, right?
There was no way this wasn’t a stalker.
ME: Who are you and how did you get this number?
There.
I would neither confirm nor deny my identity.
Not that it mattered if this horror movie villain had my phone number.
UNKNOWN: From the allotment paperwork, of course.
UNKNOWN: And it’s Oliver de Havilland.
Look at that. I wasn’t wrong in my identification of the sender after all. If anyone in my life was a horror movie villain, it was most certainly the man behind this message.
ME: You’ve got the wrong number, sorry.
OLIVER: Nice try.
ME: Why do you want to talk to me?
OLIVER: There are some interesting rumours going around about me since your little meeting, and I’d like to know how they came about.
ME: Can’t you get your little spy to find out for you? He did a good enough job informing you about my entire life. Surely a few rumours are no match for his investigative prowess.
OLIVER: I would also like to apologise for that.
ME: Yet here you are, still not apologising.
OLIVER: Apologies should be given in person. Can we meet?
ME: I would rather walk over hot coals.
ME: On my hands.
ME: And go back again.
ME: Then smush my face into them.
OLIVER: It’s hardly a party for me, either.
ME: Then let’s just never speak to each other again. That sounds far more palatable for us both.
OLIVER: We should clear the air. Regardless of our first meeting, we have a professional relationship we should maintain.
ME: I was going to make Colin deal with you, to be honest. I’m too busy working out how to make your life a living hell. I hardly have the time for anything else these days.
OLIVER: You’re terrifyingly honest.
ME: Thank you, it’s one of my better qualities. I get it from my mother.
OLIVER: I didn’t ask.
ME: I don’t care.
OLIVER: One meeting. Thirty minutes. I want to apologise.
ME: No. You want to know what I told my fellow allotmenteers about you. Do I look like an idiot to you?
OLIVER: From what I’ve heard you act like one sometimes.
ME: Only when I need to get on the other person’s level. Like when I talk to you. I don’t want to confuse those of lesser intelligence, after all.
OLIVER: You know I can just come and find you at your allotment.
ME: Please do.
OLIVER: Didn’t you just tell me you didn’t want to meet me?
ME: I have tools in my shed at the plot. I can just hit you with my spade if you come there.
OLIVER: … Never mind the honest bit. You’re just terrifying.
ME: Excellent. My plan to rule through fear is progressing nicely.
OLIVER: I have no idea how to handle you.
ME: That’s exactly what I was going for.
OLIVER: I see this is going nowhere. I’ll come and find you at your plot. When are you usually there?
ME: I’m not telling you.
OLIVER: Must you always be so difficult?
ME: You’re the one disregarding my desire never to speak to you again. Figure it out yourself if you want to see me that badly.
OLIVER: It’s not that I particularly want to see you, more that I must.
ME: Sucks for you, then.
ME: I have to get back to work. I look forward to you chasing me around.
OLIVER: I won’t be chasing you.
ME: Shame. I was going to put it on my LinkedIn profile.
ME: “Owner of Lawn and Order, Chairwoman of Hanbury Allotment Committee, Recipient of harassment from the Duke of Hanbury.”
OLIVER: …
OLIVER: I’ll see you soon, Rose.
ME: Forgive me for not looking forward to it, Oliver.