Orla surveyed it all now, smiling at the towering sunflowers, the neat rows of chard and salad, the profusion of marigolds and snapdragons, and the towers of sweet peas and beans. It was a feast for the eyes and nose as well as the belly and she couldn’t believe it was all on her doorstep and that she’d never spent time here. Well, she’d make up for that now.
It didn’t take long to find Bill. He had a central plot with a faded blue shed at the far end. He was pulling some large green leaves from the earth when Orla approached.
‘Hello there!’ she called, and he straightened up, looking surprised to see her. Surprised, but pleased.
‘Hello there,’ he echoed. ‘What brings you this way?’
‘Oh, you know – stretching my legs. Actually, I have a special delivery!’ She motioned to the little wooden gate into his plot and, when he nodded, opened it and approached him, showing him the paper bag.
‘What’s this, then?’
‘Flapjacks from Margy.’
‘She called at the castle?’
‘No. I called round to yours.’
‘Everything all right?’ Bill asked, opening the bag and sniffing appreciatively.
‘Not really. I had a little altercation with my mum.’
‘Ah!’
‘She’s left in a very bad mood.’
‘Left?’
‘Back to London.’
‘I see,’ Bill said. ‘Might a cup of tea be in order? I have a flask and a couple of enamel cups.’
‘Very civilised,’ Orla said.
‘I won’t take offence if you’d rather have a nice cup of tea back at the castle.’
‘Where would be the fun in that? I can do that any day,’ Orla told him.
‘Then come and see the shed.’
Orla grinned. It wasn’t every day that you got invited to look at a man’s special hideout, and she wasn’t disappointed. As with everything to do with Bill, it was meticulous, with its neat shelves on which sat terracotta and plastic pots of all sizes, great fat balls of twine, tins full of seed packets, jars stuffed with plant labels and baskets full of old tools with worn-away wooden handles. And, on a little worktop on the right sat a red flask and two enamel cups. Orla watched as Bill filled the cups and handed one to her. They then went out into the sun again to sit on a bench in the shade of the shed, where Orla opened the paper bag and offered Bill a flapjack.
Orla could feel herself physically decompress from just being there, sitting next to Bill, sipping tea and eating her flapjack while looking out over the allotments and on down to the sea.
‘Nice spot,’ she said. ‘No – not nice. Glorious!’
‘Can’t argue with you there,’ he confessed. ‘Everyone should have a place like this, even if they don’t grow anything – a place to just come and sit. To think or not to think. I do my best no-thinking here.’
Orla laughed and felt herself relaxing even more.
‘My mum means well,’ she began, not wanting to reopen a painful subject, but feeling the need to talk about it for a moment. ‘But she can be a little . . .’ She looked out across the allotments as if searching for the right word.
‘Domineering?’ Bill suggested.
‘Oh, yes! But perhaps that’s a little harsh.’ Orla gazed into the middle distance. It was hard to describe her mother. On the one hand, she’d been there for Orla in some of her darkest hours, and yet she had the capacity to make Orla feel so small and helpless, just when she needed to be built up emotionally. That wasn’t healthy, was it? Orla felt instinctively as though it wasn’t.
‘The strange thing is, she never came with me whenever I went out into the village. How do you explain that?’ Orla asked, genuinely perplexed by this. ‘One minute, she doesn’t want me leaving her sight, and then the next she refuses to come out with me.’
Bill seemed to mull this over for a moment.
‘Sounds to me like she didn’t want to share you. She wanted you all to herself. Doesn’t like seeing you with other people.’
‘But that’s so weird,’ Orla said. ‘It’s as if she doesn’t want me to get well.’
‘She probably does – but on her terms.’
Orla shook her head. ‘Why are people so complex?’
Bill grinned. ‘I like to think I’m real simple.’
‘Simple is good.’
They sat sipping their tea in good, simple silence.
‘Heard from Luke?’ Bill asked at last.
‘No. You?’
‘Nope. You miss him, don’t you?’ Bill asked.
‘I do. I really do. Isn’t that funny? I never knew him before this summer, and he was only here for a few months, but he became such a big part of my life.’
Bill looked out over the allotments. ‘He slotted in, didn’t he?’
Orla smiled. ‘Yes! That’s it exactly. He slotted in.’
‘Why don’t you call him?’
‘I’m not sure he wants to talk to me.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘The thing with my mother arriving and him leaving. She blamed him for the whole Brandon affair and I locked myself away and couldn’t speak to him. It was all such a mess.’
‘But it’s easier now that your mother’s gone, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose.’
‘Then call him.’
Orla finished her tea. Should she call Luke? Would he really want to hear from her? Well, there was only one way to find out, wasn’t there?
‘Thanks, Bill. It’s really helped being able to talk about all this.’
He smiled. ‘You should come here more often,’ he told her.
Orla took a deep, slow breath of fresh air and gazed out over the allotments towards the coast beyond.
‘Yes, I should.’
‘Why not meet me here tomorrow? I’ll be down after tea to do a spot of watering – once the sting of the day’s gone and the air’s a little cooler. You could help me, if you like.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘Good.’
Bill got up and took Orla’s cup and Orla made to move.
‘Don’t be going on my account,’ he said. ‘I’m just going
