Page 47 of The Twilight Garden

A sudden sob rose swiftly in her throat, spilling tears down her cheeks and catching her unawares. How her mum would have loved to see them. Delphiniums were one of her favourite flowers too.

She didn’t hear the movement behind her, only felt the dog’s presence when it pushed a gentle nose under her arm. It pushed again, asking to be let under, and she lifted it wide, allowing him to come closer. She sat back, unfurling her legs from underneath her so she could sit cross-legged, knowing that the moment she did so Mulligan would be in her lap, no matter his size.

He sat facing forward, pressing the warmth of his back against her chest, but twisting his head so that his nose was inches from her own, his soft eyes on hers. He was watching her, waiting for her signal, every inch of him wanting to offer comfort but only if she allowed it. Whether it was some softening of her expression, or a slight adjustment in her posture, she didn’t know, but the moment she thought about throwing her arms around him, he pushed his body harder against her, his broad head nuzzling her chin, catching her teardrops as they fell. She burrowed her face in his fur and curled her fingers into its soft depths. And she let herself cry. For all that had gone, but also for all that she had found. Her mum would have loved this garden, entranced by the thought of it just as Gemma was, and now she had another reason to finish what she had started.

Eventually, the sounds of the garden returned to her – the sharp warble of a robin close by, leading the birdsong which surrounded her, and the sound of a plane droning far in the distance. She lifted her head, aware that another feeling was growing inside of her, replacing her thoughts of loss with those of hope, and she could feel it buoying her up so that she was no longer drowning, but swimming.

‘Where’s your master, huh?’ She ruffled the fur on Mulligan’s head. ‘I expect he’s wondering where you are.’ She got slowly to her feet, hampered by the dog, who was reluctant to move, and turned around, scanning the garden and the area around the old farmhouse for any sign of Leo, but there was none. ‘Go on then, Mulligan, off you go…’ She raised her eyebrows at the dog but he was suddenly playing dumb. ‘Okay, then, but don’t get me into trouble, will you?’ She swiped a hand across her cheeks, wiping away the last of her tears, and bent to pick up her fork. It was time to get cracking.

She worked solidly for almost three hours before a piercing whistle split the air, and Mulligan, who had been lying nearby, scrambled to his feet with a loud bark. The whistle came again, at which point he shot off, scampering out of the garden at speed. With a groan at her protesting back, Gemma straightened and checked her watch. It was lunchtime.

Tempting though it was to carry on working, Gemma knew that if she did so she’d never make it through until dinner, so she scooped up the piece of cardboard she’d been using as a kneeler, together with the fork, and made her way slowly back to the house.

She could see Leo ahead of her as she rounded the corner of the farmhouse, Mulligan bouncing by his side, but the moment her feet sounded on the flagstones in the yard, the dog turned on his heels and hurtled back towards her. Much to her chagrin, and despite her efforts to convince him to do otherwise, Mulligan glued himself to her side the rest of the way home.

Not surprisingly, Leo was waiting for her by the door with a smirk on his lips.

‘Seems I’ve been thrown over,’ he said, but his smile was warm.

‘He just appeared from nowhere, but…’ She had no idea whether Leo would have remembered her birthday or not. And if he hadn’t remembered it was her birthday, he wouldn’t have remembered it was her mum’s either. ‘He’s been very good company,’ she finished, unable or unwilling to let Leo know quite how welcome Mulligan’s presence had been.

‘Well, you’re friends for life now,’ he said. ‘Have you had a good morning?’

Was there a slight edge to his voice? Some deeper meaning to his question than just the simple enquiry it appeared to be?

And despite her earlier tears, she could feel her face lighting up in response. ‘I did… I found some delphiniums, would you believe? Teeny-tiny things, quite buried. They’ll probably be leggy and might not even flower, but they’re there all the same and I…’ She trailed off, unable to get the words past her throat. ‘I’m amazed I’ve actually found anything.’

Leo looked past her, over her shoulder, as if he was able to see the garden from where he was standing. ‘Will you show me? Later? I’d like to see them. And I will come and help again. I’ve been meaning to, it’s just that Rowan and I… There’s so much to do, and we⁠—’

‘Leo, you have your own work here, I know that. I don’t expect you to help, and Ashley would have been here today only she had to cancel at the last minute. It’s lovely to finally find the proof that the garden was here, and even lovelier to uncover some of the plants, but I’m under no illusion that the garden is going to magically transform. It won’t be this year. It might not be next year either, but that’s gardening for you. If you’re looking for fast results then you probably ought not to be a gardener.’

‘So you see yourself staying then?’

The question came so out of the blue that Gemma blinked in surprise. She was talking metaphorically more than anything, not suggesting for one minute that it would be her who would finish the garden but… who knew what the rest of the year would bring, let alone the one after that?

‘I have no idea,’ she said truthfully. ‘I haven’t even thought about it and besides, it’s not my decision to make – I’m here under Willow and Rowan’s continued blessing. I didn’t exactly plan to come here in the first place.’

‘But now that you have…? You don’t regret it, do you?’

Gemma’s cheeks began to burn. ‘Regret’s a harsh word, Leo… I had no expectations coming here, but it’s beautiful and I hadn’t realised how much I missed being outside. But beyond that? I don’t know. I have no clue what my life is right now, not really. It’s just been me and my four walls, pretty much, for months, and there’s been no room for anything else.’ She didn’t want to mention June’s name, not today. ‘I really don’t know where I go from here.’

He studied her face for a moment. ‘There’s no rush,’ he said. ‘There’s time here, Gemma. That’s what I’ve learned since I arrived. Time to work things out. It’ll come.’

He smiled and turned to open the door, something which Gemma, who was now staring at his back in surprise, was very grateful for. She had no desire for him to see her face, so she followed him in, keeping her head low.

With her brain still mulling over his words, it took her a moment to process the scene in front of her. The kitchen table, which was often covered in a random assortment of things at this time of the day, had been cleared, and place settings laid. A posy of flowers stood in the one where she habitually sat and several plates and bowls filled the rest of the space. In the table’s centre was a cake stand – a lovely old-fashioned thing with painted flowers and gilded edges – and on it stood the most beautiful cake, decorated with fresh cream and raspberries.

And then Willow was there, pulling Gemma into a tight hug before leading her to the table.

‘We couldn’t let the day go by ignored,’ she said. ‘Leo told us it was your special day – I hope you don’t mind. Happy birthday, Gemma.’

Gemma looked between Willow and Leo, the table and Rowan, who was leaning up against the sink, smiling broadly. How could she possibly mind? They had gone to so much trouble and looked so happy for her. Her nose was beginning to smart, the first sign of tears, and she blinked rapidly, picking up the flowers. She inhaled their sweet scent.

‘These are beautiful, really… Thank you so much.’ Larkspur and carnations, tiny sprays of daisies and velvety roses – all flowers which Flora would have grown in her garden. They had been a deliberate choice, of that she was certain.

‘I don’t know what to say. I really wasn’t expecting any of this.’

‘Well, you’re very naughty not to tell us,’ said Rowan. ‘Every little thing should be celebrated.’