40. Mr Samuel Sweeting – 1995
Ursula put her head round the door to Anton’s office. ‘I’ve left a tuna salad for your lunch.’
Anton looked up from his work. ‘You’re going out?’
‘Yes. I did say last night.’
‘Ah yes. This allotment.’ There was a hint of amusement in the way he said it. Roughly translated, that meant the idea was so hilarious he was practically wetting himself. ‘You will be back in plenty of time for tonight.’ As usual, it reached her not as a question but a directive.
‘Yes. I’m only going to talk to someone about it. It won’t take long. I’ll probably stop off at Mum’s as well.’
The office phone rang, giving her the opportunity to leave before he found something to keep her there. She closed the front door and almost made it to the car without looking up. But look up she did and there he was, at the window. She ducked into the driver’s seat and drove away.
It had been three years since he’d come for her in Leyton and since then, she’d tried to find something to fill the empty hole inside of her.
But nothing had done it. Anton had offered to build her a sewing room in the garden.
She told him she’d gone off sewing, although she hadn’t been able to bring herself to explain why.
She’d broached the idea of getting a job, but he pointed out that if she was working, he’d have to travel alone and sometimes he could be away for months.
She’d tried evening classes. Volunteering.
Exercising. But nothing gave her the meaning she was looking for.
Anton’s solution to all of this was to make his lists longer.
He’d begun to base himself in his home office two or three days a week.
She’d brushed up on the skills she’d learned at secretarial college and had picked up some of his admin work.
It didn’t make her life any more fulfilling but it kept her busy.
She’d spotted the poster about allotments in a supermarket in Selly Oak.
It wasn’t where she normally shopped so it was quite by chance.
There were plots available at a site that was a shortish drive, or a longish walk, from her house.
Ursula had fond memories of summer holidays spent with her grandad on his allotment when she was little.
Not that she remembered anything practical about those times but it couldn’t be that hard to grow a few veg, could it?
She’d called the number the next day, when Anton was working in town, and made an appointment to meet someone for a look around.
She parked in front of the allotment and waited at the gate where she’d been told someone would meet her.
Someone called Samuel Sweeting. In the near distance, she could see the figure of a man coming towards her.
As he got nearer, she began to fill in his details.
Tall and straight, broad shoulders, a little on the heavy side, black, middle-aged.
‘I tek it you’re Ursula,’ he said when he got to the gate.
‘I am. You must be Samuel.’ She held out her hand.
He looked at it and frowned. She realised at once she’d greeted him as if he was one of Anton’s clients. She’d forgotten how to behave when meeting real people. But then he gave her a warm smile and shook it with such strength, she thought her hand was going to shatter.
He let her through the gate and took her along a path that seemed to circle the site. ‘You do much gardening, Ursula?’
‘No, not really. I used to help my grandad on his allotment though.’ She’d stretched the truth but she was too embarrassed to say she was a complete novice.
‘You don’t have a garden at home?’
‘Yes, but it’s my husband’s domain.’
‘Ah, he’s the gardener.’
That wasn’t what she meant. Anton’s contribution to the garden was to employ a man to keep it perfectly tidy and weed free. He only ever went in there to inspect it, give instructions on it, or show it to clients. ‘Do you have many plots left?’
‘Three. This is the best one.’ He stopped at a plot that was just off the main path.
‘Belonged to an old couple who gave it up last month. It’s been well cared for.
The shed needs a lick a paint but it’s sound.
You do much painting, Ursula?’ He gave her a cheeky grin that she couldn’t help thinking was a little flirty.
‘Take a wild guess, Samuel.’
He laughed, a big, deep belly laugh that took her by surprise. ‘We got plenty here can help. We’re very community minded in this place, yer know. What do you think? You wanna give it a go?’
Ursula looked at the shed with its peeling paint.
There was room in front of it for a chair to sit and be alone, or maybe have a conversation with the other allotment holders.
One that had nothing to do with that other place that took up all of her time and gave her nothing in return.
It didn’t really matter if she didn’t grow as much as a single carrot.
All that mattered was that this place would be hers. ‘Yes, I think I do.’
‘You’ve done what?’ said her mum.
‘I’ve put my name down for an allotment.’
‘What does Anton think of that?’
‘I haven’t told him yet, although he didn’t seem too impressed when I said I was going to look at it.’
‘In that case make sure you do it. Small acts of defiance keep you strong, my love.’
‘You make it sound like I’m in a war zone.’
‘I’ve got a letter for you from Andi.’
Ursula rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t know why she sends them here.’
‘Yes you do.’ Her mum was referring to Andi’s theory that Anton was intercepting her letters.
This had come about because Andi claimed some of them weren’t reaching Ursula.
That included the one she’d sent with her address in Leyton, before Ursula had gone there.
Since Anton hadn’t contacted Ursula’s mum the whole time she’d been in Leyton, that was the only explanation they could come up with.
When she’d asked him how he’d got the address, he’d said that his company had ways of finding these things out.
It was true, they did, but Andi and her mum still clung to their belief.
‘Honestly, you two and your ridiculous notions.’ Ursula snatched up the letter. It was mostly full of the usual updates about work and Pablo, until she got to the end:
‘One last thing. I guess you can tell this is hard for me to write, Urs, because I’ve rambled on for two pages about nothing before getting to the real reason for the letter. It’s hard because I think this is going to make you sad and I don’t want to do that to you.
I’m having a baby. Pab is so happy about it. I am too, but I know what this news will mean for you and I’m scared of what it might do to our friendship. I really hope you’ll still want to be my best mate, Urs.
Call me. If you don’t, I’ll understand.’
Ursula folded the letter and put it in her bag. ‘She’s having a baby. Isn’t that great?’
‘Yes, it is.’ Her mum already knew. Her lack of surprise had given her away. ‘Are you going to call her?’
‘Tomorrow. I need to go home and get ready for a boring function. Anton’s won an award so we can’t get out of it. I’ll have more time to talk properly tomorrow.’
All of last night, Ursula’s mind had been on Andi.
She’d sat through endless small talk and countless speeches, smiling, nodding and clapping when required, but she hadn’t really been in the room.
Andi was having a baby and that was all she could think of.
There were so many things she wanted to know.
How far gone was she? Was her bump showing?
Was she taking care of herself? Was Pab taking care of her?
How would she, the woman who’d been denied babies, react when this one came into the world, and would it mean she couldn’t be friends with Andi anymore?
Anton pushed his breakfast things over to her to put in the dishwasher.
When they’d first married, he’d done that kind of thing himself.
Made a point of it in fact, to show her how it should be done.
Somewhere along the way, it had become her role.
She couldn’t remember when. His new award was on the table next to him.
He picked it up. ‘I’ll take this into the office.
What did you think of my acceptance speech? ’
He did this every now and then. She sometimes wondered if it was to see if she’d been listening. Usually, she memorised a couple of sentences that she could quote when tested but this morning, she couldn’t remember a single one. So she just smiled and said: ‘It went down very well.’
‘Ah, the veil has returned. You’re hiding something from me. That you were not listening, perhaps? Maybe the speech was too complicated for you.’
She searched his face for the hint of a smile but there was none.
He meant it. He actually thought she was stupid.
Now she had something else to mask. Her hurt.
‘No. Sorry, I had a headache. I couldn’t concentrate.
’ She gathered the breakfast things together and put them away.
Her back was turned but she knew he was watching her, trying to work out what was going on in her head.
But as he’d quite rightly observed, the veil had come down and not even Anton could see through that.
He left without any further discussion on the subject.
She waited for an hour and then rang Andi.
She was in a different flat now. One with a phone.
‘Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.’ She was too mixed up to know if she really was happy but she was going through the motions, saying the sort of thing other people would say.
‘You don’t mind?’
‘Don’t be daft. When’s it due?’
‘September.’
‘But that’s only a couple of months away.’
‘Yeah. I should have told you earlier, but I was worried how you’d take it.’
‘Don’t be worried. Just look after yourself. Don’t take any chances.’
‘Urs, I’m fine. The baby’s fine. Pab’s looking after me. What about you and me though, are we fine? Are we still mates?’
‘Yes of course we are. Absolutely. Definitely.’
Ursula was back at the gates to the allotment, waiting to be met.
Her application had been accepted and today she was coming to get the keys to the gate and be shown to her plot.
It had been more than a month since Andi’s letter.
She’d left it a while before telling Anton the news.
He’d been pleased for them. She hadn’t expected that.
He’d been less pleased when she told him she was taking the allotment.
He’d thrown all kinds of arguments at her to make her change her mind.
It would be too much for her. It would interfere with their busy lives.
It wasn’t the right sort of hobby for an architect’s wife, and so on.
If Andi hadn’t been pregnant, Ursula might have caved in but, for once, she was determined.
If this allotment was her small act of defiance, then so be it. Because she needed something.
Samuel Sweeting strolled down the path towards her and greeted her once more with a warm smile. ‘Ursula! You’re back.’ He opened the gate and handed her some keys. ‘Come in.’
‘Thank you. Which plot did I get?’
‘The best one of course. There was a lot a competition but I held them all off.’
‘Really?’
He laughed that big, hearty laugh. ‘No, sweet lady. I cannot lie. No one else was interested.’
She shook her head, her eyes and lips already creasing. ‘You’re a real comedian, Mr Sweeting.’
‘Not according to my wife, I’m not. She doesn’t know I save all the best jokes for here.’