Back inside, the number One on the dark-panelled door hasn’t seen polish in fifty years. It blends into the dark wood panelling, such an invitation to a shabby chic practitioner like myself. Sinister. Could Mrs B be right about our neighbor? I’ve done the make-up of thousands of strangers, and there weren’t very many I couldn’t charm.
I hold out my remaining plate and rap at the door.
I know he’s in there. There’s a thunk and clunk, thunk and clunk, as if he has a limp and a cane. I can practically hear him breathing as he peers out the tiny glass hole.
I smile and hold out the plate.
“Professor Raynor?” I say, loudly. “I’m Lucy Beston, new at Number Forty One. Just saying hello with some little cakes.”
There’s more breathing, but no movement. After about a minute, I place the plate on the floor outside the door.
“I’ll leave them here for you. Bye.” With a smile and a wave, I step away and find the door into the garden again.
It’s a beautiful day. I’m so grateful to Donna for sharing her job with me. Working casually allows for so much flexibility. She’s given me a couple of quiet weeks to find my feet at my own place, before I duck all over the city again to pack and unpack the lives of others.
There’s sunshine up there somewhere, beyond the thicket of ivy and overgrown bushes. It’s rare to have so many mature trees so close to downtown – a couple of oaks and three pines. I push my way through to a side fence and then along the back fence past lilac and dogwood. I peer through the winter branches. I’m sure I see roses, tall and unpruned, back towards Brighton Court, where the undergrowth thins. This would be a sun trap if I could just trim some of it back.
I bark my shin on a block of concrete. It’s a structure, a rounded arch of seating around a circular table. Yes. There’s a rose garden behind what might have been a vegetable patch, the unpruned stems tangling way above my head.
Such a shame it’s all a mess. I am itching to get into it, to prune back the thicket of Virginia creeper and ivy that filters out so much sunshine, but I left my gloves and clippers behind. Mistake. The Ex and the Minx won’t have a clue what to do with them.
I’m just contemplating making another raid on the forever home when the twitch of a faded, drawn curtain catches my eye.
It whisks back, exposing a bald and frowning Professor Raynor, his fist high, and shaking.
I plant a smile firmly on my face and wave back, then turn away to continue exploring.
He wrenches open the window.
“Stop,” he says. “You can’t go there.”
“Pretty sure this is common property. You’re not the only resident, Professor Raynor. We all want to enjoy this space.”
“‘No resident shall garden without the permission of other residents,’” he recites, as if it’s one of the ten commandments.
“So that’s how this mess got here,” I say. “You’d actually have more winter sun if I pruned back these vines. Nobody could object. I won’t tell, if you don’t.” I give him my biggest wink.
He humphs, slams the window closed, whisks the curtain closed and disappears, so I continue.
A few minutes later, the back door creaks open. The bent old man emerges, scowling.
“You can’t do that,” he says.
“Arrest me,” I say. We stare at each other until I throw back my head and laugh, and I catch him hiding a smile.
“Why don’t you want this space improved?” I say. “Look, there’s a beautiful old table with benches. We could put a pizza oven over there. Give me a few moments and we can sit and chat.”
I push back some branches, and use one foot to sweep off decades worth of twigs and leaves to expose the circular garden setting. The land falls away towards the other side fence. There’s definitely space for some vegetables, if I can only prune back the chaos.
“This could be lovely,” I say. “Here. You can sit on my apron.” I haul it off and lay it on the bench.
He’s silent. He inches forwards with his stick. I go to help him and he almost hits me with it.
At last he takes a seat and glares. He is pale and trembling – maybe with rage. Or Parkinson’s.
“You can see what used to be here. It’s lovely. We could have picnics down here. Children can kick a ball without losing it. And you could come out any time and enjoy the sunshine and some company.”
“Don’t patronize me, young lady. I know what used to be here.”
