Chapter 1 – in which unexpected things happen
“COME on, you’ll enjoy it!”
There’s a lot of things I don’t know. But one thing I was pretty sure about that morning, as I lay on the sofa with my nose deep in a book, was that I didn’t like garden centres. I vaguely considered the endless rows of plants with funny names, the hanging baskets, the terracotta pots and plastic rocks, and I wondered why, exactly, would anyone want to go to a garden centre for fun?
“Come ON Anna!”
Here we go, no more Mrs Nice Guy, I thought. I mean, like I had any choice about going. I hadn’t been with Tamsin for that long but I already knew that when she used that particular tone, any views of my own quickly went out of the window.
“What’s the point,” I muttered loudly as I put down my book, dragged myself off the sofa and slouched into the hall. It was quite a performance. Tamsin and I both knew I was acting up, but I did so anyway. I felt like I was dancing a slow, drawn-out dance, carefully following a precise path between Tamsin’s continued effort and her complete, hands-in-the-air, I-give-up exasperation.
“Right,” exhaled Tamsin wearily as I arrived at the door. “Off we go.”
So, off we went.
To make matters worse, the garden centre was only a short distance from our house. Not such a bad thing you might think, but Tamsin had decided it would be good to walk. I certainly wasn’t in the mood: like a kid half my real age I dragged my feet and hung back, keeping my distance just far enough behind to be absolutely clear that I really, really didn’t care. Tamsin looked round at various moments to make sure I was still there. As if I would be anywhere else. I tried that before, that’s how I ended up with Tamsin in the first place.
We trudged up to the top of our road, at which point it became a track, winding its way up through the woods. Trudge, trudge, trudge. I must have looked a sight.
As we emerged from the trees I could see the garden centre, standing alone in the middle of the fields, neatly surrounded by fencing and conifers. At the front was a miniature windmill, above which fluttered a banner. “Welcome to Van Heugens’ Garden Emporium,” it said. Oh, dear, I remember thinking to myself. This looks really bad.
“What do you think?” asked Tamsin, but I said nothing. I was genuinely lost for words – well, polite ones, anyway. Realising I wasn’t going to reply, she carried on.
“When I was young…” she began, animatedly. Then she paused again, waiting for me to show any interest whatsoever. Which was unlikely. “Are you listening?”
I think Tamsin liked talking about her childhood to show that she was just like me, or at least had been, once. But she certainly wasn’t anymore. There must be some line you cross as you become a grown up, when you think its good to have funny short hair and wear clothes that make you look like you work in a charity shop. Which Tamsin did, but I wasn’t sure that was something to show off about.
I was about to say something rude, but something inside me gave in at that point. I think I had just run out of steam, or maybe part of me knew I was pushing things too far. “What? Oh, yes,” I said, as brightly as I could.
Tamsin looked at me quizzically, took a breath and started again. “As I was saying, when I was young all this used to be greenhouses, as far as the eye can see,” she said. “A market garden, they called it, where they grew lettuces, tomatoes, cucumbers and all that to sell in London.” She finished with a slight nod of the head, like finishing the sentence was an achievement.
“Why don’t they any more?” I asked. See, I can ask good questions.
“I think it’s all bought in from overseas these days – salad from Holland, runner beans from Africa… it does seem silly, doesn’t it.” I wasn’t quite sure what was so silly about it – I mean, things grow where things grow, don’t they? But I’d asked one good question already, so I felt I’d done my duty.
We set off again, heading for the entrance. I noticed the sails of the windmill were actually turning, as was a little wooden waterwheel on one side, and to cap it off a miniature stream of water was splashing down into a dainty pond beneath. Yuck.
“Right! What do you want to do?” said Tamsin, her voice still just a little too jolly. “There’s all sorts of things going on – I think there’s a brass band, and they’re offering free teas in the cafeteria. The advert said there was a free lucky dip…” Her face fell. “No, I don’t suppose you care about that. What was I thinking? I don’t suppose you care about any of it, do you?” I just shrugged, helplessly. “I guess you could just have a look around?”
I did quite fancy the lucky dip – I might be fourteen now, but I can still like surprises, particularly if they are given away for free. All the same I knew couldn’t just go straight inside, as that would be admitting I was actually bothered.
Beyond the neat fences surrounding the new place, I could see a number of older greenhouses and other outbuildings. I’ve always quite liked exploring and at that particular moment, I really, really liked the thought of going anywhere other than through the automatic glass doors and into gardening hell. So I set off, heading around the main building.
As it turned out, quite a few greenhouses were still standing – from this side of the garden centre I could see rows and rows of them. Sliding open the door of the nearest I saw nobody was inside: after a pause for breath I walked quickly to the other end and out of another sliding door, only to see another row. Of course I had to go into the next one. I didn’t know when the greenhouses had last been used, but I imagined it had been fifty years at least.
I started feeling a bit nervous, like I should probably go back – I was already losing track of how long I’d been. Before I retraced my steps however, I couldn’t resist walking to the end of just one more greenhouse.
This time as I emerged I saw a small building at the end of the path, with a number of thick, heavily lagged pipes coming out of one side. Each pipe was connected into one of the greenhouses, like tubular tentacles from a red-brick octopus. They were for heating, I guessed: back in some previous time the greenhouses must have needed to be warmed, and this little building must have been the boiler house.
Walking closer I saw that the door was slightly ajar, so I pushed it open and stepped inside. It made sense that it was a boiler room, I thought, given that it felt quite warm… then I shuddered involuntarily. Something didn’t feel quite right, but I couldn’t work out what is was. Then I realised. Wasn’t it just a bit strange that the boilers should still be switched on?
Suddenly I felt very warm indeed, not to mention ever so slightly worried. I turned to leave.
"Shut that door would you, you're letting all the heat out!"
I froze. I had no idea where the voice came from, but it felt like it was right behind me. Whoever it was, also sounded more than a little bit cross. I was petrified. Oh boy, am I in trouble now, I thought!
"Hurry up, do you have any idea how draughty it gets in here?"
Of course, I turned and ran. All the way back, without stopping, right through the greenhouses. And no, I didn't shut the door.
By the time I’d found my way back to the main building, Tamsin was already queuing for the checkout, pushing one of those massive trolleys ahead of her. My heart was pounding and I was out of breath but I just about managed to look like I’d just walked round the corner.
"There you are,” she said. "I was wondering what happened to you. What do you think of the place?"
What place? Oh yes, I remembered. The new garden centre, the one I was supposed to be impressed by, or hate, or whatever it was. My eyes darted around and took in as much as they could. Emporium or no emporium, it still looked like a garden centre to me, which I found strangely calming. In my head was a confusing mixture of trying to work out what had just happened, together with vision of utter, mundane, plant-pot-strewn boringness. This had to be one of the safest places in the world! But I still half-expected someone to rush in through the door and grab me.
"Oh, yeah, fine, yeah, OK, I guess, good, yeah, OK, fine." I tripped through the words like I was stumbling through woods in the dark.
"Anna, are you alright?"
"Fine. Yeah," I said, as confidently as I could. Which wasn’t very confident.
Tamsin's face was a combination of puzzlement and concern, like she really cared, though clearly she had no idea what was going on. As for me, whatever had happened, I decided I’d be pretty safe as long as she was around. I suddenly remembered that I’d missed the lucky dip, and almost immediately realised that I wouldn’t get the chance, not now. Oh well.
"I'm fine, really!" I said, warming to my theme. "Um, what have you been doing?" Despite the fact my stomach was in knots, I couldn’t help wondering why Tamsin needed quite such a big trolley, just to carry one solitary plant pot with a few twigs poking out of it.
"Well, I did just have a look at the roses – I thought one might be quite nice by the door. What do you think?” She nodded towards the twig thing.
A plastic label did show some flowers, but all I could imagine was a pot full of peach-coloured twigs. All the same, I was grateful for the distraction.
“I was wondering about yellow, but this one's going to have more of a peachy colour."
"Lovely, yeah," I said.
"Okay, I'll just pay. Did you see the tropical fish?"
“No,” I said. “Back in a minute.” I made my way quickly to the darkened area marked ‘Fish’, found a corner where nobody could see me, and bawled my eyes out.
I didn't sleep very well that night. The words “Shut the door, you’re letting all the heat out” looped round and round, and swirling images of plant pots, thick pipes and a big blue door filled my head.
To be honest, I didn’t know whether I was supposed to have been scared or not. I knew I shouldn’t have wandered off quite so far, but surely murderers and rapists don’t get stressy about a cold draft? I started to wonder whether I had heard anything at all. Perhaps my mind had been playing tricks on me. One thing was certain, I hadn’t planned to hang around and find out. Every bone in my body still wanted to know of there had been anything behind that door, but I was equally glad to still have every bone in my body, if you see what I mean.
I was quite relieved when morning finally came and I could think about normal stuff – like breakfast. I was just putting some bread in the toaster when Tamsin walked in, holding the pot-with-twigs in front of her. It was clearly troubling her, but I wasn’t about to ask why. I had hoped I’d done with conversations about roses.
She put the pot down on the kitchen surface. “I’m taking it back,” she said to the window, though I guessed she was talking to me. “I should have bought the yellow one after all. I don’t suppose you want to come?”
To both of our surprise, I found that I did. “Alright then,” I said, jutting my chin slightly. Tamsin looked straight at me with her eyebrows raised, as if she was waiting to see me conduct any other miracles, like levitate or something.
“Okay,” she said a-matter-of-factly, and left me to my toast.
I had no idea what I was thinking. My head was suddenly filled once again with plant pots, blue doors and disembodied voices complaining about drafts. To say I was nervous would be a massive understatement. But equally, I knew I really did want to go back – even if just to prove to myself that nothing was going to happen.
“Shall we go then?”
Tamsin looked pleased, if a bit surprised (her eyebrows were still up) when I pulled on my coat without complaining. Her expression didn’t change that much as I walked quietly up the hill and through the woods, walking by her side, my hands plunged deep in my pockets. To my relief, she didn’t try to start a conversation.
As we passed under the still-fluttering banner I stuck close to Tamsin. Quite what I had thought I would do when we got there I don’t know, but one thing was for sure – I wasn’t going anywhere near that red brick shed again. Actually, I decided there and then, I wasn’t going to do anything at all. Disappointing I know, but the other options were either too scary to contemplate, or pointless because they weren’t the scary options.
I browsed through the diaries and calendars (I mean, really, Scottie dogs on surf boards?) as Tamsin talked to the people at the customer service desk. Then we weaved our way through the racks of plants outside, heading for the roses. I wasn’t too surprised to see lots more pots with twigs. They really, really did all look the same to me, so I don’t know quite why it took another ten minutes of umm-ing and ahh-ing. That’s grown-ups, I suppose.
We were just heading out of the garden centre when I heard someone speaking to Tamsin. I wasn't really paying attention at first, but I caught the tail end, which went something like, “…you’ll both have to come along with me to the office.”
Then I paid a bit more attention.
Tamsin was talking to a lady who looked kindly enough, but I could see from her face she was talking about something serious. When they both looked round at me with the same look, I started to feel more than a bit uncomfortable.
“What?” I said, in the certain knowledge I had absolutely nothing to worry about. Unless sneaking through a greenhouse was a crime, I couldn’t think of anything I had done wrong.
“Let’s go,” said Tamsin, sighing heavily. I could see she was trying to put a brave face on things, but she was speaking just a little coldly. At that moment I felt myself hating her. She was just like all the people before, who assumed that whatever it was, it must be my fault. But I went, quietly, following the lady round behind the tills and down a long corridor, with Tamsin bringing up the rear.
As we entered a side room, the lady shut the door behind us and turned to me. I looked around quickly and saw it wasn’t really a room – more a reception area, with a couple of chairs and a door at each end. On the second door was a notice which said, “Manager’s Office”. I really didn’t like the look of that.
“I think you know what this is about,” said the lady, but I honestly didn’t. Then she then turned to Tamsin. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting here, these things are best dealt with directly with the person,” she said.
“Of course,” said Tamsin. I hated her even more – I hadn’t done anything, and she wasn’t even going to back me up! My look to her was a cross between horror and pleading, but she just shook her head and looked down. What is it, I thought, that makes everyone assume I’m going to turn out for the worst? I thought I could trust Tamsin, like she really did care, but she was just like all the rest.
I was about to say something I knew I would probably regret, but then the strangest thing happened. Turning her back to Tamsin ever so briefly, the lady gave me another look. It wasn’t a bad look, more a kind of, “Trust me, it’s not what it seems,” look. I couldn’t even tell you how to make such a look, but that really was the look she gave me. If I was confused before, I was in complete turmoil now but there was no time to think as she turned the handle and pushed the door open.
“In you go,” she said.
I don’t know what I had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t what I saw. Everything outside had been simple and functional, magnolia paint and beige plastic chairs. The inside of the office looked straight out of an old public school – dark wooden shelves stuffed with books, piles of papers and at the centre of it all, a desk so massive that at first I didn’t notice the man sitting behind it. My eyes flicked onto a small brass plaque, which said Mr Van Heugens.
“Ohhhh…” I said, as certain pieces started to fall into place. Or at least, for a brief moment I thought they did.
Up to that point I was doing a good job of keeping my composure. “Hello Anna,” the man said, and I pretty much lost it. It was the same voice as in the boiler house! I tried not to look frantic, but I couldn’t help glancing at the door – if it had been open, I think I would have run off again. But it wasn’t, so I turned my head back, resigning myself to my fate.
“Do take a seat,” said the man. “My apologies for bringing you in here under false pretences, but as you will see I had no choice.”
Finally I snapped. This was all too much.
“Take a seat? You are joking aren’t you? I haven’t a clue what is going on! How come you know my name? What was that all about, in the shop? Am I supposed to be a shoplifter or something? Tamsin’s going to kill me! And who the hell are you?” The words tumbled out of me, all clanging together, like a drawer-ful of cutlery when you pull it out too far and it crashes to the floor. I was completely livid – but the man just sat in front of me, waiting to speak.
“Anna, you need to be careful with that tongue of yours. It will get you into trouble.”
That shut me up. I was too shocked to say anything at all for a good ten seconds – yes, I counted – which has to be a record. Eventually I found my voice, but I managed to keep the volume down this time.
“Anyway, how on earth did you know my name?” I asked, still a bit indignant.
“I know none of this makes any sense to you, Anna, but it will,” said the man. “I have been waiting for you for a very long time. Yes, a very long time indeed.”
Something inside me gave in at that point. I exhaled deeply and sat down. “I’m not sure I understand anything at all,” I said. “Could you possibly tell me what’s going on?”
“There are many things you need to know, and it is going to take time to explain everything.”
Okay, I’ve got time, I thought.
“My name, if you haven’t guessed already, is Mr Van Heugens,” he said.
I just nodded.
“I should start by saying a little about how we came to be here. Before this garden centre, there was a market garden in its place. But the market garden was built on a farm, and the farm on another farm. There have been buildings here for many, many, many years, Anna.”
He paused and looked at me over the top of his glasses, as if he was checking I was listening. For some reason. I found that I was.
“When the market gardening business started to dry up, we knew it was only a matter of time. As things turned out, we couldn’t even keep up an appearance of being a market garden, so we’ve had to refocus the business. It’s a shame, very poor timing. But needs must.”
He had me up to that point, but suddenly nothing made sense. “Refocus the business”? “Poor timing”? “Needs must”? I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Oh dear,” he said, looking at my face. “That hasn’t helped much, has it? Let’s just say for now, that nothing is quite what it seems. But please understand that I need your help. We all need your help.”
I was starting to get it. Here’s an old man, lived here all his life, he’s losing his marbles a bit perhaps. He’s worried about making ends meet, and he needs some help with the place. He must have seen me yesterday, perhaps even talked to Tamsin…
“So, are you offering me a job?” I asked.
“I suppose you could put it that way, yes. Indeed, yes. That would be the best way to think about this.”
There you go, I thought. Why didn’t he just say so in the first place, rather than going through all that palaver? People could be very strange.
To be honest, I can’t have been thinking that straight myself. On a normal day, if someone had said to me, “Will you come and work in my garden centre,” I would have stared at them like they were mad. Did I already say how much I hated garden centres? I was particularly surprised I was listening to this man, whose voice had scared me half out of my skin the day before. But I confess I was intrigued. And also, whatever was that business before, it would get me off the hook with Tamsin.
Finally, it meant I’d have the chance to have a better look around. I thought back to the door in the boiler room – there was clearly more about this place that I didn’t get. Perhaps it was worth sticking around for a little while, even if it all turned out to be quite boring in the end.
“Okay, when can I start?” I asked, chirpily.
“That’s the spirit!” said Mr Van Heugens with a smile. His brow furrowed, and for a moment he fell deep into thought. “As soon as possible,” he said, nodding. “Next Saturday would be most convenient, yes. We can plan your induction from there. Right, I’d better start making the arrangements. Do let yourself out, and if you could send Janet back in, that would be awfully kind.”
I turned the handle and left the room. I can honestly say that was the weirdest ten minutes of my entire life. I mean, how often are you accused of shoplifting, subjected to a rambling history lesson and then given a job, all in the space of one conversation?
As I opened the door, Tamsin stood up quickly. She was still looking at me like I should be hung, drawn and quartered. Here we go, I thought. I was trying, but failing, to keep myself from smirking.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Dunno. But I’ve got a job, I think.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
Her face was a picture. I was about to say something I might later have regretted, when the door opened again and the lady I now knew as Janet came out, looking a little flustered.
“I really am terribly sorry,” she said, “there must have been some mix-up. I’m not quite sure what happened, but your daughter was nothing to do with it. I just spoke to Mr Van Heugens and he said he was so impressed, he’s offered her a job. I hope…”
“I’m NOT her daughter!” I blurted.
‘Janet’ gave me that funny look people give me when they think they should be sympathetic but they’re not sure if that’s the right thing. I’d seen it lots of times.
“Oh, sorry again, I really didn’t…” She took a deep breath. “Well, she’s due to start next Saturday, if that would be convenient. We’ll send you the background check documentation, of course.”
Tamsin was in as much shock as I was. “Of course,” she said. “Of course. If that’s what you want, Anna?”
I raised my eyebrows and tilted my head, in that “would-we-be-having-this-conversation-if-I-wasn’t” kind of way.
“Good, at least I think it’s good,” said Tamsin. “What a very strange day.”
You have no idea, I thought to myself. But nor did I, as I was soon to find out.