Trying for Love

Chapter 15

Henry pushed his fingers into the cold soil, twisting his hands to loosen up the compact layer, deep in the bag. With his fingers apart, he took turns lifting each hand up through the dirt. Allowing the earthy rubble to roll across his skin before falling, returning to the mass.

The drum of the hard rain of heavy droplets hammering onto the glass of the greenhouse had long receded into the background. Around him were pots and pots of various green buds in fresh black soil with the now-empty seedling trays stacked at the end of the workbench. Muddy fingerprints pushed his mother's gardening diary open on the eighteenth of April. He had completed almost all of the tasks on the to-do-list for that day; tying the rambling roses would have to wait until the rain had died down.

Fatigue clung to his limbs. He rolled his shoulders back, pushing against the pain which had settled there ever since repotting the acer the night before. Tears began to prick his eyes, he plunged his hands back into the soil. Goemin filled his nostrils as he inhaled slowly, its raw musk loosening the knot in his throat.

Behind him the door jerked open.

"There you are, hey. I tried ringing the doorbell and I called you..." Manny trailed off as he saw Henry, his eyes flickering to the room around him.

"What's up with you? You look like someone died," Henry sniffed, forcing a laugh. He yanked his hands out of the bag and folded its top over before pushing it under the workbench. Dusting soil crumbs off the table top, he looked Manny up and down and remarked, "You should really invest in an umbrella you know."

Manny nodded, his raincoat was oiled with wet and his jeans were stuck to his legs but it was Henry who was making him uncomfortable. Dark shadows hung under his eyes, making them seem sunken, dulling the blue and his face was paler than usual. It was a cold and miserable day and in the greenhouse their breaths were visible, yet Henry was wearing just a t-shirt. Manny adjusted the strap of his backpack. "It's cold in here."

"Yeah, I forgot to close the door last night so I've kind of fucked up the temperature but it should be fine tomorrow, I think," said Henry. He started walking towards the door, "Shall we go inside then?"

They ran across the lawn with their heads down, being careful not to skid across the stone patio with their mud-slick shoes. Henry flung open one of the French doors, letting Manny in the house first and then banged the door shut behind them. They kicked off their soiled trainers before they stepped any further across the cream tiles. Manny shrugged his bag from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor but needed help from Henry to remove his coat which was stuck to him like a second skin.

"Aren't your books soaked?" Henry gestured to the sodden backpack.

"No, I wrapped them in a bin bag, Mrs Dawson told me to do it," said Manny, pulling the black plastic bag out from his backpack.

Henry frowned, "Mrs Dawson?"

"That says everything about you and school. She's the librarian," Manny said, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, yeah. I knew that," insisted Henry, picking at some dirt under his fingernails.

"I didn't know you liked gardening," tried Manny but his remark fell flat.

Henry shrugged, combing back his soaked hair with his hand. Rivulets had streamed from his head, shading his t-shirt a darker blue.

"Did you forget I was coming?" Manny asked as Henry went to hang his coat to dry.

"No, yes, well I basically forgot it was Saturday, to be honest. You know what the holidays are like," Henry called from the utility room.

Manny walked round to the kitchen island. Pausing when he saw the dishwasher door hanging open, filled with dirty dishes and even more were crowding the sink. Henry padded back into the room, a pair of grey jogging bottoms in hand.