Noelle Bryant, Cardiff u3a
Wales
Peaceholme **New Garden**
Marjorie sat on the patio as the first rays of sunshine peeked over the hedge where sparrows chattered. The pigeons slaked their thirst in the shallow edge of the pond whilst robins and blackbirds pecked at the mealworms scattered below the crab apple. The dish of food she’d put out for the hedgehogs was empty. Relaxing into the soft cushion, she closed her eyes to enjoy the calm before the mayhem she expected for the rest of the day. She hadn’t really been avoiding the village, or the villagers, exactly. This was a ripping-the-band-aid-off attempt to find a new place for herself in it.
Finishing her coffee, she ran through her mental list of outstanding tasks. Just the few finishing touches before visitors would be coming in to her first open day under the National Open Gardens scheme. Everything had finally got going again after Covid. She knew there would be a crowd. While she’d been at the deli picking up some olives, she’d heard several of the women from the village hall committee gossiping by the cheese counter.
“Well, she’s got a big plot. Can’t see that she’d have been able to do much with it, without her Victor around any more to do the heavy lifting.”
“But what about all those plants then? And Ellie said there were trees delivered last year, just after the lockdown. The second one I think, can’t remember now. Not big ones mind but there were a few. “
“Well, I asked our Fred, and Maisie’s Tom, if they knew if any of the gardeners round here had taken her on, but they said no. Mrs Taylor on the corner always keeps an eye out, neighbourhood watch of course, but nobody else seems to come and go.”
“Well I want to go and look round. No-one’s been in there for years. Victor kept it all secret for his giant veg. Dunno how he used to grow them so big. Wouldn’t let anyone in his garden and never a good word for anyone else at the fetes neither. Everyone knew he’d win first prize at all of them but there’s no need to go criticising all the others. Reckoned he was cock of the walk.”
“No-one’s seen much of her either. Always been a snooty lot there, her and the two others before. Mind you, the way he was, I’m not surprised they walked out on him, least that’s what I heard. Wonder how soon she’d have been off?”
“Well I’m going on Saturday to see what’s what. The gardening club members say they’ll be going for a look-see too. Meet you all at Sally’s and we’ll go together, ‘bout one o’clock? I’ll ring the other girls from yoga.” Murmurs of agreement followed.
Marjorie looked around the garden again as she went to pick up the hedgehogs’ dish. There were several areas where she could put the tables and chairs so people could sit and enjoy the garden. Just as well the forecast was for a dry day.
The lawn was a smooth emerald walkway, dew drops sparkling in the sun, as it wound its way past the pond, beneath the apple trees to the wider expanse in the lower half of the garden. It outlined sculpted, colour-coordinated flower beds full of blossoms and blooms backed by willowy grasses. Larger shrubs concealed hidden corners: the work area by the shed; the long greenhouse now full of exotics instead of vegetable seedlings; the cool dense planting of the fernery and the mound of the rockery, full of alpines and ringed with heathers. It really was a garden to explore to find all of the secret delights and meandering pathways.
Marjorie felt very proud of all she had accomplished in the last three years or so, particularly since Victor would have hated it. His death at the garden centre; a sudden, unexpected, fatal heart attack, had come in the nick of time to save her sanity ... and perhaps her.
For several months after his death there seemed to be nothing but paperwork, trying to sort out his affairs. That’s when she’d first discovered the other two, as the hall committee ladies had called them, Amy and Eleanor. He’d had two partners before, something she hadn’t known when she married him. Mind, she could say that about a lot of things. From all the evidence in the attic, they had had no better experience than she had. Alone and vulnerable, enticed by a well-to-do gentleman who seemed so charming, they soon got their orders once they moved in. Everything was Victor’s way or punishment followed. She’d found old trunks with the women’s possessions; the diaries telling tales of increasing isolation and cruelty which were all too familiar. But if these were all their possessions, where had the women gone when they left?
She’d found Victor’s wills, all four handwritten and each replacing the last with different names as sole beneficiaries. That was the only change each time. First Amy, then Eleanor and then her. The most recent had just the National Vegetable Society as sole beneficiary and was dated less than a year after their marriage. She had obviously failed to please him sufficiently.
Reckoning she deserved to stay in the house, rather than be left with nothing as all accounts were in Victor’s name, she used ‘her’ will to apply for probate. It was swiftly granted, with no questions she’d worried might be raised. She burned the others ceremoniously on a small bonfire she had in November that year while the rockets from the village celebration whizzed and banged overhead.
That was also when she decided to redesign the garden. Large beds for giant veg were soon replaced in her imagination, but it took much longer in practice, even though the care Victor had taken in improving the soil made digging easy. The sudden imposition of long lockdown days during the Covid pandemic the following year suited her perfectly. No need to go to the village and suffer the looks and gossip; just get on with the garden and regain her sense of self.
It had been something of a shock when she’d found the first bones. The following week she’d dug very carefully. The skeletons had been in two ungainly heaps under the plot for the giant pumpkins and marrows. But it soon made sense. No-one could escape Victor. It was odd he’d never got rid of the trunks in the attic but Victor was a law to himself. She thought about involving the police but what would be the point, with Victor already dead? The prospect of all the attendant publicity and hoo-ha clinched it: she would take care of the ladies herself. Checking their diaries for mentions of favourite colours or flowers, Marjorie created the yellow border for Amy and the pink and white border for Eleanor, hoping they’d be pleased. She’d decided who was who from the apparent age of the bones. She hoped she’d got it right.
Once the final chores were done in the garden, Marjorie set up the kitchen ready for drinks and cakes to be served for visitors. Mrs Carson, the local garden scheme coordinator, had said she would send her daughters to help take the money and check tickets. They arrived on time and the three of them soon had everything organised.
Ten minutes before the advertised opening time, footsteps could be heard crunching down the gravel driveway. A steady flow of people came in; the kettle worked overtime and the cakes ran out by mid-afternoon so Marjorie opened the packets of fancy chocolate biscuits she’d doubted she would ever share with actual visitors. The programme said she’d close at four. Mrs Carson’s girls left. Marjorie shut the door to the kitchen and wandered into the garden, wondering whether there was anyone still there. She’d been too busy all day to really talk to any of the visitors, though she’d accepted many complimentary comments as people passed; both about the garden and the cakes.
Marjorie found the village hall ladies had rounded up a couple of the tables and were lazily chatting in the sunshine. Anne Simmons looked up as she ventured out from the trees and called out “Marjorie, it’s just so lovely here, we couldn’t stir ourselves to go home. You’ve made a wonderful garden, absolutely breathtaking, and all on your own. You clever lady, come and tell us how you did it.” Their chatter extended over a couple of bottles of wine as the sun went down and friendship bonds began to form.
“And we raised over £1400 for the Women’s Aid shelter in town.” Marjorie blushed with pride.
“That’s blooming marvellous dear!” Anne smiled, a flash of understanding shading her features as she locked eyes with Marjorie. “A splendid first opening for you. Peaceholme is really living up to its name.”