Page 16 of Clara's Secret Garden
‘The compost.’ He grins. ‘It’s pretty whiffy.’
‘Oh. The compost. Yes.’ I wrinkle my nose, a bit late to theparty. ‘Yes, it’s revolting. It’s probably the egg shells Gran always insistson throwing in there. Apparently, egg shells and the boxes they come in aregreat – it’s the cardboard, you know – and so are used teabags and newspapers.And of course grass clippings and things like vegetable peelings and bananaskins.’ I’m wittering on to cover my awkwardness and can’t seem to stop.
He can’t find out that I fancy him.
‘You have to get the balance right, though,’ I ramble on. ‘Apparentlyyou can put popcorn in there quite happily as well.’
‘Is that so?’ He’s studying me with a hint of a smile, hishands on his hips, and I have a sudden longing to reach up and push back thelock of dark hair that’s flopped down over his forehead. But instead, I busymyself making sure the compost lid is on securely, then I suggest another colddrink.
‘I’ll get it, shall I?’ He walks off, then turns. ‘Would youlike one?’
‘No, it’s fine. Thanks.’
He disappears inside the cottage, and I let out my breath ina whoosh, sinking down onto the side of one of the raised beds.
I haven’t experienced such powerful feelings of attractionfor a long time. The feeling is at once dazzling and exhilarating, and very,very worrying. We’ve known each other for years, Rory and I, and I know for afact he just sees me as one of his old school acquaintances.
A moment later, he emerges with a glass in one hand and somecake in the other. ‘This is really good cake.’ He holds it up. ‘Did you makeit?’
I smile up at him. ‘It’s the courgette cake you thoughtyou’d hate.’
‘Really?’ He laughs, surprised. ‘Well, it tastes very good.Who knew?’
‘Take some home with you. There’s plenty.’ I smile ruefully.‘And there’s loads more of the things to use up.’ I point at the courgette bed,which seems to have sprouted dozens of the glossy, dark green batons since theday before. ‘I’ve found lots of veggie cake recipes. There’s carrot cake,obviously, and sweet potato brownies. And I found a really interesting recipefor a beetroot chocolate cake, which is supposed to be really moist anddelicious.’
‘I look forward to sampling it. Just please don’t do anyexperiments with cabbages.’
I chuckle. ‘I guess there are limits. I can’t imaginecabbage cakeevercatching on. Bertie loves my baking, but evenhewouldn’t fancy –’ I glance around, suddenly realising that the boys are nowherein sight. ‘Where are they? Luke and Bertie?’
Panic rising inside me, I get up and run back to the cottage,and Rory sprints off to check the back garden. But they’re nowhere in sight.
CHAPTERSIX
I run out into the cul-de-sac but they’re definitelynot there, so I dash back into the cottage, wondering if they’re playingquietly somewhere, on their phones.
And that’s when I find the note written in Bertie’s careful,spindly hand-writing.
We have gone to the villaj green. We are OK.
Bertie xx
I rush out with the note just as Rory’schecking the potting shed.
‘They’ve gone to the village green, apparently,’ I call.
‘Right, come on. We can go in my car.’ He pulls on hisT-shirt. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll be fine.’
I follow Rory, grateful for his support. Why didn’t they justtell me where they were going? Presumably because they knew I’d say no.
But why did it take me so long to notice they’d vanished?
The critical voice in my head pulls no punches.
Don’t blame the boys. It’s all your fault for allowing yourselfto get distracted by Rory.
Guilt and panic are spurring me on as I run for the car and slideinto the passenger seat next to Rory. They’ll be fine – ofcoursethey’llbe fine – as long as they stick to the pavement on the short journey toSunnybrook. But what if Luke’s mum sees them on their own? She won’t let melook after her son ever again, and I wouldn’t blame her.
My heart is racing with fear.
