Authors: Ann Purser
Peggy
looked out of the small window into the garden. 'Lovely daffodils, Mrs Ashbourne,' she said, 'are you a keen gardener?'
'Not
me,' said Doris Ashbourne, noticing with relief that the sun had come out again, bringing the garden to life. 'It's more like April than March, isn't it?' she said, and carried on without a pause. 'No, it was him, he was very keen until – well, until he wasn't any more. It's a bit untidy now, but it wouldn't take much to set it straight.'
Much
of what, thought Frank, having a sudden, unappealing picture of himself toiling over a spade full of heavy, wet earth. And what is all this about old jack? Just what was it about this place that did for him? Probably setting that garden straight. If she drops many more hints I shall ask her outright.
'Who's
that?' said Peggy, looking down on the bent back of an elderly woman in the neighbouring garden, vigorously wielding a chopper and splitting logs like a man. An old black felt hat covered her iron-grey hair, and her sturdy legs were planted well apart to anchor her firmly for the job in hand.
'That's
Ivy Beasley,' said Mrs Ashbourne quickly, 'she's all right when you get to know her.'
The
woman straightened up, hand on her back, easing the strain, and turned slowly, as if she sensed the watching eyes. She looked up, and the expression on her face sent a shiver down Peggy's spine.
Frank,
noticing, put out his hand and touched her gently. 'All well, Peg?' he said quietly.
'Someone
just walked over my grave!' she said, smiling weakly.
'I'll
just put the kettle on,' said Mrs Ashbourne, 'and then we can have a chat.'