‘Driving,’ she said. ‘I might just go and . . .’
‘It’s through there,’ said Leon, nodding in the direction of the television, and Maggie scuttled off.
Angie followed Leon through the house to the kitchen where a group of men, she assumed the dads, were standing around holding bottles of beer and chatting. Leon was still grasping the lawnmower as if his life depended on it. Suddenly noticing that it was there, he deposited it by the back door next to a little blue plastic truck that also appeared to have been a birthday present, judging by the ribbon adorning its steering wheel.
‘This is Angie,’ he said to the assembled crowd. ‘Mate from uni. No kids. Lucky sod.’
Angie bestowed a grin on them all and then took the proffered beer.
A few pleasantries were swapped for a moment, but then the men drifted back to their own conversations leaving Angie and Leon to one another.
‘This is a great set-up you’ve got here, Lee,’ said Angie, gesturing vaguely. ‘And a garden too. Shall we go outside for a bit? You can show me round your estate.’
Leon threw a glance towards the sitting room, but everything seemed to be calm in there for the moment, so he nodded. There was a stairgate blocking the way to the back door that he released with a deft flick of his wrist, then opened the door and stepped outside.
The sky was a pale elephant grey with darker rainclouds looming on the horizon and threatening to roll in.
Leon looked up appraisingly. ‘It just needs to keep dry until one o’clock, when they all leave,’ he said. ‘Becky wanted to do the whole party outside, but that seems to have fallen by the wayside, what with the funeral. I don’t suppose there’ll be much time left by the time they’ve finished with that, but then we can go back to plan A. Maybe we’ll just end up going on for longer.’
Angie wasn’t sure exactly what kind of party a bunch of one-year-olds actually required. Could they even walk, let alone run around? She had no idea. Babies were a totally closed book to her. If she had remembered that a birthday gift was required, she would have had no idea what to buy. She wasn’t interested enough to ask Leon about it, though.
The garden was, like the rest of the house, very ordered, with a green striped lawn in the middle and tidy beds around the edges. There were patches of colour everywhere, all clashing wildly with one another but at the same time creating an overall impression of cohesion.
‘Does Becky garden as well as everything else?’ she asked with a smirk. ‘I suspect she is actually Wonder Woman in disguise.’
From what she had seen of the place so far, Becky seemed to be superhuman. Nothing was either out of place or less than beautiful, although from the little Angie knew about her, this wasn’t surprising. Becky was definitely the kind of person who would make sure that her house radiated just the right vibe.
However, Leon shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘The garden is all my work.’
A fond smile crossed his face, as if he saw the garden as an additional child.
‘Bloody hell! Really?’ exclaimed Angie. ‘You never fail to surprise me, Lee, but I didn’t have you down as a budding Alan Titchmarsh.’
Something crossed Leon’s face that might have been hurt at being underestimated, but it was so fleeting that Angie wasn’t sure it had been there at all.
‘I’ve always liked growing things,’ he said. ‘When I was a kid, my dad gave me a patch in his garden. I grew veg to start with. Nothing complicated. Carrots, radishes, that kind of thing. But after a couple of years, I switched to flowers. I love putting the colours together, keeping the interest there all year long. It’s dead easy in summer, of course, but from now until spring it’s more of a challenge. Like pitting your wits against Mother Nature.’
‘Well, you seem to be winning,’ said Angie appreciatively. ‘It really is lovely, Lee. Really.’
The barest wash of colour flushed across his cheeks and then was gone.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘It’s a kind of escape. From . . .’ He cocked his head in the direction of the house. ‘Well, you know. Babies can be exhausting, and they don’t respect anyone else’s needs.’
Angie recalled that he had once said much the same to her about his music when they had been living on opposite sides of a corridor.
‘And what about your sax?’ she asked, certain that it couldn’t be far from his mind, either.
He shrugged sadly. ‘I don’t play much these days. There never seems to be the time. And I used to play at night but that keeps Thomas awake. Apparently.’