said, brow still furrowed, the notion still not making any sense to her.
Alexander suppressed a laugh, ‘it would seem so. And Peter is your father. I’m not sure which is worse.’
Anita raised her eyebrows, shaking her head, not quite sure what to say. ‘Bitch face...my sister.’
‘On second thoughts, you’re right, that bit is worse.’
Chapter 4
Anita and Alexander entered the potting shed that was hidden around the side of the farmhouse, the entrance partially screened by an enormous trailing wisteria. As they stepped inside, Anita was struck by how light and airy the unexpectedly large space was. The roughly whitewashed walls bounced the light from four skylights above and there were windows and a door the other side that led to a secret garden, only accessible through the potting shed, or rather more accurately, comfortably decked out potting room. Down one end were two old, worn, linen covered sofas with a low, white table in between that was covered with bits of broken pots, packets of seeds, some flower heads, and a healthy sprinkling of compost. The wall space was mostly taken up with shelves full of terracotta pots and dressers with hundreds of small drawers that Anita assumed must contain a plethora of different kinds of seeds. In the middle and at the other end were potting benches, each with piles of pots, compost, sand and stones.
They entered to find Helena unceremoniously dropping seeds, one at a time, into a wooden tray full of compost. She didn’t look up until she had gently pressed each one in and given the tray a drenching, using a metal watering can that had clearly seen better days. Helena placed the tray to one side, finally acknowledging her visitors and indicating that they should take a seat on one of the sofas. Helena moved to the large Belfast sink that stood in front of the window overlooking the secret garden, washed her hands, then filled up an old copper kettle and placed it on the small gas ring that stood to the side of the sink. Without saying a word to either of them, she disappeared out of the door into the garden beyond.
Anita and Alexander looked at each other, bemused. ‘Should we follow her?’ Anita asked softly.
Alexander shook his head, ‘no. I think she would rather we wait here.’
‘She seems nervous,’ said Anita, a little alarmed. Helena had been her closest friend and mentor for almost her entire childhood, and in that whole time, Anita could think of perhaps one, maybe two, other occasions when Helena had seemed even a little nervous, unsure, or out of control.
‘I’m not surprised. She wants something from you and she doesn’t know how to make you give it to her,’ he said, cynically. Anita gave a little shrug of her shoulders, indicating his analysis was as good an explanation as any, not that they had time to dwell, as the door again swung open and Helena returned, in her hand a large bunch of freshly picked peppermint.
Helena removed the now boiling water from the stove, stuffed the mint into a large, chipped, tea pot, filled it with water and swirled it around a bit for good measure. She then picked up three mugs in her other hand and made her way over to sit with them on the sofas, leaving the mint to infuse for a while before pouring. She looked expectantly at Anita, waiting for her to start given that Anita and Alexander had sought her out rather than the other way round.
‘I read the diary,’ Anita started, matter of factly. ‘And other than delivering the disturbing news that Gwyn is my half-sister and Peter my father - assuming I truly am one of the little girls in the diary - we learned frankly very little. It didn’t say if the child switch was successful or otherwise, and therefore neither affirmed nor denied that I’m the Body Descendant. It didn’t say what happened to Clarissa and Jeffrey. It didn’t explain why you had me try to steal a memory from Austin...it’s sparked a
Alexander suppressed a laugh, ‘it would seem so. And Peter is your father. I’m not sure which is worse.’
Anita raised her eyebrows, shaking her head, not quite sure what to say. ‘Bitch face...my sister.’
‘On second thoughts, you’re right, that bit is worse.’
Chapter 4
Anita and Alexander entered the potting shed that was hidden around the side of the farmhouse, the entrance partially screened by an enormous trailing wisteria. As they stepped inside, Anita was struck by how light and airy the unexpectedly large space was. The roughly whitewashed walls bounced the light from four skylights above and there were windows and a door the other side that led to a secret garden, only accessible through the potting shed, or rather more accurately, comfortably decked out potting room. Down one end were two old, worn, linen covered sofas with a low, white table in between that was covered with bits of broken pots, packets of seeds, some flower heads, and a healthy sprinkling of compost. The wall space was mostly taken up with shelves full of terracotta pots and dressers with hundreds of small drawers that Anita assumed must contain a plethora of different kinds of seeds. In the middle and at the other end were potting benches, each with piles of pots, compost, sand and stones.
They entered to find Helena unceremoniously dropping seeds, one at a time, into a wooden tray full of compost. She didn’t look up until she had gently pressed each one in and given the tray a drenching, using a metal watering can that had clearly seen better days. Helena placed the tray to one side, finally acknowledging her visitors and indicating that they should take a seat on one of the sofas. Helena moved to the large Belfast sink that stood in front of the window overlooking the secret garden, washed her hands, then filled up an old copper kettle and placed it on the small gas ring that stood to the side of the sink. Without saying a word to either of them, she disappeared out of the door into the garden beyond.
Anita and Alexander looked at each other, bemused. ‘Should we follow her?’ Anita asked softly.
Alexander shook his head, ‘no. I think she would rather we wait here.’
‘She seems nervous,’ said Anita, a little alarmed. Helena had been her closest friend and mentor for almost her entire childhood, and in that whole time, Anita could think of perhaps one, maybe two, other occasions when Helena had seemed even a little nervous, unsure, or out of control.
‘I’m not surprised. She wants something from you and she doesn’t know how to make you give it to her,’ he said, cynically. Anita gave a little shrug of her shoulders, indicating his analysis was as good an explanation as any, not that they had time to dwell, as the door again swung open and Helena returned, in her hand a large bunch of freshly picked peppermint.
Helena removed the now boiling water from the stove, stuffed the mint into a large, chipped, tea pot, filled it with water and swirled it around a bit for good measure. She then picked up three mugs in her other hand and made her way over to sit with them on the sofas, leaving the mint to infuse for a while before pouring. She looked expectantly at Anita, waiting for her to start given that Anita and Alexander had sought her out rather than the other way round.
‘I read the diary,’ Anita started, matter of factly. ‘And other than delivering the disturbing news that Gwyn is my half-sister and Peter my father - assuming I truly am one of the little girls in the diary - we learned frankly very little. It didn’t say if the child switch was successful or otherwise, and therefore neither affirmed nor denied that I’m the Body Descendant. It didn’t say what happened to Clarissa and Jeffrey. It didn’t explain why you had me try to steal a memory from Austin...it’s sparked a
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