Things I Want My Daughters to Know_ A Novel - Elizabeth Noble [151]
Mum wanted to grow and nurture and make the world prettier. Jennifer had always seen it before as something different. A perfect garden for her perfect life. That had changed, too.
Doing Barbara’s garden now made her feel closer to her mother.
It was a beautiful day. June was her favorite month. It seemed that the whole garden was in bloom. Foxgloves and mallows; fat, creamy English roses and sweet william—their blooms proliferated everywhere. Mum’s lavender bed, planted the summer after Hannah was born, was a riot of purple fragrance. The whole thing was so fecund it was verging on the wild. April and May had been wet, but it was dry now, and warm. She’d found Barbara’s old gardening gloves in the shed and a pad to kneel on. Earlier, she’d felt her neck beginning to burn in the sun, so she’d returned to the shed and come out with a straw hat. Not at all glamorous, but very effective. There was a lot to do.
Hannah came out with a plastic jug of iced water. All the physical evidence of her accident had gone, except for one small scar, about an inch long, low on her left cheek. She seemed almost back to her old self.
“Blimey—you look just like Mum.”
“Got all her gear on, that’s why. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind?” Hannah shrugged happily. “Listen, if you weren’t out here doing this weeding and whatever…Dad would have roped me in at some point, so you won’t hear any complaints from me. I hate gardening.”
“You know, that’s so weird. You spent all your time out here when you were a baby. Mum used to park your pram”—she turned and pointed to a tree near the side of the house—“there, and you’d lie there contentedly all day, with your fat little legs pumping away into midair, while she gardened.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like gardens. I said I didn’t like gardening. I don’t know a euphorbia from an aruncula, me.” She winked. “I’m a teenager. I don’t, by definition, like anything that involves physical or mental work. I expect I’ll grow into it.”
Jennifer laughed. “When you’re my age, you mean?”
“Listen, if the cap fits…!” She was laughing. “You’re making me hot, for God’s sake, and I’m not doing anything…come and have a glass of water, will you?”
Jennifer stood up and rubbed the small of her back with a begloved hand. “Okay. You win. Bring any biscuits?”
Hannah was wearing a vest with narrow spaghetti straps. She pushed them down her shoulders and leaned back in the garden chair, pulling her long denim skirt up to her thighs and sticking her long legs out in front of her to catch the sun.
Jennifer peered at her sister’s exposed skin. “Have you got cream on?”
“Shut up, Mum.” Hannah scowled at her. “Just ten minutes. Did you know, none of us get enough sun, these days. People plaster themselves in SPF 500 before they step outside their door, and they’re just not getting enough vitamin D.”
“Is that right, doctor?”
“That is right. I read it. In the newspaper.” Hannah poked her tongue out at her sister, who poked back.
“I’m going the Nicole Kidman route myself.” Jennifer spread out her milky arms. “I give up with the tanning. Stripes and sunburns and flaky skin—who needs it?”
“You haven’t got a prom coming up in a couple of weeks, then, I guess.”
“What’s going on? What the hell’s a prom? Are we in an American movie or something?”
“Get with the program, Gran. We have one every year now.”
Jennifer shook her head.
“I know, I know.” Hannah smirked. “It wasn’t like that in your day.”
Jennifer flicked her