Page 39 of The Twilight Garden

She began to walk the line of the brambles they’d been clearing, a tiny patch, and even though they hadn’t found any trace of the paths they’d been looking for, it was a start. And already there was a difference. It looked like a place which could become something, and in her mind’s eye she could imagine it, in the golden hours of a late summer afternoon, tall heads of lavender swaying drowsily to the hum of bees… She walked on, picking her way through the undergrowth, trying to fill her head with visions of how it could be. Anything to distract her from the horrible scenes of earlier.

She stopped suddenly, some sense preventing her from stepping into an area of flattened grass, almost under the line of hedge but not quite. Something had come this way and she peered closer, parting the taller stems of grass to see into the shallow depression which had been formed there. Inside was something made of soft fur, small and perfectly still, a single gleaming eye turned towards her. Heart beating harder, she straightened, looking around. Although the straw-coloured fronds mostly camouflaged what lay beneath, the furry bundle was essentially out in the open and could be found by anything that had a mind to do so. Surely it should be tucked safely in a burrow?

Anxiety rose in her throat and Gemma instinctively backed away, taking slow, careful steps until she was far enough away that she could move more quickly. Willow would know what to do, and with that thought in her head, she hurried back to the house.

The kitchen was empty when she arrived but her anguished call brought Willow running.

‘There’s a rabbit out in the field,’ she said. ‘A baby one. I think it must be hurt and I wasn’t sure what to do.’

Willow’s face fell immediately. ‘I hate it when that happens. Often there’s nothing we can do, but you feel so useless… and it’s horrible knowing that something is suffering. Nature can be so cruel at times.’ She unhooked her jacket from beside the door. ‘Do you want to show me where it is? Although I doubt there’s much I can do.’

Gemma nodded. ‘It’s over in the garden.’

She led Willow straight there, parting the grass so that she could see what Gemma had discovered.

Willow bent down, peering closer before speaking, her voice breathy with wonder. ‘Oh… there’s two of them… leverets,’ she whispered. ‘Baby hares…’ She raised a hand signalling caution. ‘Hello, little ones.’ She turned to Gemma with the same smile on her face that Gemma remembered from the first time they’d met – serenity and warmth. Enchantment, that’s what it was. She drew back and joined Gemma. ‘How lucky are we?’ she said.

Gemma paused, a little confused. Willow didn’t seem in the least concerned. ‘But shouldn’t we cover them up or something? They’ll get eaten.’

Willow shook her head. ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘The best thing we can do is leave them alone.’

‘But…’ Gemma peered to where the hares were lying. They were hard to see unless you knew they were there, but even so. ‘That seems so cruel. They’ve obviously been abandoned. Are they sick, do you think?’

Willow’s smile was gentle as she took Gemma’s arm, motioning that they should walk away. ‘No, it’s all exactly as it should be,’ she said. ‘Hares don’t use burrows in the same way that rabbits do. Instead they make a kind of nest – a form, it’s called – no more than a shallow dip really, but it’s enough. She leaves her babies there and probably won’t come back until dusk when she’ll feed them.’

Gemma frowned. ‘But they won’t survive.’

‘They will though. By leaving them alone the mother doesn’t draw any attention to them. It seems odd, I know, but that’s how it works. The leverets know to keep perfectly still. That’s what keeps them alive. Isn’t it wonderful?’ Her eyes began to gleam with tears. ‘And what an absolutely perfect day to find them. Thank you, Gemma. Rowan will be so happy. We knew we had hares here but we’ve never seen any young.’ She began to walk back to the house, excitement quickening her steps.

Gemma lagged behind her a moment. ‘It might keep them alive, but how horrible to have to live like that. It’s not really any kind of life, is it?’

‘Oh, but it is! Have you ever seen them when they’re dancing? Out in the fields on a summer’s evening. They jump, leap for joy, with the sheer thrill of being alive. And run? You’ve never seen anything so fast. They more than make up for a few hours of stillness. It’s the most wonderful trade-off, don’t you think?’

Gemma stared at her. She could understand what Willow meant, but it didn’t seem that way to her at all. All she could see were two babies, huddled in the grass out of fear for their lives. Nothing about this day was perfect.

14

The break-in had shaken them all. Upended the peace and the calm, the happy rhythm of their days, and in their place left a turbulence riven with unease that someone could wilfully encroach on what was theirs and wreak such havoc. To steal was one thing, but it was quite another to break, to destroy, to leave nothing behind, in full knowledge of what they were doing.

It took another day before anyone could bring themselves to go back to the old farmhouse. To put right anything that was left and salvage what they could. Even broken things had their uses, they knew that more than most, but there was broken and there was smashed to pieces…

So it was with a heavy heart that Gemma approached the hencoop that morning, the last of her tasks before facing the mess. The book she had borrowed from the library lay unopened on the small table beside her bed, its secrets still uncovered. Because what was the point? Whatever she discovered and however much it fired her enthusiasm to get back to the garden, she couldn’t create anything with her bare hands.

A hazy veil of mist still clung to the ground as she walked but the sun would soon chase it away, continuing its mild warming of the henpecked soil. It would be a while before it was turned into the hot, dry dust of summer, but already the change in temperature had summoned life where seemingly there had been none. The hedges were beginning to blossom, filling out in swathes of frothy white, and the stark lines of winter had been gently softened.

She collected the eggs and refreshed the water trough, mentally tallying the hens as she did so. It was second nature to her now – watching as Myrtle dashed forward, always the first to investigate anything, while Jemima was always the last. Knowing that when she was done in the coop she would go to the spot under the hedge by the apple trees where Eloise insisted on laying her eggs.

Standing for a moment, she closed her eyes, her face upturned towards the sky. It was still a little chilly, the spring was late in coming this year, but at some point over the last few weeks Gemma had become acclimatised to the cold. She no longer sought to hide from it, wanting to burrow herself away inside, but instead knew that the more she moved, the warmer she would become. And there was always the promise of returning to the house, with fingers tingling and cheeks glowing, feeling the bloom of heat and the comfort of a hot drink. It made her body feel alive in a way she couldn’t remember feeling before.

But this morning, there was a new memory to revisit. That of her first day at the farm, when she had come to collect the eggs and all she had seen was mud, and dirt, ugliness and disorder. All she had felt was what was missing from her life, not what she had gained. She breathed slowly, taking the air deep inside her lungs as she realised that what was missing was the clamour of her life before, the constant weight of unanswered emails, of a to-do list which never seemed to end, and the feeling of helplessness at never being in the right place – pulled between her work and the care of her mum, the guilt, the frustration, and the anger…

But there was also the knowledge that she had always, always managed to keep the plates spinning well enough so that none of them crashed to the ground. She had solved problems, weathered setback after setback, and adapted to the challenges they brought. She had done it time and time again, and she could do so now. Just like the iron earth, resilient in the knowledge that it would warm and soften and bring forth life. And this time she would face her new challenges with the comfort of companionship, something which made anything she was facing so much easier by being shared…

It was a good feeling to build upon. It could be a good day if she chose to make it so… She said goodbye to each of the hens in turn and headed back to the house. Yes, there was a garden waiting to be discovered, but there was a job to be done first.

It wasn’t just the absence of tools which would cause them problems, but all the other bits of equipment that had been damaged or spoiled in some way. There were carefully hoarded seeds, whose packets had been ripped open. Bags of manure and compost whose sacks had been split; even bamboo canes and stakes had been snapped into several pieces – all of it had been useful, and all of it would need to be replaced at some point. A systematic approach was what was called for and, after Ashley and Leo had both arrived, Rowan divided them into two groups – he and Leo would look at the rooms which held their so-called ‘junk’ – the lengths of wood, the rolls of wire, old furniture, all the things which they had saved in order to be repurposed in some way. The women – Gemma, Willow and Ashley – would work their way through the rooms which had held tools and other equipment.

There were three piles to be made. One for things which were okay, one for things that could be salvaged, and one for anything which was beyond repair. Gemma had to hope that two of these piles were considerably bigger than the third. It was a time to reset and reassess before moving forward and, as Willow pointed out, it was part of a cycle – a cycle which was well-known to anyone with an interest in being self-sufficient. She had also made a batch of flapjacks, sticky with syrup and rich with dates and chocolate chips, so that by late morning the atmosphere was, if not exactly light-hearted, then buoyed up by chatter and a common purpose.