Page 1 of Earth-Bound

Chapter 1: Joe

The sun was only just rising over the distant fields and the room I was in was flooded with orange light which made the whole room look like it was on fire. It was an old house, crumbling and ancient, and I wasn’t an expert on houses but I wasn’t entirely sure how structurally sound it was. The windows had been smashed when I’d arrived a few weeks ago and I suspected they’d been that way for years.

Luckily, it wasn’t my house.

Houses in general gave me the creeps and I lived in a camper van, where I could step out onto the grass any time I liked and stretch out with a little fire beside me or huddle in my sleeping bag with the cool night air playing over me and the night birds flying overhead. With my camper van, I could be on the road in minutes, driving towards anywhere I fancied.

This house was worse than most. Actually, it was a gorgeous old house, in its way, but it made me feel itchy and unsettled to be inside it. I always put it down to the fact that I didn’t like being trapped inside brick walls but, if I were honest, it wasn’t just that.

It was the fact that the plants kept dying.

And maybe that was a problem because it was literally my job to keep them alive but it made me feel unnerved, nonetheless. There was no reason why they should be dying.

I let myself into the house every morning. The door was never locked because my employer was strange and didn’t live there, nor did he ever think to lock the door to his property. Then I went through the house, room by room because my employer, a man I knew only as Broadmire, had put a whole range of plants in various rooms. He’d made use of the broken windows to make sure they got sunlight and rain. In fact, it was only because there was glass scattered on the carpeted floors that I knew the windows had been broken from the outside by rocks or winds, and not broken from the inside by Broadmire, trying to get some rain for his plants. He was that strange that I wouldn’t even put that past him.

Still, I liked him. So far, he’d been the best employer I’d had. He actually let me get on with my job and trusted me to do it. And, if there was one thing I was good at, it was gardening. I was born for it.

Except, as I walked up the creaking stairs, keeping to the edges because I was never convinced that the stairs would hold my weight and not crumble beneath me, I got a sinking feeling that I was failing.

Even from the top of the stairs, I could see straight into the master bedroom and the elephant’s ear with its large green leaves and white veins and the silver inch plant with its silver-and-green striped leaves reflecting the sunlight. They were both in large pots which Broadmire had put near the windows but they were wilting. Again.

I moved across to them and struggled to come up with a reason why they would. There were a range of plants, fromflamingo flowers to dragon trees, so it wasn’t that one was a bad fit. And, considering how badly Broadmire had arranged most of his garden, a lot of these plants were actually in the right place. They liked the sun and got enough rain through the broken window. When it was dry, I’d come upstairs with my watering can, just like I had now. And the walls protected them from too much harsh wind. They should be thriving.

They weren’t.

I stood and looked at them. They weren’t just wilting, their leaves were turning brown at the very edges. Barely noticeable at the moment but it would soon dry them up and make them wither away.

I watered them, thinking.

Then I glanced around, feeling guilty. I hated the feeling but I’d learned a long time ago not to let anyone see me talking to plants. It was weird. I’d been taught very clearly that weird was not good.

There was nobody around. Of course there wasn’t – I was in the middle of a broken-down old house which belonged to Broadmire, and nobody except him and his boyfriend ever came out this way, and even then, they didn’t come to the house. They walked around Broadmire’s garden, which was a stretch of land a few acres wide, and only seemed to notice the house at all because there was a large apple tree nearby.

Still, I glanced around anyway. And then, when I was sure nobody was looking, I began to talk to the bird’s nest fern with its beautifully frilled leaves which were turning brown and crinkly.

I started at the end and worked my way across, through the begonia and the prayer plant to the spider plant. I spoke toeach one individually, so they’d know I cared properly for them and they’d feel special.

“Hey there little darlin’, you don’t look so good. Maybe you need a bit of love, huh? Why don’t you grow nice and strong for me? I’m sure you’ll love it. There’s no need to sulk now, you’ve got everything you need. Let me just give you a bit more water and you can soak that up nicely and grow big and strong.”

Yes, so I talked to plants like they were my children. Lots of people spoke to their plants! It wasn’t weird!

Even so, I did glance out of the window to make sure nobody could see me. I was not weird. I was just doing my job. And my job was to keep these plants alive.

I worked for a long time, going from pot to pot to pot, talking to each one in turn and pointing out where they needed to put their energy.

“You’re looking very pretty this side, darlin’, you just need to make the other side match. How did you let one side wilt like that and keep the other strong? Well, you can just grow evenly on both sides from now on. I’ll be back tomorrow to see how you’re getting along. I know you’re going to make a real effort for me and I’ll come back to find you flourishing.”

By the time I left, all the plants were looking a bit better. They’d perked up, if nothing else, and were standing tall again. Some of them were still a little dried out, which worried me, but I’d be back tomorrow to check on them and could talk them into growing again.

I called out goodbye and went to check the rest of the house. For some reason, all of the others were fine. They were strong and healthy and all they needed was a bit of water, just like always. I had no idea what was wrong with the plants inthat room but it was only them. For a second, I wondered if I could move them around a bit. Swap one of the ones from downstairs with some of them from that master bedroom, and see what happened. I didn’t think it was the plants themselves – they didn’t feel malicious and I could feel them wanting to grow, wanting to survive – so it had to be something about their environment. If only the English ivy and the jewel orchid in the other bedroom weren’t thriving so well, if only the ones in the living room below weren’t absolutely flourishing, I’d be able to blame the position. But it wasn’t their exposure to the elements and it wasn’t the amount of water they were getting and it wasn’t the sunlight or the temperature or their soil. I was out of ideas.

As I checked on the rest of the plants and gave them a few words of encouragement, I pondered what I could do.

If I swapped just one, Broadmire might not notice. He didn’t even come into the house – he and Randall walked past it every day but didn’t go inside. He often looked up at the house and the master bedroom overlooked the large, sloping field and the apple tree that Broadmire and Randall stood below, so if he was going to notice I’d messed with any of his planting arrangements, it would be that one. On the other hand, he was so far away… maybe he wouldn’t be able to tell?

I thought about it and decided that, if my little plants weren’t doing any better by the end of the week, I’d risk it. I’d move them around and see if they grew any better somewhere else. At least then I’d be able to narrow down some causes.

With that decided, I walked out of the house and closed the door behind me. It clanged shut, the heavy wooden door sounding final. As soon as I heard that sound, I took a deep breath and seemed to draw more air into my lungs than I had in the house. I loved the fresh air.

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