Bert’s Garden

By Allison Hay

Allison Hay © Pic of vegetables and sunflowers Pic: Shutterstock

WRITTEN BY LINDA LEWIS

Bored working from home, Tom’s neighbour’s garden gave him a great idea – then one thing led to another…

Tom loved his job, working for the local community, organising events and raising funds for good causes but when his office closed down, he’d had to change to working from home. It just wasn’t the same. He’d tried to look for the silver lining – he could take coffee breaks whenever he wanted, he had his own comfortable chair – but he missed the buzz of the office.

He checked the time and sighed. It was too early to have another coffee break. There was a Zoom meeting scheduled, but not until half past eleven.

Idly, he wondered if Amelia would be there. Not only was she eminently capable and full of good ideas, she had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. She’d made an instant, lasting impression on him. He would have asked her out, but they’d never met in person, only on Zoom. There was another problem too: from the way she dressed and wore her hair – always up – make-up always immaculate, it was clear she was way out of his league.

He wandered over to the window, just in time to see a boy lean over the low wall and pluck a couple of dahalias from his neighbour’s garden.

Immediately, Tom reacted. He ran outside, waving his fist. “Hey you!” he shouted. “Come back here!”

His neighbour came out to see what the fuss was about. “What’s all the noise about?”

Tom pointed at the culprit who was already half way down the road. “That boy, he stole your flowers.”

“So?”

“He needs to give them back.”

“Why?” asked Mary. “I don’t actually need them.”

“But he stole your flowers,” Tom repeated. “You can’t let people just help themselves.”

“I don’t see why not.” Mary looked at him as though he was the one who’d done something wrong. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s welcome to help himself.” She waved a hand around the garden. “I have far too many flowers.”

Tom wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry, Mary. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was about to take a break. Why don’t you come inside? I’ll put the kettle on.”

Mary nodded. Without saying another word, she shut up her house and followed Tom into his lounge.

“I’ve been working from home,” he said in an effort to explain the piles of paperwork that lay scattered over every surface like confetti.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Mary replied. “My place is exactly the same. I’m a writer.”

Tom had no idea. They’d never had a proper conversation before, just brief chats, usually about the weather. “Wow! Have I read any of your books?”

“I doubt it,” she replied, giving him a smile. “Not unless you’re a fan of romantic fiction.”

He shook his head. “I prefer crime novels – Ian Rankin, Lee Child.”

“Me too,” admitted Mary.

Over tea, she told Tom how she’d been struggling to write anything since losing her husband.

I’d never have said this to him, but he was the romantic one in the marriage. I’m supposed to have the latest novel ready by the end of next month, but I’ve barely even started.

She sighed. “Unless something changes and soon, I might have to take in a lodger to raise some extra cash.”

She took a biscuit from the plate. “At least then, I might get some help with the garden. From the day my Bert retired, gardening was his passion. He read dozens of books, took all kinds of courses. He could grow anything he fancied from azaleas to zinnias and from potatoes to peas.”

She told Tom about Andy, the widower who lived opposite.

“He’s on the waiting list for an allotment. Bert always said our house was the wrong way round – enormous front garden, tiny back yard.” She chuckled. “It’s a shame Andy and I can’t swap houses. The gardens on his side of the road are tiny compared to mine.”

Tom had moved in last year, not long after Mary’s husband had died. Back then, her garden had overflowed with flowers, fruit and vegetables. Now, the beds were empty apart from dandelions and weeds and the bulbs that came up on their own.

Mary carried on with her story. “Whenever we had a glut, Bert gave the extra away. He would put bags of tomatoes and beans on the wall for people to help themselves.”

Now Tom knew why Mary hadn’t minded when the boy took some of her flowers. He smiled as an idea began to take shape. “So you really don’t mind people helping themselves?”

“No. I think it’s wonderful. Watching that boy leg it down the road with my flowers, it’s like there’s a little bit of Bert carrying on, spreading sunshine.”

“Did you keep any of your husband’s tools?” Tom asked.

Mary laughed. “Every last one. They’re all hanging in the shed, exactly as he left them.”

“What about his gardening books? Did you keep those too?”

“I did.” She inspected her hands. “I tried to carry on his good work, but he was the one with the green fingers, all mine do is get muddy.”

After Mary had gone home, Tom logged on to Zoom for his meeting. It was long and very dull. Worse still, Amelia wasn’t there. He spent some of the time jotting down thoughts and ideas on a pad. As soon as the meeting was over, he was ready to pitch his idea.

He called Head Office to find out what they made of it. When Amelia answered his call, his pulse quickened.

“How was the meeting?” she asked.

“Dull and boring as usual,” he replied.

She laughed. “Lucky I missed it then.”

“I’m calling about an idea I’ve had for a local community project.” He told her his plan. “The great thing is that funding won’t be too much of a problem. The garden’s already there, raised beds and borders ready and waiting. All we’d need are a few volunteers, and somebody to run classes and workshops.”

He held his breath as he waited for her reply.

“That’s exactly the kind of project we need to get involved in,” she said. “Put together a proper outline and we can put things in motion straightaway.”

Tom had just summoned up the courage to ask her out, when he realised she’d ended the call.

That evening, he called on his neighbour and explained his idea.

“I think it’s brilliant,” said Mary. “Can we call it Bert’s Patch?”

Tom smiled. “Of course. It’s your garden. We can call it anything you like.”

“Great. When do we start?”

She looked so delighted, he grinned. “Straightaway. Head Office will put out a call for volunteers to clear the beds and get things ready. I’ll ask supermarkets and garden centres for donations of plants and seeds.” He paused.

I don’t suppose you know anyone who could run a class of two?

“Actually, I do.” She told him again about Andy, the man who lived opposite. “He’s been looking for things to do since he retired. I reckon he’ll jump at the chance to get involved.”

Tom called on Andy that same evening to outline his plan. “We need somebody with the right skills to take charge. Somebody local, who can run classes or do demos, that kind of thing. Mary suggested we speak with you.”

“It sounds right up my street,” Andy replied. “Before I retired, I used to run my own gardening business. Loved every second. I’d be delighted to run a few classes, especially if it helps a neighbour.”

Less than a month later, Bert’s Patch had its official opening. Anyone who wanted to learn how to grow their own vegetables could attend classes, ask questions or have a go themselves.

One day, when he checked in on Mary to see if everything was going smoothly, she’d had an idea.

“I miss baking. There’s not much point making lots of cakes when it’s just for me. What do you think about offering refreshments once the weather settles? People could put donations in a box to help pay for seeds and plants.”

“That sounds like a brilliant idea,” Tom replied.

“Good.” Mary paused before carrying on. “Apart from mowing the grass, you don’t use your garden. I was thinking, we could put up some tables and chairs. That way people can sit down and have a bit of a natter. Andy’s already found a nice one to start us off.”

Tom smiled. It hadn’t escaped his attention how much time Mary and Andy had been spending together. “Why not? I’ll call the local charity store and see what they have.”

Tom was delighted with the way the community garden took off. Now when he stopped to look out of the window, there was always something to see.

When rows of French beans, courgettes and strawberries began to appear, it made his garden look sad and empty. If he dug over a small patch of grass, he could try growing some lettuces and peas. As luck would have it, the local gardening centre was visiting Bert’s patch that weekend, and running a workshop for beginners on the Saturday morning. Tom decided to go along and see if he could pick up some tips.

Mary was sitting at one of the tables, having tea with Andy so he stopped to chat. “How’s the book coming along?”

She grinned. “All done and dusted. My publisher reckons it’s my best yet.”

Tom wasn’t surprised. As soon as Mary and Andy started dating, he knew it wouldn’t be long before the words started to flow. Anyone could see clearly how the couple felt about each other.

“I can’t wait to read it,” he said. “I’m off to the workshop. I might try growing a bit of veg myself.”

“Good for you.” Andy squeezed Mary’s hand. “See? I told you he’d catch the bug.”

The workshop was so inspiring, Tom lingered to browse the packets of donated seeds. He was wondering whether to try mange tout or sugar snap peas when a familiar voice spoke to him.

“Hi, Tom.”

It was Amelia, from Head Office. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders and she was wearing a a pair of old jeans. He almost didn’t recognise her.

“What are you doing here?” he managed to say at last.

I’ve been hearing so much about this project, I wanted to see it for myself. I’ve already had enquiries from two other people wanting to open up their front gardens. It’s such a great idea, I’d like to shake your hand.

As their fingers touched, Tom felt so much electricity, he didn’t want to let go. “It’s great to finally meet you,” he said.

She must have noticed him looking at her jeans because she grinned. “Power suits are only for work. This is the real me. My Dad gave me a little patch of ground when I was four years old. I grew the tallest sunflowers for miles around. I’ve had the gardening bug ever since.”

As Tom looked into her blue blue eyes, he couldn’t think of anything to say. He swallowed. “I don’t suppose you’d have dinner with me sometime?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she said.

By the time Tom went indoors, he was floating on air. To think he hadn’t wanted to work from home! It was true what people said: every cloud really did have a silver lining.