Page 14 of Never Tell Lies

“K.”

"Ryan," I said in my best grown-up voice before he could run off, "we need to have a talk about you stealing my shoes."

"I'm an alien, Auntie Lo, I don't wear shoes," he answered, his face as serious as it could be, before he ran back out to the garden. I looked at Natalie.

"You need to do something about that boy."

"I kind of like him as he is," she smiled fondly. “Are you sure you don’t mind fixing up the garden for our school? It’s a lot of work.”

“I can hardly back out now,” I laughed. “I don’t mind at all. I love it. Besides, they already approved my plans.”

“Well, we’ll never turn down free labour.”

The slow cooker began to bubble and she got up to stir it, leaving me to sit in my own thoughts and of course, my thoughts turned back to a certain man. I couldn't escape the feeling that I'd stepped into something I couldn't step out of. I felt on edge, and I drummed my fingers on my mug as my body hummed with nervous energy.

Usually, talking to Natalie made me feel better about anything. We didn’t grow up together and despite only knowing each other for five years, I felt as if I’d known her my whole life. Today, however, I needed a different kind of counsel.

"I'm going to head out back for a bit." I got up, the old chair creaking as I stood. Everything in my gran's old cottage creaked.

I stepped out the back door and onto the small patio. At one end was a bug house; a ramshackle pile of brick and wood making a haven for every insect an eight year old boy could fall in love with. At the other end was a neat row of strawberry pots that I'd planted with Ryan just as my mum had done with me when I was a child.

Beyond the patio lay a stretch of plain lawn for Ryan. Before Natalie and Ryan had moved in, the garden had been the stunning result of decades of work by my gran, my mum and then me. Three generations of women had created a cottage-style garden that to anyone else wouldn't seem anything more than pretty, but to me, the last one left, had meant everything.

But Ryan came and a change had to be made. The exquisite garden had been dismantled and replaced with a simple lawn for him to play in. It had hurt to take it apart but it was better than leaving it to be ruined by a flying football or a karate chop. Besides, I hadn't destroyed the garden, the place where I'd discovered how much I loved the feel of my hands in the soil. I'd just moved it.

Hedges five feet tall cut off the space for Ryan and there was a low, dark oak gate in the middle which the mischievous creature was forbidden to pass.

I kicked off my heels as I stepped off the patio onto the grass, relishing the feel of it on my bare feet.

I crossed the lawn and stepped through the gate and into my Memory Garden. Immediately, the tension in my shoulders released, and the tightness in my chest eased.

In the centre of the small garden stood a cornus contraversa tree—a white winged beauty that tiered upwards to a point like a wedding cake, its buds light and delicate.

The elegant tree was ringed with lawn, and pretty floral beds sat snugly along the lawn edge, curving around until they met at the other side, where a low swing seat sat nestled in a bed of bleeding hearts.

I followed the lawn around the tree and lowered myself into the swing seat. I began to rock gently, allowing myself to be soothed by the scent of my mum’s favourite plant.

On my left were pink blooms and on my right, white ones. When I needed to think, when I needed counsel or comfort, I sat here, drifting my fingers through the velvet softness of the petals, meditating on the richness of the wedding cake tree and breathing in the fragrances surrounding me.

In one corner, I'd planted a herb bed for my gran, who was a much more practical woman than my mum. The rich aromas of rosemary and basil permeated my senses. If I closed my eyes and only touched and inhaled, I could imagine it was the same garden I'd grown up in. I could imagine that I'd never lost them at all.

When I thought of them, I tried to remember them living. It had taken years to train myself to do that. To remember my gran cooking or crocheting while watching TV with me, instead of only remembering the yellowness of her skin as she got sicker, how frail her body had become as the cancer ate away at her. I'd lost her, but it was a loss I had come to terms with, despite the pain. Her death was a natural thing. But my mum…

I squeezed my eyes shut, the sound of rushing water filling my ears, rushing water that wasn't really there. I took several calming breaths as I allowed memories to swarm me. I had to let them in to let them pass. Years of trying to fight them had taught me that. My mum's death hadn't been a natural thing.

Eventually, the sounds of imaginary water began to recede a little and I opened my eyes, meditating on the wedding cake tree. I'd buried their ashes beneath it, immortalising the two women that had raised me. This garden was my lifeline.

My chest ached. When you knew how brutal it could be to lose something, it was painful to ever want anything again. And as much as I wanted to deny it, I'd wanted Mr Tell.

Despite my attempts to scrub him out of my mind, I sat there, my fingertips toying with the petals, playing over and over in my head the moment his lips had hovered over mine and those grey eyes had penetrated me—eyes that I knew deep down, I could look at forever.

Seven

Ibegan the next morning in much more my usual fashion—a happy blend of relaxed chaos.

I was relieved to be out of the heels and fancy work dress and back in my normal clothes. It was a hot day so I put on denim shorts and a green bardot top. Not typical office attire but Rosie's wasn't a typical office.

I climbed out of my van, more than a little worried that my less-than-professional performance yesterday had been reported to my boss. I couldn’t see her around and breathed a sigh of relief.

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