Getting in his van, he drove a short distance through the Kent countryside, which was looking resplendent in its summer attire. The hills of the Weald were a lemony green against the dark trees of high summer, and the orchards and vineyards were swelling softly with fruit.
Luke turned off a main road into a village he’d never visited before. He thought he had the right address. He hadn’t thought to double-check, but he hadn’t needed to for, a few minutes later, he’d pulled up outside a seventeenth-century home, recognising the small red van parked outside it.
The front door, a large wooden one which reminded him of the one at Lorford Castle, only on a far more modest scale, was open and the sound of sawing could be heard from inside.
Luke placed his hard hat on his head and walked down a narrow hallway, his boots echoing on the dark stone floor. He entered a room to the right and was greeted by a look of total shock on Chippy’s face.
‘Luke!’
‘Hey, Chippy!’
‘I didn’t know you were back.’
Luke gave a shrug. He felt a little guilty for having been home so long and not letting his friend know.
‘Home for good,’ Luke told him.
‘Yeah?’
‘And ready to work.’
Chippy grinned. ‘Well, there’s plenty to do.’
Luke looked around the room, which had been stripped back to its original timbers, and smiled. It was a beautiful building and he couldn’t wait to get to work on it with Chippy by his side. He’d missed a hard day’s work with his friend and the carefree banter they shared. He felt ready for this. For the first time in months, he felt like the old Luke might be ready to make a comeback.
Chapter 24
The summer slipped by in lazy, hazy days on the Suffolk coast. The residents of Lorford kept their curtains drawn against the sun during the day and flung their windows open each evening in an attempt to keep their homes cool. It was a summer they would never forget.
Orla certainly wouldn’t forget it. She was spending more time at the allotments with Bill. It was such a special place and she’d found herself becoming a part of the community, chatting to the other people who gardened there. It had been so easy to slip into a new routine and now she couldn’t envisage her day without a trip to the allotments fitted into it. Of course, she knew she had Luke to thank for it all. If he hadn’t come into her life, she would most likely still be locked away inside the castle, only coming out for her daily walks to the beach.
She missed Luke. But, as the weeks passed without word from him, she guessed that he’d long forgotten about her. At least there was plenty to distract her at the allotments. There was certainly plenty to do during those last hot weeks of summer. Bill’s two water butts had been emptied a long time ago and he and Orla were bringing buckets of water with them from home.
‘You don’t need to carry those!’ he chided her each time she did. ‘It’s easier for me to do that in my car.’
‘But I really don’t mind,’ she told him. ‘I’ve got muscles – look!’ She flexed her biceps, which bulged the tiniest amount. ‘Well, I’m on the way to getting muscles.’
Something else Orla always brought with her was her phone and her camera to photograph the daily changes in the growth of the flowers, fruit and vegetables. It was refreshing to capture something other than china with her camera – something that lived and breathed and evolved over time. She loved the scent of the soil after watering the plants and would often crouch down to inhale the earth and to photograph the jewel-bright stems of the rainbow chard.
August slipped into September, the sun sinking a little earlier in the sky with each passing day and the mornings feeling decidedly cooler. The hedgerows were filled with blackberries and rosehips, and dewy cobwebs threaded their way across the countryside, catching the light and turning everything into a fairy world. Orla helped Bill with his harvest. One of the most rewarding jobs was cutting the squashes. For Orla, who’d lived all of her life in London without a garden, this was a new experience. The only squashes she’d ever harvested before were from a shelf in the supermarket. But how fulfilling it was to lift one of the enormous leaves and to hold one of the swollen fruits in your hands, feeling the full weight of summer inside it, to cut the stalk and place the fruit in your basket and to think of the joy to come in eating it.
Bill was generous, giving Orla armfuls of produce to take away in thanks for all her help over the summer. And she was invited to Oyster Cottage one evening for a celebratory harvest supper where everything they ate had come from the allotment.
When October arrived, it brought the first frosts, and summer suddenly seemed a distant memory. The air chilled and, after months of bare limbs, jumpers were reached for. There was less to do at the allotment now, but Orla still met Bill there. He’d taught her so much over the last few months and she was determined to grow even more fruit, flowers and vegetables of her own at the castle in the spring. He’d promised to guide her through the seasons, and she couldn’t wait.
On a crisp October morning after walking One Ear on the beach, she headed to the allotment. Bill had texted her to say he’d be there and that he was going to clear the vegetable beds to make room for some spring greens and to bring a bag to fill for her kitchen.
