Page 9 of The Twilight Garden

‘I take it the job doesn’t come with a private health package?’ she asked, smiling so Willow would know she wasn’t being serious.

Willow swallowed. ‘It doesn’t even come with any pay.’ Her voice was quiet. ‘But there are plenty of benefits. What those are, however, like beauty, is very much in the eye of the beholder.’ She smiled. ‘Oh, and full board and lodging as the advert said. Plenty of biscuits… Plus all the wind, rain and sun you can handle, and the view is free, too. Would you like to look around?’

Gemma paused. ‘I don’t know… I really need to earn some money. I didn’t think you’d be offering much in the way of pay, but none at all…’

Willow nodded, looking a little crestfallen. ‘I do understand. But if you came to live here you might not need as much money as you think. That’s kind of the point. There’d be no rent to pay, or money for food…’

‘Yes, but what about bills?’ Gemma still hadn’t done anything about the large number of subscriptions she needed to cancel, and the reality of what she would have to do without was just beginning to dawn on her.

‘We’d cover all those too,’ added Willow. ‘Any of the costs of living here. You wouldn’t have to contribute to any of them.’

‘Okay, but clothes then? Toiletries? There’s all kinds of stuff when you think about it.’

‘I know,’ said Willow. ‘And I’m sorry. We’d pay you if we could. Maybe in time, I don’t know…’ She shook her head. ‘But I could make any clothes you needed meanwhile. I can sew, and knit.’

Gemma was trying to listen to the more logical part of her brain which kept telling her to ask more pertinent questions, but for some reason was focusing instead on the colourful pair of dungarees Willow was wearing. ‘Did you make those?’ she asked.

Willow nodded. ‘They used to be our dining room curtains. But, look, they’ve got huge pockets. Who doesn’t love an outfit with pockets?’ She got to her feet and spun around, striking a pose and laughing as she did so.

‘Well, you’ve got me there,’ admitted Gemma, meeting Willow’s grin. ‘Although I’ve never seen myself as a dungarees kind of girl. No offence,’ she added quickly. ‘They look lovely on you.’ They did – she wasn’t lying.

‘I can make skirts too. And dresses. All with pockets…’ Willow laughed again. ‘Can you tell how desperate we are?’ But then she checked herself. ‘Oh God, that was really rude. That makes it sound like we’d take anyone with a pulse but⁠—’

Gemma held up a hand. ‘It’s okay. No offence taken. I know what you meant.’ The two women exchanged another smile.

‘So can I show you around?’ asked Willow again. ‘I’d really love to. At least have a look now you’ve come all this way.’ She glanced out of the window. ‘I can lend you an umbrella.’

Gemma inhaled a deep breath, thinking about the last interview she’d attended. The one with Neil McPherson, a man wearing a sharp suit with perfectly manicured nails who had offered her the world and didn’t even have the decency to contact her when it got sucked into a black hole. Willow, on the other hand… It was a question of who she trusted more. And the answer to that had suddenly become abundantly clear.

‘Go on then,’ she said. ‘I’d love to see it.’ She got to her feet, looking around her. ‘Is this where I’d be staying?’

Willow’s expression was momentarily blank before light dawned, transforming her face. She laughed. ‘God no, this place is just what’s left of an old farmhouse. It hasn’t been used in donkey’s years.’ She looked around the room they were standing in. ‘Although I use the term loosely – it’s not really any kind of house just now, more a collection of outbuildings; we use it for storage at the moment, and making the odd cup of tea when we’re too wet and muddy to go back to our house.’

Gemma nodded. She didn’t want to show it but she was very relieved to find out this wasn’t where she might be living.

As it turned out, despite the building’s semi-derelict nature, the rooms were full of equipment, and all of it exceptionally well-ordered – the walls hanging with gleaming tools: spades, forks, shears and all manner of things, quite a few of which Gemma couldn’t even name.

‘First rule of smallholding,’ said Willow. ‘Never, ever throw anything away. Whatever we aren’t using immediately gets put in here, along with anything we don’t think we do need, because you never know when it’ll come in handy. You’d be amazed how many times a raid on this room has saved our bacon.’

Gemma raised her umbrella as they walked back out into the rain. ‘So how long have you been here?’ she asked.

‘We’ve owned the land just under two and a half years, but have only been living on-site full-time for about eight months. It took a while to get planning permission and then build somewhere to live – we’ve got a friend helping us with that, but he isn’t here all the time and the dreadful weather last year slowed us down. Like I said, it’s a work in progress.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Like pretty much everything else, but it’s coming along.’ She pointed ahead of her. ‘We’ll go this way first, and I can show you what we’re working on at the moment.’

The next forty minutes passed in a blur of words and explanations, most of which meant nothing to Gemma – reed beds, water recovery, boreholes – and although she fought the feeling, the words she did understand filled her with trepidation. That there was a lot going on here was never in doubt, but Gemma had no idea how she could help with any of it, and the reality of what some lifting and manual labour entailed was beginning to make itself very clear. She’d glossed over that bit when she’d first read the advert, but Gemma wasn’t exactly in the first flush of youth, and a sedentary job coupled with too little time had meant that exercise had been non-existent. She’d never tested how fit she was but she suspected she knew the answer. Long gone were the days when she used to walk for miles.

‘It’s a lot to take in, I know,’ said Willow, looking anxiously at her expression. ‘But none of the work is difficult and you’d be with me most of the time, so I’d show you what to do. Rowan does all the technical stuff, leaving me to look after the crops. It’s just gardening really… on a slightly bigger scale.’

Gemma smiled. ‘Deadheading roses I can do. In fact, I was quite a keen gardener in my younger years. It was my mum’s thing really but I helped her on a regular basis. She taught me everything I know, but something tells me there’s a lot more to what you’re doing here than that.’

‘Oh…’ Willow paused. ‘We don’t have any roses, but you could grow some. There’s a garden behind the old farmhouse… we think. It’s a bit overgrown at the moment.’ She pulled a face. ‘I’m concentrating on fruit and vegetables for now, but a proper garden would be lovely. Perhaps that’s something you might like to do? Something you can make your own?’ She gazed out over the higgledy-piggledy area in front of them, real pride in her eyes. Gemma appreciated her passion, but it was hard for her to see how it might ever be pretty.

‘Come and see the house,’ said Willow, touching her arm lightly. ‘I can show you your room. At least see that before you make up your mind.’

The rain was beginning to ease as they walked past a stand of apple trees and back towards the old farmhouse. Gemma lowered her umbrella to peer ahead. A patch of blue sky had gained mastery over the gloom and was showing itself through the gaps in the trees, flashing off of something which— Gemma stopped dead as they reached the clearing beyond. It was the last thing she expected to see.

‘The rooms are hexagons,’ said Willow, with a wide grin. ‘All butted together so the whole lot looks a bit like a honeycomb. Isn’t it fabulous?’

‘It’s incredible,’ replied Gemma. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it.’