Breakfast With Mr Gillyflower
Hannah’s move to the country was working brilliantly. She’d always wanted to move out of the town and live surrounded by fields and woodland, with stunning views. And she saw no reason why she should wait until she was of retirement age to have her dream. The property boom was also a factor. She sold her house in Bristol at the top of the market and bought a tiny, but adorable, cottage – also at the top of the market – in the Cotswolds. She had spare cash with which to do it up from the sale of her Bristol house and she loved her new life. So far, she hadn’t had time to be lonely.
She set up a little workspace so she could gaze at hills that gradually became greener as the year edged out of winter into spring. The Severn snaked its silver way to the Bristol Channel and lambs appeared on the hill. Every day she felt joy in her new surroundings, glad that she’d ignored her city friends’ negative opinions about turning bucolic so young, their worries about her having no companions her own age.
“There’s a cottage being done up just near me,” she told them. “A lovely family might move in. The woman and I will start a book group.”
Although she had been joking, the village did have a lot more to offer than many. It wasn’t only filled with commuters and retired people. There were many young families and a few newly-weds. She hadn’t come across many single people in her age group, but there was a good friendly pub, a thriving shop with a post office. There was even a hairdresser’s, which, although more accustomed to traditional wash-and-sets and perms, could do a passable cut-and-blow-dry and keep Hannah in reasonable shape in-between visits to her old hairdresser.
When her work was done or if she needed a break, she climbed the hill so she could see beyond the Severn to Wales. Although she couldn’t decide if she was looking at the Brecon Beacons or the Black Mountains, she could pick out the Sugar Loaf and was thrilled to be able to see so far, and to feel ancient ground under her boots.
As winter ended, she worked on her garden. It was pretty and had good soil. There were not too many perennial weeds, apart from couch grass, and even that she found fascinating, as she searched for its pointed root and got it out. The work was satisfying.
The only downside was how steep most of the garden was, and all the sun was at the top, hard to reach without stout boots. The level bit was near the house and in shade a lot of the time. But Hannah was a positive person and she made the best of it. She found a little cast-iron table and chairs in a reclamation yard that she wire-brushed and painted white so when summer finally came she could at least take a glass of wine outside.
However, on her way to the postbox was a garden she coveted. Not directly visible from the road, it was tucked away between two houses, both of which had gardens of their own, so this one wasn’t part of their property. She looked at it every time she went to post a letter, but couldn’t work out to which house it belonged. Little parcels of land belonging to houses not immediately adjacent to them were a feature of this village, she discovered; relics possibly of property once owned but since sold off.
She longed to get her hands on this garden. It was level, a nice square shape, got the sun all day and had some lovely plants. It was also very overgrown and it was this overgrown-ness that made her want it so much. She didn’t want to own it, but she desperately wanted to put it in order. No one seemed to be paying it any attention at all and it seemed a terrible waste. She spotted a wooden gate hiding under a lot of a climbing plant that might well prove to be honeysuckle. You had to go along a snicket to reach it, and its inaccessibility made it even more appealing.
She determined to find out who it belonged to and ask if she could tend it for them. She’d do it for nothing, just for the pleasure of seeing those borders cleared, the apple tree pruned and the little vegetable patch productive again. It didn’t seem to be attached to a house, but she’d got used to that concept.
Ivy at the shop knew everything. “Oh, now, that belongs to Mrs Gillyflower. She’s in hospital at the moment. She used to spend all her time in that garden. It’ll break her heart to see it so overgrown when she comes out. If she comes out,” she added gloomily.
What a wonderful name, thought Hannah, ignoring the gloom and instantly seeing Mrs Gillyflower as a trim little woman, brown as a nut, her hair in a bun, with eyes bright as a bird’s, knowing every plant by name and where it came from. “Would she mind if I looked after it for her? It breaks my heart to see it like that too.”
Ivy considered, not being one to make snap decisions. “Well, I don’t see the harm in it. You wouldn’t be doing one of those makeovers, would you, like they have on television? Putting down slabs? Painting the fence purple?”
“Certainly not!” Hannah hastened to reassure her. “I’d just tend the beds that are there, get the veg garden clear of weeds and maybe put some potatoes in? Some beans? So Mrs Gillyflower has something nice to look at when she gets back.”
“Well then, I’m sure that would be fine,” said Ivy, after inspecting Hannah for a while longer.
Hannah walked home and noticed that the house with work going on was developing a rather smart conservatory. She would like a conservatory herself and when she had worked out where one could go, would save up and have one built. But her mind was really on the garden. It was her secret garden.
Then it began to rain. Day after day, water poured down the gullies and gutters, filled the water butts and made the little stream at the end of the lane flood the road. Mrs Gillyflower’s garden became more and more overgrown. Hannah could hardly bear to see the hellebores that had flowered so bravely in the late spring covered up with nettles and goosegrass. The celandines, which had looked so optimistic and cheerful, were now taking over.
Every time Hannah went to the shop she asked after Mrs Gillyflower. Apparently she was getting on well and it was hoped she would be home soon. Hannah was beside herself with frustration at not being able to start work on the garden. The moment the rain stopped, Hannah put her garden tools into her wheelbarrow, and ignoring her own garden, wheeled it down the road and started work.
She staggered home some hours later, exhausted. She had cleared half the vegetable patch and created a new compost heap for the weeds. As she watched the water go into her bath, sending up wafts of soothing lavender salts, she hoped she wouldn’t have to bag up all those weeds and take them to the tip. The council made compost of them, so it was all right, but the work! And Hannah really wanted to make inroads into the flower-beds.
It was a few days later before Hannah was able to go back and she was pleasantly surprised to see how much she’d achieved. She knew she’d worked hard – her muscles were still reminding her – but she didn’t remember making a start on that front border or indeed finishing the vegetable patch. But as it had definitely been her plan for that day, she carried on from where she’d left off.
There was a second pile of weeds next to the compost heap she didn’t remember leaving there, but it was probably why she’d been thinking about taking some of the garden waste to the tip. She added to the pile and thought how wonderful the garden would be when the roses were out. There was a philadelphus in the corner that would fill the garden with fragrance too.
There were some lovely shrubs in the flower border, but Hannah felt when she’d finished weeding it might look a bit empty, so she made a list of things that were pretty and easy that she would either buy or cadge from neighbours. Old-fashioned aquilegias that Mrs Gillyflower was sure to call “granny’s bonnets”, snapdragons, marguerites, pinks and hardy geraniums. She’d put some sweet williams in the veg patch for planting out next year when they would flower and, of course, some of Mrs Gillyflower’s namesake – wallflowers.
Every time Hannah went there seemed to be a bit more done than she remembered doing. Not a huge amount, but just a bit. After a while she stopped thinking about it.
Then, in May, Hannah was really busy, and it was nearly the end of the month before she was able to go to Mrs Gillyflower’s again. She had checked on her progress and Ivy at the shop was able to tell her she’d be out of hospital soon, so things were getting urgent. Then came the morning when Hannah was woken by birdsong and even before the sun was properly up, before she’d had time for more than a cup of coffee, she was down there, overjoyed to be back again.
It was in surprisingly good order. The front border, nearest to the road, which she had more or less cleared, was still weed-free, although the rest of the countryside seemed to be going mad. The vegetable patch was still clear too. She spent a few minutes being surprised then settled down to work, determined to make up for lost time.
She was leaning backwards to relieve the strain on her back when she heard a male voice. “Hello!”
It didn’t come from the road, but from behind her. She turned and saw a man actually in the garden. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, fright making her abrupt.
“Actually, that’s my line.”
He was rather attractive and strangely relaxed considering he’d discovered a trespasser. Hannah took a nervous step back, into the flower-bed. “Is it?”
“Well, my line, my garden – practically the same thing.”
“It’s not your garden. It’s Mrs Gillyflower’s!” Ivy at the shop wouldn’t have given her the wrong information.
“I’m her nephew and heir.”
“Well she’s not dead, so you can’t be her heir, yet!” She paused. “She’s not dead, is she?” Tears sprung to her eyes at the thought, although she’d never met Mrs Gillyflower. Working in her garden made her feel she was an old friend, possibly even a favourite aunt. She didn’t want her to die, at least, not until she’d seen her garden again.
“No,” said the man, “but I’m afraid she won’t be able to live on her own again.”
“Oh.”
“She’ll have to go into sheltered accommodation. I’m doing up her house so we can rent it out, to help fund her care.”
So the neat little woman with the bird-like eyes and the bun at the back wouldn’t walk round the flower-beds, admire the veg patch and suggest where the sweet peas should go, happy to see her garden blooming and productive. Hannah sighed. She’d worked terribly hard to that end and now this man was here and had taken her project from her. Him being attractive made it worse, not better.
“I’d better go.” She began to gather up her tools, trying not to cry.
“Do you have to? I was really appreciating your help. I’ve been taken up with the house and haven’t been able to do all that much.”
“So you’ve been gardening here too?”
“Of course! You must have noticed. I thought I’d done quite a lot!” He seemed indignant.
Hannah sighed. “I suppose I did notice, I just – chose to ignore it, thought… I don’t know what I thought.”
“You thought the gardening fairies did it?”
Hannah bit back a sudden smile. It wasn’t funny. “Well you obviously thought they did!” she accused him. “Otherwise why didn’t you stop me? I was trespassing!”
“But in a good way! I was delighted to have help. Between us we’re getting on really well! It does seem a shame to stop now.”
“I’ve worked incredibly hard for nothing!”
“No, you haven’t. At least, you were doing it for nothing before.”
“No, I wasn’t! I was doing it for Mrs Gillyflower! I imagined her coming back from hospital, dreading to see her garden overgrown and finding it all wonderful!” She paused. “I feel such a fool!”
“There’s no need to feel a fool.”
“I should have noticed the house – which one is it?”
“The one on the corner with the new conservatory. You couldn’t possibly have guessed this was its garden. It’s going to make it quite difficult to sell if we have to, the garden being so far away.”
“It obviously didn’t bother your aunt. It was – is a lovely garden.”
“Yes, and she will see it. She can’t come back to live, but she could see the garden and she will appreciate your kindness. As I do. You’re a very kind person.”
At that moment Hannah didn’t feel kind, she felt stupid and it wasn’t pleasant.
“I won’t be able to get it all done on my own,” the man went on. “It would be wonderful if you could help.”
“And what do I get out of it?” asked Hannah, in an effort to sound tough.
He smiled and shrugged. “The usual?
A really good dinner, cooked by me, fine wine, brandy. Are you single, by the way?”
Hannah tossed her head, sure that he knew she was. “Are you?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t bribe me with offers of food, you know.”
“What can I bribe you with, then?”
Hannah had had time to think about this. “If I help you get this garden in order for your aunt, I want you to help me get my garden in order.”
“You mean you neglected your garden so you could do this one?”
“Not entirely, but it needs terracing.” This idea had only just occurred to her, but it was a good one.
“Well, I could do that, I suppose,” he said thoughtfully. “But couldn’t we do the meal thing too? I’ve been quite lonely since
I’ve been down here. It seems to be mostly young families and retired people.”
“We could go for a drink. The pub’s quite good. It does food, too.”
“But I want to try out the new kitchen.” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “My name’s Edward, Edward Gillyflower.”
A most inappropriate thought flickered into Hannah’s head as she gave him her name. If she married this man she’d be Mrs Gillyflower and this garden might actually become hers. It was a ridiculous idea and she dismissed it instantly, but she still smiled.
“Well then, Mr Gillyflower, if you promise to terrace my garden, we might well have a deal.”
“It will be my pleasure!” he said. “Where is your house?”
“Come with me and I’ll show you. I didn’t have any breakfast. I’ll make you a bacon sandwich.”
“If I call you Hannah, will you call me Edward?”
“Maybe.”
At that he hooked his arm through hers and together they walked up the hill to Hannah’s house.
Read our author interview with Katie Fforde
Read another short story by Katie Fforde
