Isabel Wolff - Forget Me Not

‘ Anna …?’ Xan was shaking his head in bewildered amusement. ‘All I said was that I thought we should talk first – as in’ – he turned up his palms in a gesture of helplessness – ‘ talk .’

‘Oh. Oh I see. About what?’

‘Well – anything – because we didn’t exactly talk much on Friday night, did we? But I obviously didn’t express myself very well – the flower shop was closing and I was in a hurry.’ He shrugged. ‘All I was trying to say was that I’d like to’ – he shrugged again – ‘get to know you.’

‘Oh. So … why did you hesitate before coming in?’

‘Because you’d clearly had a lot to drink and I wasn’t sure that I should. As I say, I do try to be gentlemanly.’ He sipped his beer. ‘Happy now?’

I nodded. ‘Yes.’

He lowered his glass and peered at me. ‘Are you always this complicated?’

I smiled at him. ‘No.’

So, over dinner, we talked. The relief of knowing that Xan didn’t appear to have some hideous drawback restored my confidence. I waxed lyrical about my garden design course, which was due to begin the next day.

‘It’s based at the Chelsea Physic Garden,’ I explained. ‘It’s a wonderful place – like the Secret Garden – full of rare trees and medicinal plants. I’ll be studying horticulture and planting design, hard landscaping, technical drawing, garden lighting; how to use decorative elements such as statuary and water features …’ I shivered with apprehension. ‘I can’t wait to get started.’

Then Xan told me about his two-year BBC traineeship, which was just coming to an end. He picked up his knife. ‘I’m in the process of applying for jobs. It’s rather nerve-racking.’

‘Which bit of the Beeb do you want to work in?’

‘I’m not sure. I’m in the newsroom at the moment, which I like, but there are some reporting jobs coming up, which would be great as I’ve done quite a bit of on-screen work for BBC World . Or I might go for something at the business unit to capitalise on my financial background. There are various options, although the competition’s always stiff.’

Then he told me about his family. His father had worked for the British Council, so as a child he’d lived all over the world. ‘We were nomads,’ he explained. ‘Always packing and unpacking. Moving’s in my blood.’

‘How glamorous,’ I said wistfully, feeling suddenly dull and suburban. ‘I’m afraid staying put’s in mine. We’ve lived in the same house for thirty-five years.’

‘We being …?’

‘My parents – well, parent now.’ I felt a stab of loss. ‘My mother died three months ago. Three months ago today,’ I suddenly realised. ‘On Saturday June the eighth.’ As I said this I felt the familiar pressing sensation on my sternum, as though someone had left a pile of bricks on my chest.

‘Was she ill?’ Xan asked gently.

I shook my head. ‘She was very fit. Her death was totally unexpected. A bolt from the blue,’ I added bitterly.

‘So … what happened?’

I stared at the single pink rose in its slender vase. ‘She sprained her ankle.’ Xan was looking at me quizzically. ‘Dad said that she’d slipped coming down the stairs before lunch. Her ankle was badly swollen so he took her to hospital, where they bandaged it. And that evening she was lying on the sofa, complaining about what a nuisance it was, when she suddenly began to feel ill. She thought it must have something to do with the painkillers she’d been given, but in fact something terrible was happening to her – she’d got a blood clot in her leg, which had travelled round her body and reached her lungs. Dad said that she was struggling to breathe …’ I felt myself inhale, as if in a futile attempt to help her. ‘He called the ambulance and it came within ten minutes, but it was already too late – she’d died in his arms. She’d sprained her ankle and a few hours later she was dead. We couldn’t believe it,’ I croaked. ‘We still can’t.’

‘How terrible,’ Xan murmured after a moment. He laid his hand on mine. ‘You must feel … I don’t know … derelict.’

I looked at him. ‘Derelict …? That’s exactly the word.’ And in that moment I knew that was why I’d behaved so recklessly two nights before. It was so much more than physical lust. It was because for three months I’d been curled into myself – half dead with grief – and I’d wanted to feel … alive .

‘How old was she?’

His features were blurring. ‘Fifty-five.’

‘So young …’ Xan was shaking his head. ‘She could have expected another twenty years at least.’

‘None of us can expect it,’ I said quietly. ‘We can only hope for it. I know that now in a way that was only abstract to me before.’

We sat in silence for a moment or two.

‘What about the rest of your family?’ Xan asked, so I told him a bit about Cassie and Mark. ‘And your private life? Boyfriends?’

I shrugged. ‘I haven’t been out with anyone for quite a while.’

‘But you’re very attractive – in a glacial sort of way – so you must get offers.’

‘Thank you. Sometimes I do. But not from anyone I’ve been that interested in.’ I fiddled with my napkin. ‘And what about you?’

‘I was seeing someone, but we broke up in May.’

‘What was she like?’

‘Rather lovely,’ he said regretfully. I felt a dart of jealousy. ‘Cara was very intelligent. Very attractive. Very successful …’

‘She sounds heavenly,’ I said joylessly. ‘So what went wrong?’

‘She just expected too much from the relationship too soon. We’d only been together three months, but she was already pushing to move in with me – but it just didn’t feel right.’ He shook his head. ‘She was constantly demanding to know where things were going. In the end I couldn’t stand it.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘I’m not like that. I’ll admit that I was, before my mother died, but that’s changed everything and my biological clock is now firmly on “snooze”. My course is going to take nine months, then I’ve got to get my business up and running, so my priorities now are professional ones.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘In fact, I’d better go – I have to be at the Physic Garden by nine tomorrow morning. Thanks for dinner.’

Xan got to his feet. ‘Can I walk you home?’

I smiled. ‘Sure.’

‘I’d love to see you again, Anna,’ Xan said as we stood by my gate. The wisteria which smothered the house was in second flower and the scent was lovely. He stroked my cheek. ‘Would that be OK?’

I felt a sudden burst of delight – like the explosion of a seed pod. ‘It would be … fine.’

‘But … no …’

‘Strings?’ I suggested wryly.

He shook his head. ‘Pressure. Just no … pressure . OK?’ He kissed me, set off down the narrow street, then turned and waved.

‘No pressure?’ I repeated quietly. ‘Of course .’

TWO Contents Cover Title Page ISABEL WOLFF Copyright Praise Dedication Epigraph Show me your garden, and I shall tell you what you are. Chinese proverb. Permissions Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Epilogue Bibliography Keep Reading – Ghostwritten Acknowledgements About the Author By the same Author About the Publisher

As I eased the car into the usual space outside my house, I thought of the lovely autumn I’d spent with Xan. It was a time of liquid sunshine and lengthening shadows, somehow suited to the intense sadness I felt about my mother, but also the near euphoria at being with him.