A Half Built Garden Novels & Stories

I want her to know I’m here. Right now, I’m in the front garden, with my sleeves rolled up and dirt under my nails, working on the garden bed I’ve been building for her. Not some flimsy, throw-some-flowers-in kind of bed, but something solid and wide enough for a row of roses, sturdy enough to last years. I’ve been out here every day since she left, measuring, digging, hammering, sanding. And I still keep wondering if she’ll like it. “Pass me that trowel,” I say to Marcos, one of the guards. He hands it over, his face shaded under his cap.

Three of the walls were made of stone, while the lower half of the fourth wall had wide picture doors, opening to a garden enclosed by fruit trees and flower bushes. The moonlight came through from over the treetops, showing me more details of the bathhouse. A six-foot-tall partition wall ran along the wall opposite the garden, with two taller arches behind it, on the stone wall. The partition ended before the side walls, as to give way to whoever walked in through those arches.

She drove in the direction of the 'garden bar' as the place is popularly known. She got into the arena and parked well. Fully sure that someone was going to be trailing her, Theresa Mo felt comfortable. The place 'garden bar' is a building, a small building which was transformed from a cottage into something model but maintaining its ancient architectural design. It was built in the midst of a garden containing different fruits and flowers. It is sometimes referred to as the 'orchard bar'. Outside the building, there was a thatched place for relaxation and often lovers who wanted to be alone sometimes resorted there.

"We built this together." "And we'll keep building it. For the rest of our lives." --- The garden continued to grow and evolve. Clara and Morwen added new features—a small pond, a seating area, a trellis for climbing roses. Each addition was a reflection of their journey, a symbol of their love. "I never thought I'd have this," Morwen admitted one afternoon. "A home. A garden. A life of peace." "I never thought I'd have it either." Clara's voice was soft. "But here we are."

The companion document reached places she would never go. She had done what she had set out to do. Not finished. The work was never finished. But done. The thing she had decided to build had been built. It was real. It was rooted. It was in the hands of people who understood it from the inside. She looked at the seven plants. At what two years had grown. At the garden that had started from a sprig she had needed to hold. That had become something that gave cuttings to Merrick and Verath and the eastern circle hall and Wren's practice.

"The document says when eight voices speak together. It doesn't say after that the space closes. It says the beginning." "The beginning of something that can keep growing," I say. "Yes," she says. "So the space needs to be able to grow." Another pause. "I added a garden. Adjacent to the main structure. For the plants. The seven from the box and whatever Dara's seeds become when they're planted in the original ground." "When are you planting Dara's seeds?" I say. "Spring," she says. "When construction is far enough along. When the ground is ready."

I called as I turned towards the stairs again. He wasn’t kidding when he said it looked over the back garden. From this angle, I could see the houses on either side of us. As well as the lush garden his mother kept. Not all the plants had flowers. Some had intricate stems. Fancy leaves. And in the midst of them all, Mrs. Hemgrove tended to the weeds. Pulled them out furiously and discarded them in a black bag next to her.

Using my elbow, I nudged it open. Past the gate, the pathway was lined with tall and surprisingly well-manicured hedgerows. I squinted at them, uncertain as to why the gardens this close to the building would have been recently cared for, when so much of the neighbouring foliage had been left to either climb the walls or slowly rot away. Keeping my phone held high, I crept closer to the front door.

"I don't know yet. But I think it's good." The next morning, we walk through the house. We start planning where things will go. We start imagining what the space will become. We start building a new life in a new location with all the knowledge and experience that we've accumulated in the old one. The garden is overgrown but it's manageable. There are fruit trees that need pruning. There are flower beds that need planting. There's a space where we can build something. Dominic stands in the garden and he looks at me.

I follow the kids outside, Lisa trailing behind me. The backyard is a testament to their hard work and creativity. Raised garden beds frame the space, filled with vibrant herbs and vegetables. A sleek swing set gleams under the shade of an old oak tree. There’s even a small stone pathway lined with flowers that I know weren’t here before. “I worked on the path!” Bobby says proudly, gesturing toward the intricate arrangement of stones. “The landscapers in Brussels showed me how to set the base and make it level.” “You did that?” I ask, genuinely impressed. “Bobby, it’s amazing. I love it.”