Catherine Ferguson - Green Beans and Summer Dreams

‘Lucky you.’

‘How’s Jess?’ She grins over at the counter. ‘Of Jess ‘n’ Wes?’

‘Stop it,’ I admonish her. ‘You know she hates that.’

Anna shrugs. ‘It’s not my fault they’re a rhyming couplet. Back in a sec.’ She plonks her scarf on the table and rushes over to join Jess at the counter.

I smile, watching as she loops her arm round Jess’s shoulders.

Thank goodness for friends.

When Jamie and I first moved down here, the only person I knew was Jess. We’d met at Edinburgh University and she’d lived in the same flat as me for a while after we graduated. But then she’d found a job as a sub-editor on a newspaper in Surrey, where her family lived, and moved back down there.

We met Anna a year ago. She works as an events organiser, and Jess’s newspaper employed Anna’s company to set up a charity event for Comic Relief.

I remember Jess phoning me in a panic. She’d agreed to have lunch with Anna, who she barely knew, after the event. ‘She’s a bit – erm – whacky. Sort of loud . And very opinionated.’

Jess can be a bit shy with new people. She begged me to ‘drop by’ for support.

I laughed and said I would. So the three of us had lunch and actually, it turned out to be a riot. Anna kept us in stitches the whole time, waving her arms about in illustration and nearly sending a waiter’s tray of glasses flying. She was in the process of doing up a flat and was intrigued to see what I’d done with Farthing Cottage. So I invited her and Jess round for supper and we’ve been good friends ever since.

When we’re all settled and I have rediscovered the delights of Pecan Nut and Raisin Crunch, I turn to Anna. ‘So how’s Peter? Still whisking you off for a romantic weekend?’

Anna shrugs. ‘I think so.’

‘When?’

‘Next Friday.’ She picks up her spoon and toys pensively with the froth on her cappuccino.

‘You don’t look very excited,’ points out Jess.

Anna’s mouth twists. ‘Well, he’s not “the one”, if that’s what you’re thinking. We’re not “in lurve” or anything.’

I grin at her. ‘So what are you?’

‘We’re friends.’ She shrugs. ‘Friends who occasionally sleep together.’

I give her a look that says, forgive me if I’m sceptical but seeing Peter twice during the week and most Saturday nights does not, in my book, fall into the ‘occasionally’ category.

‘Peter’s lovely,’ sighs Jess.

It’s true. He’s a big, beefy guy with a soft centre. Funny and really laid-back. Plus it’s obvious he adores Anna.

‘He’s way too keen.’ Anna clatters the spoon back in the saucer. ‘I keep telling him I don’t want anything heavy but he’d still see me every night if he could.’

‘But why don’t you want a proper relationship?’ Jess asks anxiously.

‘Because I don’t, all right?’ snaps Anna. ‘And anyway, how’s Wes, Jess?’

Jess purses her lips. ‘It’s Wesley . And he’s fine, thanks.’

‘You said sex with Peter was the best you’d ever had,’ I remind Anna.

She rounds on me. ‘Well, you thought CLB was bloody perfect and look how that turned out.’

I grit my teeth. I really don’t need reminding.

‘Sorry.’ Anna presses my hand. ‘It’s just I could murder him for shagging around like that.’

Jess frowns at her. ‘He wasn’t “shagging around” as you so delicately put it.’ She turns to me. ‘He wasn’t, was he?’

I shake my head. ‘He was just shagging Emma.’ And that, of course, is even worse.

Anna places her palms on the table. ‘Well, it just confirms what I’ve always thought. Men look after themselves. Women look after each other.’

‘Speaking of which, I brought that job advert for you, Izzy,’ Jess announces as she delves into her bag.

As she rummages, a glossy magazine falls out onto the floor. The bride on the cover is a vision in satin and tulle, her honey-coloured hair piled up into an elaborate work of art. She is smiling a secret smile. And why wouldn’t she? She’s found perfect bliss and will be a princess for a day.

Jess shoots me a glance and shoves the magazine back in her bag as if it were red-hot porn.

She hands me the newspaper clipping. ‘One of our receptionists is going on maternity leave. Why don’t you try for it? I know it’s not PR but it might tide you over until you land something else?’

I pick it up and nod my head slowly as if I’m studying the advert. Then I look up at their watchful expressions.

‘The thing is… what I’ve decided to do…’ I place the clipping carefully on the table. ‘Well, I think it might be time for a change. I want to do something I really love. And I think gardening might be that something.’

There, I’ve said it.

‘So I was thinking I might try to turn the garden into a business.’

Two pairs of brows arch in bafflement. Either I have transmogrified into an alien or they fear they have greatly over-estimated the extent of my mental recovery.

‘You’re going to turn your garden,’ Anna repeats slowly, ‘into a business.’

There’s a further wedge of silence as they continue to stare.

Then a light goes on over Jess’s head. ‘Oh, you mean you’re going to open your garden up to the public? Like the National Trust?’ She frowns. ‘Is it big enough, though? I know you’ve got that field your Auntie Midge used to keep her rescue donkeys in, but even so—’

Anna snorts. ‘No, dumbo. She means grow potatoes and sell them.’ She looks at me doubtfully. ‘ Is that what you mean?’

‘Well, yes, I would be growing potatoes,’ I say, somewhat deflated. ‘But it would be much more than that.’

The excitement I felt at five this morning, when I woke with a plan, is ebbing away with depressing speed. But they’re both nodding so I plough on. ‘Remember last year when I grew all different kinds of crops? Well, there’s room to nearly quadruple the size of the plot—’

‘And this will pay your bills?’ interrupts Anna. ‘That’s a hell of a lot of potatoes, if you don’t mind me saying.’

‘But she’s not just growing potatoes,’ reminds Jess. ‘It’s carrots and leeks and—’

‘Yes, yes, I know that.’ Anna frowns. ‘The potatoes were metaphoric .’

‘Oh, right.’ Jess nods.

I shake my head at them. ‘You don’t understand. I wouldn’t be growing it all myself.’

Anna leans forward. ‘So who…?’

‘I’ve looked into it. There are companies based in London that sell a huge range of organic fruit and vegetables. Anything you want, really. So I’d get a delivery of all the basics – like potatoes, carrots and broccoli – and also some of the exotic stuff like bananas and pineapples.’

‘But where would you sell it?’ Jess frowns. ‘At a farmers’ market?’

‘No. I’d run a box scheme.’

Anna perks up. ‘Oh, I’ve heard of those.’

I nod eagerly. ‘I’d pack a selection of fruit and vegetables – the best available that week – and deliver them to customers’ houses. Probably one day a week to start with. Until word gets round and orders increase – which they would because I’d advertise in your newspaper, Jess.’

I sit back feeling pleased.

It’s not surprising I’m word perfect. I’ve been turning it over in my mind ever since I woke up at 5 a.m. in a panic about money.

Last month, the bank was lenient about the mortgage payment and I’ve since cashed in a few shares to boost my account. But once that money runs out, I’ll have no other choice but to put the house on the market.

There’s a lot riding on this box scheme idea.

It could be the answer to a prayer.