Pastures New (39 page)

‘Have you talked to Ben yet?’ Saffron asked Amy. The kitchen was heaving, and she, Amy and Pete had been flat out handing drinks and food around. Amy had only had time to say a brief hello to Ben and nothing else, and hadn’t seen him since. She had hoped he would come and find her in the kitchen – it felt appropriate – but there was no sign of him. It was hard not to feel the disappointment. Perhaps she had got the look wrong, read too much into it. Maybe he was avoiding her so he didn’t have to tell her that he was no longer interested.

‘Nope,’ said Amy. ‘If he wants me, he knows where I am.’

‘That attitude will get you nowhere, my girl,’ said Saffron. ‘Now go out there and find him.’

‘But I can’t leave you with all of this –’ Amy started to protest.

‘Oh, you so can,’ said Saffron. ‘So hop it!’

Saffron could be very forceful at times, so Amy hopped it.

She went out into the lounge and scanned around for any sight of Ben, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Then two little tornadoes came racing up to her, practically knocking her over.

‘Ben – said – to give you –’ said one tornado (Matt).

‘– this,’ continued the second tornado (Josh). ‘We’ve
been looking for you everywhere,’ he complained.

‘Sorry, sweetheart, I’ve been helping Saffron,’ said Amy, her heart suddenly lightening. Ben had written her a note. Then again, she had a sudden panic – she didn’t know what it said. Taking a deep breath, she opened the note with trembling hands.

Her heart singing now, Amy read and reread the note to make sure she hadn’t misinterpreted it. She hadn’t. Ben was still interested. And he was waiting for her on the allotments.

She ran to the kitchen and quickly filled Saffron in. ‘Way to go, girl!’ said Saffron. ‘What are you waiting for?’

‘What about Josh?’

Saffron gave her a look. ‘Josh will be fine here with me. Now, go on, go.’

Needing no more encouragement, Amy sped outside. The last glow of the sun was casting a rosy light on the allotments, which were just springing to life again after the drab dreariness of winter.

As she approached Harry’s allotment, she noticed some dancing lights – Fireflies? Hardly in Nevermorewell – but as she got nearer, she realised
what they were. Someone – Ben? – had lit candles all the way up the path to Harry’s hut, to lead her there. He’d also trailed fairy lights along the trellis that marked the path. It looked quite magical.

Amy took a deep breath, her heart hammering at a rate of knots, and walked slowly towards Harry’s hut. As she did so, she noticed something glimmering in the candlelight. She bent down, and there, curled on the edge of a leaf, was the engagement ring Ben had been going to give her. She picked it up, and walked towards Harry’s hut, which was ablaze with candlelight.

The hut was transformed. Ben had placed candles everywhere, and the smell of freshly cut roses greeted her. And there he was, standing to meet her, looking as uncertain as she felt. They stood for a moment saying nothing, till Ben said, ‘You worked it out then?’

‘Always in the kitchen at parties,’ said Amy, smiling. ‘The Buzzcocks track threw me a bit, but I got there in the end.’

‘I wasn’t sure you’d come.’

‘I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.’

‘Oh, I wanted you to,’ said Ben, and suddenly Amy was stumbling into his arms, tears streaming down her face. How could she have been so stupid as to let him go? How?

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s okay,’ Ben told her, ‘everything’s okay now.’

And then they kissed, a long, slow, passionate kiss to herald the many more to come. Gently he led her by the hand into Harry’s hut, and sat her down on the
old comfy sofa that Harry had always kept there, but which was now covered with a throw and scattered with cushions.

‘Amy,’ he said, going down on one knee. ‘I cocked it up last time, and I haven’t had time to get you another ring, but will you marry me?’

‘I think you might need this,’ said Amy, laughing now through her tears, and she held out the ring.

‘Where? How?’ Ben was laughing too.

‘You’ll never believe it, but I found it on a leaf,’ said Amy.

‘That’s unbelievable,’ Ben replied, and kissed her again. ‘So do I get an answer or what?’

‘Yes,’ said Amy. ‘You were right and I was wrong. I’ve been so miserable without you. I can’t go through life not taking risks and keeping myself wrapped in cotton wool. So, I’m not going to any more. I choose to live. And I choose to live with you.’

Ben wrapped her up in his arms and held her tight.

‘You have no idea how much I have dreamed that you would change your mind. You know, from the very first moment I saw you, and realised how vulnerable you were, all I wanted to do was fix you, and heal the hurt in your eyes.’

‘And you have.’ Amy smiled up at him, feeling content and safe and happy.

‘Good,’ said Ben. ‘I wasn’t sure whether we’d be able to have this or not, but now we can.’

He held out a glass of champagne and they silently toasted one another.

‘Oh, and there’s one last thing,’ said Ben, leading her
by the hand out to the allotments again. ‘Stay there.’

Picking up a box, he walked into the middle of Harry’s allotment, where he had cleared a space.

‘I meant to use these at Saffron’s last fireworks party, but forgot all about them. I hope they still work.’ He knelt down and lit the box of fireworks, and then raced back to Amy.

And together they watched as the fireworks set the allotments alight. The last rays of the sun finally dipped over the horizon, and they stayed together as their happiness was written in the sky.

‘To Harry,’ said Ben, raising his glass. ‘Do you know, if it wasn’t incredibly fanciful, I could almost think I just heard him laughing.’

‘Me too,’ said Amy, raising her glass. ‘Here’s to us.’

‘And life,’ said Ben. ‘Let’s toast life in all its strange and painful glory.’

‘To life,’ said Amy, as the last firework faded and fell to earth. Wherever Jamie was, she had a feeling he would be pleased.

So many people have helped me on the road to publication, it is quite hard to know where to begin.

Firstly, I would like to thank the Romantic Novelists’ Association for having given me so much support and help over the last nine years. I am hesitant to name names in case I forget anyone but I would especially like to thank Katie Fforde for endless support and encouragement, Jenny Haddon for frequent and sound good advice, Eileen Ramsay for wit and humour and Susan Hicks for sharing my love of rock music. Thanks go, too, to Penny Jordan and Rosie Milne for their helpful critiques when this book was at an early stage, and to Sue Moorcroft for giving me such a positive report for the NWS scheme.

Thanks are due, too, to Anne Finnis and David Fickling for so much encouragement and help.

I would also like to thank Kate Boydell, Joanna Clark and Penny Jordan for their insights into widowhood.
For advice about various points of detail during the writing of the book, I’d like to thank Caroline Praed and Catherine Wheeler for checking medical facts, Tracey Kells and Jane Hunnable for gardening advice, Gaynor Kent for telling me about teaching, and Indira Hann, Jeannette Groark and Paula Moffatt for helping me with legal points.

I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Hilary Johnson who gave me the confidence to keep going at a point when I might nearly have given up, and to Kate Mills who showed me a way to open up my writing.

I am immensely grateful to my long-suffering and patient agent, Dot Lumley, who has had such faith in me over the years.

And to Maxine Hitchcock, editor extraordinaire, Keshini Naidoo, Caroline Ridding and the rest of the Avon team I extend my huge thanks.

I would also like to thank all the Radio 2 DJs who regularly brighten my day by being my friends in the kitchen, in particular Jeremy Vine whose programme frequently gives me food for thought, and the inestimable Terry Walton from the Official Allotment who has taught me such a lot about growing vegetables.

I also would like to thank my wonderful brother-in-law, Chris Coles, for coming up with such a fiendish Crucial Three!
Finally, I have to say thank you to: John, Joanna, Paula, Lucy, Ginia, Hugh and Tom for being the best siblings one could hope for outside of an episode of
The
Waltons
, and to my amazing mother, Ann Moffatt (who beats Ma Walton hands down), for teaching me to believe in myself.

To my wonderful mother-in-law, Rosemarie Williams, many thanks for reading and liking the book!

Without walking my children Katie, Alex, Christine and Steph to school every day, there wouldn’t have been a plot, although without them I might have written the book a bit sooner! Thank you for making my life so – er – interesting.

And for Dave. Thanks probably aren’t enough. But you know what I mean.

The course of true love never did run smooth!

Find out more about
MIDSUMMER MAGIC
by Julia Williams here ...

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@JCCWilliams

Julia Williams has always made up stories in her head, and until recently she thought everyone else did too. She grew up in London, one of eight children, including a twin sister, and now lives in Surrey with her husband and four daughters. For more information on Julia Williams, please visit her website at www.juliawilliamsauthor.com

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@JCCWilliams
on Twitter

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