Summer Season (13 page)

‘Yes, I think it must be,’ said Joel. ‘I’m guessing the baby is Connie, my great great aunt. Her sister Tilly was Mum’s grandmother. Hang on a sec,’ he rooted around in the bottom of the trunk and pulled out an old book, ‘I thought I’d seen it in here. This is the family Bible, I think it’s got all the births written in it.’

He opened the cover carefully. It was a version of the King James Bible, dated 1881.

To darling Lily, on the occasion of your 7th birthday, your ever loving Grandmother,
was written in the flyleaf. Underneath it, Lily had written in childish scrawl,
Lily Clark, her first Bible
, and then below in a stronger, more adult hand:

Lily Clark b. August 10th 1874 married Edward Handford b. February 22nd 1871, 9th July, 1892

Edward James Handford b. 20th May, 1894 d. 20th May, 1894

Constance Mary Handford b. 24th April, 1895

Harry Edward Handford b. 14th May, 1898

Matilda Harriet Handford b. 12th July, 1900

‘Isn’t that amazing,’ said Kezzie. ‘What a fantastic find.’

‘I know, I can’t believe all this was sitting up in the loft and I never found any of it before,’ said Joel, grinning. He turned back to look at the photo. ‘They don’t look very happy do they? Or maybe that’s just Victorian photography.’

‘Who knows?’ said Kezzie. ‘From reading her diaries, Lily had a very tough time. She lost at least two babies: it was really sad.’

‘That’s how things were then,’ said Eileen tenderly. ‘Thanks for letting me look through all of this, Joel. I think we can make a fascinating exhibition of Edward’s life.’

‘Thank
you
for the interest,’ said Joel. ‘Without you and Kezzie I would know very little about my own family, and I’m thoroughly hooked.’

‘So can we count on you to help with the preparations for next year’s summer fete then?’ said Eileen, slyly. ‘Our first proper meeting is coming up after Christmas.’

‘Oh go on,’ said Joel. ‘I don’t suppose I have a choice, do I?’ But he smiled when he said it, and when he’d said goodbye to Eileen and Kezzie, given Sam his tea and put him to bed, Joel found himself drawn back to the trunk and its contents, and started to idly flick through Edward’s diary once more. He’d got the bit between his teeth now; he was fascinated by the story of his ancestor, and he was desperate to find out more.

1895–1898

‘Congratulations, Mr Handford, you have a beautiful baby daughter.’ Doctor Blake came out from Edward and Lily’s bedroom looking tired but triumphant. ‘I’m pleased to report that both mother and baby are doing well.’

It was a hot, sultry evening in April, and Edward felt exhausted from the tumultuous events of the last twenty-four hours when Lily had informed him that the baby was coming. He had wanted to stay with her, to help give her the strength to go on, but convention and the doctor forbade it. Though Edward had been inclined for once to hang convention, when
Lily asked him to leave, he could not resist her. He had spent an anxious afternoon pacing up and down, first in the garden, and then outside the bedroom door. The ear-piercing screams that she’d emitted had been harrowing, and it had taken all his resolve not to rush into the room to be by her side. But thank God, it was over.

Finally a child. A baby. Please God, she survived. He didn’t know what it would do to Lily – to them – if they lost this one too. He had longed and longed to take the sadness from her eyes. Now, maybe this baby would finally do it.

‘May I see them?’ Edward said.

‘Of course, but Lily is very tired. She needs rest.’

Edward entered their bedroom. Lily lay in their bed, her black hair straggled behind her, her face pale and pinched. She looked exhausted, but a brief smile crossed her face when she saw Edward. He went to embrace her, and then turned to the midwife, who was wrapping the baby in a shawl, before presenting her to them.

‘Lily, she’s beautiful.’ Edward felt an unfamiliar spasm in his heart as he held the crumpled bundle in his arms. The baby gurgled contentedly, before reaching out and grabbing his finger. He marvelled at the size of that finger next to his own. He felt clumsy, awkward; like a giant holding a beautiful porcelain doll. He knew he would never forget this day, this moment, this meeting, for the first time of the child their love had created.

‘What shall we call her?’ Edward said.

‘I don’t know,’ Lily turned away, as if she couldn’t bear to look at her, ‘but I want her christened quickly, just in case.’

‘Lily, the baby is fine,’ said Edward. ‘Look at her. She’s a beautiful, healthy baby.’

‘But what if she isn’t?’ whispered Lily. ‘What if she dies like the others?’

‘Lily, please don’t talk like that,’ said Edward in distress. ‘You’re tired, overwrought. You need some rest.’

‘But first, the baby needs feeding,’ the midwife said.

Lily looked at her daughter properly for the first time.

‘I’m not sure I can,’ she whispered.

‘Nonsense, every mother can feed her child,’ said the midwife. ‘There’s nothing to it, you’ll see.’

Edward got up to go.

‘I’ll leave you for now,’ he said, ‘and I’ll come back later, I promise.’

At Lily’s insistence, her father was called and Constance Mary Handford was christened within three hours of her birth. But that didn’t seem to satisfy Lily, who was anxious and peevish, and despite her best efforts, totally unable to feed Constance, or Connie as Edward had affectionately named her. Edward sat with them through several long nights, when the baby mewled for lack of food. She was growing weaker daily, and Lily had a set look on her face, sure she was right, and the baby would fail to thrive.

On the third day an exhausted Edward sent out for a wet-nurse, and took over the organization of the care of his daughter; Lily was clearly unable to. He had lost his wife. She had retreated somewhere into a haze of unhappiness and seemed unable to comprehend that she had a living child who needed her attention.

Edward, though, was enchanted with their daughter. As she grew stronger daily, she learnt to smile and laugh and she brought much needed joy back into the house. He was filled with a fierce, protective love that surprised him with its ferocity. But Lily he couldn’t reach. She was so frightened of losing her daughter it appeared she couldn’t learn to love her. All Edward could wish for was time to heal her wounded soul.

As time passed, Connie grew into a lively little girl, who smiled and played and ran everywhere. True to his promise
to Lily to plant flowers to mark the births of their children, he’d planted snowdrops in the four corners of the knot garden, for Connie, as a symbol of hope. Lily slowly recovered from her post-birth torpor, and began to engage with the world again. She was often to be found in the garden, picking the heartsease that grew there abundantly and filling in the gaps when plants were lost. But to Edward’s regret, she rarely played with their daughter.

It’s as if she cannot bring herself to love Connie
, he recorded in his diary.
She is afraid to love her for fear of losing her. So I must love our daughter for both of us.

It was Edward to whom Connie came running when he returned home, when he’d been working away on one of the many gardens he’d been commissioned to landscape. To Edward, that she went crying or calling with her troubles. It was Edward who helped her take her first tottering steps, and listened to her lisp her first words.

Connie rarely bothers her mother, instinctively knowing she is unlikely to look up from the flowers she often draws in the garden and take notice of her. I know that Lily cares for Connie, of course she does, but somehow she cannot manage her in the way that I can. It is as if Lily regards Connie as an exotic creature, somewhat different and distant from herself. I pray in time that will change. But gradually, slowly, my Lily is returning to me. She comes with me regularly into the garden now, and draws plants again, as she once did. Every now and again she laughs at my foibles, and I am reminded of the joy we shared when first we were married, and I am grateful for that at least …

‘The girls go to bed at 7 p.m. sharp,’ said Lauren nervously. It was a month since Christmas, Eileen’s first proper meeting about the summer fete, and the first time she’d allowed Troy to babysit. Over the last few weeks, Lauren had allowed Troy to regularly make the half an hour trip from Crawley, to visit the twins. Lauren had even included him in a very awkward and uncomfortable Christmas lunch with Lauren’s mum (who’d just about been able to keep her thoughts about Troy to herself) and the girls were gradually getting used to their dad being on the scene. Lauren might never have been ready for Troy to take charge for an evening, if her mum hadn’t gone away for some winter sun, leaving her without a babysitter. Troy had been adamant she had nothing to worry about, and Lauren was hoping that her negative thoughts would prove unfounded. If she was going to let Troy back into her children’s lives he had to be alone with them sometime. ‘They really must go to bed then, or they’ll be too tired for school tomorrow.’

‘I know you think I’m useless,’ said Troy, ‘but I think I can manage to get two four-year-olds to bed.’

‘I don’t think you’re useless – well not entirely,’ said Lauren, ‘but you aren’t used to four-year-olds, and I’ve never left them with anyone but Mum and Eileen before.’

‘I’m their dad,’ said Troy, ‘and I’m going to prove to you that I’m worthy of them and you. You’ve got to learn to trust me.’

Despite herself, Lauren had to smile. It was quite funny seeing Troy being so keen to please her, and rather charming in a way. It had always been the other way round before. And Troy was right, if he was going to play a part in the kids’ lives, she had to learn to trust him.

The doorbell rang. It was Kezzie.

‘All ready then?’ she said.

‘Yup,’ said Lauren, firing last minute instructions until Troy pushed her out of the door.

‘You know when you were telling me about Troy, before he pitched up again, you never once mentioned how good looking he was,’ said Kezzie teasingly.

‘Didn’t I? It must have slipped my mind,’ said Lauren. ‘Part of the charm of course. Give me an ugly man any day of the week.’

‘So you’re not planning to get back together?’

‘Absolutely not,’ said Lauren. ‘I’ve let him stay over a couple of times when he’s come to see the girls, because it’s a long way for him to get back to Crawley, but that’s it. He keeps threatening to get a job and move over here, but I’ll believe it when I see it.’

‘I know he came for Christmas lunch,’ said Kezzie, ‘so I couldn’t help wondering, and we haven’t had a chance to catch up since.’ Kezzie had disappeared to Spain to see her parents for a fortnight, and had come back looking bronzed and disgustingly healthy.

‘Don’t worry, I’m sure I’d have been just as nosy if it was the other way round,’ said Lauren. ‘Christmas was only just about bearable. I was treading on eggshells between Troy and Mum and hoping the girls didn’t pick up on it. I don’t think I could cope with a relationship with him. I’m glad
Troy’s back for the girls’ sake, but it’s early days, and I’m still not sure it’s going to work.’

They walked down the hill towards the Parish Hall.

‘So is this going to be dreadfully stuffy and dull?’ said Kezzie.

‘Probably,’ said Lauren. ‘But you never know, we might get them to perk up their ideas a bit.’

Eileen was already there when they arrived.

‘Let me introduce you to some people.’ She reeled off a list of names – Lauren knew most of them, having helped out at village fetes before – but Kezzie was clearly slightly overwhelmed by the number of people involved.

‘Is there anyone here under the age of sixty?’ she whispered. ‘We’re the youngest here by centuries.’

‘Wonderful, some new blood. Just what we need,’ declared Tony Symonds, who was a retired bank clerk and chaired the Parish Council with scary efficiency. ‘We really do need to get something done about the Memorial Gardens. Eileen’s been nagging me about it for ages. It’s great that you’re all on board.’

The meeting started late. Several people wandered in noisily at around a quarter to eight, mumbling apologies to Tony, who harrumphed before proceeding to talk about the fete.

‘So this year we’ve decided that the proceeds of the village fete will go to restoring the Heartsease Memorial Garden, in honour of Edward Handford’s 140th anniversary. And we’re delighted to have Edward Handford’s great great grandson, Joel Lyle here. Not only has he promised to open up the knot garden Edward Handford designed at Lovelace Cottage for the day of the fete, I believe he is also going to provide some wonderful and fascinating material for a Handford exhibition on the day.’

Joel, who’d snuck in among the latecomers, looked
mortified to have been picked out, but smiled graciously anyway.

‘All right, to business,’ said Tony. ‘Has anyone got any ideas about how the summer fete should be run this year?’

‘The same way we always run it,’ said Cynthia Green, the grumpiest woman in Heartsease. ‘It works, so why change it?’

‘Well, I was hoping we could do a few things differently,’ said Tony, ‘given that we’re celebrating Edward Handford’s 140th anniversary. I think we need to make it more of an event, shake it up a bit. Eileen, I believe you have some ideas?’

‘I do,’ said Eileen, looking a little pink and flustered. ‘I think we could be a bit more ambitious. In fact, a lot more. Rather than just have a fete for the village, why not widen its appeal and call it a Summer Fest like Chiverton does? We could make it an all day event. By all means let’s have the normal stalls, but why not close off the High Street, have street entertainers, get some music going, have a farmers’ market. Let’s really show people what Heartsease is all about.’

‘It will never work,’ sniffed Cynthia.

‘Why not?’ said Eileen. ‘We won’t know until we try.’

‘And we should have a celebrity to open proceedings,’ said Kezzie.

‘The charity I work for has some contacts with celebrities,’ said Joel. ‘I could always fish around a bit if you like, and see if we can get someone to open the fete for us.’

‘Celebrities!’ snorted Cynthia. ‘We don’t need nonsense like that.’

‘I think it’s a great idea,’ said Tony. ‘It will bring in the young people. Joel, if you’re prepared to find out about it for us that would be fantastic.’

‘We could run a competition for the best design for the play area,’ suggested Lauren.

‘And we could start planting out now, try and tidy it up,’ chipped in Kezzie.

‘What about Health and Safety?’ objected a little pinched woman sitting next to Cynthia. ‘There are those old oak trees in the Memorial Gardens that are a real menace. They should come down.’

‘So get a tree feller,’ said Kezzie. ‘I know a couple.’

‘Hmm, I’m not sure,’ interjected a small man who was clearly attached like a limpet to the pinched-looking woman. ‘It seems like a lot of extra work.’

‘Well, that’s not a priority for now,’ said Tony. ‘Sorry, Kezzie, we’ll get to it later I’m sure. Now let’s move on to considering the kinds of stalls we want.’

A good-tempered and long-winded discussion about the pros and cons of homemade ice cream ensued. Lauren caught Joel yawning and grinned. She knew there was a good reason why she’d resisted joining the committee …

‘Can you believe that?’ Kezzie was incandescent with rage. ‘They talked about the price of ice creams for half an hour. And no one made any decisions about the Memorial Gardens. I can’t believe we can’t just go and tidy it up.’

‘Welcome to village life,’ grinned Lauren. ‘At least we got through the idea of making the event bigger, thanks to Eileen.’

‘True,’ said Kezzie grudgingly. ‘I think we should show them what can be done though. Anyone up for a spot of guerrilla gardening?’

‘What,
now
?’ said Joel. ‘It’s dark, cold, and if you hadn’t noticed we’re still in the thick of winter.’

‘Yes now,’ said Kezzie. She opened the rucksack she was
carrying and revealed some small forks and trowels and winter bedding plants. ‘Like a good boy scout, I always come prepared. Besides, spring is on the way. The snowdrops are already out, and you’ve got crocuses coming up in your garden you know. I’m up for it, if you are.’

‘I really have to get back and make sure everything’s OK with Troy and the girls,’ said Lauren, turning to go. ‘Sorry. Another time maybe.’

‘And I should get back to Sam,’ said Joel, looking at his watch. ‘Eileen’s daughter is babysitting for me.’

‘Oh go on, live a little,’ said Kezzie. ‘It’s only eight thirty, what time will she be expecting you? I’m sure Christine won’t mind. This won’t take long. I’ve already dug over the bit of ground I want to plant these winter pansies in. At least it will give some colour till the spring.’

‘When did you start digging in the Memorial Gardens?’ said Joel.

‘I went out a couple of mornings last week,’ said Kezzie. ‘I couldn’t sleep and so I thought I may as well do something useful.’

‘Oh,’ said Joel.

‘Come on then, what are we waiting for?’ Kezzie strode purposefully towards the playground, while Joel stood slightly irresolute behind her.

‘Oh OK,’ he said, ‘but only for a bit.’

‘That’ll do,’ said Kezzie, with a grin.

It was early in February, and the evening air was still cold. The gardens were in pitch darkness when they arrived. The rusting iron gates were padlocked and looked forbidding and unfriendly. For a moment even Kezzie felt a little daunted.

‘So how do we get in then?’ demanded Joel.

‘Oh ye of little faith,’ said Kezzie. ‘We get in the same way as whoever’s vandalizing the playground does. If you
follow me round the corner, you will observe that there is a gap in the fence.’

Joel shook his head in amusement.

‘Does nothing faze you?’

‘Not much,’ said Kezzie, as she squeezed through the gap. ‘Careful, it is a bit narrow.’

Once in, she marched towards one of the beds to the side of the plinth.

‘This shouldn’t take long,’ she said. ‘We’ve got some plants to bed in.’

In fact they were hard at it for nearly an hour, but by the time they’d finished they’d transformed a bed that had been full of weeds into a vibrant patch of colour. Or that’s what Kezzie had assured Joel it
would
look like in the morning. It was difficult to tell in the dark.

‘Well done, partner,’ said Kezzie with a grin, and slapped him on the back. ‘How does it feel to inflict criminal damage in a public place?’

‘Fun,’ admitted Joel, who had been unprepared for the illicit thrill he’d got from their activities. Kezzie was amazing. And she was having a transformative effect on his life. Ever since she’d arrived in Heartsease, he felt that he was being propelled out of his grief-induced torpor to face up to life in the real world once more. She’d made him look at his house and garden, and reminded him what he’d planned before life had dealt him such a body blow. And learning about Edward and the history of the place had piqued Joel’s interest. Despite himself, he was finding he was beginning to engage in life again. He had to admit, it felt good.

‘You’ve got mud on your nose,’ he said. ‘Here, let me.’ Gently, he wiped it away with a hankie.

Kezzie looked at him with a slightly wistful expression on her face, and for a heartbeat he thought she might kiss
him. But then she said, ‘Time to go,’ and started packing up her things.

‘Best get home,’ she added, as if by way of explanation. ‘I have work in the morning and I have a
very
demanding boss.’

‘Yeah, right,’ said Joel. ‘I think you could change that to soft-touch boss, who goes along with your crazy schemes.’

‘Does my soft-touch boss require a nightcap before heading home?’ Kezzie said, when they reached her cottage.

Joel looked at his watch – not quite 9.30 p.m. – ‘Oh, go on then,’ he said, and followed her into the cottage.

Kezzie went to the fridge in the compact but cosy kitchen. ‘Red or white?’ she asked. ‘I have both. Or beer.’

‘I’ll have a beer actually,’ said Joel, while Kezzie poured herself a generous glug of white wine.

‘Go easy on that, otherwise the boss might have to be very tough with you in the morning.’

‘Do you mind if I have a smoke?’ said Kezzie.

‘It’s your house,’ said Joel. ‘Do what you want.’ He wasn’t keen on women who smoked, but he had always had a live and let live attitude about that kind of thing.

Kezzie, it appeared, rolled her own, but it was only when she lit up that he realized what she was smoking.

‘Kezzie!’ Why was he surprised she smoked dope? It fitted in with everything else about her.

‘What?’ said Kezzie. ‘I did ask you. And like
you
said, it’s my house.’

‘Sorry,’ said Joel, ‘I’m just not really used to this kind of thing.’

‘What kind of thing?’ said Kezzie. ‘It’s a spliff, not crack cocaine. Where’s the harm? I find it relaxing. I don’t do it very often; it’s not like I’m addicted. Alcohol’s a worse drug.’

‘I guess,’ said Joel, but he felt faintly disturbed. Kezzie was a mystery, an exciting, mercurial, volatile mystery.