Personal Growth
by Liz
Summerson
Email:
liz@summerson.fsworld.co.uk
Nobody really looks at the
person behind their gardener's workaday garb, and that's how Kate got
away with it, in her headscarf, baggy overalls and wellies. Nobody knew
where she'd come from, but the owners of the four big houses in Cranbrook
Close were delighted to find such a knowledgeable and reliable gardener.
However, none of the neighbours realised she
was also working for the other three, because the high hedges in Cranbrook
Close encouraged standoffishness. Most residents could recognise the
others in the street, but, never having formally made each other's acquaintance,
all pretended ignorance.
So when Ada Williams from number 2 nearly collided
with Millicent Bradshaw of number 8 in the library, she merely muttered
'So sorry' and carried on her way (though each cast a glance at the
other's books and Millicent, juggling her walking frame and her large-print
romances, tutted Ada's racy selection). And when Arthur Tennison (number
4) spotted David Fox (the newcomer at number 6) in the queue at the
bank, he studiously ignored him. As for David, he was genuinely uninterested
in his neighbours, being a busy and preoccupied young chap.
Kate had done what few people did. She marched
up the long paths of the Cranbrook Close houses to ask each householder
if they wanted her gardening services. To her gratification, all four
had reasons for saying 'yes'.
Ada had devotedly tended her late husband Ernest's
garden for five years since his death, but was now finding it too much
work. Elderly bachelor Arthur preferred to spend his time penning detective
stories and was most grateful to be relieved of the burden while, at
number 6, David, had neither time nor enthusiasm for gardening. Finally,
number 8's owner, Millicent, was delighted at Kate's modest charges,
which enabled her to stop 'neglecting the old place'.
So Kate began unobtrusively putting the four
gardens in order, allocating each a specific day from Monday to Thursday.
The residents readily acceded to her two simple demands: cash payment
(they could leave an envelope in a flowerpot, if they wished) and carte
blanche with designing and planting.
Her Fridays, Kate devoted to her other job.
Around the corner in Linden Grove stood the
doctors' surgery where everyone in Cranbrook Close was registered. It
was a go-ahead practice whose partners had even taken on a part-time
counsellor recently. Very much part-time. In fact, Fridays only.
You've probably guessed that the counsellor
was Kate, though literally in another disguise. On Fridays, she metamorphosed
as the well-spoken Ms Katherine Wingate, wearing neat suits, medium-high
heels, spectacles, subtle but full make-up, and a chignon to replace
her ponytail. You'd never have recognised her as the jobbing gardener.
In contrast to her gardening gear, the counselling outfit made
Katherine look a little older than her thirty years. This was
deliberate: the role demanded gravitas and Kate's first-class honours
degree in psychology qualified her to judge what her clientele would
expect.
Kate had taken a postgraduate diploma in counselling
largely to please her parents, who were unenthusiastic about her longstanding
passion for gardening, pooh-poohing all the effort she'd put in to gain
her horticultural qualifications part-time. Luckily, the counselling
course proved unexpectedly enjoyable and she was highly satisfied to
be dually qualified.
'Personal growth and plant growth are not unrelated,'
she told herself.
You won't be surprised to learn that our Cranbrook
Close residents made their way on to Kate's list of counselling clients.
First Ada referred herself. Never having got
over Ernest's death, her loneliness was deepfelt. At the same time,
she was guilt-ridden at hoping to find another companion.
'I can't contemplate replacing Ernest as though
he were a pet poodle, can I, Ms Wingate?' she asked.
'Call me Katherine, please.' said Kate. 'But,
Ada, think what your intense loneliness says about your relationship
with Ernest.'
'I suppose
that he was central to my life and I feel inadequate without him,' said
Ada.
'That's an enormous compliment to him,' Kate
said gently. 'Hardly disrespectful, is it?'
Ada nodded thoughtfully.
'Perhaps you should broaden your social relationships,
suggested Kate. 'There's a new afternoon club at the Linden Grove Social
Centre - bridge, tea dances and such. It might be worth a try? Let's
talk more next Friday.'
'Thank you, dear,' murmured Ada. 'You've a
wise head on your young shoulders.'
Next came Arthur, sorrowfully suspecting that
life had passed him by. Now long retired from the town hall, he'd suddenly
grown tired of writing his whodunnits (all, alas, unpublished). Like
Ada, he felt lonely. Like Ada, Kate suggested the Social Centre might
be a good way to make friends.
'What about your neighbours?' she asked.
'Oh, we keep ourselves to ourselves.'
But perhaps,' offered Kate, 'you
all lack friendship. Think about it, Arthur.'
David, visiting his GP with chronic insomnia,
was referred for counselling with underlying stress queried. It didn't
take him long to admit to Kate he'd been recently jilted.
'I haven't been able to discuss it before,'
he said. 'It's too personal with family and friends. You're very easy
to talk to.'
'Talking's better than sleeping tablets. But
is your work stressful?'
David sighed. 'My own fault. I've become a
workaholic. It seemed a salvation but now ...'
'You must cut down,' said Kate, more firmly
than counsellors usually do. 'Why don't you spend time just relaxing
in the garden?'
David brightened. 'I might just do that,' he
said. 'Since I've had a gardener, I've noticed it's actually worth sitting
in.'
'There you are, then. Good luck!' Kate rose
to show him out.
When Millicent was referred by a community
nurse, Kate accurately diagnosed the problem as loneliness compounded
by immobility.
'Even going to the library is getting beyond
me,' Millicent confessed.
'You need 'books on wheels',' said Kate. 'And
perhaps some of the other services for less-mobile people. Incidentally,
there's a new social club along the road. Shall I arrange a lift so
you can try it?'
'Well ... I don't mix much ... I can't ...'
'No such word as “can't”. You could mix more,'
asserted Kate in tones that Millicent recognised from somewhere.
'Very well, I'll try.' The smile was brave.
'You know, you do remind me of someone, Ms Wingate.'
'Oh?' Kate flushed. Had she been discovered?
'It's my old nanny,' said Millicent. 'She always
said there's no such word as 'can't.'
Meanwhile, throughout that long spring, Kate
strove to put the Cranbook Close gardens to rights. She had a plan for
each plot and with a free hand accorded by the householders, she was
unstoppable.
At Ada's, she tidied the rockery, re-edged
and trimmed the lawn, then dug a long narrow bed in the middle, which
she filled with impatiens. Arthur's shrubs next door needed only a little
attention to flourish. She replanted his borders, then, in his lawn,
she cut a ring-shaped bed.
'I'll plant it with begonias,' she remarked,
collecting her day's pay.
'What about a hydrangea in the centre?' Arthur
ventured.
'No. Definitely no.'
'Oh well - you're the gardener,' he chuckled.
'Good to hear you laugh,' she said. 'Life looking
up?'
'Indeed,' said Arthur. 'That social club I've
joined has given me a new lease of life. I've even met my next-door
neighbour at last.'
'Who? Mr Fox?' asked Kate, naughtily.
'No! Ada Williams. A charming lady.'
David's garden was more challenging, especially
since he sometimes turned up in the afternoons, wanting to chat. Kate
always wore sunglasses although, since he'd only been a few times for
counselling, she didn't think he'd twig. She opted for pinks and mauves
for his garden - rather feminine, perhaps, but she felt he wouldn't
be alone for ever. With her penchant for central flower beds, she made
his chevron-shaped, planting it with dianthus to flower all summer.
For Millicent, she chose cottage-garden lupins,
marigolds, old-fashioned scented roses and a spiral flowerbed somewhat
resembling a snail. This, she filled with pansies.
'That's an unusual shape,' said Millicent from
the porch, waving goodbye to her books-on-wheels volunteer.
'It's a little joke,' said Kate, gruffly. 'Gardens
should be light-hearted.'
'I'll see it properly next week,' Millicent
confided, 'when I get my mobility scooter.'
'Terrific,' said Kate, keeping her head down.
'The world will be my oyster!' Millicent laughed,
shutting the door.
When all the gardens were flourishing to Kate's
satisfaction, she went - in her counsellor guise - to the Linden Grove
Social Club. There, she found Ada and Arthur sharing a settee and having
tea with Millicent.
'Why, it's Katherine - Ms Wingate - from the
surgery,' cried Ada. It was some while since Kate had seen any of them
for counselling, but they greeted her like an old friend.
'Since we've got to know one another, we've
discovered what a help you've been to us all, dear,' beamed Ada.
Kate feigned surprise.
Millicent joined in. 'So silly, letting ourselves
become prisoners in our own homes. Life has picked up no end since we've
broken out.'
'Coincidentally,' added Arthur, 'we also realised
we all employ the same gardener. A girl called Kate. D'you know her?'
'Possibly,' said Kate vaguely. 'But listen:
I've come today to invite you all to a hot-air balloon trip over the
neighbourhood.'
Millicent clapped with glee. 'How marvellous!'
Then she bit her lip. 'Will it be expensive? I must be careful since
I splashed out on my scooter.'
'No - it's my treat. Do say yes.'
So, one glorious Sunday in July, the five of
them - Kate had invited David separately - helped each other into the
balloon's basket. The canopy swelled and the pilot announced lift-off.
Soon, they floated high and, beneath them, the town looked like a model
within which they eagerly sought landmarks.
'There's St Mark's ... and the fire station,'
cried Arthur.
'And that's Cranbrook Close,' cut in Ada. 'But
... what's that? Surely it's a word?'
'It's 'love'! Millicent exclaimed. 'Look what
our little gardener's done! She's spelled out the word 'love' in our
flowerbeds. One letter in each garden. We couldn't see it at ground
level.'
Across the balloon basket, David was gazing
at Kate. She found his blue eyes magnetic. Suddenly, she realised that,
where he was concerned, the game was up. But as he started to speak,
she put a finger to her lips. The others noticed nothing: they were
still marvelling at their gardener's ruse.
'What an odd thing for her to do,' said Arthur,
'and yet how apt. This summer has brought love and friendship into our
lives.'
'Yes.' David, speaking for the first time,
still looked meaningfully at Kate. 'All of our lives.'
'Oh,' cooed Millicent. 'Do I detect romance
in the air? Mr Fox and our dear Ms Wingate?' She looked from David to
Kate and back again as Kate blushed and they both beamed helplessly.
And that was really the end of that - or, rather,
just the start. Two weddings took place in Cranbrook Close later that
year. David's and Katherine's whirlwind courtship thrilled the older
residents, who welcomed her amongst them. Arthur, having moved postnuptially
into Ada's home, let number 4 to students, who certainly enlivened the
Close. Millicent in no way envied all this pairing off, preferring her
romances strictly on paper, and her gentlemen firmly at arms' length,
as at the social club's bridge sessions, where she'd made some delightful
new friends.
The only person they missed was Kate, who unaccountably
disappeared around the time of the balloon flight.
'Nice lass,' said Arthur, when they were all
having coffee one morning. 'Good gardener, too. What made her go off,
I wonder?'
'She was always rather mysterious,' ruminated
Ada. 'We didn't even know her surname. She could be anywhere by now.
What do you think, Katherine?'
'Who knows?' said Katherine, shaking her head
and holding her lovely new husband's hand very tightly indeed. 'With
my counsellor's hat on, I'd say she was probably seeking some personal
growth. But who knows?'
