Page 12 of The Twilight Garden

One or two, thought Gemma. One or two…

She pulled her phone from her back pocket before taking a seat. ‘I promised my friend I’d let her know I’ve arrived safely,’ she said. ‘Is it okay if I connect to your WiFi?’ The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it, realising a split second later that things she usually took for granted might not apply here. And a glance at the very short list of available networks confirmed it.

‘Ah…’ Willow winced. ‘That’s on our to-do list as well.’

‘It’s yet another dilemma we’ve been tussling with,’ said Rowan, joining them at the table. ‘We’re trying to live a simple life and be as self-sufficient as possible, but ironically, doing that doesn’t seem to be simple at all. The internet doesn’t really fit with that philosophy, but it’s almost impossible to live your life without it. And as anything we do here which incurs a cost becomes a weight on a scale we have to balance, we have to pick and choose very carefully what we add to it. Getting WiFi to the farm has proved to be more difficult and expensive than we thought.’

‘So for now we make do with the data allowance on our phones,’ added Willow. ‘And although it’s a bit patchy in places, the 4G round here is pretty good. There’s also a lovely little tearoom in the village who let us use their WiFi if we really need to.’

Gemma checked her phone’s display; she did indeed have a signal, but only just. What Rowan had said made perfect sense, but there was no doubt that being here was going to require a radical shift in her thinking. ‘No problem… I’ll just send her a quick message then. Thanks.’ She dropped her head to concentrate on her task. Not because she needed to but because she knew her face would betray her if she didn’t. Rowan had joked about it – at least, she had assumed it was a joke – but just how mad did you have to be to live here? She was beginning to wonder what she’d let herself in for.

‘Would it be helpful to have a chat about what you’d like me to do?’ she asked after she’d sent a quick update to Cat. ‘Is there anything in particular you’d like my help with?’

Willow exchanged a look with Rowan. ‘It’s more about pitching in than having specific jobs…’ she said, faltering a little. ‘We don’t really want to think of you as an employee, more someone who lives with us, sharing in what we do. There are tasks which keep the place ticking over, and then there’s everything else – all the stuff we’re trying to get up and running for the future. So whatever you can lend a hand with will be great. I’m sure we’ll figure it out.’ She looked anxiously at her husband. ‘Did that sound horribly like we don’t know what we’re doing?’

‘Horribly,’ agreed Rowan, softening his reply with a fond smile. He redirected his look to Gemma. ‘But it is very difficult to explain what we’re about here, and although we’ve got lots of plans and ideas for the place, it often feels as if we’re making it up as we go along. Quite a lot of people think we’re mad for doing this, weird even. Gullible, delusional… and that’s just the nice things people have said.’ He grinned. ‘But I guess what we want to say is that we don’t really have any expectations, but that hopefully, as we get to know one another, things will naturally fall into place. Is that okay?’

Gemma nodded, somewhat cautiously. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘So I like sewing and knitting,’ said Willow. ‘Plus gardening, painting and generally upcycling stuff. And Rowan likes woodwork and cooking, reading and building weird contraptions from scrap.’

‘Now we sound like we’re speed dating,’ said Rowan, laughing. ‘But we’ll get the hang of it.’ He glanced over to the cooker. ‘That should be ready by now, so let’s eat and then you can tell us all about yourself, Gemma.’

‘I’m not sure there’s that much to tell,’ she said a few minutes later, fork in hand. She raised a mouthful of food to her lips and took a tentative taste before shovelling the rest in. ‘This is wonderful,’ she said, looking down at her plate. ‘What’s in it?’

‘Sweet potato, lentils, spinach, cauliflower… All our own, apart from the lentils. Plus my own spice mix, which is, of course, magical and very, very secret.’ He smiled. ‘I’m glad you like it.’

Gemma nodded. ‘I do… Food hasn’t really figured that high on my agenda recently. But this tastes amazing.’

‘Do you like cooking?’ asked Willow.

‘I used to,’ replied Gemma, pausing for a moment. ‘But I haven’t really had much time to think about it of late, let alone enjoy it. I’ve been using those recipe boxes, you know the ones? They come with all the ingredients you need and…’ She trailed off. ‘You probably don’t approve of them.’

Rowan lifted his hand a little. ‘No judgement,’ he said. ‘We were in that position too, once upon a time. We never seemed to have time for anything – that’s really why we decided to do something about it and come here. We totally get it. It’s the same for so many people.’

‘I suppose it is,’ replied Gemma, after a moment. ‘Certainly most of my friends feel like that. And in my case it was due to a demanding job coupled with caring for my mother.’

Willow nodded.

‘She died,’ added Gemma, in answer to the unspoken question. ‘A little over three months ago.’

Willow’s fork stilled. ‘Gemma, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.’

‘No reason why you should,’ replied Gemma lightly. ‘But this is something of a new start for me.’

Gemma could feel Willow’s gaze studying her downturned face. It was what always happened whenever she mentioned her mother’s death. The conversation died too, and then the matter was never referred to again. But Gemma couldn’t think of any way to make it better, to explain without actually telling people she’d died. Referring to the loss of her mum by using euphemisms seemed to belittle her life somehow, and Gemma was not prepared to do that. Not ever.

After a moment, Willow reached out and touched the back of Gemma’s hand. ‘You must feel as if you’re on another planet,’ she said. ‘Or that everything on this one feels utterly alien. As if everything you were once certain of has been pulled out from beneath you, and you’re learning how to swim again when you used to hold medals for the front crawl.’

Gemma stared at her, caught off-guard by her astute understanding. ‘That’s it,’ she said, as if she had just discovered the key to some long-unsolved problem. ‘That’s exactly how I feel.’

‘Then you must take things slowly,’ said Rowan. ‘The water here need only be as deep as you’re comfortable with, and you can keep both feet on the bottom for as long as you like. For as long as it takes you to find your buoyancy again.’

6

Gemma woke in an instant, clawing at her face. Something had touched it. Something wet… and slimy. Her hands encountered a cold spot, and fur… lots and lots of fur.

Her eyes flew open, blinking surprise at her rude awakening and the shaft of bright morning light falling across the bed. But most of all they registered surprise at having been awoken by a huge and exceedingly hairy dog.