Chapter Ten
I’m kept awake all night by the howling, wailing wind and the insistent drumming of heavy rainfall on my windowpane. It’s a horrible storm, one that practically shakes the very foundations of the cottage and rattles the glass.
The moments when I do manage to steal pockets of sleep are plagued by horrid nightmares. In a disturbed state between slumber and wakefulness, my dreams snare me back to the worst, most turbulent days of my marriage. I end up propping up my pillows and writing in my journal until the wee hours, which is more cathartic than I thought it would be.
After such a ghastly night, I’d expected a grey day, but when warm sun rays glare through the curtains come morning, my mood instantly lifts.
Shuffling downstairs in my slippers and pyjamas, I throw open the kitchen window to let some sunshine in and pop two crumpets into the toaster. I might take a look at my emails today, I mean, I really ought to. I’ve been dodging them for almost a week now, and I can’t pretend my client doesn’t exist forever. As a freelancer, I make my own schedule, but that doesn’t give me license to do no work at all. If I don’t get something mocked up and sent back to the publishers, I’ll lose the contract. I know this, but the thought of actually drawing up a design fills me with dread, when it used to bring me nothing but joy.
Once I’ve made my morning cup of tea, the crumpets are ready and I cover them with lashings of butter. A crow perches on the windowsill, and he eyes me with his feathery head tilted to one side. I’m really starting to wonder whether Shaun was right, maybe this really is the same one I keep seeing, he has that distinctive silver feather poking out of his back, after all. Are crows a good omen, or a bad one? Either way, I decide against shooing him away, and instead mirror his stance, cocking my head to the side too.
‘Are you stalking me, or something?’ I ask the ebony corvid.
I receive a click and cheep in response.
‘Hm. Well, if we’re going to be friends, you should have a name, I suppose.’ My eyes flick up the popcorn ceiling as I consider the options. ‘How about Colin? Colin the crow.’
Two cheeps - I assume that’s a yes.
‘Colin it is, then.’
To mark our new companionship, I place one of the crumpets on the windowsill beside him. Colin greedily tucks in, his shiny beak all greasy with butter. Leaving my feathery friend to his breakfast, I amble through to the living room and grab my laptop from the coffee table. There’s a spare bedroom in this cottage I could easily set up as an office, but I haven’t been inclined to bother lately, so the sofa will have to suffice.
Sure enough, I’m met with several emails from the client’s publisher, and none of them sound particularly happy with me.
Ruth,
It has been three weeks since you were assigned this book and still, we have had no update. I would have expected to have some sort of mock-up by now, so this is very disappointing, given your past experience and extremely positive references.
Please get back to me ASAP or we will have no choice but to go in another direction.
Regards,
Hank Trotman, Starlight Publishing.
A nauseating pit forms in my gut. Oh God, it’s worse than I thought it was going to be. When someone closes off an email with regards, no kind or warm or anything - you know you’ve messed up!
If I don’t pull my finger out this minute, I’m going to lose this job - and rightly so. How could I let this happen? How could I allow myself to wallow in self-pity and destroy my reputation like this?
Well, the time for wallowing is over - my marriage is done for, and I have to accept that. Right now, I need to hustle, and I need to hustle fast.
I tap out an apologetic email to Hank, explaining that I was in the middle of moving house but now I’m on it and will have a draft sent to him within two days. Big words and big promises, but that’s the only thing that’s going to keep me on this contract right now - as long as I deliver, that is.
Frantic, I search every room in the house before I find my sketchbook, which was tucked neatly away in the living room bookcase - in plain sight, of course. Pencil in hand and email open, I read through the manuscript in double-quick time.
Ordinarily, images would begin to manifest in my mind - I’d see the colour scheme, the characters, the textured shading and each art panel would reveal itself to me before I even put pen to paper. But now … nothing. My mind is blank. This is exactly what I feared would happen.
Have I lost my talent? Will I ever draw again? The break-up took everything from me it seems - my heart, my pride, my passion.
Pacing back and forth, I skitter into the kitchen and pour myself a big glass of water in a futile attempt to calm down. The crow is still on the windowsill, making his way through the crumpet.
‘What do I do now, Colin?’ I ask him desperately, though I don’t expect a particularly illuminating response.
Colin glances up from his breakfast, his eyes of onyx gleaming. And suddenly, I know exactly what to do.
Throwing on a pair of leggings and an old band t-shirt, I bundle my laptop and sketchbook into my handbag and head for the door. I still haven’t got myself a pair of wellies, so I opt for the trainers I’ve already ruined and pull on a light jacket, just in case it gets cold. After all, that storm last night was pretty brutal, the sun might be shining now, but who knows what the rest of the day will hold.
It’s only been two weeks, but Lily Vale is a small place, and so I pretty much know the way like the back of my hand now. Full of renewed motivation, I march through the streets and past the park toward Heather Hills.
The ground squelches with each determined step, softened and claggy from last night’s storm. A couple of times I lose my footing and slip, but thankfully I manage to right myself before I fall down in the mud. If anything is going to inspire me, then it will be Rosemary’s garden. Perhaps I could even search the cluttered shed to see if I can uncover any more of her artwork, surely that will ignite the dormant spark in me.
The towering trees in the woods shade me from the high sun, and I welcome the shelter. This journey is not for the faint of heart, and I’m sweating so profusely, I have to tie my jacket around my waist.
It doesn’t take too long before the garden is in view, but something is wrong. I rub my eyes hard, but the sight doesn’t go away. The stacked stone wall has fallen on one side, not completely, but a great chunk of it has caved inward! A gasp tears through my throat as I fumble with the ivory gate and battle through the scratchy hedges. The damage is even worse inside - the left-side wall is bowed and crumbling, leaving bricks and detritus strewn over the ground, and the vines of ivy that once adorned it now dangle lifelessly, with nowhere to cling.
The cherry tree’s broken branches lie at its roots, crushing whatever purple flowers were attempting to push through the weeds. And the roses, the beautiful roses Shaun unearthed, they droop pathetically, wilting.
Even the grand statues have toppled onto their sides, some of them have cracked beyond repair. The only thing that seems untouched by the storm is the stone swing, but that was already broken. Still, at least it hasn’t got any worse.
Mouth agape and eyes wide, I stare at the wreckage, horrified by what devastation a little rain and some wind can wreak. My fingers tremble as I reach into my pocket for my mobile and tap out a number. It only rings for a couple of seconds before a stoic, serious voice answers.
‘Henley Gardening, how can I help?’
‘Shaun, it’s me.’ I didn’t realise I was crying, but my words come out shaky and a single tear rolls down my cheek and pools in the dimple by my lip. ‘Can you come to the garden? Something bad has happened.’
Shaun sets out immediately, but it will take him a good fifteen minutes to get here. I can’t bear to look at the ruined garden any longer, so I busy myself by checking the shed.
I’m amazed it’s still standing, considering it already looked as though it might fall to pieces. Muddy water floods the entrance, but luckily, Rosemary’s cabinet is right at the back and didn’t suffer a drop of the storm’s wrath. Desperate for a distraction, I continue the search for the missing journal key.
Starting my own diary again has made me so curious about the contents lurking between its pages. With the evidence I’ve gathered, I can only assume it belongs to Rosemary, and while reading someone’s journal is a violation of privacy, I’m just so eager to learn more about her.
‘Ruth?’
My heart leaps at the distant sound of Shaun’s voice, and I opt to leave the search party until later. The shed door whines as I open it, and the look on Shaun’s face is devastating.
‘Oh God, the storm really did a number on Rosemary’s garden, didn’t it?’ he murmurs, taking it all in.
‘I know.’ Sniffing, my eyes begin to water once more, blurring the garden into hues of green and brown. ‘It’s destroyed.’
‘Nah, it’s not destroyed. Sure, this little hiccup has piled a lot more work on our plate, but we can get it back to rights. First things first, we need to make sure its safe to be in here. That left wall isn’t going to hold now, I’ll need to find something to secure it.’
‘Is that going to be difficult?’
‘Not really, I’ve got a friend who can lend me some equipment, I’ll make a call to him now. It’ll mostly just be time-consuming, but with any luck, I can get it safe and structurally sound before the sun goes down.’
I frown. ‘But it’s only that small bit in the left side that’s caved, that won’t take too long, will it?’
‘The entire wall is compromised now, Ruth. I’ll have to secure the whole thing if we’re going to spend any more time in here. Someone could get hurt otherwise.’
With a brisk nod, I head to the shed to grab our tools. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.
*
I’m absolutely knackered, but I’m proud of what we’ve managed to achieve today. Sure, the garden is still a disaster zone - even more than when I first discovered it - but it’s a darn sight better than it was this morning.
‘So, the cracked bricks have been moved, the statues are safe in the shed, but the rest of the wall needs securing. I’m going to have to work into the evening, looks like.’ Shaun drags his arm across his perspiring forehead, causing his dark hair to stick up in all directions. ‘You go home, Ruth. You need some rest.’
‘Are you joking?’ I plant my feet on the ground before him, almost offended by the suggestion. ‘I’m not leaving you to do all this by yourself. No, if it means saving the garden, I’ll work through the night if I have to.’
A small smile tugs at his lip. ‘This place means a lot to you, doesn’t it?’
I hug myself, folding my arms tight across my chest. My instinct is to get defensive, but when I dare to face Shaun’s gentle smile, I soften my stance and give one sheepish nod.
‘I’m not sure why, maybe it’s because I feel as battered and ruined as it is. I mean, it’s sad to see something once so strong and bursting with life become a big old mess over years of neglect. I have to believe it can recover from it all, because if it can’t, then what hope do I have?’ Realising I’m severely oversharing, I shake my head furiously, heat flaring along my neck. ‘Ugh, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You don’t even like me.’
‘Vent away if you like, I don’t mind.’ He lifts his shoulders, his tone soothingly low. ‘And who said I didn’t like you?’
‘Er, you did? With your superior attitude and mardy ways.’
There it is again, that languid signature shrug. ‘Not my intention, I guess that’s just my way.’
He doesn’t elaborate, which only leaves me more frustrated and even more confused. Does this mean he doesn’t hate me, then? I’ve never met such a closed book in my life, he’s even more difficult to pry open than Rosemary’s journal!
‘Let’s get a move on, in case the storm comes back for round two.’ Shaun pulls on his gauntlets and he gazes pensively at the sky. ‘Hopefully, that’s the end of it, though. We don’t tend to get extreme weather often, except for a little flooding in the fields and the canal. I haven’t seen a storm this bad since …’
His voice trails away and his eyes mist over as he stares into space.
‘Since?’ I prompt.
He blinks away his stupor and turns his back. ‘Since I don’t know when. Now, you get on with clearing the broken branches, and I’ll crack on with the wall.’
After calling his mate, Shaun nips out to grab the necessary equipment and I haul the cherry tree branches into a big blue garden bag. By the time Shaun returns, I’ve moved on to sweeping up the rubble and foliage from the path he spent hours clearing the other day.
When he’s not looking, I steal quick glances at him, quietly admiring his strength and dedication. Toned muscles flex beneath his tanned arms as he sets about securing the damaged wall. I bite my lip and avert my gaze.
We don’t end up toiling all night long, but it’s about quarter past seven when we finally lay down our tools and breathe out a collective, exhausted sigh. Twilight is just settling in the sky, and the whisper of stars shimmer overhead. The wall is still broken and looking very sad, but it’s secured and no more of it is going to come tumbling down, even if there is another storm.
‘We’ll have to get a professional in at some point to rebuild it.’ Shaun taps the brick cautiously. ‘My construction skills can only take us so far, I’m afraid.’
‘You’ve done a fantastic job,’ I tell him with a genuine grin.
He does a double-take, seemingly surprised by the praise - and to be honest, so am I. We haven’t exactly been the best of friends since our awkward meeting a fortnight ago, but working in tandem on this project, well, it’s made it easier to get to know each other. And Shaun isn’t too bad, he’s not the grumpy, brooding guy I had him pegged for - or at least, some of the time he’s not.
‘We should get going,’ he says hastily, rubbing at the back of his neck. ‘Come on, before it gets too dark.’
The two of us tramp through the woods, our journey illuminated by the torch on Shaun’s phone. It’s a steep and scary trail down the hill to the village, and I take a nasty spill on a concealed rock. I’m about to fall flat on my face but Shaun grasps my elbow just in time, steadying me.
‘You can hold onto me.’ He offers his arm. ‘If it’s easier.’
I don’t respond, but I rest my palm on the crook of his elbow as he leads us along the dangerous path. His skin is warm against mine, and I’m glad that he can’t see my blushing cheeks in the moonlight.
Finally, we reach the bottom, where Shaun’s van is parked up.
‘Do you want a lift home?’
‘Nah, it’s not far from here now.’ I look down at my feet, then up at him. ‘Thanks for today. I know it was a bit beyond the call of duty -’
‘Yeah, I should charge you double,’ he scoffs, then a soft smile peeks through his smirk. ‘But I won’t. I’m quite enjoying the challenge of old Rosemary’s garden.’
‘Me too.’
A taut tension circles us, and I inhale a sharp breath.
‘I better get going,’ I gabble, turning on my heel so swiftly, I do an awkward stagger-shuffle away. ‘Thanks again.’
‘No problem,’ he calls after me. ‘Let me know when you want me again, okay?’
I nod wordlessly and march doggedly away, my sweaty palms balled into anxious fists. Why am I so keyed up, so antsy? Maybe it’s the adrenaline of the day, it’s been one fraught with stress and hard work, after all.
And my real work is only just beginning.
After a quick shower, I sit down with my sketchbook, my hair still twirled up in a towel, and get scribbling, fresh imagination fuelling each pencil stroke …