Page 27 of The Twilight Garden

‘And yet we all appreciate the fact that the dishes are always clean and that we don’t have to clear a pile of debris from the table whenever we want to use it.’

Gemma dipped her head in acknowledgement.

‘So how’s your research into the farm going?’

‘Slowly,’ she replied. ‘Although Ashley has offered to help, so I’m hoping that will speed things up considerably.’

‘She’s the one you met at Vicky’s tearoom?’

‘That’s right. It was her grandma who put me on to the county archive to help with the search. She runs a local history club at the library. But let’s just say, I prefer dealing with Ashley.’

In fact, having the promised coffee with her a couple of days ago was the first time Gemma seemed to have laughed in days. And she was due to meet her again later.

Rowan’s eyes crinkled. ‘I’ve heard Merryn can be a bit of a tyrant. She’s the village matriarch and takes her position very seriously. It would be nice if you found something, though. I like a bit of heritage, and a nod to it would help with the naysayers who don’t approve of what we’re doing here.’

Gemma was puzzled. ‘How can they not approve?’

‘I like to think it’s because they don’t know us well enough yet to appreciate what our intentions are for this place. I can understand them being naturally wary of incomers who buy places to use as holiday homes, people who don’t contribute to the local community, but that’s not us. This is our home, and we plan on being here a long time. I guess it’s just going to take time to prove ourselves.’ He smiled. ‘A bit like a good loaf. A good prove makes all the difference.’

Gemma caught the twinkle in his eye. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll rise to the challenge.’

Rowan groaned. ‘That’s terrible…’

Gemma regarded him for a moment. ‘Not everyone seems to think that way. Vicky was very complimentary about you.’

‘Maybe that’s because she’s a little younger and not so concerned with tradition. Plus, she’s an incomer too, and an all-round good egg to boot.’ He rubbed his eyebrow. ‘Perhaps we’d better get on before the baking puns get out of hand.’

Gemma grinned. ‘I can’t remember the last time I made bread, but it was probably over twenty years ago. I think I might be a tad rusty.’

Rowan nodded. ‘You’ll get the hang of it again, no problem. I was really nervous when I first started making it. I think I’d been led to believe that there was some arcane mystery to it all, when really it’s just like most things and practice is what counts.’ He crossed to one of the cupboards and took down a bag of flour.

‘I think that’s what put me off,’ replied Gemma. ‘That and the amount of time it took. I really like fresh bread, but, dare I say it, making it always seems like the most enormous faff.’

She took in Rowan’s expression. ‘What?’ She laughed. ‘It’s true!’ She thought back to all the things she used to do with Leo. Every Saturday, Sunday mornings… ‘I was married, working full-time. There wasn’t enough time in the week, and weekends were sacrosanct…’

‘It’s okay, I’m only teasing,’ said Rowan. ‘It was just the same for us. When Willow and I were teaching, making bread got relegated to high days and holidays, along with everything else. Evenings, we were too tired. Weekends, we were catching up on marking. I know how it is. We had all these things we wanted to do and no real time to do them. It’s one of the reasons why we decided to buy this place. To stop dreaming and start doing.’

Gemma smiled. ‘I admit I’ve never dreamed about making bread. You must be wired differently from me.’

Rowan looked at the bag of flour in his hand. ‘Can I let you into a secret?’ he asked. ‘For the first few months after we moved here, it was exactly the same. There was so much to be done – there still is, but back then it was utterly overwhelming – and we began to resent all the “jobs” we had to do, all the things which were keeping us from living the “good life”, the kind of life we’d dreamed about before we arrived. And we soon realised that it was looking scarily as if all we’d done was swap one prison for another.’

‘So what changed? It doesn’t seem that way now.’

Rowan tapped his head. ‘We realised that we needed to think about things differently. To tweak the mindset we’d always had – one which saw chores and fun stuff as two separate things.’ He pursed his lips in amusement. ‘Bear with me – this is where it gets a bit preachy… Because until we realised that those jobs, along with everything else we do here, were part of the new life we wanted, nothing was going to change. It’s a big adjustment, and it takes a bit of practice, but if we resist dividing our tasks into either work or leisure then everything becomes part and parcel of our daily life. We don’t have to rush through anything, because every day is filled with things we want to do.’

Gemma gave him a sideways look. ‘Okay… But I still think you’re kidding yourself a little. You might not work in an office, but you have jobs just the same. You don’t read during the day and Willow doesn’t knit either. You leave those things to the evening, until after you’re done working.’

‘But only because those are things we naturally do when our energy is low, or when the light has gone. I’ve come inside to make bread this morning because I’ve had enough of standing in the rain. But I don’t feel guilty about it. I don’t especially relish cleaning the henhouse out either, but the reward for looking after our ladies is fresh eggs, so it’s something I willingly do. Willow can’t make cakes without them.’

‘So everything is fun then, is it?’ As far as Gemma was concerned, standing in the chicken run in the pouring rain, covered in poo, would never be fun.

‘Ah…’ Rowan grinned, his eyes twinkling. ‘I didn’t quite say that, but what is this thing we all have with time anyway? Always wanting to move past what we’re doing in the present and on to what we want to do in the future. It’s kind of hard to explain, but when you look at things differently, when it suddenly “clicks”, it’s the most wonderful feeling. It’s freedom. You stop trying to rush time. And you get to stand still in the moments and notice what they bring…’

Gemma raised her eyebrows, trying hard to keep her expression neutral. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe Rowan, just… she couldn’t ever see herself thinking the same way.

Rowan rolled his eyes. ‘I know, it’s what Willow calls my evangelical face.’ He cleared his throat as if a little embarrassed by his outburst and handed her the bag of flour. ‘Right then,’ he said. ‘The making of the bread…’

Ashley’s house was beautiful. Right down to the warm golden colour of the stone and the stout oak of the wide front door. It was the kind of house which Gemma had always imagined for herself – steeped in history, well-worn but in the rich patina kind of way, not the torn and shabby kind of way. With lofty ceilings, tiled hallways, walk-in bay windows and wallpapers which were bought from designers instead of the local DIY store. And it was made even more lovely by the fact that Ashley made no mention of it. She didn’t offer to show her round or make comments like, ‘Oh, this old place’, when Gemma remarked on it. Simply ushered her in and kicked off her shoes in the hallway, thrusting her feet into a pair of ancient slippers. Merryn’s comment about Ashley’s husband making pots of money was obviously true. Or perhaps it was old money? If the family had lived in the village for two generations, it quite possibly was.