Maxine Morrey - Coming Home to Wishington Bay

‘OK.’ I slid the phone across the table. ‘Two weeks.’

The look of relief on both of their faces told me I’d done the right thing, however many knots my stomach had tied itself into.

‘But I definitely need pudding now. I’ve had a terrible shock.’

Ned rolled his eyes but I saw some of the strain there had lessened. ‘There’s some sticky toffee kicking about in the kitchen. That do?’

‘Perfect.’

* * *

Hooking the wicker basket over my forearm, I pulled the door closed behind me and began walking up the lane that led from the house. The sun was beginning to burn through the early morning mist. I knew some of the shops were yet to open but Carrie had told me about a cute little café that I should try. As I was in need of supplies – and had gained some extra time this morning since I hadn’t looked at email, financial news or social media – I thought I’d take a stroll into town and try it out. I’d even brought a book with me. To be honest, that might have been pushing the whole relaxing thing as I couldn’t remember the last time I’d read something that wasn’t a financial report but seeing the worry on Ned and Carrie’s faces had spurred me into trying a little harder, for their sakes. After all, it was only for the summer.

As the lane flattened out, I looked around, taking in the beautiful houses that butted up against the main bulk of the village. Many of these were of the same era as Gigi’s with large gardens, all beautifully landscaped and cared for, some in formal linear beds full of box hedges, and sculpted topiaries and another – perhaps my favourite – a complete riot of colour with flowers and leaves, none of which I knew the names of, rammed into bustling cottage garden borders, clashing wildly and yet harmonising at the same time.

I stopped as the scent of roses wafted headily across my path. Turning, I saw the source. A huge, tumbling and climbing rose bush scrambling across a large archway, its soft white blooms emanating clouds of perfume to anyone who passed. Impulsively I took one flower gently in my hand, inhaled, and smiled to myself at the thought I’d be able to tell my brother that I’d literally stopped to smell the roses.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

I jumped. ‘Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean …’

An older, very elegant lady in a large, wide-brimmed straw hat strolled towards me across the garden, waving my protestations away, a broad smile on her face.

‘You must be Betty’s granddaughter.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

I nodded.

‘I thought so. She always loved that rose too. Never failed to stop and give it a sniff when it was in bloom.’

I felt a little shift inside of me as I thought of my beloved grandmother and the fact that I’d just unknowingly repeated an action she must have done hundreds of times, looking at the size of the rose bush.

‘I’m Eleanor,’ the woman said, holding out her hand.

‘Holly. It’s nice to meet you. You have a very beautiful garden.’

‘Thank you. We like it.’

‘It must be a lot of work.’

‘I suppose it depends how much you enjoy gardening. There’s often a lot to do, that’s true, but if you love something, it feels less like work, don’t you find?’

‘Yes … I suppose so.’ I enjoyed what I did but there was no doubt in my mind that it most definitely felt like work.

‘Do you garden, Holly?’

‘Me? Oh no. I sort of deadheaded a few of Gigi’s flowers the other day but to be honest I haven’t a clue what I’m doing.’

‘We all learn by doing. Bertie and I had no idea what we were doing when we bought this place. It was all just lawn and that was about as much as we could cope with.’

‘But now you have all this,’ I said, my eyes roaming over the riotous colours surrounding the gleaming white of the freshly painted house.

‘We do. But there’s been a lot of trial and error. Gigi’s garden is lovely. She wasn’t especially into faffing like I am, so I helped her choose some nice low-maintenance plants. You shouldn’t have too much to do, but I’m always here if you ever want to ask anything. Bertie will laugh and tell you not to wake the dragon.’ She had a fabulous laugh that made you want to join her. ‘I’m not quite sure if I should be offended by the mention of the word dragon when he says that but when you’ve been married as long as we have …’ She flapped her hand and laughed again.

‘That’s really kind of you to offer, thank you. I appreciate that. I’ll probably just tidy it a little bit. Gabe has been good enough to keep an eye on it I think – it’s not as overgrown as I thought it might be so that’s one less thing to worry about before getting the estate agents round.’

‘Gabe was a godsend for Betty. I think she enjoyed having him there to fuss over.’

‘I think you’re right.’

‘But estate agents? Does that mean you’re not staying?’

‘Unfortunately not. I live in London.’

‘It’s a perfect weekend retreat,’ she said, a twinkle in her eye.

I smiled, seeing immediately how well my grandmother and Eleanor would have got on, imagining them chatting as we were now, as Gigi took her almost daily stroll into town.

‘It would be. I mean, it is. It’s just … I work a lot.’

Eleanor tilted her head a little. ‘Too much, from what I hear.’

‘Gigi always says that … I mean said that.’ I swallowed hard at my inadvertent tense error.

Eleanor reached over the low wall and patted my hand. ‘It’s not just Betty who told me that about you. We go to Ned and Carrie’s restaurant all the time.’

‘Oh. I see.’

‘But it’s nice to see you taking some time here anyway.’

‘Yes. I’m actually on sabbatical from my job for a few months, so this seemed the perfect place to spend it.’

‘Well, maybe we’ll grow on you.’ She squeezed my hand, smiling.

‘Oh, I already know I love it here. I just have to be practical. Unfortunately.’

‘Practical can be a little over-rated.’ There was that glint again.

I shook my head, laughing. ‘You’re as bad as my grandmother was.’

‘That’s probably why we were such good friends.’

I smiled. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Oh, my dear.’ She cupped my face for a moment with one hand, both linked in our grief of missing someone who had meant such a lot to each of us.

‘Off to explore the village then?’ A man’s voice drifted out before a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman appeared from behind one of the large borders. ‘I hope my Eleanor hasn’t been interrogating you about your garden.’ His wife rolled her eyes but the love of decades showed on both their faces.

‘Bertie. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Holly, and you.’

‘This is Betty’s granddaughter.’

‘I thought it might be. You have your grandmother’s eyes.’

‘Doesn’t she?’ Eleanor said, turning to him. It wasn’t the first time I’d been told this. Personally, I’d never seen it. I mean they’d been the same colour but Gigi’s had always been full of laughter and mischief. Mine, not so much.

‘Stocking up the larder?’ he asked, indicating the basket.

‘Yes. It’s ages since I had a good nose around the village so I thought I’d take advantage.’

‘Capital idea.’

I smiled at the slightly dated language, which seemed absolutely correct coming from this upright gent, with his military bearing and hair as white as his house.

‘Well, it was lovely to meet you both.’

‘And you, Holly. And don’t forget, we’re always around. If you need anything, just pop up.’

‘Thank you. I will.’

We said our goodbyes and I headed on up the lane and into the village, pondering over the encounter. I’d been in my flat in London for over seven years and I could count on one hand the number of words I’d exchanged with any of my neighbours. I’d never even been inclined to. I, and they, were always in such a rush. Nobody had time to talk. But here in Wishington Bay, things were different. Very different. And worryingly, I rather liked it.