Head Home

The week ends. With no plans, you head home.

There’s a mini parked in front of your house when you get there, and the gate to the back garden is open. Intrigued you don’t use the front door but go round the side. You soon notice the owner of the mini kneeling before the rose bushes. It’s Agatha, the gardener.

“You still here?” you ask. Agatha looks up, sees you, and a big smile crosses her face.

“These roses were your mother’s favourite. I ‘m trying to get one last bloom out of them, for her memory.”

“She ‘d have appreciated it.”

Her smile reflects your complement. She’s wearing denim shorts with bracers over her shoulders. Underneath the bracers is a lime green t-shirt on which is written you’re never too old to play in the dirt. The bottom of the t-shirt is tied to reveal her flat stomach, her pierced belly button, and tanned skin. Through the thin cloth you can also see she’s not wearing a bra and has pierced nipples. You wonder how much of her skin is tanned. You wouldn’t mind finding out. No tan lines are visible.

“Your mother was very good to me when I needed it. I would’ve done anything for her.”

“When I spoke to her, she was always going on about the garden. These last 2 years after my father died, it was the only thing that gave her pleasure. She was always telling me how beautiful it was. She never told me the gardener was as beautiful as the garden.”

Her brown eyes sparkle with the complement.

“Are you trying to seduce me Mr Smith.”

“Call me John, and what if I am?”

“I’ll have to work late more often.”

“You’ve nearly finished?” She nods. “Come up and have a beer once you have.”

You leave her to it and head in. You pick up 2 plastic chairs and place them outside and then 2 bottles of beer from the fridge. By the time you come out with them Agatha is walking towards you. When she sees you looking at her, she emphasises the sway of her hips. You pass a beer to her and sit down.

“Thanks. I love sitting out in September, the last vestiges of summer, the last blooms before the trees turn.”

“And lots of leaf raking.”

“Yes, lots of leaf raking.”

“And what do you do in winter?”

“Whatever I can. It’s a struggle. There’s less work for gardeners in winter. I was thinking of branching out and doing something else. I’ve been looking up online massage course.”

“Massages. Well, if you ever need someone to practice on, I ‘m tempted to volunteer.”

“With that incentive, I’ll start the course tonight.”

You both laugh. But the look in Agatha’s eyes tells you that wasn’t a joke. Her gaze is intense, and seems to roam your body with interest, almost as much as your gaze roams hers.

“You didn’t go to university then?”

“No, that’s not for me. I did my A-Levels, but that was as far as I managed. I’m a practical woman. I like doing things with my hands. I thought there was a real opportunity with this gardening business, but my timing sucks. When I started, three years ago, there was lots of work. But now. The town’s hit a rough patch, and suddenly all my usual customers had to drop my hours or me completely. The only people hiring gardeners these days stick to those with a town permit.”

“Town permit?”

“Yes, to work for the council you must have a permit. I didn’t see the point, because I didn’t want to work for the council. But many view it as a sign of quality. They’ll only employ gardeners with the permit. I’m stuck with word of mouth, and that’s not doing too good. I’ve been relying on old customers, like your mother. That’s why I’m worried about your decision. You haven’t decided yet?”

You shrug. “Not yet, no. I need to understand my salary. It’s just a number at the moment. I need to understand how much I’m losing in tax, and then there’s running the house, bills and all that nonsense. I promise you once I’ve seen my first paycheque, I’ll decide.”

Agatha decides that the best way to convince you to keep her on is to tell you all your mother’s plans for the garden. Ideas your mother will never see. Ideas she suggests as a way of remembering your mother. You don’t need the garden changed to do that. You may have moved in, but it’s still your parents’ house. You may sleep in the master bedroom, but you still feel like you’re intruding.

When the beer is finished, Agatha thanks you for it, kisses you on the cheek and departs. Leaving you with a semi, a load of dirty thoughts, and more questions.