A Little Seed

Teresa Ashby’s uplifting short story welcomes you to a brand-new Special.

The idea of an allotment had firmly taken root and was growing at a remarkable pace . . .

THIS was just what the doctor ordered. Literally. Andi slipped into the small shed that had come with the allotment and opened up a folding chair.

After sitting down with a sigh, she poured a cup of tea from her flask.

Through the open door, she could see the leaves on the apple tree shimmering in the afternoon sun.

The door was positioned in such a way that no-one working on the other allotments could see in.

It was uplifting just watching the birds and insects going about their business, while starlings poked around in the grass.

Hers was an odd-shaped little plot, tucked away at the bottom of the hill, and no-one had wanted it until Andi came along.

“What you need is something to get you out of the flat,” Dr Steele had said. “All this introspection isn’t good for you.”

“I am out of the flat,” she pointed out.

They were sitting on her tiny balcony at the time.

“You know what I mean,” he said gently.

“Is this because I won’t go to counselling?”

“It’s because I’m concerned about you. You don’t think Jonathan would be happy to see you shutting yourself away like this, do you?”

Jonathan. The doctor was the only person who called him that. To everyone else he was Jon.

She honestly wondered if he knew anything about her, her life and Jon’s death at all.

“I’m sure you have other patients to see,” she said, standing up.

He took the hint.

“I’m worried about you,” he said. “I’m afraid you’ve given up on life.”

“I go to work. I eat and sleep,” Andi replied. “What more do you want?”

“Please think of taking up something that will get you out.

“There’s a popular walking group in town and lots of clubs.

“Mrs Steele goes along to badminton and enjoys it very much. Or the theatre group or . . .” He broke off and his face lit up.

“I remember when you were a little girl you used to love helping your grandfather on his allotment. He was always bringing you to the surgery.

“If it wasn’t a splinter, it was a cut or a bite. Always some sort of scrape or other.”

Andi laughed. The receptionist used to roll her eyes.

“What’s she done this time?” she’d say with a sigh every time they walked into the waitingroom.

Her grandad was always worried they’d think he was in some way negligent, until Dr Steele put him straight.

“All kids hurt themselves, and some are more accident prone than others. You’re doing a great job.”

Now the doctor looked at Andi over the top of his glasses.

“He wouldn’t want to see you like this, either,” he added, and she turned her face away.

It had been awful losing Grandad when she was nineteen, but Jon had been her rock.

When they got married she’d had no-one to give her away. Dr Steele had offered, but the space beside her was for Grandad and she’d imagined him by her side.

To lose Jon just six years later was more than she could bear, and for the past two years she’d simply gone through the motions of life, existing from one day to the next, unable to see the point in anything.

“I have a friend on the council. I’ll have a word with him about the availability of allotments,” Dr Steele offered.

Andi had every intention of telling the friend from the council that she had no interest in an allotment.

“We’ve only the one plot available and, I’ll be honest, no-one wants it.

“The ground is full of stones, it’s tucked away in a corner and it’s an odd shape.

“All that seems to thrive there are weeds, an ancient apple tree and mint,” the man from the council had informed her.

Andi imagined this oddly shaped, unwanted little patch of land and felt sorry for it.

She could almost hear Grandad’s voice urging her on.

“I’ll take it,” she stated.

She didn’t do much on the allotment. The ground was hard and rocky and almost impossible to dig over.

It was as if all the stones had travelled to her little corner and congregated there.

Apart from tidying it up, she didn’t know what else to do, and now she was sitting in the shed, she began to wonder what she was doing here.

It was true: coming here gave her spirits a lift and she often pretended she was sitting in her own little garden, but life had to have a point, didn’t it?

A shout jolted her out of her thoughts and she jumped to her feet.

She rushed outside and could see the feet of the elderly man with the adjoining allotment.

He was on his back, floundering about, arms and legs waving in the air.

A quick look round told her they were alone on the allotments.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

His face was frighteningly red.

“Of course I’m not all right,” he shouted, and she saw the fear in his eyes as she wrestled her phone out of her pocket.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Calling an ambulance,” she replied.

“Put your phone away,” he growled. “I don’t need an ambulance. I just need a bit of help getting up, that’s all.”

“Are you sure? Did you come over dizzy?”

“I turned my ankle and the next thing I knew I was down here. At my age it’s a job to get back up.

“I’ve had a bit of trouble with my back which makes everything ten times harder,” he explained.

“OK, but just wait a second.”

She ran back to her shed and returned with her folding chair.

“In case you need to sit down,” she explained.

“I’ve got one of those in my shed,” he said, then began to laugh. “Oh, isn’t this typical?

“If my sister finds out about this, she’ll get in touch with my daughter who lives in Australia,” he went on.

“Then they’ll gang up on me and make me give up the allotment.

“It’s all I’ve got! It keeps me sane.”

Andi glanced back at her little shed.

“I know what you mean,” she said.

“You?” He looked her up and down. “What would a girl your age know about grief?”

She could tell him she lost her parents as a baby, was raised by her grandfather who died when she was a teenager, and only two years ago lost the love of her life, but she didn’t.

“Let’s get you back on your feet.”

Thankfully he didn’t need too much help and soon he was sitting in her chair, hands resting on his knees, puffing and panting from the effort.

“It was Doctor Steele who told me to get an allotment,” he said. “After Rita died.

“We’d just moved into a bungalow with no garden and he reminded me how much I’d loved my garden at our old house.”

“I’m here because of him, too,” Andi confessed. “My name’s Andi.”

She held out her hand and he looked at it for a moment before enclosing her fingers in a surprisingly strong grasp.

“Call me Herman,” he said. “Thanks for your help. I’m sorry I shouted at you. I don’t usually go round shouting at people.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” She smiled. “Would you like some tea?”

“That would be very nice,” Herman replied. “My sister is always saying I don’t drink enough.”

“I’ll get the tea.” Andi smiled.

She came back with her sandwiches as well, and offered him one.

“What sort are they?” “Cheese and pickle.”

His face lit up and he licked his lips.

“My favourite. Go and get the other chair out of my shed and join me. You can keep me company.”

They sat talking for an hour, by which time the flask was empty and all that was left of the sandwiches were a few crumbs for the birds.

Herman told Andi all about Rita, and she found herself telling him about Grandad and Jon.

“I knew your grandad,” he said. “Used to work with him on the ferry back in the day. He took a shore job when your mum and dad . . .”

“It’s all right, you can say it. I don’t remember them. I was very young when they died. He always said that having me to look after gave him a reason to go on.”

Herman nodded.

“I can understand that. How that daft doctor thinks that growing a few onions can ever replace a person you’ve loved practically all your life, I don’t know.

“It would be different if I had someone relying on me.”

“My thoughts, too,” she agreed.

“And it just causes me stress,” he went on. “They all moan at me about the greenfly, blackfly and sky-blue-pink fly.

“They tell me to spray chemicals about, but I’ve never liked stuff like that.”

“Likewise,” Andi said. “Grandad had his own methods for keeping pests away, like planting marigolds amongst the vegetables, and always planting leeks and carrots together.”

Herman dug deep in his pocket and took a tiny notebook out, then licked the end of a stubby pencil.

“Say that again,” he demanded. “I’ll make notes.”

She told him all the things she could remember.

“I bet Ken could have made something of your patch,” Herman said, nodding towards Andi’s allotment.

“There’s been talk amongst other allotment holders of concreting over it and turning it into a storage area, so I was pleased when you turned up.

“I should warn you that there’s a petition going round,” he added grimly.

“But it’s a haven for

“What would a girl your age know about grief?”

wildlife!” Andi cried.

“The hedgehogs will eat slugs and the like and the butterflies and bees help with pollination.

“They complain about pests, but they’ll notice a difference if they concrete over my patch.”

“Well said.” Herman nodded.

“They measure their marrows and coo over their carrots and think it all happened just because they planted a seed and sprinkled water over it every now and then.”

Andi burst out laughing. She truly couldn’t remember laughing like that since before Jon died, and it seemed such a long time ago now.

Herman was right. Some people didn’t see the bigger picture.

“What do you think Ken would do, Andi?” Herman asked. “How would he deal with a patch of land where only weeds thrive?”

“He’d give it over to nature,” she replied. “He’d probably get a bird table and a couple of hedgehog houses.”

“Would he get beehives?” Herman’s eyebrow rose questioningly.

“He always used to say he’d love a beehive,” she replied.

“I don’t know a lot about bees, but my neighbour, Bill, could see you right. He has half a dozen hives in his garden.”

“I thought you said you lived in a bungalow with no garden,” Andi said.

“I do,” Herman replied. “Bill lives in a house in the same street and he does have a garden.

“When are you next going to be here? I’ll get him to come along.”

“Are you feeling all right now?” Andi asked as he stood up and stretched.

“Right as ninepence,” he replied, and she laughed again.

Somehow, Andi expected Bill to be another older chap in baggy gardening trousers, wellies and a cardigan with frayed holes in the elbows.

But Bill was tall and slim, with longish straight hair and a beard, about thirty and very quiet.

Herman introduced them and they looked round Andi’s patch.

“This is lovely,” Bill remarked. He was surprisingly softly spoken. “It’s all weeds,” Andi said. Bill seemed to come to life.

“That’s salsify,” he said, pointing at a crop of daisy-like spiky mauve flowers.

“You can eat the root or the flowers. It’s known as the vegetable oyster.

“And you can eat any part of your dandelions, but best to leave them for the bees.

“The tips of nettles are delicious. Your ground elder there is edible, too.

“You’ve even got mushrooms growing in the damp patch by the shed,” Bill finished.

“So you think this would be a good place for bees?” Andi asked.

“Perfect. I can help you set up the hives. You can buy a nucleus of bees,” Bill explained, “or collect a swarm.”

She bit her lip and he smiled. He had a lovely smile, shy and full of warmth.

“Or someone else could collect a swarm for you,” he went on. “We might have to get permission from the council, but I can’t see that being a problem.

“They’re keen to strengthen their green credentials.”

“Can I watch when you do it?” Herman asked.

Bill put his hand on his shoulder and laughed.

“Of course you can,” he said. “Next time I get a call I’ll come and pick you up on the way. You, too, Andi.”

“I think we have a deal!” Andi exclaimed. “Now, would you like a cup of tea and a sandwich?”

She saw Herman nudge his young neighbour.

“She makes lovely tea and sandwiches, so don’t say no. What sort are they today?”

“Cheese and pickle,” Andi replied. “Your favourite.”

“One more thing,” Bill continued. “A pond would be useful with safe access to the water for insects and hedgehogs.”

Andi was delighted. A pond would attract dragonflies and she loved them.

Over the weeks that followed, Andi had a visit from the council, who said beehives and a pond were an excellent idea.

The other allotment holders came to ask questions, and she managed to reassure them that bees could only help.

It was only when she looked up from her book one day as she sat in her shed that she saw the familiar figure of Dr Steele standing in the doorway.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“It’s going very well,” she admitted.

“I have four beehives out there and now I’m just waiting for someone to find me a swarm.

“You have to learn patience in this game.”

“The same as watching things grow,” Dr Steele pointed out. “I take it you can’t grow much on this patch?”

“It’s all useful stuff,” she replied.

“And you’re smiling,” he said.

“I’m starting to feel at peace.” She nodded.

“That’s partly due to Herman.”

“Ah, Herman.” He chuckled. “When I first suggested he should take an allotment, I shan’t tell you what he told me to do with that idea.”

“And I think I was probably quite rude to you as well,” Andi said.

“All those times you came round to see me and I never offered you a cup of tea or thanked you for your kindness and concern.” Dr Steele shrugged. “I knew what you were going through,” he said with a smile.

“I must go. I’ve some home visits to make. It was nice to take a few minutes with you here.”

Andi gave in to the urge to hug him.

“Thank you,” she said. If he hadn’t planted the seed of an idea in her mind and Herman’s, their lives wouldn’t have changed.

He stopped for a short chat with Herman before leaving, then Andi’s phone rang.

“I’m going to check out a swarm,” Bill informed her. “Do you want to come along?”

Andi and Herman stood at the kitchen window with the very excited owner of the house.

“Stay inside,” Bill warned them. “Bees are very calm when they swarm, but don’t be tempted to come out for a closer look.”

They watched as he approached the gold and brown mass clustered on a shrub, positioning a box underneath before gently misting the bees.

Then he set to work, cutting away a small branch and lowering it gently into the box.

He’d explained on the way over that he hoped to get the queen into the box as the other bees would follow.

He turned and stuck his thumb up in the air when other bees moved into the box – a sign that he had the queen.

Eventually he closed the box, leaving a small gap for those still left outside.

“I’ll come back this evening and take them away,” he told the house owner. “Tomorrow we’ll introduce them to their new home.”

Early the following morning, Bill moved the bees to one of the hives, watched at a distance by Herman and Andi.

“Hard to think he used to suffer with anxiety,”

Herman murmured. “It was Doctor Steele that suggested he take up beekeeping.

“It’s how we met. The doctor suggested I get some honey from Bill to help with my hay fever.”

“He planted a seed,” Andi remarked and Herman looked baffled.

A sense of purpose had grown inside her and it was thriving.

Bill looked round and smiled, the job done, and she realised it was more than that.

Something else was growing there, too.

Love for a man who had become an honorary grandfather, and another man whose shy smile and gentle voice touched her heart.

She had a lot to thank the doctor for.

The End.