Forget Me Not (12 page)

‘Are they far away then?’ I asked, surprised by this confidence. Perhaps they were still in Belfast.

‘No,’ Jenny replied, as she began to feed Grace. ‘They live just up the road, in Acton. And Grace is their first grandchild so you’d think they’d be curious, if nothing else, wouldn’t you?’ she added bitterly. She adjusted Grace’s position and stroked her cheek to stimulate sucking, as we’d been taught to do in the class.

‘So, don’t you … get on with your parents then?’ I ventured, aware that I was on thin ice.

‘I used to.’ She sighed. ‘But they’ve been, well … disapproving, to put it mildly.’

‘Because … you’re not with Grace’s dad?’ I could hear the ice creak and groan.

‘Sort of.’ Jenny sighed again. ‘It’s a bit more complicated than that, to be honest.’

How?
I wanted to ask.
How is it more complicated? Please
tell me!

‘They’re very religious,’ she added, as though that explained everything. Then she changed the subject and I decided not to risk offending her by appearing more inquisitive than I already had.

As I walked home I decided that Jenny must have had an affair with a married man. Why else would her parents be so censorious? She’d had an affair with a married man and his wife had found out. I imagined a dreadful scene – the wife storming round to Jenny’s flat in the early hours, hammering on the door and calling her all kinds of vile names. I imagined the neighbours throwing up their windows at the commotion; the husband scuttling home to avoid divorce. Then I imagined Jenny’s parents, fire and brimstone Presbyterians, so appalled at their daughter ‘falling pregnant’ in this way that they’d cut her off – grandchild or not.

Mum would never have been like that, I thought as I opened my door. Nothing would have kept her from her grandchildren, however they’d come into the world. And if Mark
had
stayed with Carol and had a child with her, Mum would have mended bridges and been a wonderful grandmother. I felt the usual pang at what my mother was missing in not knowing Milly – and what Milly was missing in not knowing her. But why, I then wondered as I undid the sling, would Jenny’s ex agree to have no contact with his own child? Maybe that was the price his wife had exacted from him for not divorcing him – or maybe he was happy not to get involved. Or maybe he had no idea that Jenny had even had his baby. That was quite possible.

Perhaps Jenny was gay, I wondered – not for the first time – as I fed Milly, but cropped hair and no make-up was hardly evidence for that. Perhaps her ex was one of her pupils’ fathers, I speculated, as I sat Milly up and gently burped her. That would also explain why she’d given up teaching – perhaps she’d been hauled before a disciplinary committee and sacked. Whatever Jenny’s situation was, she wasn’t telling. Perhaps, in her own time, she’d open up.

That night I got an e-mail from Xan:
I can see from the
photos you’ve sent that a DNA test would be superfluous.
However, I would like to send you some money. Please
provide me with your bank details so that I can set up a
direct debit. X
.

I stared at the ‘X’: when I was with Xan I saw it as a kiss – now it simply defined our fractured relationship.

I hit Reply:
Thanks but no thanks
.

The relief I felt as Elaine returned the next morning was swiftly superseded by a burst of panic at the thought that she would be leaving in less than two weeks. Her soothing presence had lulled me into such a relaxed state that I’d almost forgotten that I would soon have to work. So I had my stationery printed and got my website completed. I placed ads in two West London magazines. With Elaine’s help, I finished organising my attic workroom – I’d only ever used the space for storage before. But I’d had it decorated in the spring and now the freshly painted walls were lined with gardening books, most of them my mother’s. I needed to index them when I had more time, I thought, as I wiped their creased spines with a cloth.

I’d bought a big Victorian plan chest to store my drawings in, and some wooden files in which I kept the details of builders’ merchants, trade nurseries, stone specialists and people who supplied water features, external lighting and wrought iron. At the far end of the room were my drawing board and my computer, and a stack of gardening magazines. Lining the walls were samples of bricks, decorative pebbles and rocks.

‘So you’re all ready to go,’ Elaine said as she surveyed it with me.

‘Not quite. I need two more things – my first commission and a contractor.’

‘Why a contractor?’

‘Because as a designer I won’t be building walls and laying paving myself. I’ll need someone to do that – but with all that’s been going on I haven’t had time to find anyone. I’ll just have to go through the business pages and ring up a few.’

‘I can help you with that,’ Elaine said.

‘That’s all right – it won’t take me long.’

‘No, I mean, I know someone who might do.’

‘Really? Who’s that?’

‘My nephew, Jamie – the one I told you about. He’s a builder – very reliable and he only lives five minutes’ walk away. You never know’ – she shrugged – ‘he might fit the bill. Would you like to meet him?’

‘Well, thank you. I think I would.’

So a couple of days later we strolled over to Blythe Road, Elaine carrying Milly in the sling, so that I could talk to Jamie without waking her. She rang the bell and he opened the door.

‘My sainted aunt!’ He beamed. ‘Come in, Elaine. Hey, what a little cutie,’ he said, looking at Milly. ‘Hi there.’ He offered me his hand. ‘I guess you’re Anna.’

He was about twenty-five, an inch or two taller than me, but heavily built, with an open face, a mop of dark-blond hair and warm brown eyes that disappeared when he smiled. He was wearing a white T-shirt with ‘Olympian Landscapes’ emblazoned across it in dark green. His jeans were pale with washing and frayed at the knees.

We followed him down the hall. On a side table I noticed several photos of a beautiful woman in her early to mid twenties.

‘That’s Thea,’ Elaine explained. ‘Jamie’s wife.’

‘She’s lovely,’ I said, slightly taken aback both at his being married when he seemed so young and at his wife’s luminous beauty.

‘Oh, Thea’s gorgeous,’ Elaine said. ‘They only got married last summer. It was quite a wedding, right?’ she added as Jamie opened the door to his office.

‘It was the business, Auntie Elaine.’

‘They had the reception on a boat, on the Thames.’

‘How wonderful,’ I said, with a pang of envy.

‘We had a few tinnies, didn’t we, Jamie?’

‘We certainly did. Now … excuse the mess in here …’ The carpet was strewn with spreadsheets and invoices that had been weighed down with a silver trophy against the breeze from the open window.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered as he threw it on the sofa, then cleared a bit of floor space. ‘But I’m doing my VAT.’ He sat down behind his small desk, which was piled high with box files saying ‘Purchase Invoices’, ‘Sales Invoices’ and ‘Bank’. I noticed a cricket bat leaning in the corner. ‘So, Anna,’ he began, as his mobile trilled out. ‘You’re looking for someone to do your dirty work?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that.’

He peered at the number, then let it go to answerphone. ‘Just joking.’ He smiled. ‘You need a contractor, right?’

I nodded. ‘I need someone to build the gardens that I’m going to design. Ideally I’d like them to work with me on a regular basis so that we have a proper working partnership.’

‘Well, I’m pretty busy right now …’ His mobile rang again. He checked the screen, but didn’t answer.

‘What sort of things do you build?’

‘Here.’ He handed me his portfolio. His phone trilled out yet again and this time he took the call while I flicked through the large black ring binder. There were photos of newly constructed garages and extensions, forecourts and conservatories. ‘That’s great,’ I heard him say. ‘Just the sharp sand – no worries – I’ll pick it up tomorrow … G’day, mate.’

‘How long have you been in the business?’ I asked as he snapped the phone shut. I looked at the detailed close-ups of his work.

‘A bit over two years. I’ve got six guys on my payroll.’

‘And are you qualified?’

‘I did a three-year construction course back home.’

‘And have you built many gardens?’

‘To be quite straight with you – none.’

‘That’s not true,’ Elaine said. ‘You built your own.’

A look of surprise crossed Jamie’s face. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’

‘You should show Anna.’

He scratched his head. ‘All right.’

‘He led us through the kitchen, opened the back door and we stepped outside into the large patio garden.

The ground was paved with reclaimed red brick laid in a circular pattern surrounded by Indian sandstone flags cut on the diagonal, which had the effect of lengthening the space. Along one side was a single raised flowerbed, gently curved in outline and filled with delphiniums, peonies, lupins and climbing roses, with pillows of mauve
Aubretia
tumbling over the sides.

‘You built this?’ I asked him as I glanced at the dining area, which was elegantly screened by a little row of pleached hornbeams.

‘Built and designed it,’ Elaine said.

‘Well, I just did a few sketches,’ he protested. ‘But it was a right old scrap heap when we moved in six months ago – wasn’t it?’

‘It was an eyesore,’ Elaine agreed. ‘Full of junk.’

‘You’ve done a wonderful job,’ I said. ‘It’s a great use of the space, lovely stone and I really like your planting scheme. And this area here?’ It had been left clear.

‘I’ve left that bit free for a little sandpit, or a swing.’

‘Do you have kids?’

‘We’re working on it.’ He laughed. His mobile phone rang again. ‘Hi, darling – I was just talking about you … wow … it’s forty-three degrees, is it? Well, keep that lovely face of yours out of the sun, sweetheart … but look, honey, can I call you back in ten minutes?’ I found myself envying Thea – that she was with a man who sprinkled his words to her with so many endearments.

‘Is Thea away again?’ Elaine asked Jamie as we went back inside. ‘She works in sports PR,’ she explained to me. ‘So she has to travel quite a bit.’

‘She’s in Dubai for five days,’ Jamie replied. ‘One of her clients is sponsoring a yacht race there.’

‘Right,’ Elaine said.

I’d seen all I needed to see. I told Jamie that I’d like to work with him, when I landed my first job.

‘That’d be fine,’ he said, ‘and we can see whether or not we’re compatible.’

‘Exactly. But I’ll need your phone number.’ He jabbed an index finger at his T-shirt. ‘Oh …’ It felt odd staring at his chest as I tapped the digits into my mobile.

He held out his hand. ‘Good to meet you then, mate.’

‘Er … yes,’ I said. ‘You too.’

‘’Bye, Auntie Elaine. Bye-bye, Princess,’ he whispered to Milly, who was fast asleep under her sun hat. He gently clasped her tiny bare feet in his big, broad hands. ‘You’re a little darling, you are … Let me show you guys out.’

‘’Bye Jamie,’ I said as we stood on the front step. ‘I’ll be in touch.’ I noticed a Bentley Continental GT in Racing Green parked outside his flat. ‘Is that yours?’ I asked, nodding at it.

‘I wish.’ He laughed. ‘It belongs to my neighbours – they’re both bankers, jammy guys – that’s mine.’ He pointed to the blue pick-up truck parked over the road. ‘Anyway, be seeing ya, ladies! G’day!’

‘I liked him,’ I said to Elaine as we walked back.

‘Ah, Jamie’s a great lad. I can say that with confidence because I’ve known him for all of his twenty-eight years.’ So he was older than he looked.

‘His garden’s fantastic – I was really impressed. His building work looks sound.’

‘He’s a very talented sportsman too.’

‘He is?’

‘He was a professional cricketer.’

‘Really? Is that what the trophy was for?’

‘Yes – he’s got loads of them.’

‘Who did he play for?’

‘New South Wales. He was a very good spin bowler.’

‘And what brought him to the UK?’

‘He played for Surrey for two seasons during the Ozzie winter and liked it here.’

‘But why isn’t he playing cricket now?’ I asked as we skirted Brook Green. ‘He’s still young.’

‘Because he was in a car crash six years ago and his leg got smashed up.’

‘How terrible.’

‘It was – not least because he’d been tipped to play for Australia. But that’s why he retrained as a builder. He still plays cricket, but only for fun, with some showbiz team that raises money for kids’ medical causes – which is how he met Thea. She was doing the PR for one of the charities involved and he … well, bowled a maiden over as you might say. But you’ll like working with Jamie,’ she added. ‘He’ll never let you down.’

I called him the following week. My first commission had come through my website and, though small, it felt exhilarating just to be getting started. The clients had told me that they didn’t have the budget for a ‘new’ garden in their house in Chiswick; they wanted to have the existing one refreshed.

When I went to see them I first asked them how they thought they wanted it to look. They said they wanted the pond taken out as they were having a baby; they also wanted to have the lawn re-laid, but that they were open to any other ideas. So I suggested that they have the raised flowerbeds removed as they were unnecessarily wide, crushing the already limited space.

‘What about this?’ I asked, looking at their acacia tree, which had been savagely pollarded over the years and was no more than a big stump.

‘We’d love to cut it down,’ the husband explained, ‘especially as it takes up part of the lawn, but there’s a Tree Preservation Order on it so we can’t.’

‘Then you could turn it into an attractive feature by growing climbers up it,’ I said. ‘Just treat it as a very big stake. You could have a clematis on one side – there’s a new one called Ice Blue, which flowers from May to October – then on the other side you could have a rambling rose, say
Felicite
Perpetue
, which is creamy white and very fragrant. And you could hang a little swing from that lower branch quite safely, and you could have a circular seat built round the base. It could look lovely.’