Writing for Fun
October 2015
The Secret Garden - Jan Osborne
Opening the door Lenny stepped over the raised sill and into the greenhouse. Hot, humid air hit him with almost tangible force, misting his glasses. The warmth was welcome after being chilled from his early morning walk round the gardens in the frosty October air.
Letting the door close gently behind him he paused for one last look at his familiar workplace of four years. Not unhappy years but not the best either. Sighing, Lenny then made his way to a quiet corner and bending down under the staging scraped away the soil underneath to reveal a small wooden cigar box. The sort you use to tidy away odd bits and pieces in a shed.
Lifting the lid he reverently scanned the contents. It was nearly full of tiny seeds. He pulled out a battered stool and sat down. From his own pocket he took out and opened his own well worn tobacco tin and lifting the bottom paper together with the thin tobacco layer he carefully poured in the seeds from the box then refitted the contents and closed the lid. Reburying the old cigar box and checking all was as it had been, and that he had not left any tell tale remnants of the mother plants he had carefully destroyed days ago, he took a paper and a plug of tobacco and rolled a cigarette. Puffing out a cloud of smoke he settled back to reminisce over his changing fortunes of the last five years.
Lenny had persuaded the Governor of Leyhill Open prison to let him take this last walk round the nurseries and gardens before being released on parole later that morning. Ostensibly it was to take a fond farewell of the plants and way of life he had grown to love but also it was to collect his treasure; his due as he called it, as recompense for the hard work he had put into the prison gardens and also helping raise many of the plants used by the six prisoners who, earlier this year, had won gold at the Chelsea Flower Show with their garden 'Time - the Healer'.
He was a recidivist and had been in and out of prison all his adult life, each sentence for handling stolen goods harsher than the previous. This time he'd gone down for ten years. But Lenny had always been a mild man and model prisoner and his ten years had been reduced to five for good behaviour. The last four of which had been here studying horticulture and working in the gardens of this relaxed open prison in Gloucestershire.
His transfer to Leyhill from Pentonville was part due to Lenny's good behaviour and developing interest in horticulture but mainly due to his extreme good fortune in inheriting an old cottage with a large garden in Kemply, Gloucestershire from his sister Sarah. She had been the district nurse based in this rural hamlet. The parole board had seen this as a Godsend. Lenny was a London lad and each time he returned to his home turf after a stretch in prison he was lured back into his old life of crime. Now at fifty eight, this could be his last chance of going straight. If he slid back into his old ways the next stretch would be long with no parole. The reasoning was that release into a stable home environment well away from temptation would prove his salvation. With the added bonus of saving tax payer's money early parole was granted.
Later that morning Lenny, toting all his worldly goods in a holdall, found himself free at last, aboard the prison bus with a one way ticket to Ledbury, the nearest market town to his cottage in Kemply, in his pocket. There he would meet Mark Sanderson, his new parole officer who would take him to collect a small monetary advance on Sarah's estate; enough to keep him afloat for a few months, and the keys to his cottage from Messrs. Cable & Thompson, solicitors.
The first glimpse of the tiny, one bedroom cottage, huge garden, aged Morris Minor parked at the rear and large greenhouse had lit up the pound signs in Lenny's head and his immediate thought was once I have harvested my crop from my precious seed hoard I'll sell up and be off back to the bright lights of London to live the life of Riley.
Whatever else Lenny was he was not a shirker. He knew time was of the essence and if his crop was to mature next spring he must begin planting soon. He threw himself heart and soul into the job of repairing the large but dilapidated greenhouse. Using the last of Sarah's money he installed lots of staging to maximise the number of plant he could grow, together with lighting and heating. The final job of whitewashing the windows and planting that went on well into the night left the whole village to speculate on what sort of man he was and what he was growing.
Meanwhile, Emily the pretty, or so Lenny thought, widow who lived next door had already made up her mind. She had slowly worked her way into his life, if not into his soul, with her delicious meals and efforts to make his cottage clean and welcoming. He in return found himself working hard in the garden to see her delight when he gave her an endless supply of vegetables and bunches of winter berries and greenery for her flower arranging.
Knowledge that he was an ex con, gleaned through the wonderful and mysterious village 'jungle telegraph', only made the good looking Lenny even more fascinating; especially to the women. The men, however, were more suspicious and, if the truth were told, jealous of the female attention he was attracting. Some hoped he was riding for a fall. None more so than retired colonel, Everard Mortimer, squire of Kemply, whose mansion on the hill overlooked Lenny's land. He had desired Emily himself but had been rejected by her. Fired up with jealousy and hatred of 'that type of low life' who did not deserve to live let alone win the best looking woman in the village he took to spying on him. Lenny's stream of late night visitors to his greenhouse confirmed he was up to something. Perhaps he was growing cannabis. Yes, that was it. He 'phoned the police immediately.
The long wait was over. Lenny had buyers all lined up for his product. Tomorrow it would be distributed. Tomorrow would be the culmination of years of hard work. Tomorrow he would have achieved all he had set out to do and more, but not quite in the way he had predicted a year ago. Tomorrow he would tell Emily everything.
Two hours later the police knocked on the door and everything changed. They asked to inspect his greenhouse. His reluctance was obvious. Growing suspicion increased the tension. He passed over his key and whilst all but one of the officers trudged across the garden he then called a puzzled Emily. Pulling her to one side he rapidly explained what the entire furore was about and then blurted out his proposal of marriage. Dazed but happy she accepted and, together with an amused officer in tow, headed for the greenhouse.
With his arm round his future wife's shoulder he proudly watched as the officers openly admired his very own hybrid rose plants. Some even congratulated him.
Never had they seen such a wonderful display of roses: row upon row of sweetly scented pale blue blooms framed with deep purple edges. He would call them 'Emily' and the money he made from their sale would enable him to start a rose nursery of his own and enjoy a comfortable life with his two loves; Emily and roses. The only sentence he wanted to serve now was the so called life sentence of matrimony.
