January.’
‘Next January,’ I echoed. I pictured my life with Matt here full time, and a ring on my finger.
I knew that I would be able, and happy, to stick it out, if he meant it.
We found the nearest Friday market and bought fruit and vegetables, cheese and bread. We chatted to the stallholders, explained our situation and held the usual conversations about why we had come here, what we liked about it. We went home and walked hand in hand around the garden.
I knelt down and stroked some of the green shoots.
‘Look,’ I told Matt. ‘The daffodils are doing brilliantly. They’re really shooting up since I took the weeds away. I hope there’s no more frost.’ I pulled out small regrowths of weeds as I spoke. Then I noticed the roses. ‘Oh Christ,’ I exclaimed. ‘Those roses have gone wild! Hang on a minute.’ I made a run for the old chicken coop that had become my garden shed, and came back with my secateurs. My pruning was slightly random, but I thought that as long as I was cutting the growth back, I was doing approximately the right thing. ‘I might need you to help me with the trees, actually,’ I told him, ‘when we’ve got a minute. I’m pretty sure they all need pruning, and it’s going to be tough actually getting up there and doing it.’ I looked at Matt.
‘Sure,’ he said. He looked somewhat bemused.
‘The grass is growing quite fast now,’ I told him. ‘Did I tell you about my lawnmower?’
He frowned. ‘That old lawnmower in the shed?’
‘No! That’s rubbish. It takes me eight hours to cut the grass with it, and I’d never get it over those brambles.’ I gestured to the wilderness area. I was slightly affronted that Matt had not mentioned the progress I had made in cutting back the jungle while he had been away. The brambles, nettles and thick grass were now less than a foot high, and I thought that the red tractor mower I had ordered would be able to cope with them. ‘I ordered a proper mower and I’d like to get a strimmer too. Save a lot of time and stress with the scythe.’
Matt nodded. ‘You’re barmy,’ he said mildly. ‘But I love you. You’re doing a strangely great job with this garden. Have you been possessed by the spirit of garden obsession? Am I going to have to get you exorcised?’
‘Is it a benign spirit?’
He put his arms round me and pulled me in close. We fitted together perfectly, my head against his shoulder. ‘As benign as can be,’ he whispered.
‘No need for exorcism then, is there?’ I whispered back. He said nothing; just shook his head.
In the evening we put Alice to bed in her own bedroom, with Gavin the bear whom she had requisitioned. Matt read her far more stories than I usually did. I cooked onion soup and listened to his voice drifting down through the floorboards. I could make out the cadences but not the individual words.
Then he came down. I got the fire going, while Matt opened a bottle of red wine. We sat in our chairs, looked at each other, and sighed simultaneously.
‘OK?’ asked Matt.
‘Yes,’ I told him. ‘Tired, but fine.’
‘The trouble with you,’ Matt said lazily, ‘is that you’re always fine. Nothing troubles you for long, does it?’
I laughed. I was pleased that Matt saw me like this. He was wrong, but this was the way I had always wanted people to see me. ‘I suppose not,’ I said, playing along.
‘Equable, that’s what you are, Emma. So, what don’t you like?’
I looked at him. ‘What do you mean, what don’t I like?’
‘Name some things you don’t like.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘I don’t like war. Or famine. Or other things like that. I don’t like inequality or racism or sexism. There’s lots I don’t like.’
Matt laughed and drained his wine. ‘Let’s move away from Miss World territory. I want to hear you being nasty. What don’t you , Emma Meadows, like? What do you hate? What drives you mad?’
I hesitated. ‘I don’t like Margaret
‘Next January,’ I echoed. I pictured my life with Matt here full time, and a ring on my finger.
I knew that I would be able, and happy, to stick it out, if he meant it.
We found the nearest Friday market and bought fruit and vegetables, cheese and bread. We chatted to the stallholders, explained our situation and held the usual conversations about why we had come here, what we liked about it. We went home and walked hand in hand around the garden.
I knelt down and stroked some of the green shoots.
‘Look,’ I told Matt. ‘The daffodils are doing brilliantly. They’re really shooting up since I took the weeds away. I hope there’s no more frost.’ I pulled out small regrowths of weeds as I spoke. Then I noticed the roses. ‘Oh Christ,’ I exclaimed. ‘Those roses have gone wild! Hang on a minute.’ I made a run for the old chicken coop that had become my garden shed, and came back with my secateurs. My pruning was slightly random, but I thought that as long as I was cutting the growth back, I was doing approximately the right thing. ‘I might need you to help me with the trees, actually,’ I told him, ‘when we’ve got a minute. I’m pretty sure they all need pruning, and it’s going to be tough actually getting up there and doing it.’ I looked at Matt.
‘Sure,’ he said. He looked somewhat bemused.
‘The grass is growing quite fast now,’ I told him. ‘Did I tell you about my lawnmower?’
He frowned. ‘That old lawnmower in the shed?’
‘No! That’s rubbish. It takes me eight hours to cut the grass with it, and I’d never get it over those brambles.’ I gestured to the wilderness area. I was slightly affronted that Matt had not mentioned the progress I had made in cutting back the jungle while he had been away. The brambles, nettles and thick grass were now less than a foot high, and I thought that the red tractor mower I had ordered would be able to cope with them. ‘I ordered a proper mower and I’d like to get a strimmer too. Save a lot of time and stress with the scythe.’
Matt nodded. ‘You’re barmy,’ he said mildly. ‘But I love you. You’re doing a strangely great job with this garden. Have you been possessed by the spirit of garden obsession? Am I going to have to get you exorcised?’
‘Is it a benign spirit?’
He put his arms round me and pulled me in close. We fitted together perfectly, my head against his shoulder. ‘As benign as can be,’ he whispered.
‘No need for exorcism then, is there?’ I whispered back. He said nothing; just shook his head.
In the evening we put Alice to bed in her own bedroom, with Gavin the bear whom she had requisitioned. Matt read her far more stories than I usually did. I cooked onion soup and listened to his voice drifting down through the floorboards. I could make out the cadences but not the individual words.
Then he came down. I got the fire going, while Matt opened a bottle of red wine. We sat in our chairs, looked at each other, and sighed simultaneously.
‘OK?’ asked Matt.
‘Yes,’ I told him. ‘Tired, but fine.’
‘The trouble with you,’ Matt said lazily, ‘is that you’re always fine. Nothing troubles you for long, does it?’
I laughed. I was pleased that Matt saw me like this. He was wrong, but this was the way I had always wanted people to see me. ‘I suppose not,’ I said, playing along.
‘Equable, that’s what you are, Emma. So, what don’t you like?’
I looked at him. ‘What do you mean, what don’t I like?’
‘Name some things you don’t like.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘I don’t like war. Or famine. Or other things like that. I don’t like inequality or racism or sexism. There’s lots I don’t like.’
Matt laughed and drained his wine. ‘Let’s move away from Miss World territory. I want to hear you being nasty. What don’t you , Emma Meadows, like? What do you hate? What drives you mad?’
I hesitated. ‘I don’t like Margaret
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