This Is Your Life (11 page)

             
The fiasco about the ratrunners had subsided somewhat, after a number of the Hoorays and Yummy Mummies had complained to the Council about the untimely moving of the livestock, as Antonia filled Lizzie in that evening over their customary bottle of wine.  This time she’d come to Lizzie’s and she and Darren were ignoring each other as usual, as she told Lizzie what had ensued.

             
‘Bloody arse from the council went to see William.  Went to see the lot of them by all accounts.  Anyway, basically they all said the same.  That there was no grass and they had to keep moving the stock because otherwise they’d escape and be an even bigger nuisance.  Load of tosh of course!  There’s tons of grass this year.  Anyway, old Woodleigh told the council bloke that it had being going on for years and none of the villagers ever minded the livestock being moved, and that it was the influx of rat-runners that was the problem, not the animals.  Don’t think they’ve any plans to stop.  Thought I might join in on Hamish!’

             
‘That cat of yours is evil,’ she added.  ‘It hasn’t blinked once the whole time I’ve been sitting here.  One of Mrs Einstein’s isn’t it?  They’re all over the village.  You want to watch it Lizzie – it’s a witch’s cat.  I’ve never met her but there are rumours - it’s probably cursed!  Now, I might have a new client for you.  He’s a pompous old sod.  Friend of my ex-husband I’m afraid, but she’s sweet enough.  Got their number here somewhere, if you’re interested...’

             
Antonia scrabbled in her pocket and pulled out a handful of bits of hay and pony nuts which she scattered on the floor, and a tattered scrap of paper came with it.  Forgetting about Mrs Einstein, Lizzie took it eagerly, particularly as her association with Miriam wasn’t going to be as profitable as she’d hoped.

             
‘Here you are.  Ginny and Edward.  Talking of pompous gits, heard from your ex at all?’

             
Lizzie looked at her.  ‘He doesn’t know where I am, what I’m doing or what my mobile number is either.  I could be the other side of the world for all he knows.’

             
‘Don’t be too sure, darling,’ said Antonia darkly.  ‘It’s horribly easy to find someone once you put your mind to it…’

             
Lizzie’s smugness was gone in an instant.  No way would she ever be ready to face Jamie.  ‘He couldn’t find me here,’ she said nervously.  ‘There’s nothing to link me to anything.’

             
‘Your old car?’ suggested Antonia.  ‘Bet anyone could track that down.  Anyway, I’m just saying, don’t be too surprised if at some point the bugger finds you.’  She stared at the empty bottle in surprise.  ‘Lord, the wine’s finished already… I suppose we better go to the pub.’

              Lizzie couldn’t help notice William shift uncomfortably in his chair when they arrived and look rather pointedly in the opposite direction.

             
‘Antonia!’ she hissed in her friend’s ear.  ‘I told you!  There’s definitely something funny going on!’

             
And there was, only it was the fair number of winks and nudges among William’s little group until the poor man stood up, drained his pint and stalked out of the pub without a backward glance, at which point everything returned to normal.

             
‘They really are a bunch of Neanderthals,’ said Antonia.  ‘It’s not like they don’t have wives - though God knows how that happened.  Would you fancy being hitched to one of that lot?  Imagine the scintillating conversation – the merits of various fertilisers or inseminating cattle, all the while dealing with yet another set of clothes that stink of cows. I tell you it’s the only reason they go to the WI – for something else to talk about.  I will
never
marry a farmer…’

Lizzie’s spare bedroom doubled as her office.  Botanical drawings she’d found in a market filled one wall and a single shelf held the precious books she was accumulating, about all kinds of plants, wild flowers, herbs and the roses that she loved with a passion.  She’d been torn about whether to put her desk or the bed by the window, with its breath-taking views over the back garden to the fields which lay beyond.  The bed had won however, and so it was there where the ceiling sloped down, with a mountain of cushions piled on it and Lizzie’s desk was in the corner. 

Sitting at
it, she was just dialling the number Antonia had given her when she heard saucepan-sized hooves clip-clopping down the lane, accompanied by a steady, rather odd grunting sound that appeared to keep in rhythm.  Hamish.

L
arge and unpredictable, this morning he’d been ambushed by a bored Darren. Antonia had first coaxed, then ferociously threatened Hamish, but he couldn’t stop goggling with huge round eyes as the cat stared back from its vantage point.

‘Fucking horse!’ yelled Antonia in the end, closely followed by ‘fucking cat!  Couldn’t move it could you, Lizzie?  I swear it’s doing it on purpose!  Poor Hamish!  Frightfully highly strung you know!’

Privately
Lizzie thought Hamish was thick, but she pulled on her hunters and ran across to scoop up Darren, who yowled blood-curdlingly sending the transfixed horse into orbit. Antonia brought her whip down with a resounding thwack on his well-rounded rump, and he accelerated into a staccato trot now that the danger had been removed.

‘Oh jolly good show, thank
s awfully!’ she shrieked, not the slightest abashed.

A
s she disappeared round the corner, a familiar land rover drew up.

‘Glad I’ve caught you.’  Tim looked more than a little anxious.  ‘Only I’ve just called in on Miriam.  She asked me to look at one of the ponies. 
There’s nothing wrong with it but actually, it’s her I’m worried about.’

‘Why?  What’s the matter?’ asked Lizzie, long aware that while Miriam looked after all those animals, no-one kept an eye on her.

‘She was complaining of pains, in her stomach.  Her colour was pretty awful too, and you know Miriam, always so healthy.  I suggested she made an appointment to see her doctor, but she said she couldn’t possibly, she had far too much to do.  Talking of which, so do I.  This locum’s been delayed again and I’ve a long list of calls. Sorry Lizzie, I just thought you’d want to know.’

‘Thanks.  Yes, of course I do.  I’ll try and call her now.’

Lizzie tried to call Miriam immediately but it rang and rang the other end, and she was forced to give up, calling the number Antonia had given her instead.

Ginny and Edward Plunkett-Mackenzie had moved to Oakley last summer, to an old Edwardian property, complete with acres of garden that had remained unchanged for years.  The lovely house was typically large and spacious, with an impressive drive that circled around the front of it.  Ginny, a tiny fragile figure, had huge eyes and perfectly highlighted hair.  Dressed in spotless pastel pink jeans with creases neatly ironed down the front of them, she’d appeared the instant Lizzie pulled up and had excitedly taken her arm and led her through a gate in the hedge.

‘It’s
frightfully
scruffy Lizzie, I’m afraid…’

But an a
westruck Lizzie had just stood and taken it all in. It wasn’t at all the kind of garden she would imagine belonging to Ginny.

The
rear of the house had a proper old-fashioned verandah which looked original, from which steps led down to the lawn. Rambling overgrown flowerbeds framed the path, from which more stone steps led to an ornamental pond. In a corner beyond, there was a rather crumbling statue that Lizzie thought was possibly Pan.  It was probably worth a fortune… And that wasn’t all. The lawn extended around the far side of the house to a more informal area where there was an old timber-framed greenhouse surrounded by apple trees. But utterly beautiful as it was, it was running riot.

Ginny had chattered away
.  ‘You see, it’s Edward’s sixtieth... Not until next year, Lizzie – I
do
know this will take time… But what I want is to throw a really
super
party for all our friends, but I can’t possibly of course until the garden is sorted out…  Goodness, we couldn’t possibly let anyone see it in such a state.  But do you think you could do that for me?  It would absolutely have to be finished by the end of May...’

Lizzie
frantically scribbled notes as they walked.

‘
And…’ added Ginny, a touch of steel entering her voice.  ‘There is just one proviso.  I’m sure it won’t be a problem for you Lizzie! But absolutely everything must be pink… I don’t mind what shade…’ she’d added, as though making a grand concession, ‘but I’ve always wanted a pink garden.  Maybe just the teeniest dot of lilac here and there would be alright, just in the background of course…’

Lizzie kept quiet.
  It was, of course, totally absurd to have a tacky pink garden behind this gem of a house.  The idea alone was a travesty.

But
Ginny had jumped up at the sound of tyres crunching on gravel as a rather large car swept in to the drive. ‘Oh, how marvellous! Now you’ll be able to meet Edward! Come on Lizzie!’

Lizzie
followed her towards the house again as a squat, smug looking man with terrible skin strode down the steps towards them. A toad, Lizzie instantly thought, stifling a smile.

‘Darling,’ squeaked Ginny, looking distinctly on edge.  ‘This is Lizzie! She’s going to make me a lovely pink garden!’ Ginny clasped her hands with an air of ecstasy etched on her tight face.

‘Lizzie. Hi. Edward. Good to meet you.’ He extended a large hairy hand, and clasped hers firmly, smiling widely to display a set of teeth that were far too white to be his own.

‘Hello Edward. You have a beautiful garden here,’
she said, her eyes fixed on those teeth.

‘Mmmm, yes, not too bad, is it?’ Edward looked around him, an expression of self-satisfaction settling on his coarse features.

‘The little wife here knows exactly what she wants, so I’ll leave it all to you girls.’ He winked lasciviously at Lizzie at the same time patting Ginny on her tiny bottom.  She gave a tinkly, brittle little laugh.

‘And darling, don’t forget, Jim’s coming round at 6 for a gin. Have it ready will you, there’s a good girl.’

Lizzie stiffened as she
forced herself to smile back.  She knew exactly why Edward disturbed her. In fact, fast forwarded twenty years, this could have been her and Jamie, with Lizzie dressed in pastels and  botoxed to within an inch of her life and  him boasting smugly about the impressive mansion he’d just bought….except he wouldn’t have let Lizzie make any decisions about the garden. Give Edward his due, at least he was up for that.

Lizzie
could cope with the most demanding clients if she fell in love with their gardens and in one afternoon she’d fallen hook, line and sinker for this one.  Even in this state, it had a timeless beauty that you could never re-create from scratch. She’d cope with the owners.   And Ginny wasn’t too bad, it was just the dreadful Edward… Apart from him and the whole pink thing, this was a dream of a project.

She detoured home via Hethecote Farm just to check on Miriam, who was obviously feeling better than this morning when Lizzie tracked her down cleaning saddles.

‘Just a tummy-ache,’ she reassured Lizzie.  ‘Nothing to worry about – really! I’m fine!’

It was like flitting between the sublime and the ridiculous as Lizzie alternated between Ginny’s and Hethecote Farm, one with unlimited resources to pour into a completely self-indulgent project, and the other with the worthiest of causes but trudging around in her dead husband’s boots because she couldn’t afford to buy new ones. 

Miriam’s garden scheme was
well under way, with half a dozen schools initially signing up to rent their own allotment within the garden.  The local press had set a date for a photo-shoot and interview, and some much needed funds were at last coming in.  Lizzie was spending a couple of mornings there, helping the schools as they began to design their gardens. She was determined too that Antonia would organise this ball.  It was exactly the support Miriam needed.

‘When’s a good time
for it, do you think?  Autumn maybe?’

‘This year?  Lord no.
’  Antonia was horrified.  ‘It’ll take yonks to get it organised.  We need to collect raffle prizes – tickets for Glyndebourne, air tickets, that sort of thing.’ 

Air tickets? 
Lizzie, who’d been about to offer her gardening services as one of them, was silent. 

‘So when?’ persisted Lizzie, who wanted to be able to tell Miriam.
 

‘
Oh, I don’t know… next summer?  Don’t worry about it.  Anyway, you going to Bert’s retirement do?  A good old chap, Bert,’ Antonia changed the subject. ‘Very fair.  Just as long as his replacement isn’t some jumped up little public school boy with ambitions, after all, we can’t have the rents going up!  Anyway, don’t get too excited. I’ve been to these do’s before. There’ll be Mrs H’s nasty curly sandwiches, naff old potato chipsticks and a cake. If I were you, I’d give the sandwiches a miss, they’re always a bit iffy, but the cakes are another matter. Eucalyptus might be totally barking, but she’s the creator of the most divine cakes you have ever tasted! Bound to be one of hers. She started making them years ago, to help her put on weight, and then got bored with the same old recipes, so she invented new ones. They’re quite famous round here! Just turn up, oh I know, we’ll arrive together, have a bit of cake, toast old Bert and make our excuses. What do you think?’