“But what if he doesn’t want me back?” I’d never felt rejection like I had when he ended us. Could I risk putting myself through that again?
“Well, for one, according to Flynn, he’s a mess and was only thinking of you when he did it. And, secondly, you’ve got to take a risk sometimes. What’s the worst that could happen? He says no? How can that make you any unhappier than you are now? But what if he says yes?” The thrill which coursed through me at her final question was all the answer I needed. I took a deep breath.
“So, what do I do about it?” Cass yelped with glee at the other end, bringing a smile to my face as well.
“We can sort a plan of attack when you come home next weekend. I’ll speak to Flynn. It’ll be okay, Neve. You’ll be okay.” God, I hoped she was right.
Wolfing down the microwaved lasagne as fast as I can, the throb of a motorbike pulling up to the door tells me I haven’t been quick enough. Jim’s in the kitchen before I’ve finished and I wonder why he’s made a beeline for me. At least it’s better than him looking for Josh or Grace.
Knowing better than to believe I can hide my contempt from him, I turn my back and start rinsing off my plate.
“Whatcha doin’ that for, *? That there’s women’s work.” Yes, this enlightened vision of masculinity is what my stupid mother thinks is some sort of replacement for Dad. Well, one of a string of replacements, each more grotesque than the last. “I said, what are you doin’ that for? Didn’t you hear me?”
I try not to antagonise him by keeping my voice neutral. “Habit, I suppose.” I allow myself a slight shrug but still face the opposite way.
“That’s about right. You like women’s work, don’t ya? All growing pretty flowers and shit? Ha, you wouldn’t know what being a man is if it hit ya on the arse. Or would you like a bit of arse action? Hey?” Forcing myself to count to ten in my head, I can’t stop my fists clenching as the need to prove how much of a man I am to him bubbles inside. “You wanna grow something, grow weed, man. Then you’d be raking it in and you wouldn’t have to live here. You ain’t gonna get rich making things look pretty. Well, not unless you’re a girl and then you use that God-given talent and spread them legs. Make the world pay to see how pretty you are.” Disgust at his words flows through me, making the burning desire to hit him ever stronger. “See, that’s where Grace’s got it made. She’ll have men begging to play in her garden, if you catch my drift—”
My fist makes contact with his nose before he finishes the sentence. Yes, the sight of blood pouring from his face makes me feel better, but I’m not stupid enough to think this will be the end of it. He pulls the tea towel up to stop the bleeding and looks at me with hatred-filled eyes.
“You’re gonna regret doin’ that, kid.”
“Don’t you ever talk about Grace like that again or I’ll do more than that, dickhead.” I walk out of the kitchen, head held high but inwardly shaking. Have I just made things worse?
It doesn’t take long to find out.
Packing up the van the next day, I take a final look at my work, mentally admiring how I’ve honoured Neve. The garden now has a hedge of myrtle running along its west side. In a year or two, they will be a wall of green, a memorial to what I had. Neve. Myrtle.
Myrtle. She is a ghost haunting my days, my nights, my dreams, my hopes. Voiceless but still in control. Every day is spent following her lead, walking the paths of our scenes and shadows. Every night is spent being haunted as the ghost taps at the window of my sleep. Nothing I do appeases her.
I text Bill to tell him I’m finished and then wonder what to do. I’ve got time to kill and don’t want to go home. Home. That’s a joke. I think back to the home we had when I was a kid. Don’t get me wrong, life wasn’t perfect then, but it was damn closer than it is now.
Dad had worked long shifts as a paramedic but he would also have runs of several days off at a time. That’s why he got into gardening; it gave him something to do when we were at school. I can remember the hours we spent, digging and planting. He grew all of our vegetables at the far end, even though us kids were less than grateful at the abundance of fresh food it meant we had for dinner each night.