The Vow - Debbie Howells Page 0,41
when smoke overwhelmed her, when there wasn’t enough oxygen in her lungs; hoping she’d drifted into unconsciousness, so that when it came, death was painless. I’m sorry I hadn’t known. I wish there was something I could have done to save you.
‘Why are you sorry?’
The voice startles me. Spinning around, I notice Sonia standing in the lane, the other side of the hedge, a curious look on her face. Realising she must have heard me and wondered what I meant, my face colours. ‘I was thinking out loud. Mrs Guthrie, the old woman who lived her, died recently – at home.’
‘Can I join you for a minute?’
I nod in the direction of the hedge. ‘The gate’s just there.’ I wait as Sonia opens it and walks towards me, then glance towards the house. ‘I suppose I came over to say goodbye. She lived alone and I was wishing I’d kept more of an eye on her. She was kind to me and Jess when we first moved here.’ I pause for a moment, remembering. ‘She used to let Jess pick her strawberries and raspberries. Jess used to love her homemade cakes. But that was years ago. More recently, we used to wave at each other in passing and I’d bring her any spare plants I had. But as my business grew, there was never enough time. I’m just sorry I didn’t do more to help her.’ Then I realise I’m trespassing. ‘I shouldn’t really be here. The house is for sale, but I wanted to come here, one last time, before it’s sold.’
‘It is sad.’ Sonia pauses, glancing around the garden. ‘Sad that an old lady should die alone like that. She certainly kept the garden in order, which must have taken a lot of work. She’s pruned everything perfectly.’
I glance in the direction Sonia’s looking, taking in the clump of shoots poking up through the earth, the neatly cut-back rose bushes, which by summer will be covered with blowsy pink blooms. ‘She did. There are cuttings and seeds in the greenhouse, too. She reminded me of my grandmother. She lived alone, too – and looked after herself – and her garden.’ I remember vases filled with cut flowers, the trays of seedlings and cuttings on her kitchen windowsill. ‘She knew so much about plants: which ones needed shade, those that thrived in full sun. I suppose that’s where my interest came from. She died years ago,’ I add hastily. ‘Life had become too much of a struggle. In the end, I suppose it was a blessing.’ I look at Sonia more closely. ‘I didn’t know you were coming to see me.’
‘I’ve just called in on a friend in Steyning.’ She sounds matter of fact. ‘When you cancelled, I thought I’d stop by and make sure you were OK. You didn’t answer when I knocked, but then I saw you over here.’ Glancing towards the house, she frowns. ‘Do you know how your neighbour died?’
‘The police said it was carbon monoxide poisoning.’ Then follow Sonia’s eyes as she glances downwards to a cluster of dark leaves and tiny white flowers.
‘I used to know, but I’ve forgotten what they symbolise. Cyclamen, that is.’
‘Goodbye. Resignation,’ I tell her, struck by how oddly in keeping with our conversation it is, frowning slightly, surprised that she’s interested in flower meanings.
Sonia glances around the garden. ‘It interests me how so many flowers and herbs have a significance we’ve lost over the years. You must be so aware of it in your line of work. I’ve often wondered if you can read a life story from a garden – take your neighbour, for example. Given how long she’s lived here, many of these plants could have been significant to her in some way, maybe as gifts or as memories. Those roses, for example. They’re old, aren’t they? Maybe a celebration of her children – or anniversaries, perhaps. Her herbs, too. There’s rosemary for remembrance – and in a garden like this, there must be snowdrops. They mean hope, don’t they?’
I look at her in surprise, because she’s right. ‘Actually there are snowdrops. Over there, under the shade of that tree.’ I point in the direction of an oak in the far corner, before turning back to her. ‘You know a lot about flowers.’
‘I used to enjoy helping my sister. She’s a florist. But like you, what really interested me were herbs.’
I had no idea she shared the same interest. ‘I started learning which herbs to use