A NEW LEAF
Urban regeneration,” they called it. Walking to work, Eva was disconcerted by the laminated plans stapled to lampposts, the brash billboards boasting of apartments, offices, a shopping mall. Eva pictured it, a bland, bulky edifice dropping down like a giant’s boot among the small shops and salons. She unlocked the door of the café. The curtains patterned with fruit and foliage never failed to make her smile. She placed clean silver teaspoons in a bowl on the counter, checked that every table had napkins, sugar cubes and a jam jar with fresh flowers, then turned over the hand-painted sign at the door. ‘Oranges & Lemons. Come in, we’re open!’
Customers’ conversations were dominated by the changes to come. Mr MacNeil fretted about increased traffic. The library would close, Mrs Spencer had heard.
That evening, Eva curled up on the sofa with the local newspaper. Some residents had objected to the plans, it said, citing environmental concerns, but a full assessment would be undertaken; avenues would be explored to protect flora and fauna. Her eyelids drooping, she pulled the blanket tighter around her. TOWN TO TURN OVER NEW LEAF, the front-page headline blared.
The sound of running water woke her. Still drowsy from sleep, she thought a pipe must have burst, until she realised the sound was coming from outside. Wrapped in the blanket, she slipped out the door.
To her amazement, she stepped into a shady grove of lemon trees. Splashes of sunlight filtered through the leaves; a sandy path led to a waterfall where her garden gate had been. Incredulous, Eva walked towards the cool, clear cascade and saw that it flowed into a pool teeming with tangerinecoloured carp.
Not knowing what else to do, she picked some of the ripe fruit. That afternoon, the smell of warm lemon drizzle cake wafted through the open windows of the café into the street – sweet, tangy, enticing.
The next day, Eva’s neighbours were perplexed to find a small orchard where their paved yard had been. They brought Eva baskets of apples, pears and plums which perfumed the air with a sweet, sultry scent. She baked tarte tatin, upsidedown cake, crumble.
Perhaps the fruit was intoxicating – people began to join forces with nature. Overnight, bushes pushed up from the ground, jewelled with plump berries; during the day, people stood on stepladders, balancing beautiful hanging baskets which trailed clematis, fuchsia and sweet alyssum. Wildflowers sprung up on the grass verges – sky-blue cornflowers, proud poppies and hazy purplish heather; Mr MacNeil scattered seeds in the pub’s walled garden.
Along with the plants, animals appeared. The greenery was punctuated by scampering squirrels and the soft powder puffs of rabbits’ tails. Hundreds of songbirds perched on the overhead wires, like so many notes singing out from a stave, and wading birds buried their bills deep in the silt of the stream. Mrs Spencer watered the buddleia in her garden amid clouds of brilliant butterflies. When dusk fell, foxes called out to vixens, and badgers ambled under the hedgerows.
Eva’s café bustled with day-trippers, the library became a hub for bird-watchers and school parties. Every evening, hikers rested weary legs by the wood-burning stove in the pub.
Though the mall, the flats, the offices could hardly be built now, even local officials had to admit that the transformation was rather wonderful. They planted trees where the mall had been planned. To celebrate, Eva hung bunting outside the café. The coloured flags flapped in the breeze like a flock of home-coming birds.