Everything In The Garden (Short Fiction)

The removal van arrived as Ellie was having breakfast. The noise of the tail lift and the sound of mens’ voices drew her to the window where she lingered, her curiosity tinged with apprehension.
    The house next door had been on the market since just after Christmas and its sale had been a slow business. In the meantime, due to the recent spells of April sunshine and showers, Miss Price’s garden — and she still thought of it in those terms even though her elderly neighbour had sold up and moved into a retirement home — had been transformed into a luxuriant but unruly jungle.
    Ellie watched two men struggle up the narrow path with a sofa, stopping and starting, their progress hindered by enthusiastic shrubbery. There were well established weeds, too, she noticed. The height of the freshly sprung stinging nettles, dandelions and dock testified to the richness of the soil. Miss Price had always been generous with the fertilizer — good old-fashioned horse manure and plenty of it. It had paid dividends, for the white lilac tree was looking better than ever and her roses were already heavy with buds. Ellie looked at the billowing froth of lilac blossom that tumbled over her side of the fence and hoped the new owners wouldn’t be too harsh when it came to restoring order to the garden. So many of the plants had been there for years — the flowering cherry and honeysuckle, the blue hydrangeas and peonies. What would she say in her letters to Miss Price if they dug it all up in favour of wood chippings or fancy gravel and a few exotic plants in terracotta pots around a water feature? It really didn’t bear
thinking about. Ellie shuddered and turned away.
    She was ironing and listening to a radio play when there was a knock on her door. She frowned, momentarily irritated by the interruption because she didn’t want to miss the end. She turned the volume up, still following the plot intently as she went to open the door. “Yes?” She blinked up at the stranger on her doorstep, disarmed by his wide friendly grin.
    “Hello. I’m Paul Cartwright — your new neighbour. I thought I’d just pop round and introduce myself.” He hesitated, waiting for her reaction.
    “Oh.” Ellie felt stupid, caught off guard and somehow at a disadvantage. The radio was too loud. The play had just finished and now there was music. She could hardly hear herself think. “Excuse me a minute. I’ll be right back.” She raced to switch it off, returning a little flushed. “That’s better. Sorry about that. Right... um... well, I’m Giselle Saunders.” Awkwardly, she held her hand out and he shook it.
    “That’s an unusual name,” he commented, still smiling.
    “Yes. My mother’s a ballet fan. Friends tend to shorten it to Elle or Ellie.” She looked across the gardens, feeling oddly shy under his gaze.
    “I hope you don’t mind but I was wondering if I could ask a favour?” Paul cleared his throat then went on “I need to borrow a pair of shears for an hour or two — if you have such a thing.”
    “What for?” The words snapped out before she could stop them.
    “Well, the garden’s a bit overgrown and I need to get a wheelchair down the path.”
    “Right. Of course. I’ll just get them.” Ellie brushed past him and opened the shed door. “Here,” she handed him her shears, “just pop them back when you’ve finished. Okay?” She gave him a brief smile, turned and went back indoors.
    So, she thought, he obviously has a disabled wife or girlfriend. How many attractive thirty-something men don’t have a “significant other” in their life? But why was she feeling so deflated? All he’d done was smile at her. A friendly smile — nothing more. And she’d almost jumped down his throat when he’d asked to borrow the shears. What must he think of her quizzing him like that? She sighed and reached for the kettle. She needed a cup of tea. More importantly, she needed to get things back in perspective.
    Since she’d broken up with Keith eight months before, her whole life
seemed to have altered course. Policy changes at the hospital meant she’d had her shifts reduced; Gloria and David — her oldest and closest friends — had gone to live in France; Miss Price, who’d been her neighbour since Ellie had moved in twelve years ago, was also gone. It was all very unsettling. Abruptly, she decided to get on with one of her least favourite chores.
    She was chipping off the ice inside her freezer when she heard the letterbox click softly and something drop onto her doormat. It was a handwritten
note: Thanks for the loan of the shears. We’re having a few friends round for a house
warming this evening and wonder if you’d be free to join us — any time after 7 pm. Paul.
    No, she couldn’t possibly. They’d all be in couples and she’d be the odd one out. And she wouldn’t know anyone. It would be awkward. Anyway, what would she wear? But perhaps she should make the effort — just to be sociable.
    A few minutes after seven and feeling slightly nervous, she walked down Paul’s neatly trimmed path and rang the doorbell. After a moment, the door was opened by a man in a wheelchair. “Hello, you must be Ellie. I’m Morris — Paul’s brother.”
    The sweet scent of lilac wafted towards her from a vase of blooms on the hall table behind him. Ellie breathed in their perfume and felt her spirits lift. They were, she was sure, a good omen.