Tuesday, 2 October 2012

Caitlin's Glass House

Following on from the post about the walled garden at Crom I thought I'd share some extracts from the new manuscript I'm working on, The Glass House, where the reader is first introduced to Caitlin's glass house.


A deep, satisfying warmth filled Caitlin, once again safe in her sanctuary. Her glass house. No ordinary structure of glass and aluminium, but a perfect piece of Victorian architecture and engineering, sitting at the edge of a walled garden, in a property once owned by Caitlin's grandparents. Now in her ownership and care, it looked stunning, with its dwarf brick walls, sparkling glass and white, cast iron frame, topped with a ridge of fleur-de-lis, but it was a very different picture when she first inherited it. Caitlin’s heart had swelled with sympathy when she first glimpsed the rusted framework, most of the glass broken and what little remained so black with dirt it was unrecognisable, crumbling brickwork, overgrown with nettles and layers of mud so thick they could have sent a geologist to heaven. Her grandparents had spent years caring for and developing the garden apart from one corner which they had left wild to bring in the welcome, pollinating bees and butterflies, and it was whilst pruning and shaping that corner that Caitlin discovered the doorway in the wall leading to the glass house.
A rap on the glass and the scraping of the door being opened, interrupted Caitlin's solitude.
'Thought I might find you in here.' Jack announced as he stepped into the entrance porch of the glass house.
'Where else? I hope you haven't called round for money?' Caitlin asked, without looking up, recognising his voice.
'No, we're all settled up. Just wanted to see how my baby is holding up?'
'She's fabulous, but she's a high maintenance girl.'
'Just the way I like them.'
'My finances would appreciate it if she wasn't.'
'She'll pay you back for all the love you've given her one day.'
Love is the most appropriate phrase Jack could have chosen, nothing but that amount of dedication could have saved the glass house from its almost complete destruction. Restoring it had been a labour of love, and often torture, for Caitlin, but it was also in homage to her much loved and missed grandparents.
'Do you remember the first day you saw her?' Caitlin asked.
'I remember walking round that garden for fifteen minutes trying to find you and then wondering what I'd stumbled into when that mud monster materialised through the wall.'
'I was a bit of a sight wasn't I? That mud was so thick, I still don't know how I landed face down in it. If it wasn't for your help I'd still be digging it out.'
'I've never seen anyone so excited at discovering soil and stones.'
'How dare you,' Caitlin laughed. 'You know fine rightly they were more than soil and stones; flower beds, bordered with that gorgeous brickwork.' She pointed to the beds, now filled with an abundance of plants in various stages of growth, framed by intricately twisted deep red bricks.
Caitlin suspected Jack stayed longer that first day than he had intended to, and perhaps the next, and the next. The problem was, every time they made one discovery it led to another. After the beds, came the pipes running through them. Then he was there for the water tank that had to be scooped and drained clean of algae ridden, foul smelling, stagnant water; he offered his home and internet access to research how the pipes, tank and stove should connect to operate as irrigation and heating systems; he provided an extra pair of eyes and arms for the many hours in salvage yards and the heavy replacement materials; he helped free the winches for the ventilation windows from rust before finally restoring all the glass, which had required meticulous measuring and cutting.
He'd helped restore the glass house to its former glory and now it provided a flexible and perfect growing environment for the plants Caitlin cultivated for both her own enjoyment and her burgeoning gardening business.


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