Ivy Lane: Spring: by Cathy Bramley Page A

seconds.
    ‘Happy Easter.’ I opened my eyes to find Charlie by our bench. He handed me a box of truffles in an egg-shaped box and Gemma a bunch of daffodils.
    It was the only Easter present I’d received and I was very touched. They looked expensive, the daffodils by comparison were without packaging and, at a guess, I’d say he had just swiped them from his plot.
    ‘How come I don’t get chocolates?’ Gemma pouted with a sly sideways grin at me.
    I was thinking the same thing; Charlie and I were meant to be friends, the last thing I needed right now was to be singled out for special attention. My face, already pink from the sun, felt like it was sizzling.
    ‘I was just thinking of your figure,’ he said, holding out his arms, his face a picture of mock-innocence.
    ‘I’ll thank you not to think of my body at all, Charlie, I’m a married woman.’
    Thirty minutes later all that was left of the Easter Egg Hunt was discarded silver foil and sticky faces. Christine had arrived and herded all of us to the pavilion steps.
    Peter began a speech about the successful start to the year, the forthcoming events and one or two housekeeping notices and I found myself drifting off in the sunshine.
    Easter already. Spring was flying by; it would be summer before too long and then I’d be kept busy on the allotment! I thought back to New Year’s Day and how daunted I had felt on that first visit to Ivy Lane. So much had changed for me since then. My counsellor had been right; moving to Kingsfield, taking on the plot . . . A fresh start had been exactly what I had needed. And although it had taken time, I had also adopted a fresh attitude: letting people get close to me again; making friends like Gemma and Charlie (although the latest Easter gift development was a bit of a worry). I was a part of this community now, whether I liked it or not. I opened my eyes and glanced round the assembled crowd, and actually, I realized, I did like it. And as long as I could continue to remain in the background, gradually gaining confidence, that would suit me just fine.
    I tuned back into the speeches as Christine took centre stage.
    ‘Let’s give a round of applause to Nigel and Peter for organizing the Easter Egg Hunt. Another successful event.’
    Everyone clapped politely. I caught Gemma’s eye and shook my head as I saw a ‘But’ form on her lips. No public recognition for me, thank you very much. She rolled her eyes and folded her arms in a huff.
    ‘And now to our exciting news,’ Christine’s eyes sparkled; she was quivering so much she could barely pull the envelope from her handbag. ‘We’ve had a letter from the BBC! They are going to film an allotment special for the
Green Fingers
programme and they have chosen to feature Ivy Lane. Suzanna Merryweather, the TV gardening celebrity, will be joining us here in Kingsfield.’
    There was a collective gasp; shoulders were straightened, hair patted and lots of oohs and ahhs. I was grinning at how strong Christine’s Irish accent became when she was excited until Gemma squeaked and gripped my arm so tightly that I cried out in pain. Christine flapped her hands at us to be quiet.
    ‘We’ll all be in it, of course,’ she said, her eyes searching me out in the crowd. ‘But they specially want to follow someone’s first year on the allotment.’
    She took a deep breath to deliver her pièce de résistance, but I had already guessed what was coming. I shrank down in my seat and prepared for my summer, and possibly my entire life, to be changed beyond recognition.
    ‘Tilly, you’re going to be a TV star!’
    The applause resumed, this time even louder, and everyone stared. I felt like an escapee caught in a searchlight.
    ‘But . . .’ I gawped at Gemma for help.
    She looked at me and grinned. ‘Told you she was tricksy.’
    I smiled weakly at her as a new version of the summer flashed in front of me, followed swiftly by a cold wave of fear that sent shivers down my spine.
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