Other People's Marriages by Rosie Thomas

Author:Rosie Thomas [THOMAS, ROSIE]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC045000
ISBN: 9781468313291
Publisher: ABRAMS, Inc. (Ignition)
Published: 2016-03-08T00:00:00+00:00

Twelve

Barney Clegg stood back to admire his work, brushing the earth off his large hands on to the legs of his jeans.

‘There. What do you think?’

Nina stood in the doorway to survey her tiny square of back yard. The early March sunshine felt warm on the top of her head, and Barney’s opulent clumps of daffodils and grape hyacinths added to the brightness.

‘I think it’s the best instant garden I have ever seen.’

He had arrived in a van loaded with sacks of compost and pots and tubs of plants, and in the course of the morning had dug over and fed her patch of starved earth and filled it with splashy green shrubs and spring bulbs in full flower.

‘I feel fraudulent, though.’

Barney raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Why’s that?’

‘I haven’t sprinkled the seed or hoed or watered.’

‘Well, neither have I, exactly.’

‘Where did the plants come from?’

He grinned. ‘Don’t ask. But it looks good, doesn’t it?’

‘It does. I shall come and sit out here and admire it, all summer long.’

‘And think of me.’

Nina laughed. ‘Of course. I’m very grateful, Barney. I’m not quite sure why you’ve gone to so much trouble.’

She was not sure, but she was glad to have her garden so deftly transformed. Nor would she have denied to herself that it had been a pleasure to sit on a kitchen stool pretending to be busy, and covertly watching him humming and digging out in the sunshine. Barney was comfortable in the open air.

‘I promised I’d do it for you.’

‘I didn’t really expect you to keep such a rash promise.’

‘I always keep my promises, actually.’

They were standing by the French doors into the kitchen. Barney was leaning on a spade, with his shirt sleeves rolled up. There was a rim of fresh earth around his wrists.

‘Now I’ve offended you.’

‘Not seriously. You could make amends with a cup of tea.’

She had offered one earlier, but Barney had told her he wanted to get the job finished first.

‘Do you really want tea? Wouldn’t you rather have a drink?’ It was the middle of the afternoon, an indeterminate and featureless hour. The idea of a drink seemed appealingly decadent.

‘Yes, I would rather, since you mention it.’

Barney followed her into the kitchen. He stood at the sink washing his hands while Nina foraged in cupboards. She put bread and cheese and fruit on the table, and poured two glasses of wine. The lush greenery outside kept catching her eye. The afternoon had mysteriously become an impromptu celebration.

‘You’ll have to teach me what these plants are, you realize. I only know the Christmas rose.’

The hellebore he had brought her on Boxing Day had been joined by two more. Their new leaves stood up from the earth like eagerly raised hands.

‘Easy. There’s Choisya ternata, Fatsia japonica, Hedera Goldheart and Ravensholst –’

‘Stop. I’m lost already. My husband was the gardener.’

He hesitated. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It’s all right.’

It was, she thought. A year, almost, since Richard’s death. Now she was drinking wine in the middle of the

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