Page 48 of The Twilight Garden

She had no idea whether Leo would have also mentioned her mum’s birthday, and Rowan’s expression gave nothing away, but that was okay. She could celebrate for both of them.

‘Come and sit down,’ said Willow. ‘But before we eat I want to give you something.’ She reached down to the seat of her own chair. ‘This is only a very small something, but…’ She passed across a parcel wrapped in brown paper. It was soft and squidgy and Gemma had no idea what it could be.

‘I wasn’t sure whether this is something you’ve ever done… but if it isn’t then I’d be very happy to teach you.’ She waited while Gemma pulled on the present’s string bow, letting the paper open to reveal a ball of wool. Spun from the softest yarn, it felt like a cloud, and was coloured the most beautiful duck-egg blue. ‘There’s enough there for a pair of socks,’ added Willow. ‘And they’re not as fiddly as most people think. I thought starting small might be a good idea.’

An image filled Gemma’s head – of the cosy sitting room, with the log fire burning bright, the curtains closed against a wintry night and a mug of hot chocolate steaming on the table beside them, and Gemma was incredibly touched that this might be the image inside Willow’s head, too. That she might see the two of them sitting together months from now. It spoke of a future which she was only now beginning to catch glimpses of.

‘I think I was about fourteen the last time I tried to knit,’ said Gemma. ‘It didn’t end well… But I’d love to learn. I have a feeling you’d be a very patient teacher.’ She held the ball of wool against her cheek. ‘Thank you. This is such a thoughtful idea.’

Rowan joined them at the table, his eyes seeking out Gemma’s, twinkling with pleasure. It wasn’t just Willow; this meant a lot to him, too. ‘Right, tuck in. I’m starving, and the sooner we eat this lot, the sooner we get to the cake.’

There was a homemade quiche, Glamorgan sausages with a spicy mustard dip which complemented their creamy leek and cheese filling perfectly, poppy-seed crackers and Stilton so strong it almost took the roof of your mouth off (which was just the way Gemma liked it). Bowls of salad had been picked fresh from the greenhouses, and a herby loaf was still warm from the oven. She could detect both Willow and Rowan’s hand in the making of the feast, but quite when it had happened she couldn’t fathom. That it had, touched her beyond measure.

With the day finally waning, Gemma pushed open her bedroom door, revisiting the thoughts which had been in her head that morning when she’d left it. She had built the day up into something to be feared, a passage of time to be bravely borne without any expectation that it might be pleasurable in any way. And yet a simple act of kindness had transformed it. She stopped, checking herself. Because it hadn’t just been one act of kindness which had transformed it, it had been two… Leo had shared the fact that it was her birthday, knowing, even if he made no reference to it, that it would be hard for her. And he had done so because he knew that Willow and Rowan would never let the information slip by unacted upon. And their kindnesses had multiplied, filling the day with joy, its effect intensified simply because it had been so unexpected. She smiled to herself. There was a lot to think about.

A sudden chime alerted her to an arriving message on her phone. Her bedroom seemed to be one of the few places in the house where she could reliably pick up any signal, and she realised how little she thought to check for them now. Whereas once her phone had been a constant presence in her hand, now she rarely gave it any thought. She tapped a finger on the screen.

Happy birthday, Gemma!

I can’t believe I’m not there or you’re not here… I think this must be the first one in yonks we haven’t spent some part of together. Although… do you remember that year we got so drunk one lunchtime, I fell asleep at my desk and by some miracle you managed to wake me up a split second before Abby caught me? That was a close call! We’re getting old though, girlfriend, I don’t think I could do that now…

I really hope you have a happy day. I keep picturing you miserable and wading through mud, but if I get my way, you’ll be back in the land of the living soon! Shiny Rachel has messed up big time – and nothing to do with me before you ask – but Abby was LIVID! She didn’t ask my opinion, obviously, but I let it slip that sometimes experience is way better than youthful arrogance, however well meaning…

Tell me all your news. Is Leo still there? He had better be behaving himself.

Anyway, gotta go, just wanted to say I hope you have an amazing day, you truly deserve it, Gemma. I know this one will be difficult for you, but next year will be better, I promise.

Lots of love xxx

P.S. Sorry not to send your present but I didn’t think it was the kind of thing you’d want to have there, just in case it got ruined. I’ll give it to you when I see you – soon!

Gemma reread the message a second time, but the flicker of irritation was still there. Granted, she hadn’t been able to message Cat much, but she had told her once or twice now how excited she was about the garden. And yet Cat still seemed determined to believe the worst. Gemma chewed at the inside of her lip. But then again, it was her who gave Cat that impression in the first place, so she could hardly be blamed. She peered at her phone screen, holding it towards the light to see it better, but whatever signal there had been now seemed to have disappeared. And it was getting late. She needed to take her book back to the library tomorrow; she would message Cat then and say thank you.

Dropping her phone on her bed, she was about to turn back the duvet when she noticed that something else had been left there – an oblong wrapped in a botanical print paper and tied with a scrap of raffia. She sat down, bringing it onto her lap.

That it was from Leo was obvious. No one else would be giving her gifts, and it was just like him to leave it for her instead of giving it to her face to face. But perhaps that was for the best…

It was a book. A copy of one her mum had given her a long time ago, but which was now lost to time. It was beautifully bound with a tactile cloth cover, and what seemed to be… She looked closer, running her finger over the stitches – yes, embroidered in one corner. The Language of Flowers…

She opened the cover, excited to see the illustrations she knew so well and, as she did so, something blue fell into her lap. Small, delicate and bound with a tiny white ribbon. It was a bunch of forget-me-nots, dried and pressed so carefully that every feature of the original was still visible, the soft colour just as it had always been. Lifting it carefully, she touched a finger to one of the petals with the lightest of caresses, emotion tightening her throat. She didn’t need the book to know their significance, to know that they represented the endurance of love.

Underneath where the pressed flowers had lain inside the book was a packet of seeds, together with a handwritten message.

Things may change, they may never be as they once were, but what was loved never truly dies, and is remembered in the heart, always.

18

The skies had been clear for days now. The winds no more than a breeze, and the sun high and warm. The hours stretched effortlessly into light-filled evenings, and they had never been busier.

Gemma inhaled a deep breath and let her eyes wander over the garden in front of her. Because it was a garden now, that much was certain. The brambles and nettles had finally been beaten, and the flowerbeds were slowly being cleared, but each one had surprised her, revealing just how tenacious nature could be. That there were any plants still surviving was a miracle, but she hadn’t expected there to be so many. They were thin and straggly, weaker than they should be, but in time, with care and the life-giving sun and rain they now had access to, they would flourish.

The garden was always her first port of call each morning and the last one at night. A time to take in the new day, to pause before the work began in earnest, and then to reflect on all that had already been accomplished.

Moments later, she made her way through the apple trees towards the hencoop, pausing to lean closer and inhale the fragrant blossom. She was beginning to feel as if she’d been at the farm for years, and it was only as each new thing appeared that she was reminded she was seeing them for the first time.

When she had first arrived, these trees were bare, the ground beneath them covered in leaves and the odd rotten windfall. Now they were soft with pink petals, and soon the first tiny apples would begin to show. Each season changed the landscape, its palette of colours and the riches it grew, and it was hard to think that she might miss what came next. She turned the thought aside and carried on her way. The future was as yet still undefined, and it made no sense to think about what it might hold one day when she could enjoy the present right now.

Lost in her delight of the scents and sounds around her, it took her a moment to realise what was wrong. To acknowledge that the hens pecking at the ground should not be there at all but inside the coop, waiting patiently to be let out. She frowned. It was possible that Willow or Rowan had already been to give them their breakfast, but it had become an unwritten part of her morning routine and besides, they probably would have mentioned it had that been the case.