Ivy Lane: Winter: (9 page)

My eyes sparkled with tears as I and my fellow gardeners drank a toast to the lovely Alf.

Christine dabbed her eyes with a tissue and took a deep breath. ‘We’ve decided that it’s only fair that Alf is crowned our winner and we’ll leave the trophy in the pavilion until someone else wins it next year.’

‘Hear, hear!’ said Nigel, sparking off another round of applause.

‘Which leaves us with just this one prize left,’ said Peter, collecting the silver cup from the table. ‘The committee has decided that in remembrance of Alf, we would like to establish a new award. The Alf Jackson award for outstanding contribution to Ivy Lane life.’

This was news to me. Not that anyone needed my say-so to hand out awards, of course; I was very much the junior member of the committee. Even so . . . I sniffed and tried to maintain a neutral expression.

‘This prize will be awarded annually,’ continued Peter, ‘and from next year, each plot holder will vote for who they think deserves the title. But this year the committee has nominated a winner.’

I folded my arms. Make that
most
of the committee.

‘This person has thrown herself into Ivy Lane life with gusto.’

So it was a woman. Probably Christine. I couldn’t think of another woman more full of gusto than her.

‘She was instrumental in the success of the
Green Fingers
show and took one of the community service youngsters under her wing.’

Christine again, although I was less sure about the community service bit. Not that I was one to boast, but I was fairly sure I’d made more of an effort with Hayley than anyone else after Alf died.

‘She has supported every Ivy Lane event this year and even organized our most successful one single-handedly, despite being new to our community and new to gardening.

Now that definitely sounded like . . .

‘Congratulations to Tilly!’

Me?

Tears filled my eyes as everyone clapped and I stood there for a few seconds stunned. Then I leapt up to the front, threw my arms around Christine and Peter’s necks and hugged them until they begged for mercy.

‘I’m not sure that I deserve it, but thank you, thank you,’ I squealed, as Peter handed me the cup. ‘Oh, this has made my night. Thank you so much!’

‘Now if you’d all like to re-charge your glasses, we’ll be doing our Secret Santa in a few minutes,’ announced Peter.

Nigel turned the music back up and everyone started milling around again.

‘Thank you again,’ I said to Christine, pulling her back towards me for another hug. ‘Truly. I’m overwhelmed.’

She smiled indulgently at me. ‘You deserve it, love, now away with you and enjoy yourself.’

I whirled round to share the moment with Gemma, but she was staring at her feet. The smile fell from my face and I pushed past assorted chairs, people and obstacles to get to her side.

‘Gemma?’

The tone of my voice must have startled Mike. He turned to his wife and followed her gaze to the floor. ‘You all right, Gem? Oh look, clumsy, you’ve spilt your drink!’ he laughed. ‘Has anyone got a cloth?’

Gemma puffed her cheeks out, gripped onto Mike’s arm and gave a low guttural moan.

Mike winced as her grip tightened. ‘Hey, I was only joking.’

Her drink sat untouched on the table next to her, which meant the water had to have come from somewhere else. I crouched down beside her and looked into her eyes.

‘Have your waters broken, Gemma?’ I whispered.

She nodded but didn’t meet my eye.

‘I think it’s time to get you to hospital,’ I said.

Mike’s eyes lit up. ‘Trust you to go into labour now, Gem! This is it then, babe, the big moment. How long do you think we’ve got – a couple of hours?’

I shook my head. ‘Mike, she’s been this way for some time. She didn’t want to miss the party.’

Gemma panted and flashed her eyes at me. I ignored her. Party time was over.

‘As soon as this contraction finishes, I think we should get her to the car,’ I added in as calm a voice as I could muster.

Mike stood up and frowned at me. ‘You knew about this?’

I nodded. Gemma tried to say something but I couldn’t make out what it was between the grunts.

I gulped. ‘She made me promise . . .’

Mike narrowed his eyes. ‘I have to say, Tilly, that was bloody irresponsible of you. What if it had snowed again? The roads are already treacherous.’

His voice was low and controlled but there was no mistaking the anger in it. I felt terrible for keeping quiet, but I’d been so excited to see Gemma and she had seemed fine, not to mention adamant that she wanted to come to the party. I could kick myself now, though. But the main priority was to get Gemma to hospital as soon as possible.

‘Phew, that was a strong one!’ She blew her cheeks out and looked from me to Mike sheepishly.

‘Shall I fetch Karen?’ I asked, feeling the need to redeem myself and do something sensible.

Karen was dancing with Shazza and so far hadn’t realized what was going on.

Gemma shook her head. ‘I don’t want to draw attention to myself.’

All three of us looked at each other and laughed and the tension between Mike and I eased a little.

Mike rolled his eyes and kissed her forehead. ‘What are you like?’

‘Don’t blame Tilly,’ she said, leaning her head against his arm.

I chewed my lip anxiously. ‘Gemma, your contractions are coming faster now, we should get you to the car before the next one comes.’

She squeezed my hand and nodded. ‘You’re right. Come on, Mikey, let’s go,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘Tilly, hold my arm.’

Between the two of us, with her parents fussing behind, carrying bags and coats, we half-carried her the short distance across the icy car park, which thankfully had been sprinkled with grit, and into the passenger seat of the car.

‘You take care, now,’ said Christine, hugging her daughter. ‘And phone us as soon as you have news.’

‘And don’t worry about Mia, we’ll make sure she knows what’s happening,’ said Roy, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders.

I bent down and kissed Gemma’s cheek. I placed a hand gently on her tummy.

Safe journey, little one, see you very soon.

‘I’ll come with you, if you like,’ I said hopefully.

‘It’s OK,’ said Mike, giving me a smile. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

‘Sure. Well, good luck.’ I shut Gemma’s door and tried to organize my wobbling features into an encouraging smile.

‘Bye!’ Christine, Roy and I shouted together.

What had I said that for? Obviously they wouldn’t want me there. This was their moment. Their baby. I knew that.

But did that not stop tears springing to my eyes as I watched them drive out of the car park?

No, of course not.

I swallowed the large lump that had wedged itself firmly my throat and followed Christine and Roy back to the party.

Charlie was waiting on the steps of the porch. He was directly under the mistletoe but he looked so fidgety and distracted that I don’t think he’d even realized.

‘Come back inside,’ he said, beckoning us in with an impatient arm wave. ‘Hurry up!’

‘All right, all right, where’s the fire?’ tutted Roy, helping his wife up the steps chivalrously.

Charlie was peering over my shoulder, his brow furrowed.

‘They’ve gone,’ I said, following his gaze. ‘I hope they get there without Gemma having too many more contractions. Or giving birth in the car.’ I gulped at the thought.

‘But we’re all waiting to do Secret Santa,’ he said.

‘For goodness’ sake, Charlie, you’re a grown man,’ said Christine, giving his arm a chastising tap. ‘Anyone would think you’d never had a Christmas present before.’

Charlie grinned sheepishly. ‘I know. I’m a bit excited, that’s all. And anyway, it’s better to give than receive.’

He winked at me as he held the door open for us all. I let Roy and Christine go in first and caught Charlie glancing around the car park again.

‘I hope you’re not expecting a visit from the real Santa,’ I said, cupping my hand to my mouth in a stage whisper, ‘because if so I’ve got some bad news.’

He rolled his eyes and gave me a gentle nudge back inside.

Just in time. The music had been lowered again and Peter’s eyes sought me out in the crowd.

‘After that dramatic interlude, I think we’ll do Secret Santa. Tilly, over to you.’

Goodness, from delivering babies (well, almost – thank heavens her waters had broken when they did) to delivering presents, tonight was fast becoming one of the most eventful parties I’d ever been to, I thought as I took my place in front of a table heaped with gifts.

‘Hello, everyone. Well, firstly thank you all for the gifts for the children’s soup kitchen, they’re having their party tomorrow complete with a visit from Santa. And thank you for indulging me in the Ivy Lane Secret Santa. Now then . . .’ I stared at the pile of presents, unsure how to proceed. Should I just make it a free-for-all or should I hand each present out separately? And what if someone ended up without a present? Decisions, decisions.

Shazza was standing next to me. I looked at her and pulled a help-me-out face. She beamed at me, picked up the parcel nearest to her and read the label. ‘Dougie,’ she called and threw the package in his direction.

Within seconds parcels were flying all over the place and grown adults were ripping off paper and whooping with delight at their new gardening gloves or watering cans or kneelers or bird feeders (most of us had gone with allotment-themed gifts, it seemed) with unadulterated excitement.

‘Smell this,’ said Brenda, holding the back of her hand up to my nose.

I sniffed obediently. ‘Lovely.’ Which was the truth, luckily.

‘Crabtree and Evelyn gardeners’ hand cream. What a treat! What have you had?’

My hands were clasped behind my back and she tried to look over my shoulder.

‘Don’t know; I haven’t opened it yet. It’s still on the table.’ Which could possibly be the truth, although as far as I could tell, there was only one unopened present and I distinctly remember seeing Gemma’s name on that. I’d take it home for her and put it under my tree.

I felt a bit conspicuous standing near the present table, present-less, so I went over to the makeshift bar and poured myself a glass of wine with a dash of lemonade and told myself I didn’t mind not having a present. Not one bit. I gulped at my drink.

Graham was really chuffed with his little radio, so that was the main thing, and as Charlie had said, it was better to give than to receive. I sank down, resting my bottom on the edge of the table and sighed. All the same, I thought, taking another large restorative sip of alcohol, I couldn’t help but wonder why I hadn’t got a gift.

Unless, of course, I’d forgotten to add my own name to the hat. That was bound to be it! No one would have pulled my name out of the hat and
not
bought me a present, would they? So that had to be the answer. Everyone here was my friend. I smiled with relief and decided to keep my error to myself. If anyone asked about my gift, I would make something up. Easy peasy.

I giggled to myself as I took another sip of wine. The alcohol was going down extremely well. Anyway, what was one more present? I was a primary school teacher and primary school teachers never went short of presents at Christmas, did they? In fact, I had thirty small gifts under the tree at home ready to be opened on Christmas morning.

Mum was coming to stay with me for Christmas. Or should I say Mum and Clive! They would be arriving tomorrow afternoon and I was really looking forward to it. Nervous too. It had been just Mum and I for the last two Christmases and we hadn’t had much to celebrate. I’d decided to make a big fuss this year, though, and it was obvious that Mum was head over heels with Clive and wanted to spend Christmas with him, so it seemed the right thing to do. It would be different, but in a good way, I hoped. And when they left on Boxing Day, I would give Mum half of all the body lotions and chocolates and diaries and mugs that my class had given me.

So really, one more present was neither here nor there . . .

‘Merry Christmas, Tilly.’ I blinked myself out of my reverie to find Charlie in front of me holding my coat out.

‘Oh, is the party over?’ I said, jumping to my feet and skidding slightly in my heels.

His eyes twinkled at me and he took the glass out of my hand. ‘No,’ he chuckled, ‘but I think you should perhaps slow down on the wine.’

‘The floor’s slippy,’ I protested. Although he might have had a point. The glass was empty. Which was odd. It had been full a minute ago. The wine was beginning to make me feel all warm and fuzzy and I realized that I’d already drunk two glasses of mulled wine earlier and the last thing I’d had to eat was . . . I couldn’t remember. Which couldn’t be good.

‘Coat on,’ he murmured, still grinning at me.

‘Why? Where are we going?’ I said, sliding my arms into the sleeves obediently.

‘Outside, come on.’

He turned and headed for the door and I had no choice other than to follow him. Well, I did, I suppose, but I was nosy and a bit tipsy and so going out onto the porch with Charlie seemed like the logical thing to do.

The freezing air assaulted my nostrils and sobered me up instantly, which was just as well because Charlie was standing directly under the mistletoe.

‘Do you like the lights, Charlie?’ I said, waving my arm along the porch to distract him as I slipped past and leaned on the wooden railings. ‘I did them. Aren’t they Christmassy?’

‘Very,’ he replied. He snorted with laughter and shook his head. ‘You’re quite safe,’ he said. ‘Look, I’ll move away from the mistletoe if it makes you happy.’

‘Most considerate,’ I said, nodding earnestly. I was beginning to feel the cold creep its way into my bones and I wrapped my arms across my body. ‘Now, can you please tell me what we’re doing outside before my extremities drop off with frostbite.’

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and took a step towards me. ‘I picked you in the Secret Santa.’

Oh goodie, I do get a present after all
.

‘Charlie! You’re not supposed to tell me. The clue’s in the name, you know,’ I giggled.