I roll my shoulders back and tell myself not to freak out, because I’ve got a date to get ready for and I cannot choose an outfit mid-panic. Let’s just hope Zach likes the surprise I have in store for today’s date.
Tomatoes bloom plump and red, green beans twist up bamboo sticks and bumblebees on a pollen hunt buzz through the air. I take a restorative breath, revelling in the scent of freshly dug earth mixed with bonfires. My little allotment is my inner sanctum. Dad has been the only VIP on the guestlist so far, but now Zach’s on his way. Most people seem surprised when they hear that a woman in her late twenties keeps an allotment and I wonder what Zach will make of the fact that I’m just as happy digging up soil with octogenarians as I am twirling round the dancefloor. I’ll probably lose major street cred points after this. Maybe he might even change his mind about me altogether – he seems to like the carefree and outgoing Alice, not the old soul version of me who is more sensitive than she likes to let on.
I weigh up how that makes me feel and part of me decides it would be a relief. It would be out of my hands then, before whatever we have together has the chance to venture into more dangerous territory. But if I was being honest with myself, I’d also be a bit gutted that I wouldn’t get to find out where this could go, especially when the early signs are looking good.
A gust of wind catches the silk scarf in my hair. After this morning’s chat with Dylan and Nat I’d stuck some music on and rifled through my wardrobe, jazzing up my usual gardening uniform of dungarees and a T-shirt by winding a bright orange scarf through my hair and slicking on some peachy lipstick to match my tee.
‘Don’t you look lovely!’ ViVi, my allotment neighbour, pops over the hedgerow dividing our plots.
‘Thanks!’
‘Expecting someone special?’
‘Maybe,’ I say, pulling a face.
ViVi peers over her varifocals at me in delight. ‘In that case, you’ll be needing some of these.’ She hands me a wicker basket filled with juicy strawberries.
‘Oh ViVi, that’s so kind of you. Are you sure?’
‘There’s not enough space in my kitchen cupboards for any more jam,’ she chuckles.
‘You’ve got a little …’ Zach reaches out to brush my cheek and my skin tingles at his touch. ‘Soil,’ he grins.
‘Ialwaysend up in a mess here.’
‘When you suggested a Sunday spent gardening for our G date I was a little surprised. I figured after your previous form we might be gambling at a casino, or go-karting, or maybe going on a ghost tour. This is definitely unexpected.’ Zach’s eyes dart round my allotment. He’s back in his uniform of dark T-shirt and turned-up jeans today.
‘After you pointed out that all my previous choices were group activities, I thought we could do something a bit more low key, just the two of us. Though we can stick some eighties tunes on in the background if you’d like?’
‘Honestly, I think I prefer listening to the birds tweeting and the bees buzzing.’
‘Birds and bees it is,’ I say with a wink. Zach’s jawline tightens and he pulls me in for a kiss.
‘I could get used to having you in my allotment,’ I grin. ‘Want to help me sow some seeds? I’ve had the best idea for a Halloween display at the shop and thought I’d try and grow some of my own pumpkins for it.’
‘You know it’s only June, right?’
‘Yes I know it’s only June! Things take a while to grow, Zach,’ I roll my eyes playfully at him. ‘Now how about you stop being sarcastic and get to work.’
‘Oh I see, you just invited me along to be the muscles of the operation,’ Zach’s eyes are glinting.
‘All I’m saying is, there will be absolutely no judgement if you want to take your top off while you’re digging.’
Zach turns to me square on and folds his arms. ‘And what will you be doing while I get my hands dirty?’
I gesture towards my potting shed, which I’ve turned into a cosy little den stringed with fairy lights. It has a mini bar and everything. ‘Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be in charge of the drinks, the snacks and making sure my new gardener doesn’t give me too much backchat.’
Zach doffs his imaginary cap and sets to work.
I feel like I’m in a Jackie Collins novel only on a slightly lower budget. I’m sat in a deckchair with a lemonade watching my new groundsman Zach get his hands dirty. There may be no pool and I’m not wearing any pearls or a wide-brimmed hat, but still, I like it.
Zach’s not the most proficient gardener. He keeps getting the names of all the tools mixed up and I’m pretty sure he just decapitated a succulent I’ve been growing in my potting shed. But he is happy to muck in and I’m finding his willingness to try something new really endearing. A playlist of all my favourite feel-good tunes floats out from the speakers in my shed and we’ve been happily chatting about this and that. I’m humming along to a song that takes me right back to school days when I realise that Zach is humming too. I smile, realising how relaxed I am here with him. It’s a relief to feel like this part of me is okay, too. I can be my true self with Zach, not just the woman who likes noisy nights out but also the woman who’s happy spending a chilled weekend down at my allotment.
‘What got you into gardening?’ Zach asks when the song comes to an end. I take a deep breath and decide that I’m ready to open up to him more, and talk about my past for the first time in a long while.
‘My mum died when I was fifteen,’ I say. Instantly he reaches out to hold my hand, his finger stroking my thumb as I talk. ‘She was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer and within weeks I was sat by the hospital bed we’d had moved into our house, saying goodbye to her as she lay there, dosed up on morphine. One minute she was there, the next she was gone.’ Zach squeezes my hand and as I lean forward in my seat he reaches across to place a tender kiss on my forehead.
‘I remember so clearly feeling like a stranger in my own body at the time. How could this be happening? It didn’t feel real. We were dragged along on a wave of funeral plans and sorry-for-your-loss cards and it was only later, when the flowers stopped coming, when the cards stopped landing on the doormat, that it truly sank in. She’d gone. Just a few weeks which would change my life irrevocably.’
