The Fake Wife by Bolton Sharon

Author:Bolton, Sharon [Bolton, Sharon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orion
Published: 2023-11-09T00:00:00+00:00

53

At the end of the single-track road, Garry jumped down to open the huge metal gates. Lexy, who’d probably expected to be taken to his house to eat lunch, was unusually silent. Back in the car, he pulled forward and put the handbrake on again. The gates had to be closed at all times; it was a council rule.

‘I’ll get it.’ Lexy put the steaming parcels in the footwell before getting out. Seconds later, gates closed, she was back. ‘You’ve brought me to your grandad’s allotment.’

‘I can see why you’re on the fast track.’ Garry stopped after another hundred metres. ‘We walk from here.’

Even heavy snowfall couldn’t disguise the cluttered disorder around them: old wood collected for bonfires, huge plastic vats to hold rainwater or compost, thick black polythene, torn green netting, bamboo wigwams. Empty plant pots and hoses like dead snakes poked through the snow as Garry led Lexy down the pristine white path. Theirs were the first footprints to mar it; today even the hardiest of allotment gardeners had stayed away. Many of the beds they passed were empty for winter, but a few crops of Brussel sprouts, winter cabbages and onions could be seen among the dead stems and shrivelled fruit bushes.

Lexy clutched the fish and chips to her chest as a makeshift hot-water bottle and Garry had a stab of misgiving. He’d brought a girl he liked – jeepers, when had that happened? – to an allotment on what had to be the coldest day of the year.

They reached the indiscernible edge of Garry’s patch and he steered Lexy towards the shed, feeling a moment of ridiculous pride that the winter clematis had never looked better. The shed was a mass of creamy white flowers, speckled with purple, and with lime green centres. Lexy might freeze to death, but she’d do so against a backdrop fit for a fairy queen.

‘Give me a minute,’ he said, fumbling for his keys.

In the shed, he found a spade and quickly wiped the snow off the adjacent bench. He put a sheet of polythene over it to keep out the damp and, when Lexy sat down, spread a blanket over her knees. She gave him a look – one that said she wasn’t quite sure about the winter picnic plan – but when he sat down beside her, she moved closer so they could share the blanket.

‘Can’t see any veg,’ she said, as the delicious aroma of fried food wrapped around them like a warm, salt-and-vinegar hug. Her fingers – she’d removed her gloves to eat – were bright pink with cold. He was starting to associate the colour pink with Lexy, he realised, and found himself envisaging flowers that would make up a bouquet for her. Roses, of course, something like Pink Martini or Alnwick, but some fat peonies too and blush-edged ranunculus for contrast. Camellias would be perfect in the right season or dahlias later in the year. He’d use myrtle for the greenery.

‘There isn’t any,’ he admitted. ‘This is my cutting garden.

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