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‘Really? A granny? Wow. Congratulations,’ Matt said with a grin, looking across just as she started to cry. ‘That’s amazing. Oh no, don’t,’ he said, reaching out towards her. ‘Don’t cry, I think it’s wonderful.’
Milo started to fret too; he hated women crying.
‘Easy for you to say,’ Susie snorted, brushing the tears away, stooping down to clip Milo’s lead on. ‘It’s not you it’s happening to. I’m really pleased for Alice but it makes me feel so – so –’
‘Old?’ suggested Matt helpfully.
Susie glared at him furiously, struggling with the temptation to punch him as well as Robert. ‘No, not old,’ she snapped. ‘It feels kind of responsible. Granny sounds like a really big thing to be, and I’m not sure I’m ready. I’m really pleased about it for Alice’s sake, but the word doesn’t fit me, it doesn’t go with how I see myself at all. I can’t be a granny. I’m just getting my own life together,’ she said, blowing her nose. ‘I’m not grown-up enough to be a granny.’
Matt looked at her, his expression softening. ‘Granny, eh? I really loved my granny, she used to knit me woolly hats and buy me jelly babies – how are you with Fair Isle?’
Susie slapped his arm. ‘It’s not funny,’ she snorted. ‘And I’m not going to be that sort of granny.’
‘Shame,’ Matt said with a grin. ‘I really miss her.’
Despite the early-morning confessional and having to deal with puffy eyes and heavy-duty bags, Susie got to college on time, not really wanting to share any more girly heart-to-heart time with Matt, despite his offer to make her tea and fix her a full English breakfast. He was officially perfect, and at that time of the morning a bit bloody irritating.
‘How’re you feeling?’ asked Nina, her expression all concern and empathy, as Susie bowled in through the door to the main studio. The aroma of fresh coffee and turpentine greeted her like an old friend.
‘Why is everyone obsessed with how I feel?’ she growled, taking the mug Nina had in her hand.
‘Eyeliner and lippy first thing?’ said Nina. ‘Trust me, it speaks volumes.’
‘Okay. Truth? I’m in bits, with a pain in my chest the size of a London bus, but I’ll be fine. Just fine. Eventually. I just need to occupy my mind till then.’
‘How long do you think that’ll be?’
‘Six months, a year, who knows.’ Susie took a long pull on the coffee before handing it back. ‘God, that’s good. Any more in the pot? And besides, Robert was a shit.’
Nina nodded. ‘Well, yes, we all knew that, but he was your shit. And yes, there’s more coffee. Have you forgotten? Tuesday morning meeting? Posh coffee and good biscuits. We’ve got a budget for it.’
Susie laughed. That’s what real friends were for – to support you when you made stupid choices and then help pick up the pieces when it all went horribly wrong. ‘So, where are we with the master plan?’
‘Follow me,’ said Nina, beckoning her closer with a hooked finger.
Tuesday morning and the regular staff meeting – they were meant to be discussing progress for the arrangements for the departmental end-of-year exhibition, which was less than a month away. Truth was, as always, it fell squarely on the shoulders of those that did, the ones that talked a good game having long since vanished over the horizon – and that meant it always seemed to be the same faces gathered around the big art-room table.
‘Where’s everyone else?’ asked Susie, sliding her bag under the desk.
‘Traffic, bus strike, leaves on the line, dog ate their homework,’ said Nina, counting the excuses off on paint-stained fingers. ‘God only knows. I’m only on time because I walked here.’ She glanced down at her watch. ‘You should know by now. They’re all artists, darling; time is not what they do best.’
‘Robert used to say that, and he works for the Environment Agency.’
Nina pulled a face.
‘So, how’s it going then?’ asked Susie.
Nina pulled a sheet of A1 paper out of a folder and slid it across the workbench towards Susie. On it were drawn a series of cubicles, bays, display boards and plinths, with numbered stickers on each one. Nina took a notebook out of the desk drawer and opened it up to the first page.
‘It’s filling up nicely,’ she said, pointing to bay number one. ‘Ceramics, mostly blue dishes and those great big garden pots. Bay two we’ve got slumped glassware and some lizards.’
Susie sipped her coffee. ‘What I meant was, instead of talking about me, how’s it going generally, you know, as in life?’
‘Oh, that? Generally? Fine. Specifically? Not bad at all, just finished grouting the bathroom, cat had kittens, and as for how the end-of-year show looks, it will make everyone look fucking marvellous. Again. What else do you want to know?’
Susie decided to give up on the social niceties and get on with the job in hand. She pulled the sheet of paper nearer and cast a world-weary eye over the floor plan. ‘Once we’ve put in god knows how many hours overtime, chased up the work, hung it, lit it, manned the bloody thing and resisted the temptation to strangle the sideline whiners, you mean?’
Nina grinned. ‘Exactly. By the way, have you heard from Hill’s Nurseries yet? You know, flowers, plants, ambiance, style?’
‘Bugger me, I’d forgotten all about them. Good news is I have done a skeleton press release, though, we just need to add the names in. I’ll chase the nursery up. I’m really hoping that they’ll stump up some sort of floral display outside the main foyer. I mean, it’s great advertising for them and we send enough slave labour their way from the floristry department.’
‘The college prefer to call it work placement,’ said a male voice from the back of the art room.
Susie looked up and grinned at Austin, their head of department, who was heading in through the glass doorway. He was a man who had made his way up through the ranks. An artist first and foremost, Austin wore his administrator’s hat at as jaunty an angle as was possible to achieve while keeping the machinery oiled. He had the look of a rugged, earthier Melvyn Bragg and was not only a devoted Christian but seriously married, which made him a bit of a rarity in higher education.
‘Maybe you should get the boss to ring?’ said Nina with a grin.
‘You mean grub around for sponsors and support – not really his style, is it?’
‘I heard that. Taking my name in vain again, are we?’ Austin said. ‘Coffee smells good. Who do you want me to ring and where the heck is everybody else?’ he asked, glancing around as he settled down at the table with the two of them.
Susie shrugged. Nina shrugged. He opened his briefcase and slid a piece of paper Nina’s way. ‘There we are. One of my minions managed to persuade Pettifers to sponsor the wine, and Browns have said they’ll cover the cost of the catering again.’
The two women nodded appreciatively as the double doors swung open, and Colin, the ceramics studio technician, ambled in, pulling off his beanie hat. He was followed by a small plump woman from textiles called Eleanor, who always spent a lot of her time at meetings saying, ‘I’m not sure I should be here, after all I’m only part time, and to be honest I feel I’m out of my depth. I mean, I don’t really know how relevant my input is.’
‘I thought we’d got all the sponsorship sorted out?’ said Colin, sliding onto a stool alongside Nina.
Nina consulted her notebook. ‘Basically we have now, thanks to Austin, although this year apparently we are supposed to refer to it as contributory partnership, not raffle snafflers or soft touches. So that’s catering, wine.’ She ticked things off on her list. ‘We’ve got some great fabric for banners, printing costs are all covered – just the sourcing of the busy lizzies to go now.’
‘Which is down to me,’ said Susie, holding her hand up. ‘I’m really hoping we can get the place brightened up a little more dramatically than last year. Robert –’ saying his name made her feel as if she was crunching across glass shards in bare feet ‘– suggested that we try a company he’s had dealings with to supply tubs and hanging baskets and stuff for the area around the main entrance. Hill’s Nurseries? The college already have links with them in terms of work placement. Apparently they’ve just started doing a lot of corporate work and he thought they might be keen to get involved with something like this. I’ve got a name –’ Susie pulled a notebook out of her bag. ‘Usual stuff, from their point of view we’d give them publicity for their new venture, lots of people would see it, mention it in the press, etc., etc. And I thought we could maybe beef up their bit in the catalogue as they’ve also provided twice as many placements in their business this year as last.’
Austin nodded. ‘Good plan. Front foyer and that grey bit outside, with the sliding glass doors and the prevailing sense of doom, always reminds me of an abattoir. Who’s your contact there? I’ll give them a ring if you like, no point in having a fancy title if you don’t get to flaunt it once in a while.’
‘Do you mind?’
Austin shook his head. ‘Not at all.’
Susie flicked through the pages of her notebook till she got to one with a slim, winding, detailed doodle of a rambling rose that made its way up the side of the page, winding its way through a shopping list and a dental appointment till it got to, ‘Saskia Hill, events and conference coordinator, Hill’s Nurseries.’
Colin nodded appreciatively. ‘Boss’s daughter?’
‘Or his wife, or maybe it’s even, incredibly, her business,’ Susie said coolly.
‘And the number?’ asked Austin.
Susie slid the pad over. ‘There are two there.’
‘Okay, well, I’ll try and sort it out. Now – in terms of content, how are we doing?’
‘Well,’ said Nina, glancing down at her list. ‘We’ve got some great paintings of Electric Mickey’s arse.’
The rest of the meeting was done and dusted inside half an hour. Susie’s first class rolled in at ten; she and Nina got down to working with the second-year child-care students, finishing off their project on printing. After lunch it was collage and calligraphy with some special-needs kids, and at three there was a life class with a group of mature students on the Arts Access course. In between times, students wandered in to pick things up, ask advice, work on their own projects or sit at the back, gossip and drink coffee. One thing about working in college was that life was never dull.
And the good thing for Susie about being so caught up in what she was doing was that it pushed Robert out to the margins of her mind.
Just as she was leaving for the day, Austin appeared. ‘Susie?’
She swung round.
‘I managed to speak to the nursery this afternoon and Saskia Hill suggested you pop in to discuss what you have in mind. She sounds very up for getting involved with the college. Lots of noises about wanting to develop partnerships with education and local industry – anyway, I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could pop in on your way home, is there? She said she’d be there till around six thirty.’
‘Okay.’
‘Great.’ He grinned and then added, ‘So how are things?’
Susie pasted on a big cheery smile. ‘Things? Things are not bad. How about you?’
Austin’s expression softened. ‘I’ve known you a lot of years, Susie, and you’re a lousy liar. Neen said there was trouble at t’mill.’
‘How very kind of her. Is there anyone who doesn’t know about me and Robert splitting up?’ Susie said crossly, and then paused and waved the words away. ‘Sorry, that was horribly rude, Austin. Thanks for asking, but I’m okay and it’s nothing I can’t work my way through.’
‘Well, if you need anything –’ He left the sentence and the sentiment open.
‘A bigger studio?’ Susie picked up her bag and headed for the door. ‘A pay rise?’
He pulled a face.
‘World peace –’
‘Get out of here,’ he said. ‘Are you in tomorrow?’
‘Certainly am. We’ll be going through stuff for the exhibition and then mounting work tomorrow afternoon. I’ll give Ms Hill a quick ring on my mobile and try to catch her on the way home tonight.’
Austin grinned. ‘You’re a star.’
Hill’s Nurseries was on the edge of town on the coast road, ten minutes’ drive from the college and around thirty-five minutes from Susie’s cottage. Easing into the long, slow stream of people making their way home, Susie crept along the road to the bypass, radio on, windows open, enjoying the sunshine, Radio Four, and the promise of summer.
As a business Hill’s Nurseries had fared really well in terms of position. Tucked just off the main drag, once upon a time it had been surrounded by open farmland, but over the last ten years or so an executive housing estate had slowly sneaked up to surround it, and on the other side of the road, sheltered from the hoi polloi by mature trees and thick hedges, stood a hamlet of elegant detached family houses, bought by the affluent and the upwardly mobile since they’d been built at the turn of the twentieth century, an elegant suburb of the busy market town with its fisher fleet and port.
It was a perfect place for the business to be. The family nursery had blossomed and embraced the trend towards more stylish, flamboyant, sexier gardening. On the kerbside, beside the immaculate, weed-free gravelled driveway, signage announced it had been on local and national TV, won national recognition and acclaim for its plants and had an award-winning garden designer on the staff. Even at six on a weekday evening the beautifully coiffured car park was well over half-full with an assortment of Discoverys, SUVs and smart little town cars. Framed on three sides by neat glass houses and bays of plants fenced off by trellis and low, stylish fencing the whole place could have stepped fully fledged out of a Sunday Times colour supplement. Susie imagined it was heaving at the weekends with the Barbour army filling up on olive trees and pots of wild rocket and organic coriander.
She pulled in behind a big shiny black 4x4, locked up, and headed across towards the main shop, where the man behind the counter rang through to Saskia’s office. A few minutes later a tall blonde girl in her early twenties came over to meet her.
It had to be said that Saskia Hill didn’t look like your average horticulturalist; she certainly didn’t look as if she’d be much use humping bags of compost around or slapping down a patio. She was immaculately made up, wore tailored black trousers with high-heeled black boots, a matching collarless edge-to-edge jacket and a jade-green shirt, all of which owed far more to a designer label than any trade catalogue. As she walked, Saskia flashed perfect dentition – although the smile appeared to be more of a professional tool than revealing any genuine warmth – before holding out a slim, cool hand in greeting. ‘You must be Susie, how nice to meet you, why don’t you come through to my office.’
‘Thanks for seeing me at such short notice.’
The girl waved the words away. ‘Not at all. I’ve got another appointment this evening. No rest for the wicked.’
She exuded a cool confidence that Susie found disconcerting; it had to be business school and the effects of lots of cold hard cash.
Saskia directed Susie into a small office overlooking a paved area set with shrubs and a little pool, the perfect example of how to style a small town garden. ‘Now, how can we help you?’ she said as she slipped behind her desk and indicated a seat.
‘It must be wonderful working with plants,’ Susie said, looking out at the display. ‘The terrace out there is very nice.’
Saskia smiled again, although Susie noticed it still didn’t quite make it to her eyes. ‘Thank you. We regularly remodel all the exhibition gardens on a rota basis. Some people prefer to buy a complete look – we can provide the whole thing as a kit. Plans, plants, hard landscaping. It’s the kind of service busy people appreciate; it was one of my ideas to improve turnover, bring the family firm up-to-date – take the guesswork out of gardening.’
It wasn’t quite the answer Susie had expected so she turned the conversation back to the exhibition. ‘I’m not sure exactly what Austin told you, but what we’re hoping for is a display in the main entrance of the college for our end-of-year art exhibition – something eye-catching.’
Saskia made a noise; it could almost have been a laugh. ‘Something to cover the concrete?’
‘You know Fenborough?’
Saskia coloured very slightly; the first time she had shown any genuine reaction. ‘I did my first business qualifications there. So, concrete covering is a main requirement?’
Susie nodded. ‘That would be wonderful.’
‘Well, you may be in luck. We’ve got a range of planting that we hire out to dress shops, events, various shows –’
‘We haven’t got a budget for this,’ Susie said uncomfortably.
‘Austin did explain that, and it’s fine.’
Susie smiled. ‘In that case it sounds perfect.’
‘We obviously have promotional material that we’d like on display – and …’
The next half hour was spent working out a site visit, and what Saskia might be prepared to offer, and what Susie had to offer in return. By six thirty Susie was on her way back to the car. She slipped in behind the wheel feeling like it was a job well done. Austin and Nina would be delighted, and for the first time in days she felt happy.
When Susie arrived back at the cottage, Milo was basking in the sunshine on the terrace, on his back, paws in the air, looking for all the world as if he was topping up his tan. He opened one eye to acknowledge her arrival and did a wag or two just to let her know that despite appearances he really was pleased to see her, and that he was absolutely on the ball, no one would get by unnoticed on his watch.
As she headed down the path, Susie noticed a peculiar smell in the air. The smell of cooking. She pushed open the back door to find Matt, with a tea towel tucked into the waistband of his jeans, busy doing something extraordinary with a paella pan and a whole mess of seafood.
The table was set, and Jack was opening a bottle of wine. There was a salad and fresh bread and what looked suspiciously like dessert spoons on a clean tablecloth. Susie looked at the two of them. ‘So what did you break?’ she asked, dropping her bag onto the chair.
‘Mum,’ said Jack. ‘As if –’
‘Did you set fire to something?’
‘Hi,’ said Matt, looking up from the cooker. ‘How’s your day been? Jack was just telling me about Deliaing. I was thinking more Rick Stein.’ He swept his hand across the top of the pan with all the finesse of a magician’s assistant. ‘Here we have classic paella – really simple, local ingredients – great served up with a classic green salad and lots of warm, new, crisp bread to sop up all those delectable juices, garnished with lemon wedges and just a sprinkling of chopped parsley.’
‘Fantastic,’ said Susie, unable to keep the merest hint of suspicion out of her voice.
‘You hungry?’
She nodded.
‘Good, should be ready in about five minutes.’
