The Lady Gardener

Verity’s phone buzzed in her pocket, reminding her of an angry—and insistent—bee. Sighing, she pulled the device out and looked at the screen. Rolling her eyes, she rejected the call, then pressed the off button. Fuck her family and their petty dramas—she did enough for them, and they never appreciated it. Let them deal with their own shit for a change. She’d come here for some peace and solitude, and that was what she was damn well going to get.

After showing her membership card to the kindly old lady at the kiosk, Verity passed through the gate and into the gardens of Biddulph Grange. The beautiful stately home, sadly, was private, but the stunning landscaped gardens were open to the public. The place was already off the beaten track—nestled as it was, deep in the Staffordshire countryside—but once Verity stepped inside the huge gardens, she felt a million miles from anywhere.

Closing her eyes momentarily, she pulled in a deep breath through her nostrils, and released it from her mouth. Already she felt better, the stress and irritation seeping out of her and disappearing into the gravelled path beneath her feet. This place was her refuge, her sanctuary. She never told anyone where she went when she disappeared off for a few hours every couple of weeks—more often if her family was being more difficult than usual—and that was the beauty of it. No one knew where she was, no one could bother her. All she had was herself...