Chaper Seven
My best ankle boots click on the pavement like Dorothy’s ruby slippers as I stroll down Birch Street, scanning each darling front garden for a gigantic apple tree.
‘You can’t miss it,’ Lucy had said on the phone earlier, when we confirmed our dinner plans tonight. ‘Just keep an eye out for the tree!’
Well, there’s plenty of trees in sight - fir, chestnut, pear, but as of yet, no apples. Gnawing at my lip, I begin to worry that I’ve got the address confused - did she say Birch Lane or Beech Lane?
Oh, there it is - the cottage with the primrose yellow door! There’s no doubt about it, this must be Appleseed Cottage. Which means Victor’s home is right next door, and I’m not surprised to see that his front garden is beautifully manicured - and slightly overrun by a swarm of garden gnomes.
Gingerly, I open the white gate and amble down the crazy-paved path, noting that the grass surrounding the famous tree is dotted with crisp, red apples, though there are still plenty clinging to the branches.
I only have to bring the brass door-knocker down twice before the door swings open and my friend is revealed, beaming brightly.
‘Welcome!’ Lucy ushers me in with a warm smile and an arm around my shoulder. ‘Come in, come in and make yourself at home.’
That’s not a difficult ask, Appleseed Cottage is just as cosy and inviting as I’d imagined. Some elements have been updated, the wallpaper in the living room looks fresh and vibrant and the bannister climbing the staircase seems new, but it still boasts a whole host of its original features like thick, wooden floorboards and beautifully rustic terracotta tiles in the kitchen.
I tug at my clothes self-consciously, realising I might be a little over-dressed. I turned up in skinny jeans, heeled boots and a red chiffon blouse, yet here Lucy is looking adorably comfy yet chic in grey wide-leg jogging bottoms, fluffy pink slippers and an oversized jumper. I guess I misinterpreted how casual this dinner was, but it’s been ages since I’ve had an excuse to dress up, so I try not to feel awkward about my fancy ensemble.
A loud, insistent banging echoes down the stairs, and I involuntarily jump at the sound.
‘Oh, don’t mind that racket,’ Lucy tuts as she gestures for me to sit down on her comfortable coral sofa. ‘It’s just my boyfriend Alex putting up a new heated towel rail in the bathroom. Dating a handyman can come in useful sometimes - though perhaps not when you’re trying to host!’ she chuckles, shaking her head. ‘Sorry about that, he’ll quiet down in a minute. Can I get you a drink? I’ve got wine, fancy red or white?’
‘White, please.’
‘Great choice, I might join you!’
Within moments, Lucy scurries back from the kitchen with an iridescent glass full to the brim with sparkling wine. The bubbles dance across my tongue and my head swims pleasantly at my first sip, tempting me to another. Although it’s a gorgeously light wine, I make a mental note to stick to just two glasses. Any more than that and I start to get weepy, and I don’t want to ruin our dinner with all my personal problems. Not to mention, I’ve just started to kick the habit of using alcohol as an emotional crutch, and I really don’t want to fall backwards again.
‘So, how are you finding Lily Vale so far?’ she asks eagerly from the armchair opposite me. ‘It’s been a week now, hasn’t it?’
‘And two days,’ I add. ‘To tell you the truth, it’s been a mixed bag.’
Head tilted in curiosity, Lucy leans forward. ‘How so?’
Her question is a simple one, but it’s not easy to find a concise answer. For one thing, I’m still not convinced that coming to this remote village, away from everyone I know, was a good idea, despite the fact it is undeniably lovely here. But it’s the kind of place one might take a holiday, not relocate to on a whim.
Secondly, although I’ve started to make friends, I’m still pretty lonely. I miss Nathan, I miss having a companion by my side, someone to cuddle up with at night - though truthfully, I haven’t had that for a while. Toward the end of our marriage, Nathan and I were sleeping in separate beds, and I can’t even recall the last time he hugged me.
How do I even begin to explain it all?
‘I’ve just felt a little …’ I grasp for the right word. Confused? Melancholy? ‘Lost.’
That seems to fit, and it reminds me of the overgrown garden behind the ivory gate. I feel like that garden too - a mass of neglected potential and vitality left to decay.
Face full of sympathy, Lucy nods. ‘Well, that’s hardly surprising, given you’re completely new to Lily Vale, I sort of went through the same thing when I first arrived. But you’ll find folk here are very welcoming, much more than I was used to, anyway!’
A small smile curls at my lip. ‘Yeah, I’ve had a taste of Lily Vale’s unique hospitality already.’
‘You’ll soon find you’re place here, Ruth.’ She reaches out to pat my knee. ‘And if you ever feel alone or need a friend, you’ve always got me.’
Grateful, I squeeze her hand in return. ‘I know. I’m so glad we’re friends. Like, proper friends now, in real life.’
‘Me too.’ She rises from the armchair and drains the last of her wine glass. ‘Right, shall we see if dinner’s ready?’
The lasagne smells divine, and when Lucy lifts it carefully out of the oven, my mouth begins to water. The cheese is still bubbling as she serves hefty portions onto three plates and places a fresh salad on the side of each.
‘You don’t mind if Alex joins us, do you?’ she asks, popping her stripy oven mitts on top of the cream Aga.
‘Not at all.’ I flash a cheeky grin. ‘I’d like to meet the man who stole the heart of Lucy Middleton, romance extraordinaire!’
Tutting, she swats at me with a tea towel. ‘Give over! If you’re expecting Alex to be like one of the love interests from my books, well, prepare to be sorely disappointed.’
But when Alex finishes up in the bathroom and comes down for dinner, I’m not disappointed at all.
Achingly envious, I watch the two of them interact so effortlessly, marvelling at their ease with one another. It’s so natural , so sweet, and he’s so considerate of Lucy, offering to do the dishes at the end of the meal with no gripes whatsoever, allowing us to chill in the living room while he sorts out dessert.
When the two of us squish up on the sofa together, I almost start gushing about how much I admire their relationship, but it sounds so sappy and daft, that I keep my mouth buttoned.
Lucy offers me another glass of wine but I decline, and take a nice cup of tea instead.
‘We’ll have to do this again,’ she says, lifting her glass to her lips. ‘At your place next time?’
I pull a face. ‘Hm, maybe when I’ve tidied up a bit more. I still haven’t unpacked everything yet, I don’t even know where my good casserole dish is.’
‘Ah, you won’t get out of it that easily!’ She pokes me with a slippered toe. ‘I’ll help you sort through the rest of the boxes and we’ll order a takeaway, how about that?’
Hurriedly, I gulp down a mouthful of tea, hoping to stall a little longer. I don’t want anyone going through those boxes, I don’t even want to go through them myself. I can’t admit why though, the real reason is much too personal, too painful. All the shattered memories of my marriage lurk inside - our wedding album, special things we bought for our home and framed photographs of happier times that used to hang proudly on the walls.
Now they live in cardboard boxes, relics of a different life that are doomed to stay in the dark collecting dust. I don’t ever plan to open those boxes up, but I can’t bring myself to throw them away either.
I titter uncertainly. ‘Sure.’
Luckily, I don’t need to change the subject as Alex brings through two bowls of apple crumble with warm custard.
‘Did you make this yourself, Luce?’ I ask, tucking straight in.
Her eyes widen and she laughs aloud. ‘I wish! No, Rachel at The Cosy Little Tearoom did. She’s amazing at baking, isn’t she?’
I respond mmm through a mouthful of crumble, savouring the delicious buttery taste expertly balanced by the tart apple and creamy custard.
As we munch our dessert, my mind drifts off to the garden sheltered away in the Heather Hills. Perhaps Alex could offer some advice on how best to tackle the task, Lucy did say he’s a handyman, didn’t she? I wonder if he could help me out on my mission …
‘Hey Alex,’ I blurt out before I have the chance to change my mind. ‘You don’t know anything about gardening, do you?’
‘Well, I can use a lawnmower, if that’s what you mean,’ he chuckles. ‘But it’s not really my forte, I usually stick to your general household jobs. Why?’
‘Oh, just wondered.’
I stir the remaining crumble and custard round and round until it goes all soupy, considering whether I should tell them about the garden. Even if Alex doesn’t know his dahlias from his dandelions, he might still be able to lend a hand, and I could definitely do with a bit of muscle - I have no idea how I’m going to lug all the dead foliage and weeds through the woods and down the hill to dispose of properly on my own.
But something holds my tongue, urging me to keep it under wraps, at least for now. There’s still so much left to uncover, and I want to continue my research into Rosemary before I go around telling everyone about the lost garden that may or may not be hers.
Subtly, I hug myself tight, cradling my secret close to my heart.