‘I had to show Brown Owl photographs of me planting carrot seeds and onion seeds, and of me watering the patch after school each day. Daddy took a picture of me picking tomatoes in the greenhouse too. He did most of the work but I watered them every single day. He has cucumbers growing too but they’re not quite ready.’
‘Well, I’ll look forward to trying those. And your dad sent me all the photographs on email, so I haven’t missed out.’ She wished she’d been able to go over there and see it for herself, but email pictures were the next best thing; they kept her a part of it all.
‘Everyone clapped when I was given my badge.’ Layla’s chest puffed with pride and she couldn’t stop smiling.
‘I can sew it on like the last badge, if you like?’
‘Would you?’
‘Of course, I’d be honoured. And I’m very proud of you. I will think of you when I eat my carrots, my lettuce, my onions and tomatoes.’
‘Even the green ones…Dad says just because things are green, it doesn’t make them evil.’
‘I think he’s only talking about your green vegetables,’ Veronica smiled. This kid was too cheeky and clever for her own good. Those emerald eyes were full of intellect and mischief; a perfect combination, and one Veronica was thankful for every day. Layla popped around whenever she could and the pair had formed a tight bond as though they really were gran and granddaughter, even though there was nothing tying them together other than the simple geography of living on Mapleberry Lane.
Layla shrugged off her backpack and shuffled onto one of the wooden chairs at the small round table next to the kitchen area, making herself at home. ‘Me and Daddy had scrambled eggs on toast for our lunch. What are you having?’ She’d spotted the bread.
‘Nothing adventurous. Ham and cheese sandwich for me.’ Same as most days. Lunch tended to be basic, but Veronica loved to cook for other people if she got the chance. She carried on buttering her bread.
Layla plucked a tomato – luckily in traffic-light red, as Veronica still wasn’t sure about those green ones and she didn’t want to get sick and need a doctor’s appointment – and passed it over to her. ‘Put this in, it’ll make it nice.’ Next, she leaned over to pull out the lettuce. ‘And some of this.’
‘I tell you what, I’ll deal with the tomato if you could wash some of those lettuce leaves for me. In fact, wash them all and I’ll have a salad for my tea tonight.’ She had cajun chicken marinating in the fridge and it would go perfectly sliced on top, perhaps with some homemade croutons scattered through.
‘Can I use the funny spinny thing?’
‘The salad spinner is in the cupboard to the side of the sink.’ Layla had seen her use it a week or so back and was fascinated by how the lettuce could be soaking wet and after a few turns with the plastic contraption it came out dry. But she had to remind Layla not to get to carried away with the spinner and yank it so hard that the cord came off the disc inside and had to be wound on again.
When the lettuce was washed and spun, the tomatoes sliced and the sandwich made, Veronica sat down to eat with Layla for company. Yesterday she’d read in the newspaper that lack of social connections and living alone could be as bad for you as smoking and that loneliness was worse for you than obesity. Smoking and being overweight weren’t worries for Veronica; she’d never lit up a cigarette and she was as slim as the day she got married – not that she liked to walk down that particular memory lane very often, given the way things had turned out – and thanks to Layla and Charlie, she wasn’t as isolated as some of the people she’d read about in the article. One woman said the only voices she heard were cold callers or the television, so Veronica knew in some ways she was rather lucky to have the company she did, especially when her own family were nowhere to be seen.
‘Are you looking forward to the summer holidays?’ she asked Layla, who was busying herself emptying the surplus water from the plastic bowl of the spinner as Veronica ate.
‘I can’t wait. Daddy always lets me stay up later than on school nights.’
‘But you’ll miss school.’ She knew, because Layla was a kid who thrived in a learning environment where she could devour the information at her fingertips.
‘I’ll miss it, but not maths. Maths is hard, I can’t do it.’
‘Now I doubt that, a clever girl like you?’
‘Daddy says we can’t all be good at everything. He says I’m very good at English, but as long as I try my best in all my lessons, then that’s OK. I really like art too. We did weather fenomins yesterday.’
‘Fenomins?’
‘Yes, you know, weird things that happen with the weather.’
‘Ah, phenomena.’ She pulled over the notepad and pen that were neatly sitting beside the telephone and she wrote out the word in big letters. ‘There, another one to add to your vocabulary.’
‘I’ll learn it.’
‘And I’ll test you in a few days, when you least expect it.’ She finished the last of her sandwich and brushed a stray crumb that had escaped onto the table top back onto the plate. ‘Tell me, what does art have to do with weather?’
Layla explained how they’d learned about different climates
