The community hall wasn’t quite what Flora had been expecting. Maggie had turned up, as promised, at the hotel to pick her up and Flora enjoyed listening to her chat about the island, even though she was glad the journey in the bouncy little Ford lasted no more than ten minutes. They soon arrived and, once out of the car, Flora looked at the modern and bright building with appreciation.
‘Oh, how lovely.’
The hall sat just below a small hill overlooking the sea, perched behind the hamlet where most of the islanders lived. Clad in dark sheeting, no doubt robust enough to withstand the island’s weather, huge skylights made the most of the natural light and three sets of bifold doors opened onto a deck running the width of the building. Surrounded by a stone wall with a belt of pine trees behind, the playing field was scattered with tables and chairs, full-sized goals for football and a couple of barbeques.
‘It really is. We’re so lucky to have the hall, it’s a real gathering place for the islanders and we’ve all used it for some reason or another over the last couple of years. The previous one blew down in a storm, but it wasn’t up to much anyway. Mac designed this one to last for an awfully long time, and we’re certainly benefitting from his expertise.’
The music was already spilling outside as they made their way to the entrance. A light drizzle didn’t seem reason enough to keep the doors closed and they were pulled wide, as more people headed inside. A folk band, complete with fiddles and accordions, was set up at the furthest end, away from the makeshift bar, and Flora followed Maggie as she searched for a free table. She made a mental note to thank Sophie, as the simple grey dress she’d packed on her insistence fitted the occasion well. Cheerful, handmade bunting was strung across the light-coloured walls, and she noticed a sports court marked out with white lines on the floor and a basketball hoop at either end. Small groups of people were clustered together, holding drinks and chatting over the noise as a few excited children raced around, the smell of hot dogs filling the room.
‘Not many tables left,’ Maggie called across her shoulder to Flora. ‘Quick, there’s an empty one – let’s grab it.’
They settled down at the table and Flora was happy to sit on her own for a few minutes whilst Maggie headed off to find glasses. Mac had warned her in a text this morning that there would not be a proper bar so she had brought a couple of bottles of wine and some beers from the hotel, as her contribution to the evening’s refreshments. She watched the room, her eyes falling on people laughing together and clutching drinks whilst children played together. She thought about Mac and wondered if he would turn up or whether dinner with his client would keep him from the island all evening. She told herself firmly that she didn’t mind either way.
Maggie returned with glasses and Flora poured drinks for them, distracted by the constant flow of islanders who came over to say hello and welcome her. Maggie introduced her to everyone as ‘Mac’s gorgeous gardener’, and eventually Flora gave up trying to insist that she wasn’t. Finally, making the most of a lull in visitors to their table, she and Maggie joined the queue for the buffet.
‘Don’t eat too much,’ she warned Flora, waving at someone she recognised across the room and trying not to drop the slice of quiche slithering around on her plate. ‘Save yourself for the set dances; it’s not much fun if you feel sick.’
‘Oh no, I won’t dance,’ Flora told her with a firm shake of her head. ‘I don’t know the steps, and I’d only be in the way and trip somebody up.’
‘Och, don’t worry about that! The simpler ones are easy enough, if you keep an eye on someone nearby. We’ll find you a good leader and then you’ll be flying.’
‘Not literally, I hope!’ Flora’s silent resolve was still to sit them all out and enjoy watching everybody else instead. Maggie was side-tracked by a couple of governors from her school and apologised as she turned away to speak with them. Flora was content to slide a little food onto her plate, before returning to the table and topping up her glass of red wine. The band had settled down to eat, too, and the room was quieter, as only the noise of chat and laughter filtered through the crowd.
Her gaze constantly flicking to the wide-open doors, Flora saw Mac before he spotted her, and her heart hitched in surprised pleasure as he strolled in, greeting people with ease. He was still in a shirt and tie, the formality of his clothes at odds with the casual nature and fun of the gathering. She watched as he removed the tie, ramming it into a pocket and undoing the top buttons on his shirt, as though distancing himself from the city he had just left behind. He looked tired as he pushed a hand through his damp hair while he spoke to an older man who had come to stand beside him.
She shrank back in her seat until she felt the wall behind her and could retreat no further. The man left, and she saw Mac’s eyes scanning the room quickly. When they eventually found hers, she gave him a brief smile and he nodded in return with a lift of his brows, acknowledging her presence but no more. She dropped her gaze and sipped the wine slowly, pushing aside the disappointment of his greeting. Still, she felt the pull of his presence in the room, as though the space had contracted to contain only them, and it was an effort to refuse her eyes permission to follow him, to wonder and watch where he went.
Soon the band was in place once again, tuning up as tables and chairs were pushed to the walls, and couples began to line up together down the length of the hall, experience telling them where to go. Some of the men were in kilts, which Flora found very appealing, whilst others were in jeans, and quite a few of the ladies were wearing dresses or tartan. Flora watched, shrinking back in her chair at the far end, hoping that Maggie had forgotten about her. But it was not to be. Maggie dashed over and grabbed Flora’s hand, pulling her to her feet with a cheery grin.
‘Come on, Flora, I’ve found you a partner.’
Hesitantly, Flora found herself being towed into the middle. As soon as she saw Mac staring at her with some reluctance, she tried to protest and back away to the safety of the chairs along the wall.
‘Oh no, really, I’ll just watch. I’m not a very good dancer.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Maggie scoffed, only letting go of Flora after she had handed her over to Mac with a smile. ‘You’ll be fine. Mac’s an excellent partner; he’s had plenty of practice. Just try to follow him.’
Slowly, she approached him. Flora felt herself stiffen when he placed his right hand on her back and took hold of her free hand with his left, joining them. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t let him see that every touch reminded her of the wedding, when she had danced in his arms for the first time and they had spent most of the evening together. She sensed that he was equally uncomfortable and avoided touching her any more than was essential.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ she muttered, every part of her responding to his closeness with a delight she tried to disguise. ‘I’m more than happy to sit it out.’
‘Let’s just get through it, shall we? Maggie will think it strange if we don’t dance now.’
His curt reply was more than enough to dash away any pleasure their proximity had brought and she remembered how, in the garden at Middlebrook, he had tried to tell her about his relationship with Chloe. The sharp reminder made her realise that his unwillingness to dance with her again was their reality and the way things were going to be between them now. Tension lent her frame a stiffness that made her awkward in his arms, but when the dance began, the intricacy of the steps and the sheer pace demanded all her attention. Suddenly, she was half-dancing, half-skipping across the floor, as she tried to keep up with Mac and realised it was much more fun than she had been expecting.
Somehow they stumbled through the opening barn dances, thanks to Mac’s obvious skill, and when they had completed the faster ‘Eightsome Reel’ and the ‘Dashing White Sergeant’, Flora was laughing, despite her initial reticence. She didn’t need to see Mac’s face to know that he was beginning to enjoy himself, too, as she felt the rigidity in his muscles softening. She was still getting hopelessly lost at times and felt dizzy after being twirled from partner to partner and back again. During a short pause in the music, she broke away for a quick drink.
‘Where did you learn to dance like that?’ She had to gasp out the words in between breaths as she leant against a table, still smiling at what had just taken place. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘Misspent youth,’ Mac told her drily.
They had both downed half a bottle of water when Maggie called them loudly back to the floor. ‘“Strip the Willow”, you two, come on!’
Flora dashed back to line up opposite Mac once again and he gave her a brief, impersonal smile as he bowed slightly, copying the other men. They were third in line when the music started up and Flora was glad, as it gave her a few moments to watch the other dancers before it was their turn to take part. They joined hands and Flora was entirely aware of the taut strength of his arms, crossed with hers, as he spun her around, their eyes never connecting as he led her through the steps. The dance seemed to last for an age, and when she and Mac finally reached the end of their row and the music stopped, she was hot and breathless all over again, her hair escaping from her high ponytail and framing her face with long tendrils that curled into soft waves.
‘I’m done,’ she told him with thankful relief, tucking her hair behind her ears as they drifted away from the centre of the floor, their arms no longer linked. ‘I’m going outside for some air. Thanks for obliging Maggie and showing me what to do.’ She could have told him she had loved every minute because she had danced it with him, but that would be going too far.
‘You did great, for a first time.’ His gaze was settled somewhere in the distance, but she heard more warmth in his voice this time, as they slowly drew to a halt.
Flora laughed at that as she searched for Maggie amongst the people milling around the hall, topping up drinks in the break between dances and finishing the last of the food. ‘I think you’re being generous. It’s exhausting and I’m sure I stood on your feet a few times. Night.’
She was tired, probably as a result of the long drive on Monday and the constant battle to conceal her emotions around Mac, and decided to make her way back to the hotel. She found Maggie, refused her offer of a lift and thanked her for the invitation. It had been much more fun than Flora had imagined and, despite the awkwardness with Mac, she was glad she had come – everyone had made her feel very welcome, as Maggie had promised. She and Maggie made plans to meet at the little village school the following afternoon and Flora headed out of the hall, waving to the people who wished her good night.
It was cool outside, and she appreciated the breeze drifting from the sea as she slid her jacket loosely over her shoulders. It was only nine thirty and the evening was still light, despite the clouds tumbling overhead. Setting off towards the hotel, Flora looked forward to the prospect of a brisk walk to free her mind. She was getting used to seeing sheep scattered across the rough fields, penned in here and there by cattle grids crossing the few roads, and she saw a couple of lambs spilling onto the lane in search of excitement, jumping out of her way into the fresh, emerald green fronds of bracken. She had only been gone for ten minutes or so, when a car drew up alongside her and she recognised the purr of the engine without having to check who was driving.
‘Flora? Let me drive you back; it’s probably going to rain again.’
She carried on walking but glanced into the vehicle. Mac had slowed to a crawl and was leaning across towards the passenger seat, the window down, one hand on the wheel to keep the car under control.
‘I’m fine, thanks. I think you’ve done your duty for one evening.’
The car lurched towards the grassy bank on the other side of the road and then Mac cut the engine and leapt out, striding around to face her. She stopped, too, and tried to disguise the dismay she felt as she read the tension in his face.
‘I’m sorry, about before. I didn’t mean to seem offhand. I just wouldn’t want to give anybody the wrong impression about you and me.’
‘Again, you mean. Like we did at the wedding? I suppose it was different then, since you weren’t officially back with Chloe and it didn’t matter who saw us.’ Flora crossed her arms, eyeing him suspiciously. ‘Unless you were together even then? You did leave in rather a hurry.’
‘What? Of course I wasn’t with Chloe.’ His answer was sharp. ‘Is that what you think of me? That I’d fall for someone else and cheat on my girlfriend at the same time?’
Shock plunged through her stomach, and Flora’s voice was shaky when she found it. ‘Fall for someone else? What do you mean?’
His face was suddenly expressionless as he rubbed one hand across his neck in agitation and ignored her question. ‘Flora, look, things have got a bit complicated since the wedding. It’s not what you think.’
‘It really doesn’t matter at all what I think, Mac. Only what’s happening between you and Chloe.’
‘If I asked you to trust me, to give me time, would you?’
‘Trust you?’ Flora’s laugh was bitter, and she heard the sneer in her voice. ‘You hurt me! I told you things I hardly ever share, and you kissed me like it really mattered, and then left me with barely a word. Then I see you strolling down the street with your girlfriend like nothing ever happened between us! What am I supposed to think?’ It was impossible now to disguise the despair she was feeling, and her voice fell. ‘Just leave me alone and let me do my job. That’s all I need.’
Mac’s shoulders slumped and he stared at her for a long moment, his hands balled at his sides, before he retreated to the car without another word. Flora continued to walk, the pounding in her temples increasing, despite the even pace she soon re-established. She was a good distance from the car before she heard the engine re-start and then fade into the night as he drove away. She reached the hotel and hurried through reception, desperate for a shower to wash away the entire evening. However simply they tried to behave around one another, somehow complications seemed to arise with every encounter, and Flora was beginning to look forward to leaving the island and returning home to the steadiness of her ordinary life.
The next day she was excited about seeing the school garden, so she finished at Róisín in good time and drove straight there. Maggie had wanted her to come before the children left for the day and Flora arrived promptly at two, giving them around an hour before the grown-ups arrived to take pupils home. Nestled in the hamlet just behind the houses closer to the bay, it was a long, low stone building, surrounded by a wall, with a playground at the front. Flora worked out that it faced east, and she automatically looked to her right, searching for signs of the garden and spotting the high dome of a polytunnel sitting behind a hedge. Maggie met her at the office and, once Flora was signed in and issued with a visitor pass, they headed straight through the school to the garden.
Maggie began to explain its origins. ‘We had a family on the island who were as self-sufficient as possible, and they helped us with ideas and practical upkeep. We registered the school with a gardening charity, which gave us access to lots of support, and put up the polytunnel with the help of a grant. But then the family had to leave the island for work elsewhere and the project stumbled to a halt. I’d love to get it up and running properly – it would be such an opportunity to engage the children in nature and to develop scientific, as well as practical, knowledge and skills. Quite a bit of our learning is done outdoors, weather permitting, as we have a fantastic environment and community around us.’
‘Absolutely.’ Flora was pleased by Maggie’s enthusiasm for restarting the garden and what that could mean for the pupils. ‘You won’t hear any argument from me! I think it’s a wonderful idea and I’d love to help if I can, whilst I’m here.’
She saw at once that it was a tip. The polytunnel was still in good order but the rest of the plot was a mess, with flourishing weeds and abandoned pots dumped in heaps, some still with plants inside. The plastic compost bins had blown over and spilled their contents, adding to the chaos. Four raised beds looked to have contained fruit at one time, but they were long since past their best and the strawberry patch was full of mare’s tail, which would be almost impossible to eradicate. Nevertheless, Flora felt her excitement grow, as she pictured the plot as a productive and working garden – and the results which could, given plenty of hard work, be achieved in the coming months.
‘It really is a disaster,’ Maggie said sheepishly, bending to pick up a watering can and tossing it into a nearby wheelbarrow. ‘I’m sorry, Flora, I haven’t looked at it for a while and I feel embarrassed to have dragged you here, now I’ve seen the state of it again.’
‘Oh no, don’t be,’ Flora assured her, already making her way over to the polytunnel to explore. ‘I’ve seen far worse. It will need some work for sure, but it can definitely be sorted out.’
Just then there was a roar behind them and they both turned to see children erupting from the building and running over to discover what was going on. They were followed more slowly by two adults, who Maggie explained were a teacher and classroom assistant. The children skittered to a halt as they spilled into the garden and Maggie asked them all to stand quietly so she could introduce Flora.
‘This is Miss Stewart, who is a professional gardener, and we’re very lucky that she’s visiting the island for work just now and has agreed to look at our garden to see how we can improve it.’
Flora smiled at the little group, noticing the glum stares of two older boys and the wide-eyed wonder of three tiny children, almost certainly reception age. She hoped she could engage everyone’s interest, eventually. The nine remaining kids looked the most interested and a couple of them were already scrabbling about in the soil.
‘Hi,’ Flora said, dropping down so she was roughly on the same level as them. She picked up a handful of the soil, and was pleased with the quality and texture. ‘Who knows what this is?’
It was a question with an obvious answer and almost every hand went up, so Flora picked one of the older boys to reply. She thanked him for his answer and gave them a very quick and simple explanation of why the soil was so important to everything in the garden. Maggie asked her to tell the children how she became a gardener, and Flora took a breath as she began.
‘Well, I was planning to be a musician at first.’ She was standing with her back against one of the compost bins and she smiled at the little group, pleased by their attention. ‘I went to a very good school to learn about music but then, when I was fifteen, I was really poorly and had to miss quite a lot of lessons.’
‘What was wrong with you?’
Flora smiled at the direct question from an older girl. ‘I had glandular fever, which is a type of infection, and it caused a swelling in my tummy and then another illness called pneumonia, which made me very poorly. Even though the symptoms went away eventually, I was very tired for a long time and couldn’t go to school. My parents were working every day, so I went to stay with my grandma to get better.’
Flora had never forgotten those weeks and months. She remembered the endless sore throat, the constant sense of being unwell, and the shivers and aches that left her feeling cold on even the warmest days. Nausea that nibbled away at her appetite until it was gone, and the weight and strength that slipped away with it. And then the days when she was too tired to do barely more than lift her head from the pillow, before finally she was able to emerge outside, blinking in the sunlight in her grandma’s garden, her symptoms eventually improving.
Flora dragged her mind back to now, aware that everyone was listening, and endlessly grateful that she had recovered. Her gaze fell on a little girl with a neat blonde bob, topped with a fringe, and big blue eyes. She was standing further back, next to a slightly bigger girl – perhaps a year or so older – and they were holding hands tightly. Flora smiled at them, surprised when the younger girl just stared back without responding. The older girl looked down and gave the little one a nudge, which resulted in the merest stretching of her lips.
Flora couldn’t fathom why, but she felt that her story had been worth sharing just for the sake of this little blonde girl alone. So she continued. ‘My gran has a beautiful garden, even though it’s small, and when I started to get better, I was able to spend time outside and help her. It wasn’t long before I had completely fallen in love with nurturing plants and watching them flourish, and I honestly believe that the garden made me better. Not because it could heal me physically, but I was feeling quite sad about missing school and home. Growing things in the garden helped me to feel excited again, and then I minded less about school and not seeing so much of my friends.’ She paused, smiling at each group in turn. ‘The garden I’m visiting here on the island is big, definitely special and important because of its history, but it doesn’t matter about the size of the space you have. What really matters is what you do with it and how it makes you feel. When I was still at my grandma’s, I decided I wanted to become a horticulturist, which is just a big word for a gardener. I went to university to study and worked hard, and here I am.’
‘Thank you, Miss Stewart, what a lovely, happy ending. We’re awfully glad to hear you got better, aren’t we?’
There was a chorus of agreement and Flora stood up with a grin. ‘Well, who wants to explore in the polytunnel and see what we can find? But please be careful – it’s important not to touch anything and then put your hands near your mouth, okay? You must always wash them when you’ve finished outside.’
It was a bit of a scramble to get in and the teachers had to organise the children in an orderly queue to make sure no one was pushed aside. Flora glanced around for the little blonde girl and saw her standing with her friend, just inside the door. She gave her another encouraging smile, but knew not to expect a response this time. She made her way over to a section of shelving, where there were some seed trays and pots, and picked up a couple to examine them. She felt a movement at her side and when she looked down, the little blonde girl and her friend were standing next to her, watching with wide eyes. Flora picked up another small pot and bent down, still taller than either of the girls.
‘Look,’ she told them, holding the pot out in front of her. ‘These are sweet pea seedlings. Someone must have planted the seeds a while ago and they’ve germinated. Do you know what they look like?’
A shake of the head from the older girl, but still no reply from the smaller one.
‘Well, they’re plants of course, but they have the most beautiful and delicate flowers, which smell amazing and come in all sorts of pretty colours. I love them; we grow lots in the garden where I usually work. If you look after these plants by giving them room to grow in the sun and some water, you’ll have flowers in the summer, too. These little plants are like a promise of happiness to come.’
Flora smiled at them and then she paused, the pot in her hands, as the little girl’s lips parted, and she tried to speak. It was a few moments before any sound followed and Flora had to stoop low, her ear close to the little girl’s face.
‘Will they be pink?’ It was a tiny noise, a whisper that Flora heard through the clamour around them. The simplicity of the question from this little girl, who had somehow captured Flora’s attention, brought a rush of emotion she hadn’t expected.
‘They might be,’ Flora told her quietly, unwilling to say yes and then risk disappointment if they turned out to be anything but. Flora felt that trust from this little one could be lost in a heartbeat if she didn’t offer the truth. ‘They’re usually a mix of colours so they probably won’t all be pink. Is pink your favourite colour?’
A nod, while those still, blue eyes watched her steadily. ‘What’s your name?’ Flora asked.
The older girl looked down quizzically as the blonde girl opened her mouth and, again, it was a minute before any sound followed. Flora was ready this time, close enough to hear the tiny murmur she made.
‘Tamsin.’
‘That’s a really pretty name,’ Flora told her, looking at the other girl and repeating the question, quickly learning that she was called Bonnie. There was a call then, from the teacher, and the children were bustled away, some protesting, to return indoors. Flora watched them go and it was only as they lined up that she saw Tamsin was still holding the pot of sweet pea seedlings in her little hands. Her eyes softened as she looked at the small girl, and then they were gone.
‘Oh, Flora, you were fabulous!’ Maggie was enthusiastic as ever and Flora laughed, her thoughts still with the little girl. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised to hear you’ve got a couple of budding horticulturists after that. They loved you.’
‘They’re very sweet, especially the little blonde one – Tamsin, is it? She asked me if the sweet peas we found would be pink.’ Flora was busy straightening pots that had fallen over but she heard Maggie’s gasp and looked around curiously. Maggie was staring at her in astonishment and Flora wondered what on earth she had done.
‘Did you say that Tamsin spoke to you? Did Bonnie tell you her name?’
Flora was worried now, a frown creasing her brow. ‘No, I asked Tamsin and she told me. That was it, I think. She didn’t say anything else, apart from asking if the sweet peas would be pink. What’s the matter?’
Maggie shook her head in wonder. ‘Absolutely nothing. Tamsin has barely said ten words together to anyone other than Bonnie at school and none at all since her parents died nine months ago.’