In The Garden Of Stones (10 page)

“
Thank you for looking,” she says.

“
You’re welcome, Miss.”

Now he looks uncomfortable again, gaze darting, not knowing
where to settle, and she suspects he’s embarrassed, if a
vision
can
be embarrassed.

“
You’re right, I should go and leave you in peace,” she
says.

“
Yes, Miss. Thank you, Miss.”

“
But before I do, I have to say Mr McLeod, you keep a
beautiful garden. Probably the loveliest I’ve ever seen. It’s a
credit to you. You must be very proud of it.”

“
I am, Miss. Thank you, Miss.”

“
But it’s such a shame nobody’s allowed to see it. Such
beauty is wasted if it can’t be shared.” Pause. “Goodbye
then.”

“
Goodbye.”

She
takes a step backward, turns and starts to walk away. When she is
within a few steps of the gate, he calls to her.

“
Miss! Wait! Please!”

She
turns to see him snipping a bloom from the rose bush with a small
knife with a curved blade, striding purposefully towards her,
adopting an awkward hop and skip gait. She suspects he couldn’t run
if he tried.

He holds
the rose out for her to take. “To make up for … for what I did, for
what I said. It was gey rude. I was rude. Please … take the
rose.”

She
accepts the perfect flower and lifts it to her nose, closes her
eyes and inhales deeply of its delightful, heady
fragrance.

“
It’s beautiful. Thank you, Mr McLeod.”

“
Colin.”

There’s
that twitch of a smile again and the nervous bob of the head. He
looks as if he wants to say something, but can’t form the words.
After a struggle he blurts out, “If ye want ta come again … ye
can.”

“
Really?”

“
Aye. Like you said, beauty is wasted if it canna be
shared.”

“
I’d love to come again, Colin. Thank you. Now, you may
escort me to the gate.”

“
Pleasure, Miss … Grace.”

He walks
with her to the gate and holds it open for her to pass through. The
squeak from the hinges is dreadful and makes her cringe.

“
You want to get some oil on that,” she says. “It’s fair put
my teeth on edge.”

He
smiles, properly this time, and it lights up his whole face,
creasing the small lines around his eyes, which seem to have lost
some of their terror.

Handsome, in an unconventional sort of
way
.

“
May I come again soon?” she says. “Tomorrow,
perhaps?”

His
mouth is moving, and he’s saying something, perhaps telling her
yes, please, do come tomorrow, yet the voice coming from him is not
his and not making much sense. He sounds just like the weatherman
on Radio 4 putting the chances of rain in the north east at about
fifty percent with a maximum of twenty degrees centigrade, and it
takes her a moment to realise it is her six o’clock wake-up
alarm.

There is
no gate, no garden, no Colin McLeod. There is, however, a dull
throbbing sensation in the middle finger of her right hand and she
raises it to her lips to suck it away.

Chapter 10

Grace
has nothing particular to do the next day apart from giving Alec’s
flat a thorough clean, do some shopping, make a cake for their tea,
and tackle a mountain of laundry.

“
This must be what being a full time housewife is like,” she
muses as she closes the oven door on the boeuf bourguignon they
will have for dinner. “No wonder they are knackered all the
time.”

Everything done, she has an hour to spare before Alec and
Denny come home from work. Just time to have a glass of wine and
relax. Maybe let her mind wander a little …

The man,
Colin, is outside his ramshackle hut, hard at work running a
sharpening stone over the blade of what looks like an old fashioned
scythe, honing it to a razor’s edge. If it were real, it could be
classed as a deadly weapon.

“
Hello,” she says brightly.

A blur
of movement, a whoosh of air, and the only thing preventing her
innards from spilling out over her shoes are fresh air and a pair
of small hands pressed flat against her stomach.

She
staggers, stares at him goggle eyed and breathless. He gapes back,
an expression of slack jawed shock on his face.

“
Oh … f-uck!” He throws down the scythe as if it is red hot
and puts his hands on hers. “Let me see!”

“
No!” she squeals. “My insides will come out. You’ve killed
me!”

“
Let-me-see!”

He
prises her hands apart. There is a second of silence before he lets
out a small, nervous laugh. “It’s okay. Ye’re fine. See fer
yerself.”

Grace
keeps her eyes squeezed tight shut. “I don’t want to.”

“
There’s nothing there. Look.”

She
eases open her eyes and looks down. There is no blood, no entrails
slopping into the grass like a nest of scarlet worms, but there is
a clean horizontal slit in the fabric of her top and it gapes open
like a widely grinning mouth. A dazed Grace sticks her finger
inside the gash, widening it to examine her skin beneath. Not a
mark on her.

A small
hysterical giggle builds, escaping as her eyes swim with tears of
relief and she remembers to breathe again. That was a close shave.
Too close.

Colin
puts his broad hands on her shoulders and looks down on her, his
face a picture of horrified concern, his voice a soft and tender
whisper.

“
You alright? You’ve gone a funny colour.”

She
nods. “Yes. I think so. I’m fine, physically. Nerves are shot
though.” She flaps the open slit in her top. “This is
buggered.”

“
I could have killed you.”

“
I thought you had.”

“
I’m sorry.”

“
So you should be.”

“
Come and sit down,” he says, leading her toward the hut.
“Ye’ve had a wee bit of a shock.”

Wee bit?
There’s an understatement if ever there was one. He’s almost
bisected her with an archaic agricultural implement and that’s the
best he can come up with.

Inside
he sits her at a rough table and busies about making her a cup of
tea from the kettle steaming quietly on top of the wood burning
stove, although from the way his hands shake as he’s doing it, it’s
clear she’s not the only one in shock.

“
Theer ye go,” he says, passing her a chipped mug filled
with hot brown liquid.

“
Thank you.”

The cup
is warm against the palms of her hands, she can feel the heat
moving into her, and as she sips at the tea she has a
thought.

If I die in a dream, does that mean I die in real
life?

Probably
not, but something to ask Mal Pettit … or more likely whoever he’s
passed her on to.

Her
imaginary friend is sitting opposite her at the table, gazing at
her with those intense brown eyes, expression expectant, like he’s
just asked a question and is waiting for her answer.

“
I’m sorry, miles away,” she says. “What did you
say?”

“
I asked if you were feeling better now?”

“
Yes, I’m fine. No real harm done.” It comes out sounding
more confident than she feels and so she adds a nervous little
smile. “What about you?”

His head
bobs up and down, more of a nervous shiver than a nod.

“
What are you doing with something so dangerous anyway?” she
says.

“
Grass needs cutting. Needs a sharp blade.”

“
Then why don’t you use a lawnmower like everybody else? You
can’t slice someone in half with a Flymo.”

“
No electricity.”

“
But the lawns are massive. Don’t tell me you use that old
fashioned thing on them.”

“
No need,” he says. “They tak care o’ themsels. I need it
fer the graves. They’re smaller, more…intimate.”

“
Oh. Right. Of course.”

More
silent tea drinking.

“
You sure you’re okay?” he says.

“
Perfectly fine.”

“
I didn’t mean ta hurt ye–”

“
You didn’t. I’m fine.”

How much reassurance does one man need?

“
Ye need ta make yerself known,” he says. “I-I can’t do with
- with being snuck up on.”

“
I’ll try to remember.”

“
Sorry again.”

“
Will you stop apologising? I said it’s okay. I’m fine.
Forget it. I –”

Something niggles at the back of her mind, a familiar sound
somewhere in the background. She knows what it is and that she has
to leave.

She
stands. “Look, I’ve … er … taken up too much of your time and you
have work to do, so I should go.”

He
stands with her. “You don’t have ta.”

“
Yes I do. Thanks for the tea.”

“
Ye’re welcome to it.”

“
And if I come again, I promise to make more
noise.”

“
If?”

“
When
I come again. Now I really do have to go.”

He holds
the door open for her. “Cheerio, then.”

“
Bye bye.”

A wave,
a dash back through the gardens, through the gate and… she is back
in her own reality, that slight sense of disorientation evident
again, to Alec letting himself into the flat.

“
Honey, we’re home!” he calls from the hallway, plucking his
key from the lock.

Denny
fights his way into the kitchen weighed down by two large bags of,
groceries. “…like a bloody pack mule–” he mutters, dropping them
onto the table and rolling his shoulders.

Grace
welcomes both men home with kisses.

“
Good day?” Denny asks, hugging her.

“
Fine.”

Apart from nearly getting sliced in half by a man wielding a
scythe like the Grim Reaper.

“
Any calls? Any mail? Anything to report?”

Shrug.
“No. Nothing. Dinner’s almost ready.”

As she
tends to preparation of their evening meal, her mind strays back to
Colin McLeod and the hut and the garden, and she feels an
overwhelming desire to ditch dinner and go straight back there to
see him again.

Chapter 11

Voicemail:
“Grace? Hi, it’s Melanie from the lettings agency. Listen,
I shouldn’t be telling you this, but a new place has come onto the
market today and I think it will be right up your street - no pun
intended.
(Laughter)
I’ve put the details in an email, so have a look. If you’re
interested, get back to me toot sweet because this one is going to
fly. If anyone else is interested, I’ll try and stall them until I
hear from you, but make it soonest please Okay? Bye.”

It’s a
difficult ride across town on the bus to the location of the new
flat. There are unfamiliar stops, frequent changes, strange
timings, and it takes a lot of concentration.

On the
last leg of the journey she settles back in her seat and watches
the town centre drift by, letting her mind wander to the garden and
the strange man who gave her the rose, yet keeping one eye and ear
open for notifications from the bus’s digital information system
telling her where she is.

By the
time she reaches her destination she is feeling slightly dizzy,
having been thrust back and forth half a dozen times, each time not
quite sure whether she is here or there. Garden or bus; bus or
garden.

The
return journey however is better and the switches not so sudden or
disorientating.

In the
evening, feet up in Alec’s living room, glass of wine in hand, TV
droning away in the corner, she pays a final visit to the
garden.

“
Ye were in and oot like Jocky and Jinny,” Colin says as
they sit outside the hut drinking warm cider from chipped enamel
mugs. “One second here, the next
poof
, gone.”

“
Sorry about that. I hadn’t been on that route before and I
had to concentrate on the stops.”

“
I take it ye got theer alright?”

“
There and back in one piece … and not a single panic
attack. I’d call that a success.”

“
How was the flat? Was it worth the hassle?”

“
Oh yes. The flat is perfect … absolutely
perfect.”

Grace’s
first day in her new flat is a delight.

Her estate agent Melanie got it spot on, it
is
right up Grace’s
street, in every sense.

It’s
nothing like as big as the one she shared with Alec, virtually a
shoebox in comparison, but well laid out, making full use of the
available space.