Page 28 of Once Upon a Thyme

The little farm shop on the outskirts of the village had already put its raised tables out, and I left Zeb in the car so I could pick up the bread, soup and potatoes for Mum, plus a pint of milk as she’d almost certainly have forgotten that too.

After a second’s thought, I threw a packet of biscuits, some butter, a couple of tins of beans and some fresh veg in too.

Mum could be surprisingly unfocused when she shopped, and I’d got used to turning up to almost empty cupboards after she’d supposedly done a ‘big shop’.

Driving further on we met The Goshawk Traders’ mini cavalcade coming the other way and I had to stop in a gateway to allow them through, with much waving and mugging out of windows on their part.

Mika was sitting next to Tessa I noticed.

I also noticed him blow me an exaggerated kiss as our vehicles slid past each other, unnaturally squashed into proximity by walls of bramble and exuberant dog roses.

There was the bitter smell of torn Herb Robert too.

‘He’s such a tit,’ Zeb observed mildly.

I thought of Mika’s dark concentration when he looked at my face and the way my heart galloped into my throat when I had his attention.

Of his casual, easy affection when he draped himself over me and his assurance that we should have lunch and he should show me his garden.

Part of me wanted to agree with Zeb – some of that casual affection came dangerously close to unwanted physical touch, and it was easy for him to hint at future meetings that he never intended to carry out.

But always in the background was that possibility , that small treacherous feeling that maybe Mika saw me as more than a gardener.

Perhaps he saw through this chrysalis of dirty jeans and messy hair and duty to the – what?

The bright social butterfly who would travel, live out of suitcases, unbothered and unfazed by the weirdnesses of life on the road? Ha!

‘He’s all right really.’ I steered the tight corner that led to the bridge. ‘He’s just… effusive.’

The car bucked its way over the high rise of the single span bridge and down into the village.

I parked beside the road and we got out to cross the stones that were the most direct way to my mother’s front door.

When the water was high, I had to go around the long way, back over the bridge and down the little lane, but I liked it best when I could step over the four solid flags.

They were mossed and their edges trailed weed into the water, but they were securely fixed and pleasantly spongey underfoot.

‘Is this where you grew up?’ Zeb angled his head, looking up at the little house, with its deep eaves which gave it a look of slight puzzlement as they frowned over leaded windows.

‘No. Mum and Dad actually started out in one of those houses down there.’ I pointed to the terrace of farmworkers’ cottages which fronted the road further down. ‘I was born in the middle one, apparently. When Mum wanted to move back to the village, she bought this place.’ I put my hand on the gate.

‘Bit of a step up,’ Zeb observed, pulling at the Gertrude Jekyll rose which was supposed to grow over the archway into the front garden, but was currently untidily sprawling its way down through the hedge.

I didn’t reply and we walked up the narrow brick path – which, I noticed, also needed weeding. I’d have to come down with my tools one day soon – and in through the unlocked front door.

‘Mum! I’m here, I brought the shopping!’ I called down the hallway. Only dust answered me, hanging in curtains in the light that came through from the bright kitchen at the back. ‘How are you feeling?’

A bump from above.

‘Zeb’s come with me,’ I called again, just to forestall any intent she may have to appear on the staircase, deshabille and dishevelled, dragged from her bed by a desire to see what I’d brought.

‘Lovely, darling,’ came the drawled reply. ‘I won’t come down, I’m really unwell today.’

‘But are you all right?’ I asked, in one of those peculiar ironic statements that seem to run in families. ‘Do you need me to call the doctor or anything?’

‘No, no.’ Her voice was faint. ‘I’ll be all right if I can have a good sleep. Thank you for the shopping, darling.’

I paused at the bottom of the staircase. Part of me knew I should go up. But equally, part of me wanted to stay down here, with Zeb, and not have to face my mother’s shrouded form in that hot fusty little room.

‘Leave her to sleep.’ Zeb put his hand on my arm. ‘It will probably be better for her.’

‘You’re an expert in my mum’s illness now, are you?’ His certainty annoyed me. ‘She might need something.’

‘She knows you’re here and she can ask if she does,’ he said, reasonably. ‘Who will it help if you go up?’

Me , I wanted to say. I could see that she was safely tucked up and reassure myself that she was still alive – although her calling out to us had pretty well removed that fear that today would be the day I’d find her cold and still, swathed in duvet and the room already smelling of death.

‘Let’s get this stuff put away.’ He was moving through into the kitchen, opening and closing cupboard doors. ‘Does anyone else live here? It seems a big place for just one person.’

‘No, it’s just Mum.’ When I went through, he had his head in the under-sink cupboard.

‘What on earth are you doing in there?’

‘Nothing.’ His head came out again. ‘Thought I’d find some kitchen spray, that’s all. Sink could do with a clean.’

‘That’s the chef in you coming out.’ I hauled the bag of shopping onto the table. ‘It looks fine to me.’

‘You, Tallie, are hardly fit to talk. Your kitchen looks as though a Country Living designer had a breakdown.’

‘I’m too busy for housework.’ He was annoying me again. ‘If you are going to be obsessed with cleanliness and tidiness, you really aren’t the right person to be working with animals.’

He grinned broadly at me. ‘I was thinking of a donkey. Kids like donkeys and they are just so daft looking, with those ears. And maybe ducks? We’d need some more land, of course. Hens, to clear land and get rid of slugs and stuff, plus we could sell the eggs.’

Competently he unpacked the bag, putting potatoes, milk and veg away while I stood with a half-pound of butter in my hand and stared at him. ‘You’ve thought it through? Already? I mean…’

Zeb came across the kitchen, took the butter from my hand and slipped it into the fridge which, as I had known it would be, was almost empty.

Mother had probably bought nothing but industrial quantities of coffee and peanut butter which was what she seemed to exist on.

‘Of course. I told you, Tallie, I think working with animals might be the vocation I’ve been looking for.

I loved being a chef, but it was too stressful, and I hate the financial advice thing.

It was prompted by my dad’s career, he was something in banking, and I thought there may be a genetic component. ’

This was the first time Zeb had mentioned anything about family, other than his wife. I didn’t know why he’d chosen now to introduce the topic, other than to distract me from the fact that he seemed very concerned with the contents of my mother’s kitchen cupboards.

‘Where are your parents now?’ There was a lump of very old cheese at the back of the fridge. I threw it away.

‘Oh, Dad died some years back, and Mum lives with my sister in Wrexham.’

That seemed to kill that avenue of conversation. Zeb carried on peering in cupboards. ‘Are you looking for damp, or something? Why are you so worried about the cupboards?’

Almost guiltily he straightened up, catching his head on the underside of the kitchen countertop as he did so. ‘Er, nothing. I’m just curious.’

‘You aren’t going to suddenly drop the idea of working with animals and decide to go into kitchen design and construction, are you?’

Ruefully he rubbed his head and twisted his mouth at me.

‘Sadly for you, no. Look, Tallie, I can do this, I know I can. I can grow the pets’ zone into something we can use to be financially solvent during the times that the garden is at its leanest. We can make use of the facilities that are already there, the parking and the shop, the handwashing station, and expand those toddler and playgroup visits that you have into proper events.

’ His eyes were shining now. He looked as though he’d already run the pros and cons in his head and come up with plans.

‘You can leave it to me, you concentrate on the herb garden, growing and selling and all that, and we can run things as almost two separate businesses. Probably beneficial tax wise too.’

I sighed and led the way back into the hall. ‘We’re off now, Mum!’ I called. ‘Sure there’s nothing else you want?’

‘Mmmm? No, darling. I’ll ring you if there is.’

Zeb raised an eyebrow at me.

‘Fine then. Bye.’ I’d never really noticed the relief I felt on leaving Mum’s house before.

Maybe it was the way Zeb stared around the overgrown square of the front garden that made me see that I much preferred being outdoors.

The hedges that separated the house from its only neighbour were adolescent with leggy growth, pale shoots that had sprouted in the last week or so, and adorned with convolvulus trumpets and thistle flowers.

‘I ought to come over and do some work,’ I said, hands on hips. ‘It’s getting out of control.’

‘Your mum can’t garden? Or employ a gardener?’ Zeb pulled at a dandelion which was forcing its way up between the paving bricks, a touch of bright gold optimism among the damp weeds.

‘She does garden.’ I felt ridiculously defensive. ‘When she’s well. Plus, you know, it’s my job and everything.’

‘It’s not your job to care for your mother though, is it? I mean, if she could get to the bottom of her illness then maybe she could get help? As it is, she seems to rely on you and not be too bothered about how her illness impacts on your life.’

His implied criticism made me want to snap a reply; something about how I owed my mother so much for bringing me up and keeping me safe.

How it was my business if I paid her back by doing her shopping and dropping in to help her now and again.

But I didn’t because, and I hated to admit it, he had a point.

We got back into my car and I stared once more at the impassive front of the house.

I was almost sure that I saw a flicker of movement at the top front window; maybe my mother was watching me go?

My heart gave a little jump and squeeze in my chest at the thought of the lonely woman watching her daughter leave, maybe wanting to call me back but not wanting to keep me from the things I needed to do.

I would come back tonight and be company for a while, I decided.

Who cared if it was just watching TV and eating sandwiches, after a day confined to bed she’d be glad to have someone to chat to.

‘She’s tried to get a diagnosis.’ I started the engine, keeping my eyes on that window, now just reflecting the light from the beck in its inscrutably dark squares. There was no more movement. Perhaps I’d imagined it. ‘The doctors just keep fobbing her off.’

‘Maybe if you went with her? And you could tell them how much it’s impacting on her daily life, being unable to do anything for herself?’

There was a tone in Zeb’s voice that I didn’t understand, something sharp, almost accusatory, that made me rush to answer.

‘I have offered. Granny used to offer too, she always said it was disgusting that they couldn’t sort it out.

But then Granny was big on the herbal medicine, and she used to give Mum draughts of various tonics and cordials that she’d made up.

None of those ever did any good either. I think she lost patience after a while. ’

‘Perhaps it’s ME or fibromyalgia – one of those illnesses that it’s very hard to diagnose and the doctors can’t really treat it.

’ Again, there was that note in Zeb’s voice.

Not blame, it was milder than that, but almost the tiniest bit of censure as if Mum just wasn’t trying for a diagnosis.

‘But I am curious as to how she’s managing to pay the bills. ’

‘None of your business,’ I replied, chippily. ‘Or mine either. We’d better get back and oversee the band, in case they suddenly decide to start climbing trees or doing something else that might end in an actionable case of damages.’

‘Plus, of course, the delicious Mika is there to be flirted with.’

‘Shut up.’

But as we drove away down those lace-edged lanes, I couldn’t stop wondering why Zeb was so concerned about my mother and her illness.