Ivy Lane: Autumn: (7 page)

It had been one of those eventful weeks at home and at school when before I’d had chance to react to one event, another had come along and sent my poor brain spinning off in a new direction.

My job share colleague had made a sudden decision to retire at Christmas and I had been summoned to Mrs Burns, the head teacher’s office.

‘Tilly, you would be doing me a huge service if you would consider applying for the full-time post,’ Mrs Burns had said. ‘There would be a formal interview, of course, but in all honesty, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have in the job.’

‘I’m flattered,’ I’d replied. In fact, I was thrilled! And although the prospect was a little bit daunting, the wonderful thing was that I knew I could do it. I enjoyed my job and the thought of having total ownership of a class certainly had its appeal. Mrs Burns had given me the half-term holiday to think it over, which was what I fully intended to do.

I’d had some good news for Lee Garton, too. A spot of discreet digging had unearthed a young people’s soup kitchen based in a local church and now Lee and his brothers and sisters were sitting down to a hot meal each night after school. I’d also phoned his school and had a word with his head of year to get him a bit of support from that quarter. It wasn’t a complete solution – I knew that – but it was a start.

Then Gemma had told me that she was giving up her half of plot sixteen and the committee wanted to know if I’d take it on. If it hadn’t come along at the same time as the job offer, I probably would have taken it. Plot 16 B had taken over my life this year, which had been exactly the right thing to do. But I wasn’t sure if I wanted the allotment to become an even bigger commitment; I rather thought my social life was the next item on the agenda. I was really going to miss all the fun Gemma and I had had this year at Ivy Lane, though, and had extracted a pledge from her to visit me at least once a week to keep me company.

Since the fruit and vegetable thefts had stopped, Gemma, Charlie and I had kept our promise and not breathed a word about it to the rest of the Ivy Lane community. The plot holders were still puzzled by what had happened but, by and large, peace and harmony had been restored. Brenda had apologized to everyone who she’d accused and the community service team had finally been welcomed into the fold.

And Aidan was coming back to Ivy Lane. Tonight.

At seven o’clock, every single Ivy Lane plot holder was crammed into the pavilion. A large television screen kindly donated for the evening by
Green Fingers
dominated one end of the room. My stomach was fluttering as I tried to locate my favourite TV director amongst the crowd when Vicky bustled past.

‘You look nice, Tilly!’ she said.

‘Thank you.’ I smiled and did a little twirl.

I wished I could say the same for my bedroom; it looked like it had been ransacked by the fashion police. What do you wear to a premiere of your very own episode of
Green Fingers
? It had been a difficult choice. On the one hand, it was only an evening in the pavilion, but on the other, Aidan would be there. Working on the principle that the last time I saw him I’d been wearing a dress and that seemed to have been a roaring success, I’d plumped for a plum-coloured wool dress with high-heeled boots.

My breath caught in my throat as I spotted him. Far side, bottom perched on the edge of a table, arms folded, ankles crossed, head thrown back in laughter, flanked on either side by Peter and Nigel. A sudden memory of our summer kiss popped into my head and my heart performed a perfect somersault.

His hair was a bit longer, his face deeply tanned – and he had the beginnings of a beard, but apart from that he was every bit as I remembered: totally gorgeous.

Up until this moment, I hadn’t been sure what my reaction to seeing him again was going to be and now I had my answer. Goosebumps, quickening pulse and hot cheeks.

Right, Tilly, if you get another chance with Aidan, do not burst into tears and do not turn him down again.

What was I thinking? He’d given me his number and I hadn’t got in touch, why on earth would he risk rejection a second time? His card had been tucked into the corner of my mirror since August. But I hadn’t phoned him. I’d thought about it – I’d even keyed in his number on one occasion – but something had held me back and I’d invented a million reasons not to call.

I was still chewing my bottom lip, quite possibly wearing my owl face, when he looked across and caught sight of me. I smiled and held my breath, waiting to see what he did next with his face.

He smiled and lifted his eyebrows and then to my absolute relief, murmured something to Nigel and Peter and bounded across.

I let out a long calming breath and smoothed the skirt of my dress.

‘Hello,’ I said, smiling shyly. My heart thumped, my mouth was dry and my hands floundered around uselessly. I clasped them behind my back. I could barely stop myself from swinging from side to side like a little girl.

‘Hi. Nice dress.’

I met his eyes and he grinned at me knowingly. There was an awkward pause and we both giggled.

He cleared his throat and folded his arms. ‘So how are you?’

‘Good. You?’

So far no prizes for scintillating conversation. I couldn’t speak for him, but I was incredibly nervous.

‘How was Peru? How were the spectacled bears?’ I pressed my lips together. I’d done my research.

He whistled softly. ‘Incredible. And Peru was possibly the most amazing place I’ve ever worked in.’

‘Even more amazing than Ivy Lane?’ I raised my eyebrows.

‘Well, Ivy Lane did have its attractions.’

We locked eyes and my heart absolutely soared.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t phone,’ I said.

He grinned and shrugged. ‘That’s OK, it wasn’t compulsory.’

Oh. My confidence slipped a notch. He didn’t seem at all bothered.

Peter stuck his head between us. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Aidan, but I think we’ll get started if you’re ready?’

‘Sure.’ Aidan touched a hand lightly to my arm. ‘Shall we catch up afterwards?’

I nodded and watched him stroll to the front of the room.

Gemma waved to me and I took a seat next to her. ‘Well?’ she whispered. ‘How does it feel, seeing him again?’

I looked at her and sighed. ‘He’s lovely. But I think I might have ruined my chances. I did harbour a hope that we might pick up where we left off. But now I’m not so sure.’ I smiled at her sadly. She pulled a sympathetic face and squeezed my arm.

Shall we catch up afterwards?

A polite way to end our conversation? Or a genuine desire to talk to me again?

I had an entire episode of
Green Fingers
to get through before I’d have an answer to that.

‘Evening, everyone,’ said Aidan loudly above the babble of voices. He smiled and waited as people settled themselves into chairs.

‘It’s lovely to be back at Ivy Lane and see you all again. The
Green Fingers
crew had a great time here over the summer. Dougie,’ he said, singling him out in the audience, ‘Suzanna couldn’t make it tonight, but she sends her best.’

‘She hasn’t forgotten old Dougie!’ grinned Dougie, punching the air.

‘So.’ Aidan threw his arms wide. ‘Your TV programme. We wanted to create something special with our allotment episode and we believe we have. I hope you’ll be as delighted as we are.’

He crossed his fingers and held both hands up, pretending to be worried.

‘The show will go out next Sunday night, but we thought you deserved to see it first. If you like it, please tell all your friends. If not, then I apologize and it can just be our little secret.’ His brown eyes sparkled playfully and a rumble of laughter ran around the pavilion.

‘So without further ado, as they say. The moment of truth!’ He nodded to Christine as he started the DVD and she turned out the lights.

The
Green Fingers
theme tune came on, people wriggled in their seats and then silence fell as the pavilion, looking delightful in all its summer finery, filled the screen. Suzanna stepped into the shot and everyone cheered.

I stole a last furtive glance at Aidan as he found a seat and then focused my attention on the TV and waited for my first on-screen appearance.

I didn’t have long to wait.

Only a minute into the show, a slightly frosty girl stomped across her vegetable patch, slopping water from a watering can, which she then upended all over a tiny courgette plant.

Gemma grabbed my arm and I had to cover my mouth to stop myself from squealing. There I was, hair tied up with string, mud-splattered trousers and boasting about my carrots. I looked so comical: a scruffy, feisty know-all with blotchy eyebrows. I wondered what on earth Aidan must have thought of me that first day.

I certainly hadn’t been overly impressed with him then. I flicked my eyes towards him and studied his handsome profile; he had a gentle smile on his face and was completely absorbed in the show. I took a deep breath and turned back to the screen.

How things had changed.

The next hour flew by. I was totally captivated. The programme was utterly charming and portrayed Ivy Lane and all its characters in such a heart-warming and friendly way that I felt guilty for ever thinking that Aidan might have had some sort of hidden agenda.

We were a good audience, silent for the most part with only the odd cry of ‘That’s me!’ as individuals saw themselves on screen for the first time.

Aidan had done a superb job: each little tableau perfectly captured the personality behind the plot, whether it was Liz waist-high in flowers, Christine explaining how to make bird-scarers or Dougie bottling some of his homebrew, and one particularly poignant moment when Alf appeared in his greenhouse. There were a few sniffs in the audience at that point.

Gemma nudged me with her elbow. ‘Makes me yearn for the summer already.’

The show was nearly at an end and my face filled the screen yet again. This time I was at the annual show, smiling and laughing as I discovered I’d won second prize for my sweet peas.

‘Me too,’ I whispered, realizing how much I had blossomed at Ivy Lane this year. I slipped my arm through Gemma’s and gave it a squeeze. It had been so good for me, taking on the allotment. So many wonderful memories.

Only hours after that scene had been filmed, I’d kissed Aidan for the first time. Possibly the only time. I looked back over to him; his features were in shadow with just the light from the screen flickering across his face. My fingers itched to stroke his face.

Why hadn’t I phoned him? I could kick myself.

My solo life over the past two years had been a series of firsts and that evening had marked a massive turning point for me. The first kiss with someone other than my husband. Major moment for me, but for Aidan, who knows? He had been halfway around the world since then. He would have probably forgotten all about the kiss by now.

I felt sad all of a sudden and let out a weary breath as the credits rolled and everyone clapped.

The lights came back on and Aidan jumped back up to the front.

He held his hands out. ‘Did you enjoy it?’

There was a chorus of appreciation. Peter added a formal word on behalf of the committee and Aidan clasped his heart with mock relief.

‘Thanks to you my bosses are very pleased with me, so if it’s all right with you . . .’ He darted to a box at the side of the room and pulled out some bottles of champagne. ‘I thought we’d celebrate.’

‘You can’t take your eyes off him,’ whispered Gemma five minutes later as she put a plastic cup of bubbly in my hand.

‘I know you don’t drink,’ she said as I began to protest. ‘Just hold it in case there’s a toast.’

I took it from her. I hadn’t touched alcohol since the night of James’s death. My last drink ironically had also been a tiny glass of champagne. I hadn’t thought I would ever stomach it again. I sniffed at it tentatively.

‘Evening, girls,’ said Charlie, waving a bottle in our direction. Gemma and I both shook our heads and covered our cups.

‘What did you think?’ I’d spotted him at the back with Roy but hadn’t managed to speak to him so far.

He puffed his cheeks out and shifted his gaze to the floor. ‘There was a lot of you in it,’ he said, bringing his eyes to meet mine. ‘Anyone would think the cameraman had a crush on you or something.’

I went bright red, swallowed and tried to come up with a witty retort.

‘Ooh, Charlie, you are funny,’ giggled Gemma, tapping his arm playfully and taking the spotlight off me.

Phew.

‘Jeff was a total sweetheart, but I don’t think he was interested in Tilly. No offence, Tills.’

‘Could have fooled me,’ Charlie muttered, taking a swig of his champagne.

Just as Gemma rolled her eyes at me, I felt a warm hand on my arm.

‘Aidan!’ I stammered, turning to meet his smile.

He lowered his head to whisper in my ear. ‘Can we have that chat?’

So he really had wanted to talk me. Hurrah!

Charlie frowned and I flushed.

On the spur of the moment I took a sip of the champagne. The bubbles exploded exquisitely on my tongue.

I nodded to Aidan, handed my cup to Gemma, who slipped me a wink, and followed him to the door.

Aidan held the door open and the two of us stepped outside into the cold night air. A thick fog had descended over the allotments, blanking out the world until all that was left was him and me.

I shivered and wrapped my arms around my body.

‘I don’t fancy driving in this,’ he said, zipping up the neck of his jumper.

Invite him back to Wellington Street, then he won’t have to.

‘Me neither,’ I giggled nervously. ‘But then I haven’t got a car so, er . . .’

Awkward silence. He raised his eyebrows and I had to stop myself from whistling to fill it. Tomorrow morning I was going to buy myself a new book.
How Not to Talk Twaddle in Front of the Opposite Sex
, or something along those lines.

There we were standing in the porch light, like a couple of teenagers after a date, me tongue-tied and nervous and him – well, I wasn’t entirely sure, but his feet were fidgeting and he kept clearing his throat.