Forget Me Not (42 page)

Mark is once more just … Mark. He loves his life in San Francisco. He loves his wife-to-be. But he loves us too, he says, and Dad’s wedding has provided the perfect opportunity for him to do what he says he’s been wanting to do for a very long time – come home.

‘I didn’t know how to,’ he confides as we sit side by side on the top table. ‘And then Dad’s wedding invitation arrived and Marilyn said I
had
to come back and spend some proper time with my family. So …’ He shrugs.

‘I’ve missed you,’ I say. ‘But at least now I understand.’

Mark squeezes my hand. ‘I’ve missed you. I was so angry, for so long. But I see things differently now.’ He looks at Dad. ‘And I know that the man who brought me up is my father.’

Now the cake is brought in, and Dad puts his hand over Elaine’s as they cut it and everyone claps. Then he makes a short speech about what a happy Valentine’s Day this is, and what a wonderful person Elaine is and how he could not have known what a favour, ultimately, he was to do himself when he hired her to be my maternity nurse. Cassie shouts out that it was her idea, thank you! Dad laughs and blows her a kiss.

As the waiters charge our glasses I reflect again on the fact that my maternity nurse has just become my stepmother and Milly’s step-grandmother. The thought makes me feel happy.

‘So you and I are now related by marriage,’ Jamie says with a smile. ‘I hope this doesn’t mean I have to start calling your dad “Uncle Colin”.’

Jamie is wearing a dark suit with a white corsage in one lapel and one of Milly’s Little Mermaid stickers on the other. She is sitting next to him, soliciting his help with a picture she is drawing. As she passes him some crayons she tells him that her dad’s coming soon. Xan missed her so much that he has recently relinquished New York for Brussels so that he can see Milly every other weekend. Now, even though I’m on my own, I feel no painful longing for Xan. We simply co-operate as parents and friends.

Then the speeches are over and we all raise our glasses to Dad and Elaine. Over the wedding cake and coffee the conversation becomes more general. Everyone is interested in Cassie’s forthcoming book.

When I first read
Killing Time
with its eccentric, but amusing plot involving honey-trap girls, casinos and purveyors of telephone sex, I saw the truth of something Cassie had once said – that ‘no experience is ever wasted, low-grade or not’. Especially if it is your destiny to become a writer, as it was clearly Cassie’s I now see. As I’d finished the last page of the manuscript I’d realised how judgemental I had been. Cassie was just living her own life, in her own way; and out of all her odd, seemingly unconnected experiences she has forged a clever and very entertaining book.

‘Well, I hab been terrifically lucky,’ I hear Luisa say to Uncle Ted. ‘The standard on
The X-Factor
was so high that I didn’t think I stood a snowball in hell’s chance of becoming a finalist – you could hab knocked me down with a feather when they told me that I was through to the live show stage – it will be shown on telebision next month. I was gobsmacked to get down to the last three. No, I don’t hab a recording contract yet – in my dreams! But I hab a few auditions coming up. Oh, I’m awfully sorry, but I think I’m needed.’

Now the tables are pushed back for the cabaret, and Luisa steps forward and does a set. She sings ‘Starry Starry Night’, which reminds me of when she first came to live with us. Then she sings ‘Another Suitcase in Another Hall’, and then the beautiful ‘From a Distance’. She closes with ‘Do You Know Where You’re Going To?’ and I realise that it isn’t always a bad thing if you don’t. Cassie didn’t know where she was going, but seems to be winding up in a good place anyway. I decide to ease up a bit and go with the flow.

Then the dancing starts and Jamie is dancing with Milly, spinning her round, and I’m dancing with Dad, and Mark is dancing with Elaine.

Then Dad taps him on the back and the two men burst into laughter.

‘It’s so nice that Mark’s here,’ I say to Jamie as we return to the table.

‘Is it nice that I’m here too?’ Jamie asks.

‘It’s wonderful,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t sure that you’d come back.’

‘Well, I missed London – and you.’

‘Hence all the texts and e-mails?’

He nods. ‘I didn’t like not talking to you. I’d become used to it. So I wanted to keep in touch. And then I had to come back for Elaine’s wedding, didn’t I?’

‘So are you going to stay?’ I ask, aware that my pulse is racing a little.

‘Yes,’ Jamie says. ‘I’m going to stay. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a job with you is there?’ he asks with another sip of champagne.

‘I think there’s a very good chance,’ I reply.

‘It’s your birthday tomorrow,’ he suddenly adds.

‘Yes, it is. I’ll be thirty-seven,’ I add with a grimace.

‘An old lady! I’ve got a little present for you.’

‘Really?’ I hold out my hand.

‘I’ll give it to you tomorrow. I’ll come over for breakfast – OK?’

‘OK.’

The next morning I wake up, slightly hung-over but happy. At ten I hear the doorbell ring and Milly thunders downstairs.

‘Iss Jamie!’ she yells as she peers through the coloured glass. She runs to her book box and comes back with
Cinderella, The Snail and the Whale
and
Monkey Puzzle
.

‘Happy birthday Anna,’ Jamie says. He smiles his familiar, crinkly-eyed smile.

Luisa is still in bed, but has left flowers on the dining table, and one of her eggless cakes which we have with coffee.

‘OK, then,’ I say. ‘I can’t wait any longer. So what have you got me?’

‘Close your eyes.’ Jamie says. ‘And hold out your hands.’

I do, and I feel something very light land in them. I look. In my cupped palms is a packet of seeds with a picture of some delicate purple flowers.

‘Aquilegia
?’ I murmur. ‘How lovely.’ Jamie then hands me another packet with a photo of some feathery white plumes.

‘
Astilbes
?’ I say. ‘I love them.’

‘I know you do.’ Now he gives me a packet of sky-blue delphiniums, then some pale pink foxglove seeds, then some lemony lupins, then some crimson
Sedums
, then bitter orange
Euphorbia
. All the things I adore and all, I can’t help noticing, hardy perennials.

‘Last one.’ Jamie hands me some tomato seeds. ‘Sorry,’ he says with a grin, taking them back, ‘those ones are mine.’ He replaces them with a packet of periwinkle-blue forget-me-nots.

‘I love forget-me-nots,’ I say. ‘They were my mother’s favourite. But Jamie …’ I start laughing. ‘There’s just one problem with this present. My garden’s tiny.’

‘No worries. I’ve already thought about that.’ Now he hands me an envelope. Inside is a certificate from the West London Horticultural and Allotments Society. It is a rental agreement for the number 27 allotment in Duke’s Meadows, Chiswick – and it is in my name.

‘You’re giving me an
allotment
?’

He nods. ‘It’s just up the road.’ He stands up. ‘Come on then.’

‘What? Now?’

‘Yes. Now.’ He replies. ‘Why not?’

So we put on our coats and I put on the green wellies that were my leaving present from Arden, and Jamie helps Milly on with her ladybird boots and we get in his car and drive to Chiswick.

‘When did you get it?’ I ask as we park. It is cold and our breath is visible in the crisp morning air.

‘I put your name down for it last June,’ he says as he helps Milly out of her seat.

I look at him. ‘Last June?’ Our feet crunch over a damp, gravel path.

‘When we were filling the planters in the Edwards’ garden. And you said that you wished you had a big herbaceous border to fill. You said it with such longing, and so I thought I’d get you one. Ah, number 27 – here we are.’

The plot is big – about thirty feet square, and the soil is hillocked with tufts of damp grass. In the corner there is a small, slightly derelict looking summer house.

‘You got me this last
June
?’ I feel a lump come into my throat at Jamie’s kindness and I think how much my mother would have liked him.

‘I went on the waiting list,’ he explains. ‘And when I got back from Australia last week the certificate had arrived.’

‘What an amazing present,’ I murmur. ‘You’ve given me a garden.’

‘That’s exactly what I wanted to do. To give you a garden that you could plant to your heart’s content.’

I have a sudden vision of the entire plot ablaze with colourful blooms. I rattle the seeds in my pocket. ‘Well this is the right time to sow.’

‘It is. You could grow sweet peas too,’ Jamie muses, ‘and vegetables. You could have runner beans, leeks and Swiss chard. You could have your own little Harvest Festival.’

I smile at the idea, but am also dismayed. ‘It’s wonderful, Jamie,’ I say. ‘And I love the idea. But it’s going to be so much work.’

‘Yes,’ he says matter-of-factly. ‘It will be.’ My heart sinks. ‘But you won’t have to do it on your own.’ He reaches for my hand. ‘I’ll help you.’ I feel a wave of relief mingled with a kind of euphoria. ‘I thought we could do it together; and we could bring over a couple of deckchairs to sit in when we’ve finished, and a bottle of wine on summer evenings. And Milly could have a little patch to grow things on. Would you like that Milly? You could grow some sunflowers.’ She is busy looking under a stone and doesn’t reply. ‘I thought that we could sow and grow together,’ Jamie says.

‘Grow
together
,’ Milly suddenly echoes.

‘Yes,’ I say with a smile at Jamie. ‘I think we probably will.’

BIBLIOGRAPHY

The following books provided very helpful background during the course of my research.

Plant Personalities
by Carol Klein; Cassel Illustrated
Superhints for Gardeners
by The Lady Wardington; Michael
Joseph

Gardener’s Latin
by Bill Neal; Robert Hale
Beekeeping for Dummies
by Howland Blackiston; Wiley
Publishing Inc.

The City Gardener
by Matt James; HarperCollins

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I am grateful to a number of people for help in the planning and research for this book. I would particularly like to thank the garden designer Charlotte Rowe who gave very generously of her time and knowledge; I am also indebted to the garden designers Clare Mee, Helen Billetop and Duncan Heather: any horticultural gaffes or infelicities are mine. I would also like to thank Sam Diment of Hammersmith and Chiswick Landscapes, Mike Gill of Bee Plus Ltd for enlightening me about urban beekeeping; Sarah Anticoni for advice about family law, John Causer for information about aspects of criminal law and Neil Robinson of MCC Library. I am also grateful to Kate Williams, Louise Clairmonte and Holly Pope.

As ever I would like to thank my brilliant agent Clare Conville and everyone at Conville and Walsh. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Maxine Hitchcock at HarperCollins for her brilliant editing, her generous encouragement and her patience with me when progress was slow. I am also grateful for the excellent additional input I have had from Rachel Hore and Lynne Drew. At HarperCollins I would like to thank Amanda Ridout, Katie Fulford, Leisa Nugent, Cassie Browne and Bartley Shaw. Finally I am indebted, as ever, to Greg for his love and support during the writing of this book.

About The Author

  FORGET ME NOT

Isabel Wolf was born in Warwickshire and read English at Cambridge. She is the author of six previous bestselling romantic comedies, which are all published in 23 languages. She lives in London with her family.

For more information on Isabel Wolff, visit her website at www.IsabelWolff.com

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By the same author

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Praise

Praise for Isabel Wolff:

‘Too clever for chick-lit.’                                                                            
Time Out

‘Feel-good, gritty and full of surprises.’                                      
             Cosmopolitan

‘A touching, compulsive read. Love it!’                                                                
Heat

‘A charming, funny and unpredictable novel.’                                             
Company

‘An engaging read and an intriguing page-turner.’                
Sainsbury’s Magazine

‘An unpredictable book that is darker, deeper, funnier and more emotionally satisfying than most chick lit.’                                                                                     
Australian Women’s Weekly

‘A generally superior confection … Wolff’s writing quirks are charming.’

                                                                                            
Independent on Sunday

‘She’ll make you laugh out loud and tug your heartstrings.’                             
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‘A brilliant look at love and life.’                                                                             
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‘Wolff has a light touch and a slick prose style that makes this story flow effortlessly.’                                                                                                     
Marie Claire