The Shadow House(21)

‘Oh dear.’ Jenny watched me feed Kara another piece of banana. ‘It must be hard work raising those two on your own. I hope I’m not speaking out of turn here, but if you ever need a babysitter, or even just someone to talk to, I’d be happy to help.’

I hesitated. It was a generous thing to say, but it put me on edge. Was I so obviously battling? My gut reaction was to make my capability clear. I don’t need anyone, thanks, I’m doing just fine. But my need to prove I could do everything myself had got me into trouble before. Well-meaning colleagues, thoughtful friends; I’d pushed them away because sometimes the sting of vulnerability hurt more than the struggle itself.

I forced a smile. ‘Well, that’s nice of you. I could certainly do with some tips!’

‘Tips?’ Jenny laughed. ‘Oh no, sweetheart, you don’t want advice from a lonely dinosaur like me. I’m retired, I have no kids, no partner, and I don’t understand computers. I don’t even have a mobile phone, can you believe that? But I do have time, and you’re always welcome to that.’

It was clearly meant as a joke, so I smiled, but her comments struck me as sad. Did she really have no one in her life?

‘Anyway.’ Jenny shrugged her bony shoulders. ‘You know where to find me. Look, I’ll leave you to it; come on down to the greenhouses whenever you’re ready, we’d love to see you.’

As I watched her go, it occurred to me that maybe her offer hadn’t been purely selfless. Maybe Jenny needed the company. Maybe I should invite her in for tea sometime. It wouldn’t hurt me to accept a little help, and it certainly felt nice to know that there was someone nearby looking out for us. Like a neighbourhood watch.

‘Hey, Jenny?’

She turned back.

‘You haven’t seen anyone hanging around here lately, have you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know, just …’ A dark-web delivery guy. A furious ex. A witch. ‘Anyone unfamiliar, walking around the village?’

Jenny frowned. ‘I don’t think so. No other new arrivals, if that’s what you mean. Why?’

I shrugged. ‘It’s okay, it doesn’t matter.’

She tilted her head, her face full of concern. ‘Everything alright?’

‘Sure,’ I said, breezily. ‘Everything’s fine. And thank you for checking in. It really means a lot.’

‘No problem. That’s what friends are for.’


‘You ready, Ollie?’ I called, spraying on some perfume. ‘Come on, we don’t want to be late.’ I checked my appearance in the mirror. I looked tired, but my hair was brushed, I’d put on some lipstick and my clothes bore minimal food stains. Not too bad.

‘What are we doing again?’ Ollie asked as we walked along the road towards the greenhouses. Five minutes earlier, I’d caved and given him his phone back; in return he’d put on one of his ‘good’ T-shirts and agreed to come with me to dinner.

‘Meeting and greeting. I think.’ Kara looked up at me from her pram, thoroughly unimpressed with the bow I’d stuck in her hair.

‘You think?’

‘Apparently on Thursdays everyone has dinner at the greenhouses. Odd place to eat, but, you know, when in Rome.’

‘Aren’t we a bit overdressed for a greenhouse?’

‘I don’t know.’ I shrugged. ‘It’s dinner.’

‘Why can’t we just eat at home by ourselves?’

‘Stop, it’ll be fun.’

It was another beautiful golden-hued afternoon, warm enough for a spaghetti strap dress and my favourite leather slingbacks. For some reason, I’d imagined that dinner in a greenhouse would be like a garden-themed wedding: loaded trestle tables, fairy lights and sangria served in mason jars. When we arrived, though, it was clear that Ollie’s instinct had been right – this was not dinner as the city knew it.

There was a trestle table, but it had been piled irreverently with foil-covered bake trays and cling-wrapped bowls. And not another red lip or rouged cheek in sight. Everyone was wearing shorts and singlets, rubber thongs and crocs, and they were all covered in mud. ‘Oh my god,’ I breathed, and almost turned the pram around.

‘Hey, you’re here!’ said Kit, approaching in boardies and a light blue muscle T. Between his broad shoulders, golden tan and the watering can in his hand, he looked like a male model on location. ‘Hello again, miss,’ he said to Kara, then nodded warmly to Ollie. ‘Hey, mate.’

‘Hi,’ Ollie mumbled, his eyes on the ground.

‘You look nice,’ he said to me. ‘We might need to get you a couple of aprons, though. Messy stuff, this gardening.’

My cheeks burned. I felt like the lone guest at a costume party who hadn’t got the memo.

‘Here, take this.’ He held out the watering can. ‘I’ll be back in a sec with aprons and gloves, and you can get stuck in.’ He bounded away.

At my side, Ollie radiated disdain.

‘See,’ I said, holding up the watering can. ‘Told you. Fun.’

Thursday afternoons, as it turned out, were all about community food production. Villagers brought their kids and pitched in to prepare seedlings, or spread mulch, or lay down new dripper lines before digging in to a potluck dinner: tortilla wraps and coleslaw, tabouleh and bean salads, zucchini slice and grilled corn cobs. Depending on their age and level of enthusiasm, the kids would either lend a hand or jump on dirt mounds while munching on tomatoes picked straight from the vine.