Amanda shrugged. ‘Go for it, please.’
She wasn’t sure what had changed but he seemed a little less donkey-like.
Simon picked up the wheelbarrow and had started to walk away when he turned back to Amanda.
‘Nice work on finding the seeds. We should chat to Diana and see what goes where and when.’ He smiled at her and she nodded.
‘Let’s,’ she said with a grin. ‘And thanks again for the pep talk. I needed that.’
‘Anytime,’ he said as he walked away.
11
Simon
Simon almost believed his own words of positivity except he then remembered that he worried about money all the time. But he reasoned as he went back to his place to assess the tools, it didn’t mean he wanted other people to worry about money. He pulled a chair outside and sat on it, looking at the state of the gardening equipment.
As though the world was conspiring against him, he turned on his phone and saw a text from Charlie for the first time since the wedding day.
Si, we need to talk about work and the catering bill Anika told me about.
Simon turned the phone over and ignored the text. He didn’t have anything to say to Charlie. He had ruined him financially and emotionally, and Simon had been a fool to believe anything Charlie said.
Simon picked up a pair of shears that were worn but the steel was quality, better than anything he had seen in the gardening store in Newcastle.
He picked up his phone again and deleted the message from Charlie and then looked up tool sharpening in his area.
There was a local man in the next village over, it said, and he looked up the address. He might as well get them sharpened, he thought – easier and more cost-friendly than replacing everything – but as he looked at the pile on top of the wheelbarrow he realised he couldn’t take them on his bike. He would have to borrow a car from someone.
He piled the tools out the front of his little home for the time being and went inside to make tea. The books Diana had given him sat on the table but he hadn’t opened them yet.
He picked up the first one, a thin volume with a photograph of Moongate Manor on the front.
The Gardens at Moongate, read the title, by Diana Graybrook-Moore and Peter Buckland.
Who was Peter Buckland? he wondered.
He flicked through it. There were photos throughout the book, if he could call it that, of various parts of the garden with old drawings, presumably from the original designer, and text describing the areas and the soil type and what liked to be planted where.
In the centre of the book were fold-out maps, on thin tracing paper, and as Simon read them, he saw they were corresponding planting guides to the seasons and the plants listed had little symbols next to them.
He frowned, trying to think where he had seen the symbols and then he jumped up and grabbed the book and ran to the gardening shed, where Amanda was just leaving, the drawers in hand.
‘I have to show you something,’ he said, puffing a little as he spoke.
‘Okay, come to the house. I need to put the drawers down,’ she said. ‘They’re heavy.’
‘Here.’ Simon put his hands out for the box. ‘Swap.’
Amanda handed him the box and looked at the book. ‘Oh wow, old Moongate Manor, and written by Diana – amazing.’
‘That’s not even the good bit,’ Simon said as they walked to the house.
They walked through the back door into the kitchen area and Simon put the box down on the bench.
‘Coffee?’ Amanda asked.
‘Tea?’ he countered.
