Page 76 of Best Summer Ever

‘Has Algy gone with him?’ I asked Mum as I poured us both tea.

‘No,’ she said, as she splashed milk into her cup. ‘He has a follow-up appointment at the hospital later this morning, as a result of his tumble. I’m taking him to that and then we’re going on to pick up some new shirts from that outfitter he favours in Holt.’

‘That’s a bit of a trek for a few shirts, isn’t it? Can’t he order them online?’

‘You know, Algy.’ Mum smiled. ‘He prefers a more personal service.’

I looked at her as she sat down. She still looked tired and I hoped the strain of having me back for the summer wasn’t exacerbating her exhaustion, but I had a strong suspicion that it might be.

‘And did he,’ I asked, because I found I couldn’t not mention them, ‘personally deliver all of the flowers currently filling my bedroom?’

I knew that had Dad been at home, I wouldn’t have broached the topic, but as talking to Mum on her own hadn’t so far felt strained, I was willing to briefly discuss it.

‘Algy cut them,’ Mum said, finally producing a smile, ‘but I arranged them all and carried them up to your room for him.’

I looked at her in surprise. I wondered if Dad knew the room currently looked like a florist shop and if Mum had agreed to arranging them because she had felt bad about siding with him.

‘You know,’ Mum said quietly, while fiddling with her teaspoon and staring into her cup, ‘with your dad at the machinery place and Algy and I at the hospital and then in Holt, you’re going to be practically the only person on the entire estate today.’

‘Nick will be about on the fruit farm,’ I pointed out.

‘You know what I’m getting at, Daisy,’ she countered, her eyes darting a quick look up at me. ‘You know exactly what I’m saying.’

I could have feigned ignorance, but the truth was, I did know what Mum was saying, and Algy’s car, which she was driving – he’d favoured them taking out the ancient blue Bentley that day – had barely turned out of the top of the drive, before I acted on it.

I felt a heady mix of emotions as I plucked up the courage to look inside the potting shed, which was located on the edge of the garden next to the machinery sheds and smaller glasshouses and cold frames. The smell of it felt as familiar as the flowers in my bedroom. Compost, warm wood and an undertone of linseed oil, which Dad applied to the tools every winter, took me back to a time when I had been so happy and so sure in my mind as to where my future lay.

The depth of feeling increased tenfold as, at long last, I made my way right into the garden. Whereas before, I had skirted around the periphery to the summerhouse, that morning I went all over. I traced my hands lightly along the top of the low box hedges in the knot garden. I admired the roses in the predictably named rose garden and watched the sun reflecting off the scales of the goldfish as they darted under the lily padsin the clear water of the various ponds that were dotted about the place and surrounded by pots filled with different varieties of hosta and showy blue and white agapanthus.

Everything looked to be in perfect order. That is, everything looked to be in perfect order until I reached the vast walled garden. The fruit and vegetables were all clearly looked after, but the rows and rows of flowers on the half that had been given over to Algy’s passion project were choked with weeds in places, required staking and were all in need of tidying up and deadheading.

This was the part of the garden I had been most reluctant to see and that was because it had been the setting for the final, mammoth showdown I’d had with Dad ahead of relenting and going off to university.

In my head, I could still hear our raised voices rebounding off the old walls, our tempers flaring as we flung cruel words and harsh accusations at one another.

It had been our last interaction for quite some time and even though the memory of it was still all too easy to recall, my desire to make good what was now growing here shockingly and surprisingly stamped out any tendency to dwell on the past. The present and the future was what truly mattered, not the injustice of what had gone before.

With the sun not yet overhead, I clipped the secateurs, my secateurs, which I was delighted to find in their familiar place in the potting shed, to the belt of my shorts, put my water bottle in the shade, readjusted my sunhat and set to work.

‘Right,’ I murmured to myself as I made a start, ‘let’s see what we can do here, shall we?’

I had planned to be back in the cottage by early afternoon,so my presence in the garden would definitely not have been noticed, but I soon lost all track of time. As I worked methodically along the rows, cutting back, tying in, weeding, staking and watering where necessary, time seemed to stand still. I was utterly immersed and I felt completely at peace. I was both relaxed by and enchanted with the project Algy had instigated and which Dad had tried his best to maintain until the demands of the summer mowing regime took over.

As I worked my way along the rows of plants, I imagined how the blooms could be cut, tied and sold. The area was huge and would potentially draw a decent income. It might not be established enough for members of the public to come in and cut what they wanted willy nilly, but I could have easily managed the cropping and, for this season, cut the flowers on their behalf. Then, if the idea really took off, the rows could be extended elsewhere in the garden and the season lengthened, by growing different varieties of flowers to sell the following year.

I noticed Algy hadn’t included dahlias or chrysanthemums, but in my mind’s eye, I could easily imagine incorporating both for later cutting. And planting spring bulbs such as tulips and daffodils could mean that the garden came into its own even earlier, catching the Easter market. I could see myself doing it all, right down to the apron I would wear and the brown paper and raffia I would wrap the bouquets in…

‘Daisy?’

My name had been spoken softly, but I jerked upright, almost jarring my back in the process.

‘Algy,’ I stammered, my formerly relaxed heart thumping hard, ‘what time is it?’

‘Never mind the time, my darling,’ he said with a choked smile, ‘look what you’ve done!’

I took a moment to carefully stretch, then joined him on the path. When I turned to look at the flower garden it appeared vastly different to the state I had earlier found it in and given the ache in my arms and back, and the rumble in my belly, I guessed I had been working on it for far longer than I had originally intended.

‘It’s transformed,’ Algy breathed, his tone full of wonder. ‘It looksexactlyhow I had hoped it would when I got your father to set it up in the spring. You’re a miracle worker, Daisy.’

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