Chapter 23
Arriving at the Lakeland house she’d been contracted to work on, Aria stood hopelessly in the grounds.
Had all this foliage sprung up since her last visit, or had she been so caught up in her problems she hadn’t surveyed it properly in the first place?
She took another tour of the land, deciding to make a list of everything that needed doing so she could work out what to tackle first. The sun was filtering through a tall silver birch as she pulled up the notes in her phone and began to type.
By the time she’d walked through the third garden, the cursory list she’d made for her boss had doubled in length.
Bullet points like ‘clear the paths’ now had ten bullet points of their own.
Take this path. It was narrow, and the greenery spilled from the flower bed onto the stone.
Taller plants had been placed at the edge while the shrubs and flowers were getting no light, and all of it was neglected.
She’d need to rip plants out and move them.
This wasn’t an ideal time of year, as work like that should have been done months ago, but she had no choice.
Elsewhere, she could see the designer had thought things through.
The hostas were studded with alliums which would prevent the slugs eating them, and were planted in such a way you only saw the purple flowers and not dead leaves.
The whole thing gave off secret-garden vibes, each section revealing itself as Aria walked around.
She continued to make notes as she strolled, keeping Tiger close to prevent him weeing on the delphiniums, geraniums and geums. Hedges were too high and leggy and would need cutting back.
The rose bushes over the arches needed training.
The grass was full of moss and the biggest fountain was clogged thick with mud and needed draining and shovelling out.
In addition, the box had blight, by the look of it, and in certain places nettles were taking over.
Removing her jacket, she picked up the bag of tools she’d brought with her and lifted out the shears.
Checking for birds’ nests, she started to trim the ivy.
Two hours later, she looked around for a way to transport the clippings to the compost pile behind the kitchen.
She found only a tiny wheelbarrow and soon discovered why.
The paths and gates were so narrow you couldn’t get anything bigger through.
Aria piled ivy onto the stunted barrow, realising with a sinking heart she’d have to use the miniature carrier to transport soil, mulch, stones and all the other products she’d be layering on or carting off the soil.
After breaking to walk Tiger, she considered tackling couch grass that had become entangled with weed, before beginning the horrible job of sorting out the stream that ran through two of the gardens.
Fed by a pump, it was filled with rounded pebbles coated in rotten leaves and mud.
Each would need hand-washing which meant transporting them to clean water.
By six o’clock in the evening, her hands were rough as sandpaper, she felt dehydrated, and she still had to get herself home.
***
Over several rounds of cheesy toast on her rickety balcony, Aria tried to forget the demoralising day’s work by looking at the materials she’d pulled together about the lake.
She considered her findings on chemical waste, erosion and run-off and felt pleased with herself.
With Belinda’s help, she was putting together a stand for outdoor events and shows.
She’d borrowed stats from organisations like Natural England and Fix the Fells, and planned a social media campaign using some of the footage Dad had sent her over the years showing the idyllic side of the lake as well as the issues.
As she proofread a leaflet on her screen, she glanced up at Nic’s house.
A desire to see him again tugged at her insides, but there were no signs of life up there.
Part of her was tempted to agree to his crazy plan, to see how he really lived in that big house.
And maybe she could influence him to see things her way and scale back plans for the housing estate.
It was clear he represented everything her dad had fought against, everything she was continuing to fight against now, but he was an intelligent man.
He had a commanding presence in a room and could hold an argument quite eloquently.
He also had wit and a good sense of humour – she enjoyed how his crinkling smile spread to a wide grin, his dark eyes shining with merriment when he was amused.
The line of his jaw when he was determined about something told her he had inner strength, and her gut feeling was that somewhere beneath all that patter and ambition was a social conscience.
Would she be insane to consider moving in with him?
She looked around, taking in the leaking roof and the half dug up garden, and knew she wasn’t insane for wanting to escape her financial worries for a week or two.
Sitting down in her favourite chair, she re-read the article in the local paper about her campaign.
For the second time, she wept at the quote from Dad she’d given them during the interview.
‘A lake isn’t water, it’s life.’ Next to her article there was a feature about the new sponsor and prize of the Spring into Summer Swim, with a gorgeous picture of Nic.
He hadn’t been in touch since making that ludicrous offer and she secretly hoped he’d be at the swim tomorrow.
Despite herself, she fancied him. And she’d reluctantly come to realise the neighbourhood felt lonelier without him.