The Last Garden in England(43)

“It’s a hiring freeze. They happen all the time,” she said as she turned onto Bridge Street and crossed the Tach Brook, which was running high from the spring rains.

“Are you upset, Emma?” Dad asked.

Was she? Her pride was wounded, she couldn’t deny that. And neither could she ignore the temptations of working for a foundation rather than herself: security, benefits, a regular paycheck, time off for holidays. She had none of those things right now, but she did have Turning Back Thyme.

“Emma?” her father prompted.

She shifted her canvas bag full of groceries higher on her shoulder. “I’m thinking,” she said.

“I could phone Bethany,” said Mum. “She’s very high and mighty these days and doesn’t always remember that we grew up on the same block in Croydon, but I think her cousin’s husband plays golf with the executive director at the Royal Botanical Heritage Society.”

“No thanks, Mum. If they don’t have the budget, it’s not going to help. Besides, I’m months away from finishing the job at Highbury,” she said. And months away from being able to take on more work. If only she could clone herself so that she could work two jobs at the same time…

A motorcycle sped by, its engine gunning.

“Where are you?” Dad asked.

“Just walking home,” she said.

“Home?” Mum asked.

“Bow Cottage,” she corrected herself.

“Good, because for a moment there it sounded like—”

“Oh, leave her alone, Eileen,” Dad said with a laugh. Emma could imagine him playfully nudging his wife.

“All I’m saying is that if you’re going to settle down, make it somewhere near London or Surrey, Emma. Not the Midlands,” said Mum.

“I’m less than ten miles from the M40, which is a straight shot into London,” she argued. “It could be Inverness, like my last job.”

“Scotland,” her mother practically gasped. “This is all Charlie’s fault.”

She rolled her eyes as the shops of Highbury came into view. “Charlie hasn’t lived in Scotland for as long as I’ve known him. Besides, no one is settling down anywhere.”

“She knows she’s being ridiculous,” said her father, his voice richer now and clearly off speakerphone.

“I am not!” Emma could hear Mum insist in the background.

“She is being ridiculous,” Emma said.

She could hear her father walking through to another room. “It’s just that she remembers what it was like to worry about money. That’s why she pushed you so hard to go to university.”

“And instead I got my qualifications at the Royal Horticultural Society,” she said, remembering those arguments all too well. “I would have been miserable at university.”

“I know. Just like I know that your mother means well,” Dad said.

She sighed. “I know she does.”

“You’re a good daughter,” he said.

“You two could come up sometime and see Highbury. You might like it,” she said.

“I don’t know if your mother would feel more or less worried if that happens.”

“That would have really bothered me when I was in my early twenties,” she said.

“And now?” he asked.

“Now I think that I’m an adult and I can set boundaries, and Mum can respect them.” For the most part.

“Smart girl,” said Dad.

At a tap on Emma’s shoulder, she turned around to see Henry dressed in a black T-shirt with Jones & Cropper & Steinberg & Jackson. written on it. He gave her a little wave.

“Dad? Why don’t I call you back tomorrow? We can talk more about a visit,” she suggested.

“Anytime, love,” he said.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Henry as she ended the call.

“I was just catching my parents up on a few things,” she said. “I don’t understand your T-shirt.”

He looked down. “It’s Booker T. and the M.G.s,” he said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Ah.” She made a mental note to look it up when she got home.

“Are you close to your parents?” he asked.

“For the most part, although Mum drives me crazy most of the time. She constantly worries I’m putting my entire life into a company that is on the brink of folding.”

“Is it?” he asked.

She huffed a laugh. “No, but she wasn’t exactly thrilled when I told her I was training to be a garden designer. Or a few years later when I decided to start my own business,” she said.

“What did she think you should do?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Not a clue. She worked as a receptionist for a solicitor for a while, so she was pretty hung up on me becoming a solicitor when I was a teenager.”

“Children disappointing their parents is practically tradition.”

“Isn’t farming the same business your father was in?” she asked.

“Have you ever seen that Monty Python sketch where the playwright father rages at his son for deciding to be a coal miner?”

“Sure. It spoofs pretty much every novel D. H. Lawrence ever wrote,” she said.