Page 111 of My Year of Saying No
‘Have you always chatted to your plants?’
He turned, a shy grin on his face. ‘Going to report back to Seb that his dad’s a bit of a basket case?’ He gave me a wink.
‘Not at all. My parents chat to theirs all the time, and although I only have a few pots on a paving slab, I’m not going to deny there have been conversations. My neighbours do think I’m a little loopy though. That’s probably not helped by me spending an inordinate amount of time in my pyjamas.’
His dad shrugged. ‘It’s good to be comfortable.’
‘I wouldn’t go to the shops or anything in them,’ I added, taking into account the very particular way this man dressed. Even in casual clothes, he was neat and tidy, creases in the right place, and none where there shouldn’t be any.
‘No. I don’t suppose you would. Each to their own and all that, but it does make me question standards a bit when I read that some do that. Plus, who wants to take all those germs to bed. That’s what would bother me the most.’
‘Me too. Ugh.’ I gave a bit of a shiver at the thought.
‘Right, everything looks in order in here. Come outside and I’ll show you what I’ve got growing.’
I stepped out and meandered up and down the rows with Seb’s dad, listening as he told me what was in each bed, and when they’d be ready for harvest and sometimes what he planned to do with them. Having been around the plot, we came to a bed full of rose bushes.
‘These look like they’re doing well,’ I said, touching one of the dark green leaves.
‘Yes, they seem to like it there. It’s a sight for sore eyes when they’re all in bloom, and the scent just takes your breath away, especially on a summer’s evening when the air is still.’
‘Oh, that sounds wonderful!’
‘You’ll have to come back when they’re blooming and see what I mean.’
‘I’d love to,’ I replied without hesitation, caught up in the excitement of the thought, the heady scent of summer tumbling through my mind.
‘In the meantime…’ he wandered over to a cold frame within which pots of different shapes and sizes were protected from the rain. Bending down, he lifted one of the glass lid panels, and reached in. Pulling out a plant, he stood and handed it to me. ‘For you.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I take cuttings of those roses every year from the border here and the one that’s full of them in my garden at home, just in case any of them get a problem. That way I’ll always have one to replace it with.’ He cleared his throat a little and I realised it was the same habit Seb had when things got close to emotional. ‘This was my wife’s favourite rose.’
Immediately I understood the need for him to make sure he always had cuttings on the go. ‘Are you sure you can spare it?’
He gave a smile. ‘Yes, love. Positive. I always overdo it with the cuttings. Just in case.’
‘I can understand that. What colour is it?’
‘A beautiful sunshine yellow.’
‘Oh, that’s my favourite colour for flowers too!’ I tilted the pot towards me to read the label, bringing it closer to make sure I’d read it properly. In neat, square lettering was the name ‘Charlotte’. I looked up at him. The only man in this family I didn’t have to look up to was Seb’s nephew, it seemed. ‘It’s called Charlotte?’
The smile was soft, kind and full of a love gone in body but never in mind. ‘It is.’
The emotions of Friday night, and now with a smattering of possibly confused ones in between, washed over me and, without thinking, I transferred the pot to one hand and gave Seb’s dad a massive hug. When I pulled back, he looked a little startled, albeit pleasantly. ‘Thank you so much for this. It’s so kind of you.’
‘You’re very welcome. Seb has always spoken so highly of you, and I know you’ve done a lot for him and the charity. His mother would have wanted you to have one. She’d probably have had a few words to say about it if I hadn’t passed a cutting on to you, in fact, especially knowing you love to grow things.’
‘That’s a very lovely thing to say.’
He paused for a moment, then nodded softly. ‘She’d have liked you very much, I think.’
I swiped at my eyes with the back of my free hand, the other holding the plant pot firmly against my side. ‘Oh don’t, you’ll set me right off. I’m not all stiff upper lip like you and Seb, I’m afraid. I blub at the slightest provocation.’
‘That’s not a bad thing. Stiff upper lip is useful on some occasions but probably less so than you think.’
He turned back to the cold frame and moved some plants around a little, twisting them so that the light hit them from a different angle, encouraging them to grow evenly.
