27. Today was not the day
TODAY WAS NOT THE DAY
Anton and Mr Big Potatoes were both in their usual places this morning.
Ursula opened the window to let the cat in and made a point of ignoring her husband.
He might be insisting on spooking her but she wasn’t going to make it easy for him.
Howard was gone. She’d heard him leave earlier.
She hadn’t gone down to see him off, choosing instead to hide away up here.
They’d said goodbye last night and she’d left him gazing at the stars, no doubt wishing Dilys was with him.
After that, she’d headed straight to bed to wrestle with her own thoughts.
Thoughts like why she was dragging her husband’s ghost around with her, and why she was falling for a man she hardly knew.
A man who belonged to someone else. But then, that wouldn’t be the first time, would it?
Charlie was straight at the door, probably ravenous and on the hunt for food.
So Ursula was on her own again. Back under the duvet, she checked her phone for the first time in days and saw that she’d had a couple of messages from Clyde, updates on the allotment and asking how she was getting on.
Feeling bad for not picking them up sooner, she sent him a quick reply and promised to be in touch soon.
Then she pulled herself out of bed and got ready to face the day.
From the top of the stairs, it was easy to catch Megan’s voice drifting up from the kitchen.
She must have come to collect eggs for the café.
Ursula didn’t feel ready for another conversation about Andi and Zak so she had two choices for a shelter, her bedroom or the sewing room.
She chose the sewing room but only because she couldn’t bear another spell of avoiding Anton, or lying in bed, wallowing in her own remorse.
The sewing room was still and quiet. She breathed in the smell of uncut material, thread, and paper patterns all mixed up together.
The happiest memories from her childhood and teenage years were in rooms like this and even now, that smell was the smell of home.
So since when did sewing rooms become such scary places?
The answer to that was easy. Since she began to associate them with loss and hopelessness.
The last thing she’d made was her son’s christening gown.
She’d been unable to sew another stitch since he was wrenched from her body in such an untimely and savage way.
Propped up against one of the sewing machines was an envelope addressed to her. Andi had left her a note:
‘Urs,
You found it then? I’ve got a mission for you while I’m away.
I’ve left some fabric on the table. Do me a favour and run up a tablecloth and napkins.
The measurements are in with the fabric.
Shouldn’t take long, unless you want to go to town on it.
It’s for a special day. When you see the material, you’ll know which one. ’
Back soon x’
Run up a tablecloth. She made it sound so simple.
Ursula unfolded the material, a white cotton linen mix embroidered with holly designs and occasional poinsettias.
A Christmas tablecloth then. She laid it out and set it against the rulers that were built into one end and one side of the table.
This she managed without too much trouble, but the act of smoothing the fabric out was enough to bring on a dryness in her mouth.
She ignored it and picked up a yardstick and tailor’s chalk that had been left out for her.
It set off a tremor that started in her chest and found its way to her hands.
Ursula put the chalk down. Today was not the day to begin again.
She decided to go for a walk into town and along the lake as far as the path would take her.
The rooms downstairs were empty but she could hear Don outside.
It was only when she stepped out the back door that she saw he was with Esme in the vegetable garden.
They were shouting. Actually, it was Don that was shouting.
Esme was making angry, incomprehensible noises while she was pulling up lettuces and throwing them at him.
It was enough to make Ursula turn tail and head in the opposite direction to the front of the house.
She hadn’t even reached the road when Don caught up with her. ‘I’m going into town if you need a lift.’
‘Thank you but I’m planning a walk. I was just coming to tell you I’ll sort myself out for lunch but…’
‘You saw me and Esme. I try not to let her piss me off but sometimes I could cheerfully strangle her. I’ll apologise to her when we’ve both cooled off but if I go back now, it’ll make things worse.’
‘Would you like me to check she’s all right?’ she said, desperately hoping the answer would come back as no.
‘Would you? I’ve properly upset her. And all over a bit of salad. I just said I was getting some for lunch from the Co-Op and she flipped because I wasn’t using the stuff she’d grown. She just won’t have it that it’s inedible.’
Esme was huddled on a bench by the vegetable garden, sniffing into a piece of disintegrating toilet paper. Ursula took a packet of tissues out of her coat pocket and held them out for her. She snatched them off her without looking up.
‘Mind if I sit down?’
‘Do what you like, it’s a free country.’ Esme blew her nose on a fresh tissue. ‘I suppose you’ve come to gloat?’
‘Actually, I came to ask if you were okay.’
‘Yeah, I’m good, yeah. Andi’s left me here with a house full of wankers and bitches and the chief wanker has just told me I’m a shit gardener.’
Ursula sighed. It was no wonder Esme had no friends. ‘So I suppose that makes me a bitch then, does it?’
‘Not just you. Megan as well.’
‘I see. What is it that makes us bitches, Esme? What have we done to you?’
‘Megan just is.’
‘And me?’
‘Well, you’re just so fucking perfect, aren’t you? People like you have everything handed to you on a plate. Easy life. Easy everything.’
‘Not really.’ Ursula could have said more but her life was none of Esme’s business and besides, Esme wasn’t listening.
‘Everyone thinks you’re so nice. Especially Andi.
Her best friend ever, that’s what she calls you.
We haven’t had a look in since you got here.
And I suppose you’ve got the best allotment ever.
I don’t suppose people would rather get a bag of salad from the Co-Op than eat the lettuce you’ve grown especially for them with your own bare hands. ’
Ursula was certain now that Esme wasn’t quite normal.
If there was such a thing as normal, that is.
Because one person’s definition of it is another person’s definition of crazy, or repressed.
Or cold and unfeeling. Normality was a flexible concept.
But from where Ursula was standing, Esme was very possibly on the outer reaches of it.
She tried to think of something to say that might make her sound a bit less threatening which, in itself, was ironic.
‘When I first started my allotment, I was hopeless. Everything died, except the potatoes. The other allotment holders showed me how and what to plant, when to plant and when not to. That’s how I learned.
I’m not an expert. I still get things wrong, but I can pass on some of that advice if you want to hear it. ’
Esme stared straight ahead. ‘It’s my passion project.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘It’s my passion project.’ She looked Ursula up and down like she was a piece of dog dirt. ‘Pablo said everyone should have one.’
Ursula started to back away. ‘That’s not true, Esme. It’s not true at all.’